#so like I’m open to non English tournaments

[tournament-announcer]

Thanks so much for running this blog, I love tournaments and it's such a great way of finding new ones in time to submit to them!

Thank you! I was always kinda upset when I only found a fun tournament in the quarter finals, and so while I’m sure I don’t catch all tournaments (there must be non English ones for instance right?) I do this because I hope this helps a little, so it’s nice to hear that it actually does :)

[brcnze]

what more could i ask for?

a/n: another from my ao3 that i deleted oops. also sorry it’s christmassy themed and i’m posting this in march?

word count: 5.3k

what more could i ask for?

as the final whistle blew, lucy felt as though she could breathe again. 

these last few months had been tiring, understatement of the year, they’d been exhausting. since the world cup, it had been non stop. she was being pushed so hard emotionally and physically and as she lay back on the grass she couldn’t bring herself to move an inch.

barça were playing at least three games a week, training was as intense as ever and not to mention england had been desperately fighting for their spot at the olympics. for the first time ever lucy was actually somewhat glad they hadn’t qualified. 

she was devastated at the time of course, her last minute goal and two minutes of unimaginable happiness coming crashing down on her had hit her hard. however, upon reflection she realised the time away she’d get over the summer would be good for her. it would be good for her knee that was hanging on by a thread and good for her mind, to finally be able to shut down for more than twenty four hours. 

although the tournament was in the summer and it was only december she had her month off already planned and ready to go. for the first time in her career she felt ready to finally indulge in some much needed rest and relaxation. 

the brunette still enjoyed the sport as much as she always had done, but the demands that playing for the best women’s club in the world and euro winning national team were something she had never experienced before. 

she thrived off of the pressure, but even she was human, not the robot everyone thought she was. she was thirty two and absolutely knackered to put it lightly. 

“come on lucia, up. you are showing your age.” 

lucy knew exactly who it was without even having to open her eyes. the use of her full name gave everything away. 

everyone called her lucy, that’s how she liked it. her close friends called her luce or even bronzey sometimes but she’d never been keen on the people around her calling her lucia, often meeting them with a death glare if they so much as tried it. 

that didn’t stand with ona though. nothing seemed to really, she had a totally different chapter in the lucy bronze rule book. the girl could get away with murder in lucy’s eyes. she liked the way the name sounded coming from ona, the broken english accent and the fact that it was only her who called her it. 

“help me up then.” 

the spaniard reached down and pulled lucy to her feet, smiling up at her in the process. 

ona had moved to barça only a few months ago, but it was like she’d been there forever. the pair had met back at a mutual friends wedding almost a year ago now and had instantly hit it off, the attraction to one another being undeniable. 

“stop eye fucking her.” 

lucy had turned to her side, the smirk of her best friend jordan nobbs being the first thing she saw. 

“she’s hot.” 

“go and talk to her then, what good is sitting here and drooling going to do?” 

she dwelled upon the idea for a minute, questioning whether or not she was ready to open up her heart to someone else yet. as she continued her pondering, ona had met her eyes and as soon as green met brown she was up and on her feet. 

for the first time in her life, lucy had listened to jordan and it was possibly the best thing she had ever done. the conversation between the two defenders had just flowed, both of them giggling as they kept accidentally interrupting one another because they just had so much to say. 

they sat with their thighs pressed together, subconsciously getting closer and closer to one another as the conversation progressed. flirty lucy hadn’t made an appearance in some time, but she was out in full force that night, ona loving every second.

the bride herself, lucy staniforth, had noticed the connection instantly and headed over, giving lucy strict instructions to look after ona once her barça move had been finalised. 

“look after this one? you don’t have to worry about that stani.” 

staniforth looked at ona as a younger sister, and she wanted to be reassured that she would have someone looking out for her and who better than her longest friend. 

“i’ll have the lucy bronze looking after me then, si?” 

ona had asked with a smirk once they were alone again, a smirk that lucy thought was possibly the most attractive thing she’d ever seen. 

“you bet.” 

it was safe to say that lucy had done a brilliant job of looking after her that night and onas contract with united wasn’t even up yet. 

the second she had taken a trip to the toilets and ona had followed her, she had her pinned against the wall with her mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. she wasn’t entirely sure that was exactly what her best friend had meant by ‘looking after her’ but it didn’t stop her from taking her back to her hotel room and having her scream her name for the rest of the night. 

ever since that day she had been addicted to the spaniard. they stayed in contact during onas last few months at manchester united, neither being the type for a one night stand and having too strong of a connection to leave it at that. they met up whenever possible for date nights and randomly showed up at the others games if they could, instantly becoming each other’s favourite person.

the long distance dating was hard, but it was exciting. it would’ve been so much easier for both parties to just date someone who actually lived in the same country as them, but what fun was that when they had found exactly what they wanted in the other? 

the pair took a mini holiday together pre world cup where lucy had asked ona to be her girlfriend over a romantic dinner, and again after the world cup where they had celebrated ona becoming a world champion. lucy knew it was love when she felt genuinely happy and proud of ona, the ability to put her own feelings aside and relish in the pride she felt for her girlfriend. 

it was all just perfect really. thank you staniforth, lucy thought to herself every single day. 

as they walked back towards the changing rooms, down the tunnel and out of sight of fans ona intertwined their hands. they weren’t exactly keeping their relationship a secret, they had both just agreed on private. 

many people had caught onto the fact that they were an item now. whether that be from the pictures of ona comforting lucy at the world cup, the fan picture of them at a restaurant in menorca or the way they interacted with each other on the pitch. 

at the beginning they’d both decided on keeping it a total secret. lucy had already been through a relationship that fans had gotten wind of and this time around she just wanted something she could keep for herself. however, they both underestimated how hard that would be when they were so infatuated with one another. 

lucy couldn’t stop herself. she had to have at least one part of her body touching onas at all times, she couldn’t prevent the heart eyes or the wide smile that was simply reserved for her and came out in full force whenever she was around. she loved her, and quite frankly she didn’t care who knew it. 

“tired?” the spaniard questioned. 

lucy nodded, squeezing her hand as they turned into the changing rooms. she instantly sat herself down and began untying her boots, letting out a grateful sigh as her feet could finally breathe again.

“like you said, im showing my age. im excited to have over a week off that’s for sure.” 

ona narrowed her eyes, mock offence clouded over her features. 

“even though you’re spending half of it away from me?” 

lucy let out a chuckle, grabbing the younger girls hands and pulling her to sit on her lap, so she was straddling her legs. her hands rested on onas waist as ona wrapped her arms around her neck. 

“you can still come with me. i booked two flight tickets for a reason.” 

ona sighed, she so desperately wanted to take lucy up on the offer but it felt massive. her own family weren’t that big on christmas, but it seemed like a huge occasion for lucy’s family and she’d never met them before. in fact, she’d never actually met any of her previous partners families, never getting serious enough for them to even ask. 

her and lucy were serious though. it was different with lucy, she had never felt this way about anyone before. she pictured her whole future with the englishwoman; marriage, kids, the whole ordeal and the thought of messing it all up consumed her. 

she knew she was a nice girl, but that didn’t stop the overbearing thoughts that lucy’s family wouldn’t like her. maybe they would think lucy could do better? maybe they would compare her to keira? the whole thing terrified her. 

“i don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, the decision is yours. if you want to be at home with your own family i totally understand that.” 

lucy had noticed the change in expression in her girlfriends face, running a comforting hand up and down her back. 

ona couldn’t help but smile at the caring nature lucy never failed to show for her. they would be spending the new year together anyway, they planned on taking a trip to andorra together - just the two of them and their dogs but would be meeting in manchester before as lucy staniforth also known as cupid was having a very small get together a few days before new year’s eve and insisted that the couple that she match made were in attendance. 

however, the thought of spending the entirety of christmas with lucy made her heart skip a beat. she wanted so badly to just say yes, she’d have to meet her parents at some point. she was confident her own family wouldn’t mind, they really weren’t all that big on the festivities and were so obsessed with lucy that anything that involved her was given an instant approval. 

“i would love to.” 

the english woman’s head snapped up at that, a wide smile replacing the neutral expression on her face. 

“seriously?” 

“if you and your family will have me.” 

lucy pulled her into a kiss, hand resting on her cheek as she stroked the array of freckles that lay there. the amount of freckles she had seemed to double every time lucy looked at her and she thought it made her even more beautiful. 

“of course. they’ve been so excited to meet you, they barely ask about me anymore. it’s all ona this, ona that.” 

ona let out a soft chuckle, immediately leaning back in to connect their lips. if there was one thing she loved most in the world, it was making lucy happy. 

“not again! ustedes dos son repugnantes!” 

the two girls detached their lips, ona not moving from her position on lucy’s lap and turned to see that the once empty changing room was now filling up with their team mates. 

“like i haven’t caught you and ingrid in more questionable moments than this, maria.” 

lucy and mapi were like sisters at this point. the constant bickering and inappropriate jokes that went back and forth between them never failed to amuse, yet also piss off the rest of the players. the teasing between them had only gotten worse since ona and lucy had made their relationship common knowledge.

“mentirosa! we always keep it very professional.” 

“shall we talk about the time i found you both in the airport bathroom?” 

lucy smirked, relishing on the deep shade of red that had taken over mapis cheeks. she knew she’d got her with that one as the defender soon made her way over to the showers whilst muttering something incoherent in spanish. 

“i don’t know why she still bothers. i always win.” 

ona shook her head, laughing at the never ending competitiveness of her girlfriend.

the pair headed back to lucy’s apartment, saying quick goodbyes and wishing their teammates a happy christmas before packing the rest of their things into a suitcase. 

the nerves ona was feeling were evident on the way to the airport, the lack of singing from the spaniard giving her away instantly. lucy placed a hand on her thigh, stroking up and down. 

“you okay, love?” 

“im just a little nervous i suppose.” 

ona felt it was best to just be honest. she’d been putting off meeting her girlfriends parents far too long now and knew it was obvious she was having feelings about it. throughout their relationship they had always communicated everything, a huge reason as to why it was going so well. 

“im excited to meet your family and im so excited to spend christmas with you. i’m just nervous that they won’t like me, or i’ll say the wrong thing.” 

lucy’s face instantly softened, pulling in to the airport car park and turning her whole body towards ona. she could tell that meeting her family was something that had been playing on her girlfriends mind. lucy had met onas months ago now and was a frequent guest at family dinners, being welcomed and loved by them instantly. 

“i promise you there’s nothing to be nervous about. in all honestly, they’re all a bunch of weirdos and i’m more nervous that you’ll change your mind about us when you see what a weird group of people i grew up with.” 

ona chuckled at that, adoring the way lucy never failed to make her laugh. she took onas hands in her own, giggling a little too. 

“but honestly babe, please don’t stress. we can book a hotel instead if you like? if you don’t want to stay at the house?” 

the spaniard immediately shook her head. 

“no, absolutely not. i’m just a little shy i suppose but i’m sure it won’t take me long to warm up.” 

lucy tilted her head to the side, the most adoring smile resting on her lips. she completely adored the woman in front of her to no end, her affections growing every second.

“god, you’re so cute.”

she tucked a strand of ona’s newly highlighted hair behind her ear. 

“i won’t leave your side though, and just tell me if you need a breather at any point. i was dead nervous to meet your family, so i do know what it’s like.” 

“you were?” 

that information surprised ona. lucy was so good at putting on a confident front that she never would’ve guessed she felt any kind of nerves that day. 

“mhm. didn’t think they’d think i was good enough for you, or that they’d be offended by how shit my spanish is.” 

“you needn’t have worried cariño, they love you more than me and my brother now - especially my dad. they told me instantly that you were good for me, and also that your spanish is shit.” 

lucy scoffed, a look of false hurt clouding her features.

“im definitely getting better!” 

“si tú lo dices.”

ona was right in the sense that it wouldn’t take her long to warm up. 

almost as soon as the pair had arrived at the family home, she had been pulled into the biggest hug by lucy’s mum. the older woman welcoming her warmly as she was desperate to get to know the woman whom her daughter spoke so fondly of. 

“i am here too you know mother.” 

lucy complained as she watched the embrace take place. ona let out a small laugh, appreciating the warm welcome more than anything, putting her instantly at ease. 

once they’d gotten the greetings and ‘nice to meet you’s’ out of the way the family all sat together in the living room, ona being the star of the show. 

“you really are a beautiful girl, darling. i could tell from the pictures luce showed me of you but in person you’re even prettier.” 

ona had blushed at the compliment from diane, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. 

“oh thank you. and thank you so much for being so welcoming and not minding me being here.” 

“don’t be silly, you’re family.” 

lucy was so glad to see ona smiling. she’d been a little worried when she saw how nervous she was, concerned that her family would maybe be too much for her but she needn’t have one bit. her mum evidently adored her already and as soon as her niece and nephew had come downstairs they instantly took a liking to her too. 

running straight past auntie lucy, they immediately went to interrogate ona. 

“im really starting to get offended now.” 

lucy admitted, watching her niece insisting ona play barbies with her and shaking her head no, when lucy had offered to play instead. her brother was loving it, teasing lucy endlessly that she’d been replaced as the favourite auntie.

they enjoyed a nice dinner together, lucy��s mums cooking going down a treat with ona who had never tried half of the foods on her plate. games were played, the two young children making it their life’s mission to ensure they were on ona’s team everytime.

when the kids were in bed, ona got a real taste of the type of relationship lucy and her brother shared. she knew that they wound each other up to no end, she’d witnessed enough facetime calls between the pair to know that. however, seeing it first hand was amusing to say the least. 

“so ona, out of all the women in the world. why lucy?” 

jorge asked her with a disgusted look on his face, earning himself a pillow chucked straight at his head from the woman in question. 

“don’t be a dick, jorge.” 

ona chuckled at the twos behaviour, not being able to help joining in on rattling him up a little bit. 

“oh i don’t know, many things. she’s funny, kind, always makes me feel loved and safe and i mean look at her. she’s hot as fuck.”

lucy smirked at her at that, whispering something to her that jorge definitely didn’t want to hear. he looked between them in disbelief, shaking his head. 

“sickening. how much are you paying her to say that?” 

“don’t get jealous. just because my girlfriend actually fancies me and your wife thinks you’re a pig now.” 

jorge rolled his eyes, scoffing. 

“well you’re definitely punching, luce.” 

“im well aware of that. most beautiful girl in the whole of woman’s football she is, well and the whole world.” 

another blush made it’s way across ona’s cheeks as she smiled up at lucy bashfully. 

“you are sweet lucia, but that’s not true.” 

“oh it certainly is true sweetheart, we all think you’re gorgeous and lovely just to top it all off.” 

diane chimed in, making her way into the living room carrying even more plates full of food and drawing out another blush from ona. 

going to bed that night in lucy’s childhood bedroom, both women felt content. lucy was so glad that ona was relaxed and happy and ona was so glad that lucy’s family seemed to like her. 

the older woman couldn’t help but look around the small box room that held all of her earliest memories. she remembered lying in the same bed late at night as a youngster, dreaming of the life she was currently living. never would twelve year old lucy bronze have believed you if you told her she’d be laying there right now; winner of multiple awards, one of the most famous names in women’s football, playing for barcelona and having the most perfect girlfriend by her side.

“i have had such a wonderful day today.” 

ona whispered into lucy’s neck, pulling her from her thoughts as the defender tightened her arms around her waist and placed a kiss on the top of her head. 

“me too, i’m so glad you’re here.” 

“i’m so glad i came.”

“they think you’re amazing, if you couldn’t already tell.” 

ona let out a little giggle, thinking back to the amount of compliments she had received throughout the day. she looked up at lucy, taking her head out of her neck and pouting her lips, tapping them expectantly. 

lucy happily obliged, meeting her in the middle for a soft kiss. 

the kiss quickly turned heated, neither woman being able to do anything by halves. lucy’s hand made it’s way up the back of onas shirt, well technically her shirt that ona had stolen, and began tracing patterns pulling her in impossibly closer. 

upon hearing someone get out of bed to go to the bathroom, ona pulled away but only far enough so that she could still smile into lucy’s lips. 

“i love you.” 

“te amo mas bonita.” 

the next few days were spent lazing around and going for light walks with the bronze family. both women were soaking up the rare time off and had even brought siestas all the way back to england, much to the amusement of jorge. christmas day had been nothing short of incredible too. ona didn’t think she could love lucy anymore than she already did, but now having such a special bond with her family too her heart was left feeling like it was going to constantly burst. 

when the time came to leave and head down to manchester before the new year, ona felt emotional to be saying goodbye to everyone. she had had the most amazing time and felt as though she had created a special bond with everyone individually after the five days spent together. 

the spaniard had to really fight to hold the tears in when it came to saying goodbye to lucy’s niece and nephew. the two little ones had created a card for them, hand drawn by them both. there was two stick figures holding hands, one representing lucy and the other ona. a bright yellow sun took residence in the corner, and a football was placed in the air. 

when lucy opened the card, gushing at the incredible drawing, she smiled to herself widely and turned it around so that ona could read their articulately thought words. 

to auntie lucy and auntie oni 

we will miss you soooo much. we loved playing football and princessess together. we love you xxxx

seeing the two young children refer to her as their auntie after only being in their lives a few days made ona feel like she could physically melt. she knew how much the young children meant to lucy and leaving with the feeling that they liked her was all she could have asked for. 

lucy clearly felt the same happiness as as soon as they go into the car she turned beside her, grinning like the cheshire cat. 

“did you have a good time, auntie oni?” 

the drive to manchester was spent sharing more family stories that ona hadn’t yet heard - the spaniard enjoying them even more now she could actually picture the scenarios, and singing along to their favourite songs, much a contrast to the drive to the airport a few days ago. lucy was just happy that ona was happy, taking her eyes off the road a few too many times just to watch her. 

when they arrived at their hotel, ona had barely opened the door before lucy had her pressed up against it. 

“i’ve missed you.” 

“you’ve been with me every day.” 

ona wrapped her arms around lucy’s neck, a deep sigh escaping her lips as the older woman started kissing down her neck. 

“mhm, but not like this.” 

she continued pressing kisses, ona throwing her head back as she found her sweet spot. 

“just wanted you all to myself.” 

ona tangled her fingers in lucy’s hair, pulling her head up from its position in her neck and smashing their lips together. both women were needy, tongues slipping into one another’s mouths and lucy sliding her strong thigh inbetween onas legs, drawing out a shaky whine from her. 

“fuck me, right now.” 

“don’t have to ask me twice, princesa.” 

with that, lucy picked her up, onas legs wrapping around her waist instantly and carried her to the king size bed. the two women found themselves lost in each other for the entire night, making good use of the fact they no longer had lucy’s parents and brother on either side of the wall. 

they woke up the next morning, appreciating the bigger bed the hotel had provided in comparison to lucy’s childhood single bed, yet still practically on top of one another.

mornings with ona were lucy’s favourite time of day, their legs tangled together, arms wrapped around one another and getting to watch the sleepy smile that never left her face. she was truly ethereal, and every time the sun rose she would count her lucky stars that she got to call this girl her’s. 

“you are creepy, watching me like that.” 

lucy smirked, the croaky morning voice of the spaniard giving her familiar butterflies. 

“stop looking so beautiful all the time then.” 

ona smiled, reaching up to play with the baby hairs that had escaped lucy’s night time bun before pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. the footballers then got themselves ready, sharing lazy kisses as they showered and went about their usual morning routine. 

they were meeting staniforth, jordan, demi and their partners at lucy’s house which wasn’t far from the hotel they were staying at. the afternoon was going to be a nice chill vibe, lucy positive the only reason they had been invited was so stani could gloat about being the reason they got together. 

“you know she’s going to be so annoying, right?” 

lucy warned ona in the taxi when they were on their way. the spaniard responded with a fond laugh, crazily excited to see their mutual friend. 

“oh, i know. the whole time we were at united together she teased me about having a crush on you.” 

“i like that you always fancied me.” 

ona rolled her eyes at the smirk that had plastered its way across her girlfriends face. 

“of course you do, it feeds your already huge ego.” 

the two arrived at the house they were both so familiar with, getting pulled into big hugs from everyone the second they arrived. neither woman was kidding when they said staniforth would be annoying, it only taking two glasses of wine until she began gushing about the couple. 

“i just can’t believe that you both are actually together.” 

lucy and ona looked at one another, smiling their signature loved up smile which caused the others in the room to let out a series of ‘aww’s.’ 

“appreciate the love and that but you lot don’t have to coo at us like we’re kids.” 

“but ona had the hots for you for so long im just so happy.” 

“stani!” 

the spaniard nudged her former team mate, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. it was very obvious from the day they met that ona had always been infatuated with lucy and lucy was well aware of that too, ona having admitted it to her after a few too many wines on one of their first dates. however, that didn’t mean she wanted it broadcasted to other people.

“lucy was the same. caught her practically drooling in her glass of champagne at the wedding.” 

apparently it was jordan’s turn to pipe up now, not allowing lucy off the hook that easily. 

“alright we get it, we were both obsessed with each other and it’s all down to you all for getting us together. thank you so much.” 

the sarcasm was dripping off of lucy’s tongue, causing the room to erupt in laughter. she secretly loved it though, loved the fact that her closest friends were so happy for her and that they loved her girlfriend almost as much as she did. when the footballers were all occupied with another conversation, opting to tease jordan now about her lack of love life lucy turned to ona. 

“even more obsessed with you now though.” 

ona smirked at the hushed tone, laying her head on the older woman’s shoulder as they joined in with the grilling of jordan. 

they spent the entirety of the evening laughing non stop. the group of friends drank wine, ate take out and played games, lucy coming out as the winner every time of course. 

“do you ever get bored of winning everything?” 

demi was sat with her arms crossed, shaking her head at lucy’s third victory in uno. 

“nope.” 

“you’re ridiculous, it’s trophy after trophy with you.” 

the group of footballers let out fond laughs at the englishwoman’s constant need to win. it was a part of their friend that they weren’t sure they’d ever fully understand, but a slice of what made her so special. 

the day had been perfect. lucy and ona’s cheeks actually hurt from where they’d been smiling so damn much over the past few days. they were packing up their hotel room, checking and double checking that they had all of their luggage before their flight back to barcelona to pick up the dogs later that night. 

lucy was sat on the edge of the bed, contently watching as ona scooped her hair up into her signature bun.

she couldn’t help but think back to what demi had said earlier about her need to win. she loved winning, that was undeniable but as she observed the girl five feet infront of her and thought back to the past few days they had shared she couldn’t help but think she’d won everything there was to win. 

“i love you so much.” 

the defender made her way over, wrapping her arms around ona’s waist from behind and resting her chin on her shoulder. 

“i love you too amor, but where did that come from?” 

lucy shrugged, turning the girl around in her arms and placing her hands on her waist. ona’s arms automatically coming to drape around her neck. 

“just been thinking about how good this weeks been so far, and how good everything’s been since i met you.” 

“i can’t believe how soft you’ve turned lucia.” 

ona smirked up at her lover. one of her favourite things was seeing how much her girlfriend adored her, she got to see a side to lucy that no one else did and it never failed to make her heart beat that little bit faster. 

“im serious though. i was just thinking about what demi said, about how much i love winning.”

ona nodded, encouraging her to keep going. 

“but i feel like if i’ve won you what more could i ask for? no trophy could ever give me the same feeling that you do.” 

the younger woman’s face softened instantly. some people in lucy’s life had criticised her for always focusing on winning, wishing she’d slow down and appreciate what she had rather than always looking to the next thing. ona had never seen it as a bad trait though, she found the constant motivation inspiring and just another part of lucy to love. 

ona rested her hand on lucy’s cheek, her thumb stroking across the sharp bone structure of the older woman. they both leaned in at the same time, their lips pressing together for a soft kiss, neither woman being able to stop smiling. 

“well maybe the world cup.” 

lucy mumbled into onas lips, the spaniard letting out a huff of a laugh and leaving a gentle smack on her shoulder. 

“way to ruin the moment.”

[all-chickens-are-trans]

It has come to my attention that some people in the Ted Lasso fandom are not aware of the importance of rainbow captain’s armbands in football, and I have too many emotions about those to not make a post. Keep in mind that I’m mostly familiar with the German Bundesliga and don’t know much about the Premier League, so if any people want to share more on that, feel free to add on to this post!

 Where it started

around two months ago, some of the cast and crew of Ted Lasso played a charity match (see here); actor Joe Street, who plays Paul Reynolds on the show, wore a rainbow captain’s armband. this, among other things, has led to some speculation that there will be a queer storyline in s3 (see here and here).

Why it matters

If you’ve followed the women’s Euro 2022 tournament recently (see here) or seen some pictures at least, and if you take the general culture of representation in media as an indicator, you might be led to believe that the rainbow armband doesn’t mean much - that it’s just a nice, but ultimately meaningless gesture of virtue signalling. And I wouldn’t even completely disagree with that. Most of the time, when players or teams give statements on the meaning of that rainbow armband, they describe it as a symbol against homo-/queerphobia in their sport - but most of them are pretty quick to add that it also symbolizes the fight against racism, sexism, discrimination based on religion, nationality, etc. The message gets watered down into a nice little message of ‘diversity’ and ‘equality’, often paired with the slogan “football is for everyone.” The rainbow in its original meaning for queer struggles and queer life is made into a non-threatening thing that’s supposed to be palpable for most people.

BUT --

But I’m begging everyone to look deeper, because there’s a reason for that. And the reason is - you could have guessed it - queerphobia in football. (I will now especially talk about men’s football because that’s what the show is about and it’s also my area of expertise. if you add women’s football into the conversation, you gain important insights, but this post is already going to be long enough, so maybe someone else will have to do that, either on this or another post.)

The reason the rainbow gets so watered down as a symbol in football is BECAUSE there’s still an unlimited amount of fear to be perceived or outed as gay/queer if you’re a professional male football player. Do you know how many active professional male footballers there are currently in the top leagues, worldwide? Two. Josh Cavallo came out in October 2021 in Australia (see here). Jake Daniels came out in May 2022 (see here) - he plays for Blackpool F.C. in the Championship League. Before Daniels, the only football player who came out during his career in the UK (and as far as I’m aware, in any major league anywhere) was Justin Fashanu in 1990. I will not link to articles or go into details, but please be aware if you google this, most articles will discuss racism, homophobia, sexual assault allegations and suicide. With a precedent like that, it took more than 30 years before any other active player dared to take that step. No matter how open-minded you think society has become over the last decades, you have to keep in mind that, despite all its claims towards the opposite, football is still one of the last safe spaces for both subtle and rampant homophobes.

Back to the rainbow armband

As far as I can tell, it was merely six years ago when the first rainbow armband appeared on a football pitch (see here) - in 2016, in the aftermath of the Pulse shooting, US-American team captain Michael Bradley wore one in a match against Ecuador. In Germany, it was especially the 2017/2018 and the 2018/19 seasons that popularized this as a regular practice for certain teams in the Bundesliga, starting with St. Pauli in 2017 (I couldn’t find an english source for this) and VfL Wolfsburg in 2018 (and initiated by their women’s team captain the previous season, see here). From there, it spread over to various other clubs like SC Freiburg, who announced in early 2021 that all team captains would wear the rainbow armband for all matches from now on (see here).

But just because this is becoming more common, doesn’t mean it’s losing it’s meaning. Just last year it became clear how very politically charged that symbol still is when German team captain Manuel Neuer wore a rainbow armband for several games in the men’s Euro 2020 (see here). The UEFA started a formal investigation against him because they prohibit ‘political symbols’ on the armband. Even though the investigation was dropped, the UEFA prohibited a request to light up Allianz Arena in rainbow colors just a few days later in the match against Hungary because it was seen as too politically charged in the current climate of queerphobic laws passed in Hungary at the time (see here). It remains an open question how the rainbow armband will be handled in the upcoming 2022 World Cup in Qatar where homosexuality is illegal. If rainbows are ruled as ‘too political’ against Hungary, who knows what the rules will be in Qatar.

And what does any of this have to do with Ted Lasso?

Frankly, I don’t know. I just made this post because the rainbow armband in the charity match got me very excited for the possibility of seeing Isaac McAdoo in one for s3. Could you imagine Isaac choosing that kind of gesture to show his support for Colin? (If that’s what’s going to happen - at this point, it’s all still speculation.) With that history, with that storyline, and with the way this show usually approaches such topics?? That feels immensely meaningful to me.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[hclfbaked]

( brigette lundy-paine , non-binary , they/them ) las vegas may be packed with people, but jess hinkley has been on my mind. originally hailing from las vegas, the twenty six year old has been in vegas for their entire life. i know they’re a hiking trail guide , but there’s a rumor on the strip saying they’re also a werewolf. after some thought that makes sense , they can be + big-hearted , but also - half-baked. ask any local they’ll say they remind them of adrenaline-filled nights on carnival rides, whooping and hollering at old friends across the street, smoke leaking out from between lips as they laugh under neon lights, crooked smiles leaning out of the passenger’s side window, & dancing with strangers on their way home.

hi - diddly - ho , neighborinos ! your friendly neighborhood maeby ( 27, they / she, mst ) coming in hot and so stoked to be here ♡ i’m bringing my favorite little goofball,  jess ! so without further ado…

▻  STATS

preferred name: jess hinkley nicknames: yes, jessie, the hinks languages known: english, asl, conversational spanish birthday: april 1st, 1997 hometown: las vegas, nevada, usa zodiac: aries sun, sagittarius moon, leo rising interests: nature hikes, fun dip, buzzfeed quizzes, roadtrips, wailing on drums, air hockey tournaments, sweet & salty snack combinations, talking heads, john hughes-esque ‘80s movies, having to be introduced to current music after listening to 80s-90s their entire life tldr; permanent class clown and former athlete almost makes it big, hits rock bottom (cough, is attacked and turned by a werewolf, cough), then devotes the rest of their life to the beauty of normal things and the importance of living in the moment. mostly just smokes weed, hikes, and goofs off. again, is a werewolf. pinterest: peruse here ! playlist: listen here !

▻  ABOUT

tw: parental death, werewolf attack, injuries

jess was born and raised right here in las vegas; their late mother’s hometown. you see, their parents met in kansas city, missouri where jess’s father (guy) was apprenticing under a rbbq pitmaster at the restaurant jess’s mother (robin) waited tables at during college. when they fell in love and got married, they moved back to las vegas to be near robin’s family. tragically, robin died when jess was eleven years old and they were raised through their adolescence by their father and older brother (elijah).

despite being a major goofball and terrible student, jess was a positive role model for their younger sister (mackenzie) and a big help at robin’s; the barbecue joint guy opened when they moved to las vegas to raise their children. as jess grew up, it seemed they were destined for greatness by way of their athletic prowess. unfortunately, right before their twenty-first birthday and their national track-and-field debut, they were badly injured in a werewolf attack and lost their place in the competition.

jess’s brother elijah was also injured and turned in the attack, but thankfully, the wolf didn’t lay a single claw on their sister mackenzie. nevertheless, for jess and elijah, surviving meant having the werewolf’s curse passed onto them. now that they know what’s lurking behind las vegas’s neon lights, neither of them are willing to leave their family behind or uproot them; certainly not until mackenzie is done with college and guy is ready to retire. at least the two of them have each other, right?

▻  HEADCANONS

jess calls charcuterie “grown-up lunchables” no matter who they’re around.

jess’s taste in music is 100% based on their father and late mother’s playlists from when jess was a young’un. if they can remember the two of them dancing to it in the kitchen, it’s on jess’s favorite playlist. they have a portrait of talking heads’ founder david byrne in a gold frame in their home like many people have portraits of jesus christ.

jess wasn’t a good student in school, but they have a knack for learning languages. they grew up in a household that used asl for mackenzie, jess’s younger sister, so that was a given, but they’re also fluent in spanish and have conversational skills in french and japanese.

▻  CONNECT IDEAS

fellow werewolves ! witch friends from the arcade ! vampires who vibe with our wee werewolf weirdo ! sirens jess has casually fallen in love with twenty times ! supernatural beings who defy stereotypes to hang with jess !

the other half of jess' podcast duo ( maybe trio? ) since there’s no way jess doesn’t have a podcast that a whole twelve people listen to every week – i picture them talking about haunted places in las vegas à la buzzfeed unsolved / ghost files or random topics with too much energy like the basement yard

texting buds who share memes and not much else

someone jess keeps just constantly running into somewhere, they absolutely cannot get rid of each other and fate seems to have decided that they’re in each other’s lives whether they like it or not

fellow regulars at jess’ favorite haunts, where they spent too much time making fast friends with the employees and then loitering like they also work there. examples: pizza places, bars, arcades, bookstores, record shops, climbing gyms, hipster cafes, locally owned breweries, etc

people who only know them from the parties they throw ( which have truly ridiculous themes, often result in noise complaints, and are always a wild time )

someone who hates jess because their chaotic antics have consequences, just not on them. jess is a runaway bull in a china shop and at the end of the day, someone has to clean up the china shop, right?

returned and unrequited crushes, exes, flings, a “ will they, won’t they ”

any friendly connect, considering jess sees the good / a good time in almost everyone

a less than friendly connect, since jess isn’t everyone’s cup of tea

anything under the sun you might be vibing !

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

hi guys and gals! Part 7 sees friendship strengthened, decisions being made and love ultimately hurting. As always, please enjoy the next part and let me know what you think is going to happen in part eight! I actually love hearing from you all so please don't be too shy to reach out and message me - I love a good chat LOL Love always, Steph xx

Part 7 | settima parte

warnings; love sucks man. word count;  1850 writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter. next update; Monday 09/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)! Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven link to fic masterlist here

“bella amelia, cosa ho fatto per meritarmi questa telefonata?” (beautiful amelia, what did i do to deserve this phone call?) Jorginho spoke his second-native tongue down the line to the British girl, calling him way past her self-appointed bedtime of 9pm.

“Jorgi, ho bisogno del consiglio di un amico” (Jorgi, i need the advice of a friend). Amelia, almost desperately, pleaded down the line to the boy who became her therapist.

It had been a few days since Amelia & Jack’s facetime where they sat and listened to the countless offers the successful girl had waiting in her voice message inbox. Being the person that she is, Amelia needed to distract herself from obsessing over the messages so she threw herself into her job. Spending too many hours over her paid allocation at Juventus training ground, getting administrative work done for the season ahead.

Was this her way of nesting? Or empty-nesting? Was she subconsciously preparing the club and her boys for life without her? Getting them ready with a season's worth of set pieces and tactical plays that would secure them an outstanding 37th victory? On the flip side, was she preparing for her new role in England which she had yet to accept. There was no harm in her taking her intellectual property back over to the motherland. The two clubs did not compete in the same tournaments, perhaps only the Champions league - but who's to say that whatever club she does pick will make the Champions League? There was no doubt Juve would be there - all of her preparation would ensure they would be. Whoever took over her role simply just had to show up and keep the boys in line.

“ok tesoro, parlami.” (Ok darling, speak to me). The Italian settled onto his couch, espresso in hand, waiting to hear the younger girl's problem.

“So I've spoken with Kyle & Jack now, and have told them of my predicament. They both are very heavily favouring one side - but I need a voice of reason. If you happen to express the same sentiments that they both did, then maybe that's all of the reassurance I need to make this final decision.” Amelia switched back to her native tongue.

After spending the better part of an hour discussing in great depth the offers that she was receiving from the 5 english clubs, Amelia felt just as confused as she did before calling the Chelsea boy. No surprise that Jorgi was team Come to the Prem & Join Chelsea, but the italian midfield maestro had also brought her back down to earth from cloud nine and reminded her of what, or who, she was leaving behind.

“Now I don't like telling you what to do, but you need to discuss this with Fede, Amelia. He doesn’t deserve a lot of things, but this is something he does.”

So that's where Amelia found herself the next morning. Sunday’s in Italy were reserved for espresso and long walks in the sun. This particular Sunday must have been reflective of the internal turmoil she was facing, uncommon for the season, the sky above her was overcast and a light drizzle had started to set in on her walk to the charming Italian’s townhouse.

______________________________________________________________

“pensavo fosse un mito che gli inglesi portino con sé il tempo the” (i thought it was a myth that british people bring the weather with them) Fede said as he opened the door, and his arms, while looking down the two steps at me.

“Very funny” I said as I gave him a hug. He always was so good at hugs. I’m going to miss them. Snap out of it Amelia - you don’t even know if you’re going to go yet. Oh she knows she's going. She also knows what club she's going to. No she doesn't, you be quiet. I’m here rooting for her Italian romance. If I had an angel and devil on each shoulder, their conversation would speak my internal monologue as such.

Walking through to his kitchen, putting on a coffee and saying hello to his dogs, Fede stood in the doorway and watched me move around his kitchen as though it was my own.

“I’m convinced you got British bulldogs because you just can’t help but love the English” I cheekily smiled up at him from my crouched position in the middle of his kitchen, giving the two bullys the best head rubs.

“Sure, you keep thinking that Amelia” Oh, the way he says your name Amelia, so foreign, so romantic. He says it the same way any other Italian would say it, he’s nothing special. Be quiet, let them have their moment.

“Lets go and enjoy these out in the courtyard, is your sun shade still up? It should hold out the rain right?” Amelia spoke rushedly as she poured two espresso cups and walked towards his back door.

“Tesoro, why are you so unsteady today? Is something troubling you?” Fede spoke worriedly, noticing my little nervous habits coming out to play and speaking faster than my mind could comprehend. Better to just get this over with i think, for once we agree on something.

“Ok i need to tell you something, and i need you to let me get it all out before interrupting me. Can you do that? This is something i’ve been working up the courage to speak out loud, let alone speak it to you”

Fede took a sip of his espresso, holding my eye contact, before putting his cup back on its saucer and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He thought he was ready for what i was about to say, expecting it to be yet another long winded speech as to why i want to put a label on our situationship. Oh boy, how wrong he was.

“After the success of the european tournament, i have received a lot of praise and recognition for my skills”

“And you deserve every bit of it amore, every bit and even more” Oh dear, could my heart hurt anymore?

“Fede, I asked you not to interrupt me…”

“Ok ok, sorry, continue”

“So, I have received a lot of recognition both here in Italy as well as from my home country of England. In saying that, I have received a few offers from clubs in the premier league that want me to bring my approach, the italian approach, to the english game. It's a real step up in my career and it's something I am seriously considering. I’ve spoken with some of the boys back home and also Jorgi, they all think that this is the next step for me. I’m far too comfortable here, I can't grow in my comfort zone. I think I'm ready for a new challenge.”

I held eye contact with the 27 year old, I wasn’t about to let him know just how vulnerable I was feeling here in front of him. Something Fede could always do was read me, and read my emotions. If he knew how exposed I felt, how easily I could be swayed over this decision, then he would make it his life's mission to do so. I had made my mind up that I was going, but there was also a part of me that decided if he was to give me what I was after I would be open to the possibility of staying.

“So it seems that you have asked for the opinion of everyone else in your life, and made your decision, before even considering mine.” He slumped back in his chair, and rubbed two fingers over his lips while looking off into the small courtyard garden.

“Fede, I have made my decision. But I wanted to talk to you about it, I owe that to you. You have made my time here so memorable, so fantastic, so filled with love that I wouldn't even consider not including you in this.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you stay? Do you want me to ask you to be my girlfriend? To tell you I love you? To move in with me? Let me know what you need from me to reconsider this decision” He began to get frustrated with me, pulling the cap off of his head and running his fingers through his hair.

“That’s exactly it Fede! I don’t want to ask you to do that, you should ask me to be your girlfriend on your own! I don't want you to tell me you love me if you think that's what I want to hear - I want you to feel like you love me! I don’t need anyone to tell me what I want to hear, what I want to hear is what you truly feel. And if there is something i have learnt about you in the last few years is that you can’t hold back your feelings with anything! If you were in love with me it would have burst from you a long time ago. I think that you do love me Fede, but as someone to come home to instead of no one at all.”

“You know Fede, i don’t have any regrets over this. You mean just as much to me now as you did the very first time we crossed that boundary and blurred the lines. You’re just my type, you only call me late at night, you can’t decide if you’ll be your own man or mine. I hate to say it, but you really are just my type. This decision has nothing to do with you, it’s something i have come to make all on my own.”

I had stood up now, looking down at the 27 year old. I needed him to understand exactly what I was saying, how serious I was. This was the moment I could get it all off my chest, instead of just letting the relationship play out on his terms.

“I leave on Friday, I let the club know this morning. There's nothing that can be done now Fede, this is my decision. Please respect it, and me”

He stood up, his almost 6’1” frame towering over me. Looking down, face of steel, I could see everything I needed behind his eyes.

“hai ragione ti amo Solo non nel modo in cui meriti di essere amato” (you're right, i do love you. Just not in the way you deserve to be loved). He pulled me into his chest, both arms wrapping around the back of my shoulders, left hand holding my head in the crook of his neck. My arms wrapped around his back from below his arms, holding him tight enough that they crossed over and I could grab the sides of his rib cage. This was the closure I needed.

“I’ll give Jorginho a call and make sure he looks out for you”

“How do you know what club I'm going to?”

“I saw the way your eyes sparkled when you mentioned its name, it was the same sparkle that used to come out when you said mine…”

Part 8. | parte otto

[missguomeiyun]

Homecooking [Apr ed]

April was an exciting month for me!

I had staycation as you know. .. I followed 2 badminton tournaments during my time off: the Korea Open & the Korea Masters. Due to the time difference, things were difficult but bcos I was on vacation, it worked out lol I also watched the ISU Short Track World Championship 2022 that happened in Montreal from April 8-10. Yes, it overlapped with the badminton tournament dates so I’d watch badminton till ‘very early’, then get up for the 8am start for the short track competition. It was intense! Hence I feel like my staycation was more hectic than my work days. But it was all worth it!

I had many thoughts re: the Short Track competition. 1st of all, Canadian Short Track skater Charles Hamelin retired after this race :’) it was soooo emotional omggggg I’m so happy that the Canadian team won the mens 5000m relay at the Beijing Olympics. I feel like that was a nice closure to his career, you know what I mean?  As for the Korean Short Track team.. . TBH, the ladies division was kinda hard to watch at times. It was the return of SSH, who was in a lot of controversy & stuff for the past few yrs. I’m glad she returned but the team moments were so awkward. I also became a new fan of Lee June Seo, & I wished that the commentators would pronounce his name properly or at least, keep in consistent. There’s a Korean girl with surname “Seo”, & similar for her. .. “Seo” was pronounced differently all the time!!! There was “siu”, “sau”, “soo”, “so”. .. SMH. The closest is “saw” in English......... lol oh well. Anyway, congrats to the Korean team. Choi Min Jung is AMAZINGGGGG!

Okay, enough about the sports . .. haha

Random soup I made using white beech mushroom, onion, Spam, & chayote. Forgot what soup paste I used.. . but probably deonjang judging by the colour :P

I recently had the seafood version of this mung bean pancake. This is the original mung bean only version. I prefer the seafood one more bcos the seafood bits made the texture more interesting; this was more mushy & uniform throughout.

Pasta~

This was take-out that my brother got from Blue Truck Barbeque. It’s their

Homemade patties avec les English muffins haha the patties were chicken-based.

* * * * * * book break * * * * * *

I may start doing this in my future homecooking posts - a book review break to share what I read during the month. It’s my goal to read 15 books this yr. This one is book #5 - “The Red Palace” by June Hur.

June Hur is a Canadian author who specializes in YA fiction (with a Korean setting). She’s written 3 novels (4th one to be released in 2023) & I’ve read AND OWN all 3! I know it’s YA but . .. I don’t typically base my choice on YA vs non-YA. Her stories are very interesting in that it’s mystery-solving & there’s just not much out there with the Korean historical setting, you know? I can see all 3 of her works as a Kdrama, esp this one! I breezed through it during the badminton x short track week! The pace was consistent; the characters were humane & relatable; the plot twist was excellent; style of writing (bcos it’s not a translated work) was very easy to read (also bcos it’s YA but still... it was well-written). I highly recommend this book!!

*PS: I plan to continue collecting her books ^^

Another pasta. This was was a tomato pesto sauce with beef + mushrooms. I decided to add some tomato as I was cooking .. . & yeah, the tomato juice -.-” the product became water-y.

Sujebi with napa cabbage & Korean fish cake (the long cylindrical ones).

Noodle soup with white beech mushroom, napa cabbage & imitation crab.

Mini portion of bibim-myeon with chicken breast over a bed of spinach.

Trying the strawberry cream cheese from Costco. It’s alright! Compared to other ones, the texture of this one was very soft & smooth.

JJAMPPONG with mini dumplings.

Another type of noodle with mini dumplings & fish cake.

As you can see. .. napa cabbage is a big part of my life LOL so is broccoli. I typically use broccoli for work meals bcos I feel they’re more filling. & napa cabbage.. . I don’t really like it in a dry dish if that makes any sense. It belongs in a soup of some sort bcos it’s so good at soaking up flavours.

Have you guys tried this??? If you haven’t, I don’t recommend it. It was very dry. ..

I FINISHED ANOTHER BOOK~ WooooooooT!! Book #6 DONE~

This is a sequel to Dial A for Aunties. I personally liked the first book more but this one was pretty entertaining as well. Compared to The Red Palace, this one took me slightly longer to finish. I didn’t find I was into it as much as The Red Palace. Still good though! An easy read!

Bro made steak. YUMMM

Udon (yeah.. the square ones that I don’t like) with fish cakes, corn, napa cabbage, & cherry tomatoes. This batch of cherry tomatoes were larger than usual & unusually not very juicy. You know what you bite into one, oftentimes, tomato juice just squirts out? Well, not this one. It was hardier (?).

That is it! Bye

[hexalene]

What's your wildest cruise ship story?

Oh shit I meant to post this sooner whoops

Uh

I have less “ONE BIG THING” stories and more of like, a series of surreal Events that happened to me over the course of the years and years I went on cruises (my family could go on cruises for free, so we abused the shit out of that for reunions and vacations for a long time)

So here’s a few of those, and I SWEAR TO GOD they’re real, and I might have photos buried somewhere to prove some of them, but idk, that’s like effort.

-I loved wandering around ships super super early in the morning. Like, crack of dawn early. I’d usually go hang out on one of the open floor restaurant areas around the middle of the ship, which had built in window seats you could curl up in. Pillows n shit too. Super comfy. I’d draw and listen to music, ect. One morning, I looked up and saw the Black fucking Pearl from Pirates of the Caribbean sailing by. Did not believe my eyes. It and four other ships, two of which were for non-pirate movies, were being sailed into a bay on the island we were headed to. I did manage to get a distant shot of it when I got on land.

-In 2006 (date relevant) I met two men in two different families, who were not related and had never met, named Tony Stark. As this was before the movie came out, I was left tragically alone with no one to be awed at this strange coincidence with me. One of them was even a dark haired man with a nice goatee.

(The other was a cute chubby grandpa type)

-Given the opportunity to demonstrate how corporations rig the system against the consumer, my father brought me down to the casino level and sat down across from a very fancy claw machine that dispensed iPads and other expensive tech prizes. He told me, “some people will win, and I’ll tell you when they will.”

I was like “okay dad sure” but we sat there for HOURS, and dad would say “okay, this guy will win if he goes for this prize” or “this guy will lose” and finally, “that woman will win an iPad.” Of course, most were losers, but he was DEAD ON every time someone would win. After a while he explained that the machine would only dispense prizes after collecting the money to pay for two more of whatever was won. He’d just sat there and done the math on the people playing the game and when it added up, he’d wait to see what they went for and let me know if they won. It had absolutely nothing to do with skill.

To make his point, he waited, counting out loud the money being put in, before standing up and slapping the button randomly on one of the lower rank prizes. He won an otter box phone case and told me that no one will ever give you the chance to win out at a loss to themselves, so don’t make a bet unless you’ve rigged the game to win. I was 14.

-uhhh what else

-The dance troupe arranged to do shows suffered a tragic undisclosed accident, so the short term bullshit to entertain people in the theatre was an honest to god passenger led talent show. Surreal on its own, but one of the passengers was a contortionist, and ran off to get their suitcase.

Now, they did a lot of fun bendy stuff, very weird, very cool, but they asked for volunteers at one point. I, my sister, our cousin, and two other kids were asked to come on stage. I was the oldest, maybe 12/13ish, my sister and cousin were 9, and the other two kids were between 6-9.

This MADMAN, without straining any of us to bend in any weird or uncomfortable way, managed to fit all five of us into his empty suitcase. I was in the damn thing and I have no idea how he managed it. He then zipped us all up inside and walked around the stage a bit. And it was fine, like not uncomfortable or hard to breath or anything!

I remember getting out of the suitcase clearest of all. We’d all been fit inside so snugly, in this order:

Me, stranger kid 1, cousin, sister, and stranger kid 2. To get us out, he lay the case flat and lifted my sister up. Somehow this like??? Was like those monkey in a barrel toys, we all just neatly unfolded with her, no tripping or falling or anything. That feeling, where one moment I’m staring at my cousins’ feet and some other kid’s elbow, and then I see the dude lift my sister and then all of us just RISE WITH IT and unfold like a flower blooming I have no idea if this makes any sense at all but it felt magical.

- Something bad happened back home, but we didn’t know what. My dad had a business meeting but mom wanted to see the beach. We got off the ship, and like, HARDCORE struggled to find a way to get to a beach, any beach. We were in....Mexico, somewhere in the neighborhood of Chichén Itzá, maybe an island nearby I think? There were some massive ruins somewhere, I remember that much.

While mom hunted down a beach, my siblings and I sat under a giant box fan, near a TV. Something was happening, the employees were changing the channel, trying to find the clearest signal to the American news. I remember looking over at the grainy footage being interrupted by commercials and other signals and piecing together through the static and the employee trying to translate that back home, the 2008 financial crash was happening and that mom’s insistence that we find a beach and have fun was because that business meeting dad had stayed behind to deal with was him trying to make sure we’d still have a house to live in when we got back to the states, and she didn’t know if this would be the last truly carefree time we had before we went home to face the music.

-However, mom’s eternal struggles to find a beach didn’t begin in 2008. The previous trip we’d taken had another Beach Adventure.

That time, it was also just mom and the siblings. I don’t remember why dad was staying behind, maybe a poker tournament or something?

We disembarked and the struggle began. Nothing was in English, other than the scant few signs the cruise ship put out to guide passengers off the docks. However, THIS was not a problem, as I was about as fluent in Spanish as a third grader restricted to the present tense, and this worked well enough to get us around.

There was a massive bus to a beach, just PACKED to the gills with Americans. As we waited in line, a nondescript man came up to us, and said, “that bus will go to a very crowded beach with many other passengers of other ships. I know a better beach, and cheap! I’ll charge only half of what that bus will charge you and my beach is much much nicer!”

You might be thinking that common sense would tell us not to get in a random unmarked car with an un-uniformed man offering an amazing half off deal to a perfect isolated beach in broken English on a largely rural island, wouldn’t you? You’d be wrong.

My mother is a sweet devout catholic lady with a hidden core of raw chaos. Her idea of a nice day out in the snow with her tiny children was to strap us in the back, drive to the massive Schnuck’s parking lot, gun it up to 90mph, and hydroplane/drift like a fucking drag racer across the ice, laughing. Common sense does not exist in any normal capacity in this woman.

We spent an incredibly tense, silent, 45 minutes driving into the wilderness packed into a tiny car with no AC, sweating with heat and nerves as he drove us out in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly the driver pulls over. There is literally nothing but trees and cliffs for miles and miles. Mom is clutching my hand, my baby brother, and her knitting needles. The driver runs quickly to the center of the road, leans over, and picks up a huge tortoise that had frozen up when his car approached. He carried it over to the grass, and pat it goodbye.

Before he comes back Mom turns and looks at me and says, “a serial killer probably wouldn’t save a turtle, I think we’ll be okay.”

[jade-of-mourning]

theformat wrote, "im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

in which i spontaneously take several hours to translate nate’s awfully punctuated commentary on dog problems into Comprehensive English Words. partially so i can write my stupid essay on it for fun. but yes here you go, 4.2k words from a 2006 livejournal archive that i managed to snatch out of two saves. here’s a link if you want to read it from the source, but i’ll have you know it’s a nightmare. early 2000′s nate ruess learn how to type properly challenge.

theformat wrote,

[@ 2006-5-18 18:44:00]

"im floating with the birds im talking to the weeds look what youve done to me"

Hi,

Sitting on my couch, watching ESPN. Damn, it’s good to be home. Things have been pretty crazy the last 6 months. As a lot of you know, we were dropped by our label — we went and recorded a new record, labels became interested, [and] we decided to release it ourselves. We went on tour, and now I’m [...] home for the next week: my first week off in six months. What do I do? 

Well, my roommate and I got memberships to the YMCA down the street from our house. It’s an amazing place. Downtown Phoenix is pretty much an amazing place. It’s not like the rest of the state — speaking of which, I’m declaring war on Scottsdale, it’s the opposite of Downtown Phoenix.

Anyways, so I wake up at 9am every morning. I don’t know what it is, really — I’ve been a "pro" musician for about 3 years now, [and] we are supposed to wake up at 11 or 12. I know some dudes that wake up at 1, but no; since I’ve been home the last few days, I’ve been going to bed at 1 and waking up at 9. My roommate has a job, [so] I think it has to do with that. 

See, there are 3 showers total in our house. I have the big bedroom, so I have the big shower, [and] since I’ve been off on tour and recording, he has gotten used to the nice shower in my room (Which is fine — anyone that’s gotten close to me knows I’m not too fond of showers, so it’s not like I use it that much). So every morning around 8:45, I wake up to my door opening and my roommate going through my room to use the shower. 

You know what it’s like when you’re half asleep but you want to act like you’re awake so as not to freak someone out with all the crazy babble, but you just end up saying all the same crazy babble? I do that every morning. I turn and look at him and try to act like I wasn’t just dreaming about tootsie rolls and parrots that shatter like glass. "Hey [Roommate's Name], that was some game last night" [is what usually] comes out of my mouth — something to that extent — and I think he feels sorry for me, but continues to walk right into my bathroom, and use the shower. 

At this point, I’m awake. I usually have to pee, and I have to then use his restroom. It’s a terrible swap, and it always ends with me wide awake on my front porch (har har) smoking a cigarette and wondering how the hell I’m gonna fall back asleep when the air conditioning is broken. Ah, what a wonderful life at home, [but] that’s the weird thing — I love it. Now we wake up and we go to the [YMCA]. We run, we play basketball, we jump in the pool, we play pool basketball, we get yelled at for dunking the ball. We don’t use soap before we go into the sauna, and the night usually ends with a poker tournament. This is the life I love to live when I’m away from the road. It too is the opposite of Scottsdale. It’s who I am, [and] it’s pretty much who I’ve become.

See, for the last 23 years, it’s been about the highs and the lows for me. I’ve got an addictive personality, [so] I stay away from a lot of things because of this; however, when I find things, I get generally excited. I go crazy. It’s all I think about and all I do for the next howeverlong. For the first 23 years, it was either talking non-stop or locking myself in my room. It’s either great or terrible; not good or bad. Dog Problems changed that.

Initially, Dog Problems was supposed to be that — the original concept of Dog Problems was to be 2 sides of music, the first half taking over where Interventions [+ Lullabies] had left off: "We'll be together in the morning…"

We weren’t, in fact. We were over before Interventions was even released. We were over two weeks after it was recorded, [and] I spent the next 2 years feeling terrible. We got back together… we broke up… we got dogs… we broke up… we got back together and got dogs…

I was still miserable, but I wanted Dog Problems to get me through everything. I wanted it to help me, not anyone else — just me. The first side was supposed to be me down in the dumps [and] everything that went down: how the two of us were dealing with it differently, [and] the second half was supposed to be a realization.

The first inkling of realization was a day [when] we were on tour. We were all laughing about something I’m sure Marko or Adam said. Here I was supposed to be depressed, but the fact that I can spend all of my days in different states with my best friends, all of us doing what we love — that was major! Then my mom called… I’ve got my parents! My friends! What else could I possibly need?

At that point, I felt as if a relationship in a Michael Bolton sort of way didn’t mean anything. It was the people you surrounded yourself with — those were the people that made the difference, and that was going to be side two. I was convinced that when I just closed my eyes and thought about the wonderful people around me, I was going to be great. Not good, [but] great.

I didn’t get that far, no. I got back into the relationship. 

I was sure it was going to work. At that point, life would be perfect, and we all want perfection right? [But] things went right back to far from perfect. Things went to terrible. I couldn’t stop feeling sorry for myself, but I had a concept. At that point, I figured that even by singing and recording these positive songs I was going to feel better, so Sam showed me what was then just a short acoustic guitar version of Snails.

This was it. This was my first chance to prove to myself that life can be beautiful. The thing is, I had never been more miserable. I remember writing the lyrics to Snails: my roommate was at work, I was on the bed, on my night stand was a giant bottle of booze, and somewhere off in California she wasn’t calling me back on a Friday night. So I went to work, listened [to it] over and over. I wanted to get it right; I wanted to be positive. I passed out, then I woke up the next morning [with a] big headache (P.S. drinking is not really that cool; it’s cool when you condemn it for the first 22 years of your life, then it becomes not cool, then it becomes ok when you moderate yourself) and I started writing everything positive I could think of. [...] Snails was, in Sam’s mind, supposed to be a 2 minute kid’s song, [but] I wrote so much that there was no going back. I thought that was it — Snails solved all of my problems.

It didn’t get that far either. Nothing could shake the depression, [and] I really started to worry about myself. Here I want to feel great, but I only feel terrible, [and] a few months later it got really really bad. I had to go to my parents house that night, I didn’t want to be at my house. I wanted to feel like a kid.

It’s funny how we always want to be adults when we're younger. We want to drive cars, we want to have girlfriends. I still didn’t consider myself an adult — all I wanted was to come home, be tucked in, know that everything was going to be alright. I woke up the next day [and found out] she met someone new. I’ve got to figure myself out…

In the meantime, we've got 4 songs we are recording over at our friend Aaron’s house (he is an amazing producer and [...] musician, and his house and his roommates have gotten me through a lot of tough times. They’re some of the only people I know who would rather spend their Saturdays getting dinner and watching a movie instead of going to a party. I like that). All of this turmoil in my relationship was going on at the time, and I was trying to write side two [but] I couldn’t. There was more fuel to side one. These songs have to be done, so I wrote about what I knew, and at that point I knew how to feel terrible.

So much for side two. Dog Problems is going to be one giant mess of depression and "look what you’ve done to me".

Atlantic got those four songs, as well as a few others. They were not psyched, to say the least, but some people at the label actually cared about it enough to say "go record". So we were able to pick our producer, we met with a few people, talked to a few more. Things were looking up. Dog Problems was going to happen. 

I remember meeting Steve McDonald at his house — Sam and I were excited to be [there] because we knew his wife Anna would probably be there. Anna was the lead singer/songwriter for a band we used to obsess about called "That Dog", her brother was one of the ten drummers in the world that I actually liked, so Steve couldn't be so bad. And he wanted to produce our record, so he had to be pretty cool! 

He was just that, and more. Sam and I were eating every word that came out of his mouth. He had stories; he was young, hip, energetic, and yet very all knowing. We saw someone that was going to let us do whatever we wanted to do, and in the meantime he was going to make us laugh and make sure we didn't lose our minds. From that point on, I knew there was someone I could always trust. I made a friend pretty quick.

Things were moving forward. Steve McDonald was to be the producer. I hated Los Angeles so there was no way in hell I was going to record there, [so] we decided Palm Springs would be perfect. Weird, but perfect. I had a phone conversation with Steve that night and we were finalizing everything. I was going to call Atlantic in the morning and let them know just how everything was going to work, [but] I didn't get that far.

I was sleeping in a blowup bed at the house when my phone rang. I didn’t wake up and answer like it was my roommate and he was coming into my room to use my shower, [because] this call felt different. Right away, I was awake.

It was our manager: "You’ve been dropped." 

When I heard that, the first thought going through my mind wasn’t "Oh man...how are we going to be famous now and make boat loads of money?" It was more like "fuck...but Dog Problems. We were supposed to go make Dog Problems."

The thing is, Atlantic wasn’t into Dog Problems. They were into whatever it was they thought we were. Never had The First Single made more sense — what was supposed to be a song about getting the band started and doing something with it had actually turned into a song about how stuck we were in the labels eyes because of the song. I was past that; we're proud of something we wrote when we were 19 and 20, but when I think of music, I think of progression. 

I think of all of the wonderful records I had been introduced to when I had nothing to do riding in a van. I think of all of the new influences, all the instruments, all of the "How did they do that?" And I think of how much it gets me through everything.

Music has been the consecutive[ly] great[est] thing in my life. It’s been that one thing, and with Dog Problems, it wasn’t about "I want everyone to sing along because I can write a catchy song." It was about feeling. It was paying tribute to all of the bands that we obsessively listened to. It was for Harry Nilsson and Van Dyke Parks, it was for Jellyfish and XTC. It was our way of saying thanks for making our lives better, whether it be lyrically or musically. It was never about being something, being told something, and sticking to something. It was an adventure, for the artist and for the listener.

[And] they didn't get that. They wanted the old record, the old songs, just with different words and a few different chords here and there. They didn’t care about Snails or Dog problems [or] what it meant to write those songs. They knew it wasn't going to be huge; the guitars were not big enough (if big guitars are your thing that’s fine, it’s just not really our thing right now); it wasn’t going to be competitive, and so they dropped us. And rightfully so: we weren’t going to change, and obviously the major label business is never going to change, [so] now it comes down to who goes down first. And we weren’t ready to go down.

Sam and I had conversations about it, whether the business end of things have been fucking with us so much that we'll never be sane enough to just enjoy it. We thought about getting out — it wasn’t [be]cause we hated each other, or the songs; it was because we hated the business.

Steve called to let us know that he was still onboard, label or not, [and] we let him know we were still on board. We were going to make this record, [and] I was going to feel great! But the record was going to cost something. How could we afford it? 

We were lucky that we had a management company like Nettwerk. Not only are they the most forward-thinking music business people around, [but] they’re also (for the most part) Canadian. Oh, and they care a shit load about the music we make. They could have waited for the ship to sink, but they told us they would pay for the record if need be. Fortunately, we were able to get money for getting dropped — Atlantic actually paid us to leave, so we could afford the recording ourselves. The only stipulation was that it had to be done quicker, and when you want something quick, you have to go to the "right here, right now" capitol of the world: Los Angeles. I was a little irked at the thought at first, then Steve said it was his personal goal to make LA a wonderful city for me. Like I said, I would jump off a cliff if Steve said it was the best way to get coffee, but I wasn’t jumping off of cliffs. I was too excited to make Dog Problems, [so] LA it was.

Sam and I moved to the "Silver Palace" in Silverlake California in the middle of December. We found an amazing studio in Burbank, California and an amazing engineer in Ken Sluiter, and our goal was to just do everything free from a record label and someone constantly messing up the recording process by saying things like "that’s not high octave enough". The only pressure we had at all was from our manager saying "You have a tour you accepted in March, [so] get it done by then.” Other than that, it was me, Sam, Steve, and Ken working 13 hours a day for 6 days a week.

It became our lives we were putting so much of ourselves into. Everyone that worked and played on the record was the same way when they were there contributing. I would leave the studio at 2 in the morning and wake up at 10 to be at the studio by 11. There was no free time — the four of us were so invested in this. We all bought into the concept. 

In the meantime, things outside of the studio were getting interesting. We had a lot of labels calling and constantly asking about it. During one week of recording, I remember at least 3 different label people coming down to the studio. Our minds weren’t made up as to what we were doing with the record once it was recorded — all we wanted to do was finish it — but we kept our options open and let people sit in the big chair and listen to what we had been working on. The response was overwhelmingly positive, but we didn’t really think about it too much beyond the compliments we were receiving. Sam and I got used to LA — I was 10 minutes away from where I had been the previous summer when I was back "on" in my “on and off" relationship. I was ten minutes from her, she was calling every day, I was singing about it… but how was it not getting to me? Why did I not care?

My phone was off. I woke up in Silverlake one morning and started wondering why for the last month I had a smile on my face. Sure, I was down at times, but the thing that had been bringing me down for 3 years was now the last thing on my mind. Apparently, it had been that way for awhile. Something that took 3 years to get over… I was finally just okay with it. No big realization — just the fact that things happen. People make mistakes. And I came out of it alright. I was good; not great… I was good, and that felt good.

I wasn’t looking for great anymore. I was okay. The last song on Dog Problems is all about that. Here, this record was supposed to be the downs, and the ups, and it ended with the middle: the realization that I don’t need to be talking; I don’t need to be locked in my room — I need to enjoy what’s going on around me. And if things go wrong, they go wrong. There’s always tomorrow.

Dog Problems means so much to me in so many different ways. I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life. I cried so many times during the making of the record. All the money I had spent on therapy, and all I had to do was go make a record, realize that I’m alright, and realize that I made something that I’ll forever be proud of.

Shit… the record was supposed to be about how California can change you for the worse, [but] it played a huge part in doing the opposite!

So as we were putting the finishing touches on the record (all our friends came in and recorded! A ton of people we admired came and worked on the record! All of their responses were so positive that it's hard not to get an ego about it. These are the people I worship. They’re the ones I wanted to pay tribute to, and they think we've made something unique and special. It’s like Michael Jordan telling you that you have a nice jump shot (no more sports references… I swear I’m done)) and we started to think about what we were going to do with it. How we were going to release it. Labels were getting pretty into it, and we knew we would have to make a decision soon.

After much debate and discussion, we decided that the record was something we had made completely on our own, so why not release it completely on our own? Nettwerk was going to take care of the distribution so it would have a major label distro. It would be inside all of the Best Buys; what more did we want? We didn’t want a big fat check — we did that last time. It made us miserable, and nothing came out of it. Barely anyone at the labels helped us, we weren’t making music videos, our songs weren’t on the radio, so why would we take their criticism? After all, everything that we’ve done — any success we’ve had is from being real people who make music. From showing up to play, from 3 years on the road. 

On Interventions [+ Lullabies], there might have been an Elektra logo on the back of the record, but it ended right there. We were the ones SHOWING people who we were. I wouldn’t have it any other way — no one knows us better than ourselves, so why not release it ourselves? To me, it’s not only a testament to the hard work we put into the band (Mike, Don, Marko, Toco, everyone else involved in putting these songs to life — you guys are the best thing we have. It’s pretty special when your best friends are some of the most talented musicians), but I really feel like the people who come to our shows are such good people that they don’t give a fuck what label it’s on.

They are there because we are doing something positive, and because we care about them as much as they care about us. So for the time being we've said "fuck the middleman": we're the only people we can blame at this point. I’m so tired of even talking about major labels and the split and everything like this. The music is the only thing I care about. Dog Problems is the only thing I care about, so why let someone else ruin it?

The Vanity Label was born.

The record got finished. We had no time to rehearse, and we had to go right back out to tour. Our first show before the Motion City Soundtrack tour was in Nashville — I remember the last time we were in Nashville, there were about ten kids. Reuben’s accomplice kept asking them why they hate whales, so we figured why not go there and get some of the rust out of the way. After all, we haven't toured in a year so there should be like 3 kids there; we can mess up if need be.

Unfortunately, we were not allowed to mess up. On a Sunday night in Nashville, with Ted Leo playing across the street (I <3 Ted), our first headlining show outside of Arizona in almost a year was over sold out. What the fuck happened? 

We thought we were going to have to play for another 3 years just to get back to where we were when we left, and yet it’s sold out on a Sunday night? It didn’t end there either — the whole tour went like that… night after night ("nite after nite?"). I couldn't believe it. As if having Dog Problems wasn’t enough, now we have people showing their support in the most positive way: coming to the shows, being there from the only thing they knew before. Those two months were such good months. It was the last thing I expected. Thanks so much to all the bands that played with us, and thanks so much for everyone that came to the shows and sang along. We'll be back in July.

In the meantime, things were going great on the Vanity Label front. Business actually felt natural. We are shooting a video with the directors we had always dreamed of doing a video with (it won’t be serious...no pouty face). There were magazines like AP and online magazines like AP taking notice, supporting the whole idea and concept. We actually took press photos. I’ve never been through any of this before, it’s exciting. I don’t think it’s going to change who we are, not one bit, but it’s still exciting to see people who can help out actually help out.

So where does that leave me now? Sitting on my bed. I’ve rambled for hours, the air still doesn't work, and I’ve been told that Dog Problems (something that isn't supposed to come out till July) has been leaked. Not the best news when you just got out of the pool, but it happens. I freaked out at first — I thought I was going to lock myself in my room. After all, this is something that we spent over two years making. It’s something that you have to take the time… listen to in headphones… play loud… listen to in order of the tracks… the artwork… Sam did the best artwork he has ever done. The packaging is something we paid extra for because Sam’s concept was so brilliant, and now… it’s leaked on the internet? I was locking my door, then our manager called.

"Hello?" 

"We're releasing it on the website today." 

"Wow."

So, here goes. You’ve read enough. I shouldn’t have to go on about it anymore, but I will say, if you wanna wait for the full hard copy release then do so. It’s July 11 — we are gonna be touring right after that — but if you want to get it now,.please do it by purchasing it right here. We released it, it’s our money, it’s our little baby — you should take the time to listen to it all the way through, free of distraction. You should turn the songs into your own. It’s an adventure, and it’s something that we put everything we have into; and if anyone deserves it first, it’s you guys who have been here with us all along.

Without further ado...

"Dog Problems"

- Nate

[fericita-s]

You love Christmas, you really do, but…

It’s tough, being a mom to tween triplets and a baby, whose father recently died in childbirth, leaving you an overwhelmed widow. You spend days teaching at the local elementary school and evenings running around ferrying kids and planning the perfect Christmas. Every late night (or is it early morning then?), for a blessed seven minutes of peace, you get to work on your favorite project: a Christmas children’s book, full of snowmen, reindeer, and absolutely no trolls whatsoever. You’ve been at it since you were a little girl. (There’s also a non-children version you began in college but Hallmark doesn’t want us to know that, they’ve cut out that scene. For shame.)

But now, all of that is at risk. Betty’s ballet recital of the Nutcracker requires you to hand-sequin her snowflake tutu. Bobby has to master twelve Renaissance hymns in Old English for the Christmas choir. Billy has a hockey tournament in Connecticut. And Baby Benny’s teething. And to top it all off, you’ve been tasked by that bitch president of the PTA to bake vegan-nut-and-gluten-free cookies for the annual Holiday Bake Sale - nine or ten dozens should do. And Costco has run out of chocolate chips, which constitute the bulk of your seasonal emotional support system.

Just as you are about to have a total, massive, historic breakdown, your kid’s hockey coach, who was always kind of a dick to you before for reasons that shall not be explained, offers to help. He gets the whole hockey team to sing ye olde carols so Bobby can learn them while he watches his sibling play. He’s a pro at sewing sequins from being a single dad himself with two daughters in figure skating. He gives Baby Benny a teether hand-carved from Norwegian wood. But it’s only when he rolls up his sleeves to bake his bunică’s salam de biscuiti that you realize just deeply in trouble you are.

And one night, as you sit by the Christmas tree, sipping a bowl of wine after a simple yet delicious dinner you cooked together, the kids off somewhere playing in harmony with nary a fight in sight or sound, the baby sleeping soundly for the first time in weeks, you risk to open up to him, and show him your secret Christmas book (I really wish it was the non-children version. Damn you, Hallmark.)

Will he help you finish it, as he has helped with everything else? How does he do it all, really? Could there be more to the handsome, rugged handyman? Will he share his own secret with you?

(Hallmark would make him either a prince or Santa. You know what? I’m doing BOTH. I’m making him the Parisian lovechild of Santa and a Romanian princess. Ha.)

This right here is a Christmas gift of epic proportions! LOL. Poor man dying in childbirth. Will the wonders of the HCCU never cease? You're absolutely right about no trolls, no one invited them and they ruin everything. I bet that PTA bitch is behind the Costco chocolate chip shortage too. The montage of hockey coach/tailor/choir conductor/progeny of Santa and Romanian royalty helping out is amazing and I believe a certain Mercy Street chaplain would be well-cast in the role. I'd like to order a bowl of wine, please. Did my kids drink it too? Is that why they're playing harmoniously? Triplet tweens can be a hassle you know. I love everything about this!

[ilikefandom]

Snape’s Secret

Hi again. This is my first time posting with Snape and any constructive criticism will be adored. I tried to make the reader as ambigous as possible. 

Warnings: Fluff, Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Snape is not himself and nobody knows why, that is until our lovely reader shows up.

Type: Oneshot

When the third cauldron exploded the class held its breath as they turned to look at the professor. Severus Snape was looking at the culprit, Neville Longbottom, who was shaking in his boots. Snape’s face turned red, however it was not rage he expressed.  

“Clean it up Longbottom.” Snape hissed at the fourth year student, before stalking to the other side of the classroom to sit at his desk. 

The class sat in stunned silence as Snape opened a drawer in his desk. He looked up at the class, “Well?” he growled, “Back to work.”

He slid a letter out of the drawer and opened the seal gingerly with his fingernail. Looking back up at his class, Professor Snape sneered, “Do I have to tell you again? Back to work!”

He unfolded the letter as most of the class turned back to their cauldrons whispering about Snape’s sudden change in attitude. Some speculated it was the upcoming Triwizard tournament, others thought a pay raise was behind the slight smirk on Severus’ face, but Hermione Granger knew better. 

Snape had been in a decent mood all week, he had yet to deduct more than 50 points from Gryffindor or any house for that matter. Snape had yet to give any student, in any house, detention. He had been seen receiving letters and at least once a day, and this made Hermione wonder if the serious, snarky, Severus Snape had found himself a significant other. 

Snape folded the letter, picked up a piece of new parchment and began to write a reply. He was so engrossed in his response that he neglected to call up the students for sampling until he was done. He folded the letter, casting a clever little traveling spell over the entrance to the drawer, he placed the letter through the top and closed the drawer, removing the spell with a flick of his wand. 

“Now,” Snape turned to his class who stood around their cauldrons chatting and none more loud than the so-called ‘Golden Trio’ “Bring up your samples to my desk so that I can grade them. Hurry up!” He snapped. 

The class collected their samples and passed them to the brooding teacher as he placed them away for testing on his grading block. He opened the letter he had received earlier and smiled slightly at the small, uniform handwriting. 

Dearest Severus

I hope that the students aren’t giving you too much trouble. As I write this I sit at my desk as my students watch our first media study. Teaching History of Interaction has been the best experience and I wish it was an elective at Hogwarts rather than a mandatory subject here. I miss you so much and I cannot wait until the Triwizard Tournament as we will be able to see each other for a few months as our Interaction field trip takes place. My most senior students noticed my ring during the first period. Seriously, get a bigger emerald next time. 

I can’t wait until this summer. I bought my dress last week and I ordered you a set of navy dress robes. They should arrive in a few days. Drinking cocoa, watching films with my students and thinking about you.

Always yours,

(Y/N) 

Snape gave one final half smile at his parchment before the bell rang and he dismissed his class with a wave of his hand. 

A few weeks passed and soon all the other schools arrived for the Triwizard Tournament. As all of the rules were spoken about the tournament, Dumbledore checked his watch. He smiled and stood when Barty Crouch Sr. had finished speaking. 

“Thank you Barty,” he said, addressing the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with a nod. “Today we have another collection of students joining us merely to observe the Tournament. May I present the senior students of Borealis Academy of Magical Learning and their Deputy Headmistress, Ms. (Y/N)(L/N). 

The heads of the students turned as an attractive young witch led the band of formally dressed teenagers to the front of the Gryffindor table, where the students each found their niche. Ms. (L/N) found her way to the Professors’ table and sat herself in between Dumbledore and Professor Snape. 

A hand touched Hermionie’s arm as she looked at the Deputy Headmistress. When she turned to see who it was, a student, a rather attractive one she had to admit, from the Borialis school. 

“I’m sorry.” They said with a soft smile, “Can you pass me the chicken please?”

Hermione smiled, “Sure, can you tell me about your…”

However, she was interrupted by Ron before she could finish her sentence. “Why would she choose to sit beside Snape? There were plenty of empty chairs.”

“Why not?” The student asked with a quizzical expression. “I’m Sam by the way.” They added with a slight grin.

“Snape is horrible!” Ron started with a grimace, “He’s like the worst teacher here, and I’m Ron, Ron Weasly.”

“And I’m Hermione Granger.” Hermione said as she shook Sam’s hand. “Can you tell us about your teachers and curriculum? I have never heard of Borealis.”

Sam gave a hearty chuckle, “Borealis Academy of Magical Learning is in the very Northern part of Canada. It’s a huge castle made of ice. My favourite subject is Transfiguration, however, if it’s teachers you want to know about, Ms. (L/N) is my favourite, she’s everyone’s favourite.” They picked up three of the drumsticks and put them on their plate, they also spooned a large ladle-full of a creamy bisque into a bowl. 

Ron looked over at the young woman who was laughing at something Dumbledore had said. He turned back to Sam, who was happily munching away, and asked, “Are there any bad teachers at your school?” 

Sam smiled, “One that I don’t like. He teaches our mandatory Muggle Subjects class.” Sam shivered, “He gives the most horrible detentions. I also dislike our Magical Music teacher, but only because they’re so stuffy and angsty, I love going to their class.” 

Harry, oblivious to Sam’s presence, jumped in his seat. “Since when did somebody else join us?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Sam, this is Harry Potter, Harry this is Sam, they’re from Canada.” 

Sam gave Harry a little wave. “Hello. So what do you guys think about Hogwarts? Apparently our top four grades go to this Tournament thingy every four years to see a “Fantastic display of Magical Cooperation” as it was put on the permission form.”

“Well,” Hermione stated, “We’re only in Fourth Year, so we haven't seen this before…” She began to ask Sam more questions and they were happy to oblige with answers. Ron, however, was not paying attention, he watched, instead, as Professor Snape slipped his hand gently over Ms. (L/N)’s left one, caressing her fingers gently, where a beautiful silver and emerald engagement ring sat.

Ron gasped and almost knocked his plate onto the ground. Startling Hermione and Sam out of their conversation. 

“What?” Asked Hermione, indignant, as she was in the middle of quizzing Sam about what classes were mandatory in Canada v.s in the UK. 

“Snape’s touching her hand.” Ron said plainly and the quartet turned to look at the point where Severus Snape’s hand covered Ms. (Y/N) (L/N)’s. Hermione went slack-jawed, Harry’s eyes went wide and Sam… Well Sam was smiling their cheerful smile.

“She flaunts that ring like nobody’s business.” Sam commented going back to their meal, “At least we know who this mysterious English fiance of hers is.” 

Sam looked as if they just had an epiphany and turned down the table to shout “Oi! Sara! Check out who’s marrying our teach!”

Heads turned and smiles formed on several faces down the table as gasps of ‘Finally!’ and “Yes!” echoed down the hall. Ms. (L/N) who had heard the commotion shook her head and beamed as she flipped her hand over to take Snape’s in hers. 

(Y/N) laughed quietly as she gazed at her students with joy. She turned to Severus and smiled saying, “Severus, dear, you didn’t tell your students you were engaged, did you?”

Snape sneered at his food while (Y/N) laughed. 

“Engaged? Severus?” Squeaked Professor Flitwick.

“You didn’t tell us!” Minerva McGonagall exclaimed. “Might I see the ring dear?” She asked with a slight tilt of her head. 

(Y/N) smiled and held out her left hand to the Transfiguration teacher as the other woman inspected the ring. “My goodness! It’s very nice!” Poppy Pomfry chimed in sneaking a peek at the jewel in the centre.

“It was my idea,” Severus said glumly, “and it happens to be the stone of the month when we met. And it has our birth flowers carved into the side.”

“You’re forgetting one tiny detail darling.” (Y/N) said with a smirk, “It was my money.”

The other teachers gasped, as (Y/N) shook her head and giggled. “I come from a rather affluent family, it was a drop in the bucket that is my inheritance. I just like to make fun of him when I can.”

Snape rolled his eyes and took her hand again, with no prompting. (Y/N) drew her hand back to her side and turned to smile at Severus. 

She would have a full life ahead of her to tease him, but, for now, joking in front of his co-workers would have to do.

Author’s Note: If you are non-binary or non gender conforming please let me know if I did an OK job with Sam. I wrote them based on the personality of one of my non-binary friends. Just let me know so I can write more realistic non gender conforming characters. 

Author’s Note 2: Please send in requests for characters. All unmarked readers will be automatically assumed Fem. Make sure to send in a plot too. Bye!

[litheammunition]

The worst fans in the world?

Welcome to England

The UK government is racist. Let’s not beat around the bush. Boris Johnson, the Prime Minister, is on record making racist jokes in the recent past. He and his cabinet, despite being almost all first or second generation immigrants, are pushing xenophobic, isolationist policies. They are doing their best to undermine everything that made this country worth being proud of. I have spoken against them at length on this blog.

But that doesn’t make the whole country racist. In fact, at least half of the country probably despise them. Even in their recent electoral success, they got fewer than 14 million votes, in a country with population of about 67 million. They only lead in age groups over 45, and trail in the young, working class, football-loving public. The whole election was portrayed as between two major parties, and the other one had been accused of anti-Semitism. Some voters actually went Tory in order to be anti-racist. It’s complicated.

Some fans of the England football team are racist. That’s disappointing, but no surprise. England, like all countries, has some racists living in it. The people who are racist tend to be nationalists, and tend to be fans of the national team. But there is nothing inherently racist about supporting England. There are tens of millions of non-racist England fans who are every bit as appalled by racism as anyone in the world. More, perhaps, because it’s closer to home.

England is a multicultural nation. In previous years, I was able to watch World Cup games in bars and enjoy the atmosphere of fans of the Netherlands or Colombia there passionately cheering their team on. Covid makes everything worse, but my Welsh and Italian neighbours were flying their colours and discussing their team’s chances with the English side by side. I watched the final with a French fan, who wanted revenge for Italy’s last tournament win: another penalty shoot-out after a one-all draw, helped by the sending off of star player Zidane. That incident was allegedly provoked by an Italian player calling his Algerian mother a terrorist, so there are still sore feelings there.

Meet the team

But the England team are about as far from racist as it is possible to be. In recent years, Raheem Sterling has taken it upon himself to be a vocal campaigner against racism in sport, and has been widely lauded for his work promoting racial equality. The England team have led the push for teams to take the knee in the Euros in protest against racism, despite heavy opposition from right-wing politicians who said they would boycott England games as a result. 

If you hate the right-wing Tory government, you support this England team. Just today, Tyrone Mings has called out the Home Secretary, Priti Patel, for her previous comments. Marcus Rashford has led campaigns to combat austerity,  gone toe-to-toe with the Prime Minister on multiple occasions, and won. He had ensured that thousands of children in poverty are fed, whether by donating from his own pocket, working to coordinate local businesses and food banks, or pressuring the government so hard they backed down.

For a progressive, anti-racist fan, this England team are incredibly easy to love. Even the manager, Gareth Southgate, promotes their campaigning for social justice. When the right-wingers complained about taking the knee and telling footballers to stay out of politics, putting political pressure on the team, he wrote an open letter to the nation defending them.

I know my voice carries weight, not because of who I am but because of the position that I hold. At home, I’m below the kids and the dogs in the pecking order but publicly I am the England men’s football team manager. I have a responsibility to the wider community to use my voice, and so do the players.

It’s their duty to continue to interact with the public on matters such as equality, inclusivity and racial injustice, while using the power of their voices to help put debates on the table, raise awareness and educate.

By contrast, the people who hate this England team the most are the racists, the Tories, the Brexiteers who don’t like these young, working class black lads talking back to them. They write biased headlines and try to organise a boycott of the games, predicting England will go out early because of their anti-racism posturing. The rest of us stand with players and love them all the more for it.

Never stopped me dreaming

They are a likeable group, one of the youngest in the tournament, and talented too. There’s no denying that, when seven members of the squad started the Champions League final the month before. Another four English players started for Manchester United in the Europa League final, with two England squad members on the bench. It was easy to get emotionally invested, and start to hope that at last we had a team that could do us proud after so many years of hurt and disappointment.

But when England fans started getting enthusiastic and looking forward to the tournament, other fans began the negativity. A section of the fans of the Ireland national team, which failed to qualify for Euro 2020, joined those of Scotland and Wales in mobbing all social media posts about England with insults and attempts to bring that excitement down. 

Every take was accused of ‘typical English arrogance’. Articles about the draw, including who England might play if they made it out of the group? That was paraded around as a prime example of arrogance, even if every other country was doing the same, because the draw was all we had to speculate about at that stage. 

Articles worried that England would go out in the first knockout round, unable to beat better sides like France and Portugal, and would be better off coming second in the group to avoid them? That was called even more arrogant. That’s right - if you’re English, even being afraid of teams you respect as better than you is apparently arrogant. I wonder what they think the opposite of arrogance would look like.

Other teams were more bullish. I saw plenty of France fans saying they were going to follow the 2018 World Cup with another victory, and most English punters were happy to agree, bowing before their obvious superiority. I saw a lot of Scotland fans, drawn in the same group of England, saying they would thrash their southern neighbours. Many Welsh fans were still going on about their semi-final run five years ago, saying they would go further than England again, to which English fans (including myself) looked at the draw and gloomily agreed.

I, together with many England fans, fully expected to go out in the Round of 16. A few suggested the quarter finals, or tentatively proposed that England were arguably in the top four sides in the tournament, so might make the semis. I don’t remember any serious expectation of making the final, let alone winning it. We’ve been burnt far too many times before for that. All those years of hurt have bred a nation of pessimists, most of whom can’t ever remember seeing their side make a final. There was no ‘entitlement’ from a fanbase like that. They could dream, but they had no reason to expect.

Still, the fanbase were attacked as arrogant and obnoxious on all of these posts, told that they were entitled if they hoped for a quarter final, told this was typical English egotism, as if every other decent footballing nation wasn’t hoping for the same. Perhaps the abusive Scottish or Irish fans had no visibility of those other nations and their fans, and little experience of major tournaments or hope for themselves, so they made an honest misunderstanding. Or perhaps they just wanted to get some jabs in.

Want some proof?  When BBC pundits were asked to predict a winner, twelve said France, two Belgium, one Italy. Germany, Portugal, even Turkey were mentioned, but none of them thought England. The same happened with other journalists: FourFourTwo’s writers settled on France (5), Belgium (2) and Portugal (1). The Athletic were the same. Nobody actually thought England would win it, but the funny thing is that, if they had, they would have been one of the closest.

Imagine that. If, before the tournament, a pundit had unironically suggested England would reach the final, play 120 minutes and lose by one penalty, having been leading for most of the game (and going 2-1 up in the shootout), they would have been laughed at as wildly optimistic. But even that wouldn’t have been ‘arrogant’ or ‘entitled’... because they would have been right. 

The hype inevitably ramped up as the tournament approached, but then quickly fizzled out when the names on the team sheet were replaced by actually watching England play. Just like the nation, the team were set up with a pessimist’s strategy, a defensive line-up to ward against other teams rather than going gung-ho and thinking we could smash them. 

There is a sense that the stars aligned for England this time. They didn’t. Stars Rashford and Sterling were badly out of form, and unable to even warm up with the team before the tournament, as all of those European finalists were too late to arrive for the warm-up games. Those matches were uncomfortably tight, missing the core of the team, seeing pundit’s favourite Trent Alexander-Arnold injured and withdrawn from the squad, and with key players Jordan Henderson, Harry Maguire and Jack Grealish already ruled out of starting the opening games through injury. By the time the opening ceremony came around, nobody was in any position to feel confident.

Bad behaviour

England made it out of the group with quiet dignity, playing cautious football against opponents offered a lot of respect. In fact, when Scotland game to London to play their game, the headlines were all about the Scottish fans, as 20,000 travelled to London despite only being allowed 2,600 seats, and one man wearing nothing but a kilt inadvertently flashing commuters on the Tube.

The contentious point at this stage was still taking the knee. The England team were booed for doing so, by their own right-wing fans as well as their cousins across Europe. In their previous game, against Poland, Twitter was full of Polish fans mocking the English players for kneeling and being so weak as to be so sensitive about racism. England kneeled anyway, and beat them. They didn’t seem like the bad guys of Europe then.

Scotland were originally going to kneel, then decided not to when it became politically controversial, switching to standing against racism instead, then did another U-turn under public outrage to compromise and kneel in solidarity for the England game. That was a nice touch, but the England players holding firm to their convictions was nicer. 

It’s worth pointing out at this stage that the booers were a minority. In fact, a YouGov poll on 10 June found that 54% of English fans supported taking the knee, compared to 39% opposed. The relevant numbers for Scotland were 49% and 42%. Of the nine nations surveyed, they were one of only two where the anti-racism gesture didn’t have a majority of support. 

The other racism narrative in the group concerned the Czech Republic. Scottish club Rangers had recently played Slavia Prague, and Rangers midfielder Glen Kamara was allegedly racially abused by one of the Czech players. He apparently called him ‘a fucking monkey’. With Scotland playing the Czechs in their first game, that was obviously the story in the build up. 

It wasn’t helped by fellow Czech player Tomas Soucek, who gave an interview ahead of the tournament defending his teammate banned for that abuse, and complaining that the UK is too sensitive to racism.

I fought for Ondrej all the time. I believe that he did not tell him anything racist, no one proved anything about him.

“Yet a lot of people in the UK condemned him and he received a heavy sentence of ten matches from UEFA. I found it absurd. I know him so well that I can’t imagine him saying anything racist.

“I see how sensitive the British are to racism every day. Two cultures collide because we think a little differently than they do.

“Of course, it’s right they want to fight racism, but sometimes they go to such extremes that, in my opinion, it’s counterproductive.”

Again, the English didn’t seem like the racist villains of Europe then. Quite the opposite. Heck, even before that game, Marko Arnautovic scored for Austria in their opening match and celebrated by using racial slurs against two North Macedonian players, resulting in a one game ban for racism. Compared to all of that, England’s diverse, young, progressive team of explicit anti-racism activists seemed pretty admirable.

Knock-out blows

Then things worsened. England drew Germany in the first knockout round, and a wave of jingoism was dredged up from the depths of World War II. Songs were sung about the war, nationalistic nostalgia for old battles, when the opposition tried to invade and they were sent soundly packing by our plucky troops. It was insensitive and stupid, but the same description applies equally to the Scottish national anthem sung with gusto before the England game, or literally any of the build up from the Scottish side.

Anthems were the problem. A minority of stupid England fans started taking the atmosphere too far, booing during the German national anthem before the game began. It was embarrassing and disrespectful. Of course, they aren’t the first to do it. In the 2011 Nations Cup, one of the most recent tournaments Scotland and Ireland have played in, the fans of both teams booed throughout God Save the Queen. The Scottish fans were previously condemned by the Irish FA for doing the same thing in 2008.

But the knockout stages were also where another form of abuse really took hold. Even the England fans who booed the anthems let the game go once it was done. They didn’t spend the next few days searching for Germany or Ukraine or Denmark fans to mock and tear away any positive sentiment. But that’s exactly what Scottish and Irish fans did to England fans, to the extent that it was impossible to enjoy a positive post about England without it being drowned in negativity and insults.

Rivalry is one thing. England have a rivalry with Germany, even though of course Germany don’t see England as their real rivals, in a similar way to England’s relationship with the other Home Nations. But England fans weren’t spending most of their energy pleading for Germany to fail, didn’t loudly support France against Germany, change their social media names to the French flag, searching through German tags to jeer that they were going to get thrashed, and rush to rub it in when they lost. They didn’t do that to Wales when they played Denmark, and didn’t do it to anyone.

Instead, they let them have nice things, and focused on the positive support of their own team, even if some idiots took things too far on the actual matchday. These keyboard warriors from Ireland and Scotland, on the other hand, were purely negative throughout, or at least from the moment of Scotland’s exit. They were hear to boo not only the English anthem, but every single England press briefing, training session, team photo... English support pages couldn't post anything without abuse from trolls. A couple of anthems is nothing to that all-consuming bitterness.

On the next Tuesday, with the tournament finished and done, it was an unrelated post by the England women's team building up excitement for their upcoming pictures, attracting a gang of people with Italian flags in their names to mock them for their male counterparts’ defeat. Why seek it out? Would England fans do that if their team had won the final, or would they just be ecstatic celebrating amongst themselves? Isn't that enough, without having to kick others whilst they're down?

On the Wednesday, they had been poring over footage of the England team collecting their silver medals, and I was greeted that morning with a Twitter filled with complaints that they had taken them off afterwards: England were held up for criticism of their childish behaviour, proving they didn’t care about fair play and sportsmanship. But that’s traditional for finalists to do, both in England and Italy. Anyone who actually watches football, other than just watching the England games to criticism them, would known that. 

In fact, anyone with empathy would understand it. After running themselves into the ground for over two hours and losing with the heartbreaking last penalty, the players were willing to queue with grace and collect their medal out of respect, but they don’t exactly then want to walk around with the ‘we lost’ around their necks when they were on the verge of tears. There will be time to look back and treasure it later, when it doesn’t hurt quite so much. They have the right to grieve and process it in their own time. Someone seeing them as young human beings, rather than national caricatures, might understand that.

But I don’t blame the Italians for these comments. Despite the flags in their profiles, I doubt those people were actually Italian, because many Irish, Scottish and Welsh fans were all dressing up in green white and red by this stage, just as they had worn a Denmark flag, and a Ukraine flag, and a German flag before that. James McClean, an Irish player whose team weren’t good enough to make the tournament, even bought a Germany shirt to wear and posted a picture stating his wish for England to fail.

Before each game, Twitter was filled with people telling me England were about to get thrashed by [opposition of the day], and that the world would laugh at us when we were. It wasn’t a happy environment. I might suggest that the most toxic fanbase in Europe isn't one who boos opposition for a game then forgets about them, but one who then stalks them throughout the tournament, desperately hoping for them to fail, fingers trembling to launch the abuse and rub salt into their wounds in the moment it hurt the most. 

I get picking another team to support. Irish fans not having a horse in the race takes some of the interest out of the tournament, so it makes sense to have a bit of fun by adopting another team to support. The last time England failed to qualify, in Euro 2008, I adopted Romania as underdogs. But this isn’t that. This is the opposite: not choosing another horse to cheer on, but choosing the fences, hoping that one specific horse falls and breaks its leg so you can laugh at it. Anti-supporting. Pure negativity. This isn’t ‘a bit of fun’, it’s straight-up toxic.

Taking a dive

Things grew even worse after the Denmark game. Let’s be clear: England dominated the match. Possession was 60:40. They had 20 shots, 10 on target, compared to Denmark’s 6 and 3 on target. They could have had more, but they massively eased off after scoring the winning goal. They also had the moral high ground, given that Denmark committed more than twice the number of fouls (21 to 10. On both counts, they probably deserved to win.

But the match was ultimately won due to a rebound from an England penalty, awarded due to what was perceived as a soft foul on Sterling. From there, the discourse ramped up another notch. England were now branded as cheats. The anti-Sterling hate campaign started, every England post filled with newly-Italian, previously-Denmark fans saying he and Kane were talentless divers who could only win by cheating. The anti-fans had been struggling to find a justification for their vendetta, especially as that pre-tournament English ‘arrogance’ had been borne out by a run to the final, but now they found one.

Dirty, cheating England. Of course, the opposite is true. They were literally criticised in previous tournaments for being too nice, too polite, not street-wise enough, whilst other teams had the edge it takes to win. Their position in the Fair Play table at previous European Championships was as follows:

Euro 2000: 1st Euro 2004: 2nd Euro 2008: DNQ Euro 2012: 3rd Euro 2016: 2nd

Now they have wised up, and they are criticised for doing the same things that other teams do. In the same match, Denmark’s only goal came from a free-kick from an equally soft foul (Norgaard going to ground under no provocation), and Denmark players broke the laws of the game when the free-kick was taken in disrupting the England wall. But of course the anti-fans only see one thing.

It was even funnier that they used these tirades about cheating, diving England as their justification to support Italy to thrash them in the final, when literally the previous game had seen Italian striker Ciro Immobile blatantly dive and lie down in the penalty box until miraculously recovering when a goal went in. Italy vice captain Leonardo Bonucci even had the gall to come out and justify it, claiming that the happiness of the goal had the power to make the pain go away. 

But again, the anti-fans betray that they only watch the England games to find things to abuse them for, rather than just enjoying the tournament or checking out the teams they now decide to support. One even commented on the Sterling penalty to say ‘if an Italian player did this, the English pundits would be calling for their head’... when an Italian player had literally just done it, and the reaction in England had been mostly amusement. 

Of the four BBC pundits shown the clip, only Alan Shearer was not amused. Even then, he was teased by the other three, who claimed he would have done the same. So much for the implication that England pundits don’t English players dive - in fact, these anti-fans are betraying the exact opposite bias. This is also an interestingly novel use of a hypothetical, to describe a situation which literally just happened and went the other way. The anti-fans are now imagining their own separate realities to get angry about.

Together with the claim that England were the cheats of the tournament, the penalty let to claims that the whole thing was rigged for England to win, that they were the team benefitting from referee bias. Again, that claim is laughable given that England actually had a stronger penalty claim denied in the same game, and didn’t get anything when Sterling was taken down on runs into the box in the Germany game either.

England’s history in major tournaments since 1966 has involved major refereeing decisions going against them in half of the games where they were knocked out. Goals were contentiously disallowed in 1998, 2004 and 2010, Maradona’s famous handball was allowed, and England also had players sent off in 1998 and 2006. The idea that they benefit from a refereeing conspiracy is ludicrous.

The only really crime was committed by one England fan, who it emerged had shone a laser pen at the Danish goalkeeper in an attempt to put him off for the penalty. Of course, he saved the penalty, so it didn’t work and the idea England only won through cheating again falls flat. But still the abuse came raining in, using that as the latest excuse to call the England squad talentless cheats. 

When that didn’t quite do it, the anti-fans pulled out the big guns, and said they had to will England to fail because of the country’s racism and colonial past. I mean, it’s the Euros. All of the big sides were European colonial nations. In fact, most of England’s knockout opponents - Germany, Denmark, Italy - had more a history of invading England than the other way around, which makes that moral basis a bit questionable.

The racism claim is similarly weak as an excuse for choosing Italy over England, when Italian football has long been notorious for its racism issue. AC Milan players Tiemoue Bakayoko and Franck Kessie were racially abused in April 2019, the same month as Juventus player Moise Kean. In September 2019, Romelu Lukaku was the victim. In November 2019, Mario Balotelli suffered the same. The offending clubs were not punished by the league or Italian FA. In fact, the problem seems to go all the way to the top.

“I remember that when we were young, we also booed players with normal, white skin,” the Lazio president said in response. “Booing doesn’t always have a discriminatory connotation.”

“It is wrong if someone boos black footballers, but it is even more wrong when someone who earns €3 million drops into the area and is also happy to gain a penalty,” said the head of the Italian Olympic committee.

In response to the Balotelli incident, where he reacted to racial abuse by throwing the ball into the crowd, the manager of Lecce said that “racism must not be exploited”, claiming that racial discrimination is linked to the players’ behaviour on the field and justified in the event that the behaviour is negative.

In response to the Kean incident, where the player celebrated a goal in front of the fans with his arms outstretched and was racially abused, Juventus and Italy player Bonucci came out to say something similar. “The blame is 50-50,″ he said. “He could have done it differently.” England player and anti-racism campaigner Raheem Sterling called him out for that, having recently been racially abused when playing for England against Montenegro and stood up for himself against the rival fans.

In response to the Lukaku incident, where he was subjected to monkey noises,  a statement from the fan group of his own club Inter Milan said “We are sorry you thought what happened in Cagliari was racist. You have to understand that Italy is not like many other north European countries where racism is a real problem.” and argued the monkey chants should be taken as a form of respect.

The examples are everywhere: monkey chants, even bananas thrown in the pitch. A major Italian sports paper previewed a match between Roma and Inter with caricatures of two black players and the headline ‘Black Friday’. When Serie A was finally pressured into running an anti-racism campaign, they caused even more offence by using monkeys on the posters. A pundit on Italian TV said the only way to stop Lukaku was to give him ten bananas to eat.

When English fans have travelled to Italy in recent years, they have been stabbed by hardcore fans of the Italian teams. Rome is notorious for it. When Liverpool visited Naples for a Champions League game in September 2019, fans were attacked by a group of men wielding belts and one was hospitalised. Nothing had changed since the visit to the same city in 2010, when Naples fans went out hunting for Liverpool fans with knives. 

Perhaps most famously, Liverpool fan Sean Cox was put into a coma after a visit to Rome, where a group of 50 or 60 Italian fans with balaclavas and belts roamed the city looking to do exactly that. Any basic search for Italian club ‘ultras’ reveals that they are far more extreme than any English hooliganism. The above are just the stories we hear about because English fans were the victims. Liverpool fans don’t get this sort of treatment when they go to Manchester for the biggest rivalry in English football.  In fact, the closest in the British Isles is probably the Old Firm derby in Scotland, which are now usually played in the afternoon because evening games were marked by sectarian and tribal violence. 

Even in the past year, following the Kamara incident above, Rangers players including him were filmed celebrating their trophy win by allegedly singing a version of Sweet Caroline with the lyrics ‘Fuck the Pope’. This would be a reference to the sectarian conflict between the traditionally Protestant Rangers and the traditionally Catholic Celtic, and led to a renewal of abuse of Kamara from Celtic fans on social media, with many retracting any sympathy they’d had and saying he deserved the racism.

Before this week, the worst harassment of an England player in recent memory was probably that of Declan Rice, who chose England over Ireland after being eligible for both and received death threats from Irish fans against him and his family. It’s convenient for these Scottish and Ireland fans to now act like only England’s fanbase has its hardcore idiots, and use that sense of superiority to get away from acknowledging their own problems.

But even if Scotland and Ireland were perfect, claiming that the world was supporting Italy against England due to racism and violence would look stupid in the context of the examples above. None of those things are routinely seen in English football, they are punished hard where they do happen, and the authorities certainly know better. 

It’s therefore more than a little strange to see these anti-fans going on about how they are rooting for England - a diverse, anti-racist team - to fail because England is racist, when that means supporting Italy and wearing their colours instead. Sterling played for England against Bonucci for Italy. Who are the anti-racists cheering on? Again, it’s clear that these justifications are post-hoc and they just want an excuse to spew hate with a free pass.

The Final Insult

Unlike the Denmark game, England were outplayed against Italy. However, like the Denmark game, they maintained the moral upper hand, committing 13 fouls compared to 21 for a ‘dirty, cheating’ Italian side, five of whom received yellow cards for their aggressive and cynical fouling. There could have been reds, but again the refereeing decisions didn’t go England’s way. Watch the clip of Chiellini grabbing Bukayo Saka by the collar as he was through on goal, choking a 19 year old to cheat and stop him scoring. Or watch Jorginho stamp on Jack Grealish with his studs out.

Do the anti-fans anti-supporting England as the bad guys still believe that, if they ever did? There was no admission they were wrong. Having criticised England for playing ‘smart’ against Denmark and winning, did those people watch England play nobly against Italy and lose and commend them for at least being the good guys, and sympathise with them? No, they jumped on the first chance to mock them as pathetic losers.

It became clear, if it wasn’t already, that their only agenda was hatred and bitterness. The various reasons given were just a way to dress it up to be socially acceptable. It wasn’t anti-racism, if they targeted Sterling after the Denmark game and cheered on Bonucci as he scored both the equalising goal and the equalising penalty for Italy, then jeered the three young black men who missed for England and mocked them alongside the racists.

It was the worst possible way England could have gone out, Rashford missing the decisive penalty, giving new life to his knee-boycotting right-wing opponents who had been humbled into silence by the England team’s success without their support, followed by two other black players. My heart sank, and not just from the defeat: I knew it would embolden the disgusting racists to come crawling back out of the woodwork, having been kept quiet by the brilliance of this loveable, diverse team, and of Sterling in particular. 

England were uniting the country against the racist right, but going out this way gave them everything they needed to sow division again. That’s what I’d been trying to tell the anti-fans, who were rooting for these same players to fail, whilst claiming anti-racism as the reason. They didn’t care. They just wanted an excuse for their obsessive, aggressive nationalist crusade, and were dressing it up in sheep’s clothing in any way they could.

As with the abuse of Sterling and anti-support of the England team, their nationalism ultimately found itself aligned with racists in England and abroad, whilst the rest of us - the team and the moderate, supportive public - were assailed from both sides. We and the team hate English racists more than anyone, because we have to live with them. If anyone actually cared about opposing them, they would champion and support the team standing against them, and wish Rashford score the winning penalty to shut them up. 

Nothing would have done more to hurt England racism than that. Rashford would have cemented his national treasure status, and been able to do even more good. No politician would dare argue with the country’s hero. Those who had campaigned against him and wanted to boycott England for taking the knee would have been disgraced and humbled. 

There is a story told of France’s World Cup win in 1998, when a diverse team united the country in their victory, striking a blow against racism and humiliating the far-right politicians who had criticised the squad (just as those in England did this year).

The World Cup was a particular embarrassment for Le Pen, who had called the French side "unworthy" representatives who did not even know the words of "La Marseillaise".

France's World Cup hero Zinedine Zidane was a member of the marginalised group targeted by Le Pen in the south of France. The son of Algerian immigrants, Zidane had grown up on the tough housing estates of Marseilles, where the National Front enjoyed significant political support.

Yet after his two goals in the final more than a million people gathered on Paris's Champs-Elysées to chant Zidane's name.

In defeat, the opposite is true. If nothing would hurt English racism more than Rashford scoring the winning penalty, nothing would inflame it more than him missing, which is what happened. Worse, he was followed by two other black players who had their penalties saved, confirming England’s defeat. All of the racists, the right-wingers who had been furiously silenced by the success of this multi-cultural, kneeling, outspoken team, came for their heads. 

It was disgusting to see. The sheer volume of racially-charged abuse directed towards these players, even if they hadn’t been young, even if they hadn’t been good, loveable guys, was more upsetting than the defeat itself had been. At least the players losing with dignity, comforting each other, had left me with some pride in the national team. The aftermath wiped that national pride away. 

I was sickened, I was depressed, but one emotion I didn’t feel was surprise. From the moment Rashford missed, there was a certain sick inevitability about the backlash I knew he would receive. When Saka and Sancho followed, and England’s defeat was confirmed, my first words were that this was the worst possible way it could have happened. I was heartbroken for them, knowing that the blame would weigh on them for years. and knowing that the racists would have a field day.

It wasn’t hard to predict. When France were knocked out by Switzerland the week before, with Kylian Mbappé failing to convert the decisive penalty, he was showered in racist abuse. One week later, Rashford, Sancho and Saka suffered the same fate. That was one reason why I couldn’t understand people rooting for them to miss, unless you were Italian. Why would you wish that fate on anyone, let alone these likeable young guys trying to do some good in the world? 

But the anti-fans did just that, jeering Rashford and laughing at his miss, not because of who he was or anything he’d done, but because of nationalism. Pure hatred of an admirable young black man based on his nationality. They cheered the miss, just as they’d cheered Bonucci’s goal. They cheered for the anti-racists to lose, and so the racists won, and they celebrated and mocked the anti-racists side by side. Four days later, England posts are still met with taunts for missing the penalties from these anti-fans, who have nothing better to do but lash out at teams that went further than theirs.

All of that might not be so deplorable, if these people weren’t using anti-racism as their justification, saying they wanted England to fail because England = racist. Well, the reaction to the final proved that England has racists, as I said at the start. But it also proved that wanting the England national team to fail is the opposite way to go about that. It didn’t defeat racism, it emboldened it, and rather than offer support to the victims the anti-fans joined in with their own anti-England taunts to make their misery even worse.

They might have deluded themselves that it’s punching up, but it’s punching down. Punishing the victims of racism for the racism of their neighbours, when they are the ones who have to deal with it. Judging us all the same in their hatred for our nationality, with no empathy for the anti-racists in England, no realisation we have more in common than we do to racists anywhere, because bolstering their sense of national superiority is more important.

I’ve seen similar pleas from the United States. The northern states mock the south as a racist, right-wing backwater. But good people live in the south. Even if the stereotype is true, it follows that there are victims of racism living in the south. How are they helped by calling their home a backwater? If it is racist, they look north for support, only to see people mocking the other side of their identity, the cultures and communities they love. National hate doesn’t counter racist hate, it supplements it.

People in DC sneering at Virginia doesn’t help, it just further entrenches the racists there to combat that smug superiority with their own supremacist identity, and ensures the rest are attacked on both fronts, having to live with racists and having their own home mocked as racist by outsiders, and encourages the people in DC to overlook problems on their own doorstep. What helps is unity, support, working to fight these problems together, not a game of ‘we’re better than you’.

Seriously, whose first reaction to racism is to use it to score points, to prove their own superiority? Some have used it as an excuse to mock 'the English', others have used it as an excuse to put down 'football fans', painting them all with the same brush to confirm their own existing prejudices. One is nationalism, one is classism. Neither are anti-racism activism. It’s purely an exercise in ego, smugly announcing the superiority of your nationality or class. It doesn't help the victims, who belong to that same group you are belittling. Saka is not consoled by being told everyone hates the English. Sancho isn't comforted by being told football fans are animals. That's just insulting them for a second time.

Of course, the abuse wasn’t just from English fans. Plenty of Italians are their new supporters joined in calling the players useless monkeys, anti-English nationalism hitting those extremes just as English nationalism was. It turns out that the tribal jingoism of these campaigns are always dangerous fires to stoke. Research by anti-racism campaign Kick it Out found that 70% of racist abuse in English football is sent from overseas.

“These are not football fans,” he says. “They are people who have never been inside an English football ground.” In part that’s because – while our problem with racism is acute – we don’t have a monopoly on being morons. Italian and French football fans are as likely, if not more likely, to abuse black players with monkey emojis.

None of this is in any way to deny or dilute the sheer awfulness of the racism displayed by English fans. I condemn that in the strongest possible terms, and as a country we need to be better. It is simply to point out that those using this as an excuse to dunk on the English as a racist, hate-worthy nation are factually - as well as morally - wrong.

There is just this idea, particularly amongst Irish and Scottish fans who only look as far as England and are completely ignorant of what goes on in comparable countries, or people who tuned in for this tournament and are reacting to behaviours (such as the silver medals above) as if England invented them for the first time. 

Yes, some England fans are racist towards players, and it’s awful. Yes, some England fans are hooligans, and it’s awful. But go back and read some of those examples from Italy above, and tell me if that’s a good reason to uniquely condemn England, or to support Italy against them. Did anybody outside Wembley get stabbed?

It’s also not even just Italy. By the same token, I don’t think racism or violence are an ‘Italian problem’, just as it’s wrong to see them as an English problem. In March 2019 a Manchester United fan was stabbed in Paris after a PSG game. The previous European Championships, held in France, saw England fans critically injured after assaults from Russia fans, followed by violence from Croatian and Turkish fans after their games against the Czech Republic and Spain.

In the 2018 World Cup, the Serbia and Switzerland teams were punished for nationalist gestures referencing the Serbia-Albania conflict. Mexican fans directed homophobic abuse towards Germany goalkeeper Manuel Neuer, who had spoken against homophobia. When France won the tournament, there was rioting back home and two people died. This year, the same happened in Italy. But people only see the crowds outside Wembley and shake their head at hooliganism as this uniquely English character flaw, without bothering to check the international news.

England fans are given this reputation, but they are by no means an outlier or exceptional in this. The anti-fan nationalists will conveniently forget incidents of fan aggression in their own countries, and either feign or display their ignorance of England’s opponents by backing them regardless of what their own fans and players are like, because their principles and judgement only apply when England is in the dock.

Look at the Polish and Czech and Austrian examples this year, even without the Serbia and Switzerland and France and Russia and Mexico and Turkey and Croatia examples from the last couple of tournaments. In many of those, England fans are sneered at by a lot of Europe not because they’re seen as racist, but because they’re seen as too sensitive to racism. When anti-fans say ‘everyone hates England’ and align themselves with that, they’re not aligning themselves against racism, just against England.

When supporting England’s opponents, nobody did the slightest research on Ukraine, who were issued a stadium ban by UEFA in response to racist abuse and the use of laser pointers in a Euro 2016 qualifying game. That came just two days after Ukrainian champions Dynamo Kiev were forced to play two European games without fans after racist abuse of Chelsea players. Nothing had improved by March 2019, when Chelsea again visited and player Callum Hudson-Odoi was racially abused.

In November 2019, a Brazilian player was subjected to monkey chants in a Ukrainian league game, and stuck his middle finger up to the racists in return. The response of the Ukrainian authorities was to ban him for the next game. But the anti-fans were happy to show how opposed they were to English racism by supporting Ukraine against them.

Even Germany have had a chequered recent past. Mesut Ozil, named the Germany player of the year in 2011, 2012, 2013, 2015, and 2016, quit the national team in 2018 over perceived racism in the German football association, having been scapegoated and received abuse and threats from German fans. "I am German when we win, but I am an immigrant when we lose," he said. The next year, German players Leroy Sane and Ilkay Gundogan were racially harassed whilst playing for the national team.

UEFA has its own issues. At a tournament during pride month, they have completely failed to stand up to the homophobia of certain host countries, even banning Germany from doing it by decorating their stadium in rainbow colours. When Neuer chose to wear a rainbow captain’s armband instead, they tried to ban that too, until U-turning under pressure. When Germany played England, Harry Kane wore a rainbow armband in solidarity. 

But again, England are the villains of Europe, and we are on the moral high ground with everybody else against them. Never mind that Russia, Hungary, Turkey are all in this tournament. UEFA have again given hosting duties to Azerbaijan, as they did for the Europa League final in May 2019, leading to an Armenian Arsenal player not being able to attend or play. This time the authorities just confiscated a fan’s rainbow flags.

You have to put England fans booing anthems into context. The previous time they were charged for it was in a game against Bulgaria in 2019, when both teams were punished by UEFA. England were charged for booing the anthem. Bulgaria were charged for booing them anthem, throwing objects, making monkey noises towards Rashford, Mings and Sterling, and doing Nazi salutes. But the anti-fans would just see England’s booing and support Bulgaria against them.

If you want to pretend that your hatred of England is based on politics, and devote all of your campaigning to that hatred, and support these other countries against them, you betray your ignorance. The world is full of awfulness. If you think it’s an England thing, you haven’t been paying attention.

Excuses, excuses

So now we all hate England and want them to fail because England is a racist country. That clears that up. We were all hating England and wanting them to fail because they were arrogant and entitled, and then it was because they were disrespectful, and then it was because they were cheats, but now we’ve found a much stronger excuse for own own nationalism, for doing what we wanted to do anyway.

I know that this hatred isn’t about Sterling’s dive, or the booing of the German anthem, or any of that. I know because it started before a ball was kicked, and even before that ball was delivered by a remote control car. Fans of the Ireland national team, who lost to Slovakia in their first play-off game, were voicing their resentment way back when the squad was announced. Fans of the Scotland national team, who scraped through their own play-offs but then went out at the bottom of their group, joined them soon afterwards, donning Germany shirts before their own defeated players had even changed out of theirs.

That is not normal. A rivalry between Scotland and England in Group D was expected, sure. We saw something similar with England and Wales in Euro 2016, with a build up to their game. But there was no need for the Wales team to wildly celebrate England’s getting knocked out in the next round as if they’d just won the whole thing. 

The English were largely happy to watch and cheer them on rather than ordering Belgium flags and doing all they could to ruin their fun. After all, a large proportion of the Wales squad hailed from England, which was another reason tribal nationalism was difficult to support. I wonder how Che Adams, Scotland’s best attacking threat, would feel to read all of these abusive comments about the country he was born in, grew up in, and has lived in all his life.

He was happy to identify as English right up to March 2021, when the Scottish FA offered him a chance to start in Euro 2020. He was eligible thanks to his maternal grandmother, but had opted to play for England in 2015 and actually turned down Scotland when they approached him in 2017. It seems that only qualifying for an international tournament has turned him Scottish.

It’s funny how fans are happy to hate and attack a whole nationality, but still cheer them on when they’re playing for them. There’s another parallel with the racists there: as Ozil said, he is German when they win, but an immigrant otherwise. England’s penalty takers learnt that this country’s racist underbelly are sadly no different, and they are only willing to respect diversity whilst it serves them.

Of course, England’s squad is one of the most diverse in the tournament, also filled with first, second, and third generation immigrants. Kane, Sterling, Saka, Rashford, Grealish, Sancho, Rice, Phillips, Walker, and Maguire all played a part in the semi or final, having been eligible to play for another team, and the vast majority of England fans have taken the whole squad into their hearts. Until the abuse of the penalty takers by a small minority, this diverse team were beloved across the nation.

Why wouldn’t they be? The players and manager have shown themselves to be decent, dignified, respectful people. I read Raheem Sterling’s story, and wonder how these anti-fans can want him to fail with such aggression. I look at Gareth Southgate’s journey, being scapegoated as the penalty failure in Euro 1996, and growing to become the eloquent, compassionate, humble leader he is today. The way he hugged a crying Saka, and came out in the press conference to take the bullet for his players, was incredibly emotional for anyone with empathy. 

(Perhaps Southgate can be contrasted with the Wales manager Ryan Giggs, if you want to read up on the episode where he tore apart his family by cheating on his wife and trying to censor the press and sue Twitter to cover it up, or the one when he tore apart his other family by repeatedly sleeping with his brother’s wife, including getting her pregnant weeks before their wedding, and leaving his brother estranged from their mum because she chose Ryan and his millions over the victim of their feud, or the current news stories concerning his appearances in court on charges of domestic violence and abuse.)

But of course the anti-fans missed it. Whilst the rest of us were watching Kalvin Phillips, who had covered the most distance of any player in the tournament, make the effort after 120 minutes to run and console Saka, they were rushing to mock the 19 year old for his failure, and mock England for another heartbreak.  He was still lost in the midst of the Italian celebrations whilst jubilant haters were rubbing it in, once again fighting side by side with the racists mocking him too.

High horses, white horses

Of course, it’s no surprise that England had loved this diverse team. They were representing a diverse country, and England also had one of the most multicultural fanbases in the tournament. It feels weird to root against them on anti-racism grounds, just because such diversity also attracts racists. Regions with more immigration tend to see more anti-immigration campaigners, as we see in the US along the Mexican border, or UKIP winning their first MPs on the Kent and Essex coasts. But as mentioned with the southern states above, that doesn’t justify looking down on the whole community for having both more minorities and more racists, just because the two tend to come together.

It’s easy not to have racist abuse when you have no black players in your team.  The Ireland team colours are white as well as green. Adams, imported from England, was the first non-white player for Scotland in a tournament. It’s safe to say that if Rashford, Sancho and Saka were white, or if it had been Kane and Maguire who missed their penalties, there would have been no racial abuse in England either.

People in all white communities don’t get to look down at diverse communities, which have both minorities and racists, and call them inferior. It’s easy not to have visible racism when you have no diversity, but that doesn’t make you superior. That is itself a racist outlook. Multi-ethnic communities may have more ethnic tensions, all across the world, but you don’t get to smugly look down on them as somehow lesser than your homogeneous one.

A true anti-racist would support the diverse community, and support those suffering from racism, not tar them with the same brush on the basis of their nationality, or end up punishing black people for the same racism they have to live with. But that’s what hating the England team is. It seems perverse to abuse and hope a diverse team will fail, simply on the basis they will be subject to racist abuse if they do. But that’s what anti-supporting the England team is.

Playing politics

The thing is that they are contributing to the problem. The anti-English extreme nationalists just drive support to English extreme nationalism. If a country is constantly being mocked and attacked, told that they deserve it regardless of what they do or who they are, just based on their nationality, that will inevitably shore up a toxic version of their own national identity in defence.

It’s the same reason that support for Scottish nationalist politicians has shored up support for the nationalist right wing in England, and vice versa. The two dance around as enemies, but they benefit from each other’s presence, pointing to them as a bogeyman to paint a false dilemma. They know what they’re doing. When it’s portrayed ‘us or them’, people choose the lesser of two evils, just as fascists and communists have always thrived out of people fearing the other group, and encouraged that fear as a recruitment tactic.

But once you start a slinging match of ‘my country’s better than yours’, everybody loses; especially migrants and minorities. The anti-fans say they oppose the problems of racism and xenophobia, but they are actively making them worse by escalating this toxic discourse, creating a hostile, aggressive atmosphere for everyone. The best counter to English nationalism is togetherness, friendship, recognising common ties, establishing those links. You’re not opposing the Brexit mindset by taunting random English people that all of Europe hates them, you’re reinforcing it and telling them they have nowhere else to go.

It also suits foreign politicians to frame this as an English thing, because it allows them to avoid examining whether the same problems exist at home. It’s the same trick as when English politicians tried to pass BLM off as an American thing, ‘that doesn’t happen here;, and criticise the US rather than consider the skeletons in their own closet.

There have been similar takes from those snobs who look down on football anyway, seizing upon this as a way to sneer at football fans as uneducated racists, rather than realising racism is everywhere and we should all be banding together to fight it in every context. If we all have that in common, we should focus on that, rather than treating it as a competition to feel smug about and bin off whole countries as a way to avoid looking at ourselves.

Does England have a racism problem? Yes. Of course it does. Is racism an England problem? No. Most countries could do more to fight racism, and pretending otherwise abandons anti-racism for nationalism. I can say with confidence and depression that the abuse would have happened in virtually any other country in Euro 2020, had the same thing happened there. Look at the French fans abusing Mbappé the week before. Look at how some Italian fans treat black players in everyday league matches, let alone if they were the source of national disappointment at a moment they had been waiting 55 years for.

Politics isn’t even an excuse. Yes, England has a right wing, nationalist government (or technically, the UK does). But the majority backed taking the knee, even when the Prime Minister and Home Secretary were against it. Even moderate Tories have never had majority support in recent times. Their culture war nonsense does not speak for the whole population. This is also a country with a progressive recent history, at least relative to the rest of Europe, even if the current incumbents (or encumbrance) have put this progress in reverse.

Look at Ireland for context. The UK government was roundly criticised this week for cutting the rate of foreign aid, which had been steady at 0.7% of GNI (the fifth highest in the world), to 0.5% (still seventh in the world). The rate in Ireland has been 0.31%. Ireland legalised abortion in 2018, when it had been legal in England since 1968. Same-sex marriage was legalised in 2015, two years after England. According to the UNHCR, the UK had 48% more refugees per capita than Ireland in 2014, and processed 77% more asylum claims per capita between 2015 and 2017.

At no point during this period have England fans felt the need to launch a crusade against the Ireland national team, watching every qualifying game, cheering on Sweden, Belgium, Italy, in Euro 2016, wearing France shirts and cheering and jeering as they were knocked out. Because a country having less progressive politics is not a reason to do that. It would be nice if someone remembered that, now that the tide has turned.

People are now suggesting that England should be punished for the racism and fan behaviour by being prohibited from hosting another tournament for a long time. To this, I would remind them that the last tournament was hosted by Russia, this one was hosted by Russia, Azerbaijan and Hungary, and the next one will be hosted by Qatar. English politics are not enough to justify that, either. As above, it also wouldn’t exactly help Rashford, Sancho and Saka to punish them again.

None of this should come down to how contemptible Boris Johnson is, any more than it should come down to a minority of repulsive fans. As I said above, the players and manager have shown themselves to be decent, respectful people. Tens of millions of England fans are too. Judge England on them. After all, each of them does more to counter the hundreds of nationalist idiots than a hundred nationalist idiots from other countries lumping them all together with a sense of smug superiority.

It’s worth saying that I also came across a lot of decent, level-headed Scottish and Irish people replying to the abuse where they found it, saying they were happy to allow England their success and that this rabid anti-Englishness was unnerving even to them. They had often lived in England or had English friends in real life, and said they had found all the English people they actually met to be decent.

I saw some explain this was a stereotype fed by one nationalist to another, which was all they knew, having not actually interacted with the reality. They only knew the English as the Enemy, after years of political rhetoric blaming everything on Westminster, just as Johnson once blamed everything on Brussels, leading to stereotypes and xenophobia in England. As always, nationalist hatred comes out of both general public ignorance and the stoking of existing divisions for political gain.

It seems that every culture has nationalists who will scapegoat a group of people as The Other, based on race or nationality, to reinforce own sense of superiority, But we don’t fight that urge by giving into it ourselves. We fight it by reaching across borders and differences, realising that decent people on one side or the other are not in competition, measuring how many racists they have living close to them to put the other people down, but natural allies who should sympathise and show solidarity with one another.

Finally, it is worth mentioning on an upbeat note that love wins. Many anticipated the abuse and showered Rashford, Sancho and Saka in messages of support. When the mural of Rashford in his hometown was defaced by a few racist thugs, thousands rallied to decorate it in hearts and heartfelt messages. It’s important to address the awful behaviour, but anyone who defines a country by the former rather than later just wants to divide it, and amplify the worst voices. Let’s not do that.

A sad ending

I love international football. Every morning during the tournament I checked my phone for news on the England team, and every morning I woke up to abuse. Most of it not from England’s opponents, past or present, but from Scotland and Ireland fans dressed up as them.

Look, I wouldn’t expect fans of neighbouring nations to support England after their own elimination or failure to qualify. I do it for them, and the reaction in England to Scotland’s qualification was to be happy for them and excited to have two other Home Nations in the tournament, just as they were happy for Wales during their fairy-tale run in 2016. Most of their players play and live in England, so they are friendly and familiar faces.

But sure, I don’t expect any support. I understand they are rivals, even if the hatred can sometimes run a bit one-sided. But this anti-support isn’t rivalry, it’s obsession. It’s sad. If a Spurs fan watched every Arsenal game to watch them fail, just so they could seek out Gunners on social media and mock them, they would rightly be seen as a pathetic, toxic person. If you had a mate who did that, you’d suggest they find some new hobbies, or perhaps seek counselling as that level of all-consuming hate is worrying. It’s like the mindset of stalker.

England registered their best tournament finish in my lifetime, and possibly the best I will ever live to see, but the level of negativity and insults made it hard to even enjoy what should be at heart a game. It’s supposed to be fun, not day after day of scrolling though harassment. You know the way a bad loser sucks all the fun out of a game for everyone else? I don’t understand why they can’t just let other people have nice things. Can English people, not so different from people anywhere in the world, not get to enjoy the first final in their life, after decades of disappointment, without haters seeking them out to remind them the whole world hates them and hopes they fail? Why? Does any other fanbase do this, even in other sports?

Perhaps England fans are obnoxious winners, but no more so than any top club side. If they make more noise than international heavyweights like Germany, it’s because it means more: fans have been waiting for longer, and any foray into the later stages is an emotional high, rather than something that happens every few years. It’s like Liverpool winning the league after thirty years: they were called the Unbearables, because they celebrated a lot harder than City picking up their fifth title in a decade. Their slogan was literally This Means More. You can forgive them a little excitement.

But even if they are, I wouldn’t trust these people to know. Let’s be honest, if you’re going to devote a month of your life to a hate campaign against everyday English people who just want to cheer their team on, determined to suck every last bit of that fun away, you probably hate them so much that even an English smile feels obnoxious to you. That’s your problem, not theirs.

As noted above, from within England it seems a strange idea that the English think they are best, when they seem to spend most of the time defeatist, wishing they were more like Germany or Spain or France. Meanwhile all of these comments are incredibly clear that they think Ireland is superior to racist, stupid England. There’s a healthy dose of irony there.

But if there’s one thing worse than a graceless winner, it’s a bad, graceless loser, and these Scottish and Irish fans have to be the worst losers in football. They are so unwilling to accept a rival doing better than them that they do this. In fact, they get to be both, as those adopting Italy (after Germany, Ukraine, Denmark, each time telling English fans they were going to get destroyed) showed no class in immediately jumping to mock the heartbroken English on ‘their’ victory, whilst most English fans and pundits were congratulating Italy as deserved champions. Sad losers and obnoxious winners, which would no doubt be proven if they ever won anything.

Something to bear in mind the next time we hear about England having the most obnoxious fans in the world.

[sayuricorner]

Ever After High x Twisted Wonderland AU  Headcanons part 10: Milton Grimm’s and Snow White’s last stand and downfall

Part 9         Part 11

AU concept

MASTERLIST

Warning: English is not my first language so sorry if it’s confusing.

So I put a pause to the characters profiles headcanons to make this more continuity headcanons related part.

It will focus on Milton Grimm's and Snow White's last aptempt to get Raven back to EAH which will lead to their downfall.

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

-So at EAH Milton Grimm is becomming quite deseparated: he lost most of his students, the majority of his teachers leaved to teach at others schools and his public image is degrading day by day.

-And for Snow White things aren’t better either, despites her best efforts to keep the upper hand in all this mess her public image is stained.

-The two don’t know what to do, if only they could bring Raven back and made her sign the book then surrely things would go back the way they were.

-That when Milton Grimm got an idea, maybe if they use one of Raven’s worst fear against her they will get her to sign the book, but to put that plan in motion he need to find the true storybook of legends and quick!

-After searching thoroughly in the whole school he finally found the book under the floor of the former dorm room of the Evil Queen and the Red Riding Hood.

-Milton immediately contacted Snow White and the two begin to plotting their newest plan.

-Meanwhile at NRC everyone was very busy, ‘cause the international magical shift tournament was about to take place on the school’s grounds, many schools from the country and from other lands were going to participate and NRC was making sure to have everything ready for the tournament.

-Since she join the magical shift club Ramona participate in the tournament with the school’s team.

-Raven with her friends assist at the tournament to show support to the school team with the others students.

-However Blondie was acting strangely, some time after the begining of the event she seemed rather nervous and jumpy but everytime someone asked her if she was alright she would always answer she’s alright.

-Everything seemed fine until two unwelcomed faces show up: Milton Grimm and Snow White.

-Raven become very nervous when she saw them and her friends, classmates and dormmates quickly between Raven and the two new comers two protect Raven from them.

-When asked what they are doing here Snow White and Milton Grimm with a serious face tell Raven that Apple is no more, she “go poof” because of Raven’s refusal to accept her destiny and that the only way to make her come back is to sign the storybook of legends and to become the next Evil Queen.

-Raven’s friends are outraged they yell at the duo calling what they say a bluff and telling them to leave Raven alone.

-And Raven... She was stunned, she was like a statue, her eyes wide in shock and horror and to everyone’s she snap.

-All her guilt, her stress, her distress, and sadness were released in a heartbreaking scream, the others tried to calm her down but it was no use, Raven’s negative emotions were unleashed making her overblot(see headcanons special 2 )

-Now Apple “going poof” is obviously a lie, she’s very well alive but her role in those events depend of the path whoever use this AU choose for Apple’s fate.

-If it’s follow the “Apple’s happily ever after” path: Apple don’t know a thing about the plan since after her parents’s divorce she left the White Kingdom with her father and go to a new school.

-In fact she was present at the international magical shift tournament as a player ‘cause when she joined her new school she took interest in magical shift and so decided to join her school’s team and she found out she was good at this sport and loved play it.

-Blondie spotted her at the tournament but since the wounds of the abuse were still open Blondie got scared and quickly leave which explain why Blondie seemed so nervous.

-But while the others were fighting against overblot Raven, Blondie knew what must be done in order to fix this mess so she gather up her courage she quickly go find Apple.

-She found her with her magical shift team helping to evacuate people to safety and after a little akward moment Blondie recompose herself and tell Apple what her mother and Milton Grimm had done.

-When hearing this Apple was horrified and angry, how could her mother do this?

-So she follow Blondie to where the others were doing their best to heal Raven from her overblot form and when Raven was weakened but not turned back yet in her normal form Apple throw herself to Raven, trapping her in a hug while yelling with tears in her eyes like “Raven please come back! None of what my mother said is true! Look at me I’m right here, I didn’t “go poof” it was all a lie! I’m so sorry you don’t deserve any of this please!”

-Raven just stood here shocked, Apple was there and very real, bursting in tears she go back to her normal self while hugging back Apple.

-The others gatered around them to make sure both girls were okay relieved to see Raven being back to normal but this relievement was cut short by Snow White and Milton Grimm being their idiots self, with Snow White blathering critics to her daughter and trying to convince her to go back to her side again while Milton Grimm was blathering about their destinies needed to be done which made Apple mad to the point she snap.

-She screamed at Milton Grimm and her mother telling a powerfull “the reason why you suck” speech telling how fed up she was with their non-sense and even tell her mother she disown her.

-This stunned completly Snow White and Milton Grimm they try to justify themself to convince Apple to change her mind not noticing a very furious Crowley and police officers with him.

-When he confront them Crowley told the duo he was fed up with their behavior and he will make sure to take actions to have them banned from his school and the whole Twisted Wonderland world.

-Of course Snow White and Milton Grimm didn’t like this at all and started being outraged like “how dare you?”, “You have no right to do this!” and even tell him it’s his and his school fault for even making Raven’s transfer to begin with which make Crowley shake his head in disappointment and tell them “No wonder Bella and Brutta Sister have done everything they can to get away from the Ever After world!”(There’s going to have a headcanons part about Bella and Brutta Sister soon! 😉)

-Milton Grimm and Snow White shocked by the fact Crowley know about the two sisters tried to get answers from him but were took away by the authorities.

-Aftermath Raven was send to the infirmary and while her recovery Apple, her and all the others EAH students got a long talk about everything what happened and while they’re not friends again yet they’re in a process of reconciliation which for Apple is a good start.

-Meanwhile things turned for the worst for Snow White, with the mess they created they have been officially banned from the Twisted Wonderland world and the people of the Ever After world are beyong pissed at them to the point a revolution against Snow White burst out and both her and Milton Grimm were arrested and a temporary gouverment was founded.

-At their trial Snow White is destitute from her queen title, Milton Grimm is stripped from his headmaster title, Ever After High is shut down and the duo is exiled from the kingdom.

-And so both Snow White and Milton Grimm are chased from the White Kingdom with both one objective: make Raven Queen and the whole Twisted Wonderland world pay for their humiliation.

- If it’s follow the “Apple’s badly ever after” path: Apple is 100% involved in the plan.

-She was tasked to stay in her room and to not come out unless her mother or Milton Grimm told her to do it.

-But being the delusioned nutjob she is, she decided to make some videos for her social medias.

-Said videos were saw by Blondie when she was looking on her mirrorpad which explain why she seemed so warry.

-After the battle against overblot Raven, the others try to talk to Raven but she’s still plagued with guilt believing Apple diseappered because of her.

-Thankfully Blondie remember the videos and posts Apple posted on her social medias just today so she showed the posts and videos to Raven to show her Milton Grimm and Snow White lied to her.

-When she saw this Raven was relieved and angry at the same time and confronted both Snow White and Milton Grimm about what they tried to do, which quickly turned into a screaming match between the two idiots and Raven and her friends.

-Crowley’s intervention is the same than in the “Apple’s happily ever after” path including the White Kingdom’s people’s revolution and Milton Grimm’s and Snow White’s arrestation, trial and exil.

-The only difference in this path is during the revolution Apple was taken by the authorities of the temporary goverment and was put in the care of her father but because of how crazy she become her father got no choice but to put her in a mental institution hopping she would be heald someday.

-At the mental institution since Apple was crazy magical inhibitors were put on Apple so like this she wouldn’t go overblot.

TAG LIST :( a reblog will get you a place in the tag list! ^^)

@virgil-is-a-cutie​ , @zebrabaker​ , @twistedwonderlxnd​ , @cowardlybravette​ , @iwilldietomorrowyees​ , @balsae​ , @shinypainterkid​ , @biscuitbirdpeach​ , @feuilleszuyu​ , @pale-lady-dreamer​ , @fanartreblogs , @kindestwalkingmentalbreakdown , @yue-caelum , @shuirosansshitposts , @icant-choosename-help

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 1.4 - Young Yunichika

4. MISCONDUCT

Translation Notes

1. Bon refers to a young man from a well-to-do family

2. These are lyrics from the opening theme for the famous volleyball anime, Attack No.1

3. I know nothing about Attack No.1 so I have no idea what this is referring to. The original line is “ヒロイン訛ってるって”. If you know anything about this, let me know

4. The kanji for Meisei is 銘誠.   銘 from 座右の銘 (means favorite motto) and 誠 is pronounced makoto by itself

5. Meisei-chuu as in Meisei Middle School

Previous || Index || Next

Haijima Kimichika was an idiot. No, his grades overall weren’t that bad. He was slightly above middling for his third semester finals. However, Kuroba was dumbfounded when he saw the breakdown of that “slightly above middling.”

In regards to math and social studies, he was well above the average, and in fact, he was at the top of the class in his grade. Math, ninety-five. Social studies, ninety-nine—that was the first time he ever saw ninety-nine on an exam paper. He was taken aback by the brilliance of the two 9’s next to each other.

But, things didn’t look good from there. Science, seventy-three. English, sixty. His marks around here were so normal that it made you wonder what his high marks in math and social studies were. Apparently, his strong areas were unusually inclined towards calculation and memorization.  

Japanese,

Thirty points.

…They really were unusually inclined.

“Ooh, there’s a whole row of x’s here. What a nice view.”

It was a question about close reading a novel. The answers to “What are the emotional states of the characters”-type questions were continuously absurd, and the way the x’s were written was becoming increasingly desperate, as if to represent his Japanese teacher’s emotional state.

“For the question ‘Please answer in eighty words or less why you think the king forgives Melos,’ you answered, ‘Melos was naked      the cow,’. I can see the signs of suffering from trying to write a little more, but not being able to write a sentence and getting frustrated. …Cow?”

“Shut up. You’re always joking about people’s exam answers.”

“Ow ow ow!”

Kuroba groaned as he fell prostrate on the exam papers spread out between his legs with a weight pressed tightly against his back. The other club members laughed at the two stretching as a pair.

“You shouldn’t laugh at other people, Yuni. You got forty-two in math and fifty-five in social studies.”

“Hey, don’t read it aloud. This is an invasion of privacy.”

“Japanese…oh? Eighty-seven. Not bad.”

“For real?”

His back lightened with Haijima’s upset-sounding voice. He lifted his body with a self-satisfied look that said “Fufufu. Japanese is the only thing this guy’s good at,” but Haijima, who snatched and returned Kuroba’s Japanese exam paper, once again pressed down on his back tightly with his entire upper body while staring at his answers with a slightly displeased look on his face. Kuroba grumbled “Ow ow ow” while facing the floor in an open-legged forward bending position.

“Why did you answer the cow question like this? I don’t get it at all.”

“First, let go of the cow…I think the first issue is that no cows appear in the story. I’m getting worried about whether or not you can get into high school.”

He briefly wondered if one could get into school through a volleyball recommendation, but even if one could, it didn’t matter because there was no chance of their weak club reaching the point where they could get noticed in a big tournament. If Haijima was in his previous middle school, recommendations might come, however—he hadn’t asked Haijima himself, but there was no doubt that he had been in a fairly strong volleyball club with a decent coach. He had no idea what a full-scale stretching regimen was until he started practicing with Haijima. Next, Kuroba laid on his back as Haijima took his legs and thoroughly stretched them.

I thought that since Haijima would have nothing left if you took volleyball away from him, it would be his greatest desire to go to a strong volleyball school, but…

Haijima Kimichika was a volleyball fanatic.

The ban on club activities, which had been suspended a week before finals, had been lifted, and they held a practice day at once. With people turning up once they knew it was active, the boys’ volleyball team, which used to be as good as non-existent, had more or less taken on the appearance of club activities recently. With just barely six people, they still haven’t been in a match yet.

It was when they stood up and stretched their backs after finishing their brief stretching session.

“Kuroba, how tall are you now?”

Haijima said while looking up at his hair whorl.

“Hmm? Didn’t I say I was one-seventy-three?”

“When did you measure that?”

“Um…in fall, I think…November?”

He tamped down his hair whorl, but his bed hair bobbed back up. He felt depressed when he wondered if he had been exposing this hair to people all day since morning.

There was a scale on the door frame of the gym equipment room that could be used to measure height, and was used to compare heights for fun during club activities and gym class. It was probably the work of students from decades ago. It was the culmination of very precise work, with each millimeter being carved out from one-fifty to one-eighty centimeters with a utility knife.

“One-seventy-five-point-zero.”

Putting an empty powdered drink box to the top of Kuroba’s head, Haijima read the scale out loud.

“Ooh, I grew two centimeters?”

“My turn.”

They exchanged places and now it was Haijima with his back to the scale.

“Don’t raise your heels. Um, one-seventy-two-point…seven.”

“Ah. I grew too.”

But, Haijima didn’t seem too happy about it. With a sullen face, he left the scale and grumbled “Two centimeters off.”

“Two-point-three centimeters off. Don’t round it down. You’re a setter, so you don’t have to be so worried about your height, right?”

“I have a favorite player. It’s Abe, who was selected for the national team. He’s a setter, but he’s one-ninety-one. Even for setters, the bigger you are, the better you block and the faster you set. And, Abe’s ambidextrous, and he has a good left dump.”

“Huh? That reminds me, do you also…”

Haijima served with his left hand. But which hand did he hit with outside of those times...he didn’t have a clear impression. He felt like he recalled him hitting with his left and with his right.

“Use both hands?”

“I do,” He said carelessly, but was that something so easy to do? “There’s still an eighteen-centimeter difference, huh… But Abe can’t hit jump serves, so once my height catches up, I’ll be better.”

When it came to the subject of volleyball, Haijima became more talkative than usual. The way he spoke was basically like cutting short the front part of the context and throwing away the back end, but he came to be able to speak fairly long lines in a polite manner. He must love it a lot, he thought in half amazement and half admiration.

“I’m not sure if you have way too much confidence in yourself or is just an idiot…but I never thought you’d compare yourself to a member of the national team.”

He forced a smile, and got glared at with resentful eyes. He got scared, wondering if he said something that made him angry. He still wasn’t very good at knowing what set Haijima off.

“Kuroba, at the practice game, you see blocks and differentiate between hitting the ball cross and straight, right?”

“Cross-court and straight…oh, straight is where you hit the ball right down the middle, and cross is where you twist a little and hit it outside.”

“It’s the other way around, dumbass.”

He had answered with hand gestures while tilting his head to the side in confusion, but was completely denied with an insult.

“A cross is a spike that passes through the court at an angle. A straight is a spike that goes straight and parallel to the sidelines. When you’re hitting on the front row, you tend to step towards the center in front of the net a lot, so if you hit it straight on, it becomes a cross, and if you hit it with the intention to twist it outside, it will be straight.”

“So complicated…”

“It’s not that complicated, but…oh well. I’ll teach you step by step.”

He thought “Teach me?” every time, but why was he naturally acting like he was above him?

“Even if you don’t understand it with your head, you have good eyes, so you can deal with blocks. Being able to naturally rotate your trunk midair, the length of your time in the air, the suppleness of your shoulders…those are qualities you’ve probably always had. You will get good. It’ll be in no time if you do it properly. You’ll be taller, too.”

“…? Do you have a fever?”

He stared at Haijima’s face suspiciously and got a suspicious look in return.

“What. Did I say something weird?”

“No, it’s just that you’re always so self-important, so I thought you were someone who wouldn’t praise or acknowledge people in that way.”

“If there’s something to acknowledge, then of course I’m gonna acknowledge it. But, there’s no way to acknowledge what’s not there.”

Haijima stated, pouting and seeming truly upset.

Haijima never flattered. He wasn’t humble. He couldn’t hold himself back. Indeed, he might be sincere and straightforward in a sense. …But, he thought it was probably a tough way to live. Most people didn’t want to be told the truth right to their faces.

“You will get good.”

Afterwards, slowly but steadily, a ticklish feeling welled up in the depths of his body. It was uncool to take someone at their word, so he purposely looked indifferent and said,

“I have a talent for volleyball, huh. It won’t make me all that popular though.”

He feigned ignorance and talked big. Unlike Haijima, he felt like he had been drifting through life frivolously, with a bunch of façades lined up in front of him, obscuring reality.

***

The days have become longer, and the chill had subsided considerably. It was now often possible to sneak peeks at patches of blue in the sky which had been covered by depressing snow-laden clouds in midwinter. The sun had completely set when he nearly ran over Haijima in front of that karaoke box in February, but by mid-March, there was still some faint light left in the sky at that same time of day. A rusty copper sunset fringed the ridgelines of Mount Nokude in the distance.

Since their houses were in the same direction, he ended up going home with Haijima on days they had club activities. Their enamel bags, slung over their shoulders, rattled, and they tread on the rugged road in their snow boots. Although the snow on the road melted during the day and was close to becoming sherbet, it had begun to freeze again in the shape of punched-through car ruts and footprints. During the snowfall season from December to March, elementary and middle school students were prohibited from cycling to school, so it took forty minutes to get there on foot. There was no doubt that they would starve before they reached home, so the two stuffed their cheeks with sweet bread as they walked. Incidentally, he stuffed himself with two pieces of bread before club and of course he was going to eat dinner when he got home. At any rate, he was hungry. And at any rate, he was sleepy.

Until one or two months ago, he would have wanted to skip over middle school and become a high school student as soon as possible, but come to think of it, he had stopped thinking about that recently. He had no time to think about superfluous things because after he finished club activities, went home, ate, and took a bath, he immediately went to bed. He fell asleep feeling like he was sinking into the floor with his futon, and then when he woke up, it was next morning.

Finals were over, and now it was time to neglect everything and go into spring break. And whether he left it alone or made a fuss, once the break ended, he would become a third-year. The word examinee still didn’t really strike home for him.

“Haijima, what are you gonna do for high school? Are you taking it here?”

He finally broached the subject that actually wanted to ask him about during club, but hesitated over.

“Well, I was thinking of taking it here, but…”

He got stuck on how Haijima trailed off at the end of his sentence, which was unusual for him.

“But? Is there a condition or something?”

He once again asked Haijima’s profile, which was bulged out with the bread he stuffed in his mouth. He wasn’t wearing his glasses right now. Haijima always followed the procedure of putting in contact lenses and taping his hands before club started. If he taped first, he wouldn’t be able to handle his contacts. When club activities were finished, he followed that procedure in reverse, but there were days when he went home as he was, perhaps because he couldn’t be bothered. From the point of view of Kuroba, whose vision had never fell below 20/20 and whose fingernails and bones seemed healthy and strong, he had a difficult constitution.

“More importantly, new first-years will come in April.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Skilled guys would get picked up by the other clubs, so it’s better not to get your hopes up, but maybe we can get one or two people.” More importantly? He had a feeling he was changing the subject, but the timing to repeat the question escaped him.

“If we get more members, I wanna go to a tournament. I don’t know the tournament schedule here, but there should be a prefectural tournament before the summer inter-school.”

“Tournament, huh. But even if we can be in it, I don’t think we can win at our level…”

“It’s no fun if you don’t play a game. I wanna be in a match. I’m gonna train you all to be presentable enough by summer. I’ll take care of the rest.” Once again, he said that he was gonna train us without hesitation. Is he treating us like performing monkeys or something?

Ah, there it was. The sparkle in his eyes like that of a dinosaur-loving elementary schooler. Though he was just being arrogant and saying something self-centered, when he had that look in his eyes, he couldn’t help but feel that it was as though it was being secretly switched with something of pure purpose. Kuroba realized that he couldn’t oppose those eyes at all.

“Ooookay, got it. We need an advisor to be in a tournament or it’s no good, right? Let’s ask tomorrow.”

When he said that with a sigh, a crude voice called out to them from the side of the road.

“Hey, isn’t that the head house’s bon walking there?” (1)

It came from in front of the signboard of the aforementioned “Karaoke Box Monshiro”. Was this the only place to hang out? Well, it probably was. There were three men. Two 125cc motorbikes and one moped. Each of them was sitting astride their seats and hanging their butts on their tandem grips, smoking cigarettes as they tucked their chins inside their collars of their jackets, looking cold. They had the appearances of what countryside delinquents should be.

“Oh, Yori-chan!”

Kuroba called out to him with a smile, but Yorimichi only took a glance at his appearance and looked away.

The other two were Yorimichi’s senpais, both from the neighborhood. When someone other than his relatives called him the “head house’s bon”, it was probably filled with ridicule, but since he was used to it, he didn’t react to it every single time, and Kuroba greeted them in a friendly manner as well.

“’Sup. It’s been a while. I didn’t know you guys are back.”

“It’s spring break in uni too. Bon, how much you got today?”

“Oh…I only have some coins. I’ve been doing club activities lately so there’s a lot of times when I’d be leaving my bag alone.”

“’Club activities’?”

The two repeated it with a rising inflection that contained laughter.

“Oh, is that what Yorimichi was talking about?”

Smirking, they eyed Kuroba from the top of his head to his feet. He uncomfortably let his gaze escape to Haijima, who was waiting next to him. When he looked at Haijima, he could see his own appearance like he was looking into a mirror, or rather, he was just copying Haijima, but—he was wearing a knee-length padded coat over his jersey with his rectangular enamel sports bag slung over his shoulder, and he really did look like he was coming back from a sports club. In regards to the padded coat, Kuroba saw Haijima’s and also bought one recently.

“You do receives or something, how did that go again? We didn’t do it in gym in high school, so I completely forgot.”

The two had mean smiles on their faces, pointing their chins. Either the smoke of their cigarettes or the whiteness of their breath from the cold made their stubbled mouths misty.

“Um, it’s like this, I guess…?”

Kuroba had no choice but to drop his hips on the spot and did the posture for an underhand pass, and the two cackled and applauded.

“Wow, looking pretty good, aren’t you? I know, it’s that thing, Attack No.1, right?”

“That old manga? It’s that ‘I won’t cry, I’m just a girl’ thing, right?” (2)

“The heroine spoke in dialect. Gyahahaha!” (3)

“Haha…”

When Kuroba forced a smile while feeling his face turning hot, his bag was suddenly pulled on. The strap was biting into the pit of his stomach. “Gueh,” he groaned as he turned around.

“Haijima?”

“You’re just getting looked down on. We’re not playing around.  Don’t keep them company.”

Like he was pulling on the leash of a not particularly disciplined dog, Haijima primly started walking while gripping the strap. “Okay, okay, don’t pull me. It’s dan…” Right when he twisted his body around and rushed to follow him,

“You’re hanging out with us, right, Yuni?”

Yorimichi called out to his back.

Haijima turned around, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Kuroba also followed his gaze while feeling lost. Turning away and smoking his cigarette, Yorimichi snorted sarcastically.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting’ influenced by Fighting Spirit Chika-chan, are ya? You’re the one who’s gonna be embarrassed later.”

“Hey…oh, hey Yori-chan, are you mad at me? Sorry for not hanging out with you lately. We’ll do stuff together during spring break.”

“Kuroba, we’re practicing during spring break too.”

Haijima’s dissatisfied sounding voice pierced the back of his ear. “We can’t practice everyday, right?” When he turned around with a half-smile, his face seemed to say, As a matter of fact, of course we are. “If we’re going to the summer tournament, we’ll still never make it in time even with that.” “Are you serious…” He was of course ready to have fun and relax during spring break, so when he was told to be prepared to completely spend that time on club activities… I underestimated this guy’s volleyball obsession.

“Yuuuuni. You understand, right? It’s no good for you. It’d be less embarrassing if you stop playing around. I ain’t patient either, so I can’t wait too long for you.”

“Hey, even Yori-chan’s being mean? You’re not serious, right?”

He looked at Yorimichi again with a twitching smile. “Oh, you’re pretty popular, Bon. If you pick one, you have to cut off the other. This is a real mess.” The two university students irresponsibly jeered and aggravated the situation.

“You, you get it, right? I have the same blood in my veins as you, so we get fired up and cooled off easily.  I’ll probably get bored halfway, right?”

He ended up prioritizing putting Yorimichi in a good mood with a joking tone. A cold sweat ran down the nape of his neck as he felt Haijima’s burning gaze scorching it.

He knew that he was playing it safe. He was still afraid now that Yorimichi would throw him away. He wanted to secure the warm place he could always return to if things got tough. Don’t put me together with you, he grumbled in his mind. Haijima, who didn’t have an ounce of doubt about himself doing volleyball, probably wouldn’t understand, but for us until just now, guys who went hardcore for club activities were just something to be watched from a distance and gawked at.

Yorimichi bared his teeth and grinned.

“Haha, that’s right. You’re the same as me.”

Relieved, Kuroba also slackened his cheeks.

And, the heat wave of Haijima’s gaze that was burning the back of his neck also abruptly disappeared. The strap was released to send him flying.

“Then quit now.”

Haijima said it bluntly in a cold voice, a complete reversal from the heat of earlier.

“Hey, no need to go that far…”

“I don’t want to the tournament to get messed up.”

“Messed up…”

He immediately guessed that he was talking about scandals that would result in a suspension. Kuroba himself didn’t smoke or drink, but he overlooked Yorimichi doing it. It wasn’t illegal to ride double on a bike, but having only one helmet was probably not allowed. It wasn’t a good look to sneak into karaoke bars either. He didn’t really care about it until now, but it was somewhat understandable that school sports were sensitive to those kinds of issues.

Haijima’s concern was reasonable, and perhaps this was where he should be sorry. But on the contrary, antagonism reared its head. So, from the beginning, he wasn’t worried about whether or not Kuroba would continue to do volleyball or not, but about that?

“You showed your true colors, eh!”

Yorimichi’s loud voice suddenly rang out. Haijima glared suspiciously at him and Kuroba was also confused. Peeling his lips back in a vicious grin that made him draw back a little, Yorimichi continued to speak in a theatrical way.

“The infamous ‘Genius Setter’ of Meisei Middle School only thinks about satisfying his own desires, right?”

“Yori-chan? What are you talking about?”

“You were the one who wanted to know, Yuni. You asked why he came back here. That’s why I investigated.”

Haijima’s sharp gaze immediately moved to Kuroba. He did voice his doubts, but he thought the conversation ended there, so to think that Yorimichi would investigate it…

“Oops, you’re barking up the wrong tree if you’re blaming Yuni. It’s that ‘you reap what you sow’ kind of thing, right?”

Yorimichi came down from his bike and stepped on his cigarette to put it out. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his down jacket and approached him with bowlegs and swinging shoulders, looking particularly vulgar. “Move, Yuni,” he said, pushing Kuroba aside and standing before Haijima.

“I could have easily gotten the name of your school from your grandpa through mine. Well, I used Itoko though, since I’ve been given up on by Gramps. So when I quickly searched the net…oh look, there’s slander of the ‘Genius Setter’ who reigned over Meisei Middle until last year. The net sure is terrifyin’. Everything’s on there. Well, I guess it means you’re not liked very much.”

The more Yorimichi talked, the stiffer Haijima’s expression became. The color disappeared from Haijima’s face that seemed to embody the world’s arrogance and fearlessness, and his gaze dropped downwards. The shadow of Yorimichi, who was a size bigger in height and width, hung over the head of Haijima, who was looking down and biting his lower lip. “Oi oi, look at the poor guy, Yorimichi. Don’t bully middle schoolers. You’ll make him cry.” The two university students saying insincere things were completely taking the role of spectators.

“Yuni.”

“Huh? Y-yeah.”

Kuroba reflexively responded, unable to catch up with the conversation very well. Yorimichi’s face changed from that of someone tormenting a dying animal, and when he turned around, he was no longer smiling. It was an extremely serious expression.

“I don’t have anything against Chika, but I don’t really care. I think it’s petty to talk about other people behind their backs online. It’s all for you. Don’t get too absorbed in it. After all there was apparently someone who attempted suicide because of this guy——”

An instant later, Haijima barked something that couldn’t be expressed in words and grabbed Yorimichi. “Oh?” Although Yorimichi staggered a little, their physiques and amount of fight experiences were different. He grabbed Haijima’s face and thrust it aside, just like he was grabbing a ball—a dodgeball instead of a volleyball—with one hand and throwing it violently. Haijima was lightly blown off two or three meters away, the side of his face crashing into the muddy snow-covered road.

Because it was the first time he heard Haijima’s enraged voice, Kuroba was temporarily distracted by that. He hurriedly broke into Yorimichi’s path.

“Yo-Yori-chan, stop! Violence is no good!”

“He was the one who charged at me. Ah, it’d be no good for a sports boy to be violent, right? Didn’t you say that yourself? I’m being kind by ending it with just knocking him down.”

Yorimichi threw mocking jeers at Haijima over Kuroba’s shoulder. Kuroba turned around and ran up to Haijima, who was crouching and holding his hand to his face. “Oi, you’re alive…” he knelt down and was about to touch his shoulder, but what Yorimichi said flashed across his mind and he stopped his hand.

…Attempted suicide…?

“Let’s go back. My ass is frozen.”

Urging the two university students, Yorimichi returned to his bike.

“Yuni, get over here.”

Summoned, Kuroba looked up at the chin of Yorimichi, who was sitting astride his bike, but hesitated and returned his gaze to Haijima. His earlobe, which was poking out from the gaps between his hair, were terrifyingly white. No way, is he actually dead? He thought, but he saw a fist clenching the snow underneath his face pressed against the ground. Mud soaked into his white taping and stained it brown.

He couldn’t leave him here and go home.

“Even if you say go home, you won’t let me ride double anyways. I’ll send him home, okay?”

“Well, whatever.”

Yorimichi backed down easily with just a shrug of his shoulders. The sneering had already disappeared and he returned to his normal self.

“Don’t forget. Wash your hands of him as soon as possible. From his reaction, it doesn’t seem like those are groundless rumors. Be careful on your way home. I’m talking about the snowy roads and your teammate next to you.”

Perhaps Yorimichi also felt that he went a bit too far. He awkwardly turned his face away, made his engine roar its usual crude and vulgar sounds, and departed on the Komashi-gou.

***

“Mei from zayuu no mei and makoto, Meisei. (4) It’s called Meisei Private Academy Middle School. It’s a middle and high school in one, and their sports clubs are pretty strong. Apparently the distribution map of famous private schools is common knowledge among Kanto kids. You can’t really experience it here, can you? There aren’t enough schools to choose from. Hey, everyone’s gonna hang out in the city after the end-of term ceremony, so do you wanna come with us? I wonder if Haijima would come if we invited him. You guys have been getting along well lately.”

“Um, oh, yeah. If that’s all I can ask then I’m good for now. Thanks.”

He hung up first because it seemed like the conversation would never end if he left it alone.

Itoko said “Everyone”, so the group probably included girls. To tell the truth, he was really jealous of this merry spring break-like event. Normally he wouldn’t be able to refuse. But, it was only today that he couldn’t get into the mood at all. He was willing to bet that Haijima would never come either.

He put the phone handset next to the desk and turned towards the computer again. Since he had an agreement to not own a cell phone until high school, the only place he could access the Internet at home was the laptop in his dad’s study. When he tried to convert Meisei-chuu (5), he realized he didn’t know the kanji for it, and since Yorimichi said he learned it by way of Itoko, he called to ask her directly. Based on the current feeling, Yorimichi had really only gotten the school name, and it seemed he didn’t tell Itoko more than that. He felt relieved about that.

A school with a strong athletic department. If this school was that famous, then it might not be strange for there to be a rumor or two to float around the Internet. After all, there was even a message board titled “[Monshiro Town] Old Man Kuroba [Yokai]”—Yorimichi thought it was hilarious and told him about it, but Kuroba never searched for it because he was scared of learning the contents.

“Tokyo meisei academy middle school boys volleyball club attempted suicide”

He entered the search words, and just when he was about to click the search button, his finger stopped. He couldn’t easily press the key. Of course he was unbearably curious. But, he was afraid to find out the contents for that more than Grandpa’s message board.

“Yuni? Where are you?”

His mother’s voice came from somewhere on the other side of the sliding screen door. He twisted himself around on the tatami chair and raised his voice.

“In here! The study!”

“Why are you there? Aren’t you going to take a bath?”

“Okay!”

After thinking about it a little bit, he ended up pressing the backspace key to delete everything he typed in. Once he did so, he completely gave up, closed the computer and stood up.

Previous || Index || Next

[onyxiana-is-obsessed]

Notes | Denki Kaminari x Foreign!Reader

Summary: You’re super new to Japan and you barely know the language. You’ve transferred into class 1A and you have your own translator! Except, you start to like a certain electric blond!

It’s long; 4.1k words

Pronouns used: She/her

Name: (f/n) (l/n) Quirk: You're the avatar, jk but you can control all 4 elements and all of them together for a short period. Age: (14/15)

She didn't have much of a choice, she was told two weeks prior to her leave. Here she was, in Musutafu, with her translator, Ryu Kyoji, right next to her. Her frown was prominent as the two waited on their cab.

"What's wrong, (f/n)?" He inquired, earning a scoff from the girl.

"I just... I just hate how I'm in this situation." She mumbled. He gave her an understanding nod. It must've been hard. She didn't know any bit of Japanese, only English, she was here in a different country, different cultures, different laws. Just because her parents believed she would fair better at UA instead. The cab arrived only a few minutes later and the two got in.

~**~

They arrived at Ryu's house and placed (f/n)'s luggage in her bedroom. The girl was left alone to unpack while Ryu's sister prepared dinner. Ryu was a 20-year-old translator that worked with the heroes association in situations like this. (f/n)'s parents were high ranking pro heroes in North America and they were quite close with some pro heroes in Japan, including All Might. That's when the number 1 hero suggested that their daughter attend UA. She would be with a personal translator who would help her in school and whatnot. Her parents were quick to agree.

They failed to realize how it would affect (f/n) though. She would have to attend a school filled with people who didn't speak her language. Just the thought brought tears to her eyes. She had friends back in America. She had a life... all she was forced to drop.

After unpacking, (f/n) looked at her phone. She had gotten a text from her mother telling her to purchase an app that was the best translator app in the world. The girl sighed and did so and now had a way to text any new friends or whatever. She glared at the ceiling. How unfair.

~**~

(f/n) stood in front of the large door with Ryu next to her. Inside, she could hear the pro-hero Eraserhead talking and Ryu was translating for her. He was introducing her.

"We have a transfer student here from America. She's really shy and she doesn't know any Japanese but she has a translator here with her. Please be nice to her and welcome her, future heroes." With that, Aizawa approached the door and opened it, his eyes landing on the two people. He said something and a second later, Ryu translated.

"Welcome to our class, please introduce yourself." The two walked in and (f/n)'s eyes widened in fear as everyone stared at her. She froze up, clenching her fists in order to calm herself. She looked down when Ryu whispered something to her. "Just give them a light bow and introduce yourself, I'll translate for you." She inhaled and did so.

"Hello. My n-name is (f/n) (l/n). P-pleased to make your acquaintance." Ryu then translated for her and she looked at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Aizawa then walked to her and spoke, Ryu translating it afterward.

"Take your seat at the back, this will allow your translator to speak with you, without disruption from the other students." She nodded and moved to the back, where she shared a desk with Ryu.

Throughout the class, Aizawa did his best to slow down and accommodate for (f/n) in class. (f/n) did her best to take notes based on what Ryu would translate for her. Ryu was also taking notes of his own, which allowed him easier translation.

The class was out for lunch and (f/n) watched as everyone started to get up and get into groups and leave. When they were alone, Ryu let her know that he was going to the bathroom and that he'd be back right away. She nodded and got her phone out, in case she needed help. After he left, her eyes traveled to the window and she stared at the sky. She could feel the anger build up. How unfair. How dare they?!

The girl stared at her notebook, where she made little doodles in. She grabbed her pencil and started to sketch a moon. While she did that, the door opened and her eyes shot up, expecting Ryu, but seeing someone else. He was blond with yellow eyes and a black lightning bolt in his hair. He seemed surprised to see her there. He gave her a smile as he approached his desk and grabbed something. She watched him silently and as he started to leave, she stopped him. He looked back at her and she looked down, feeling stupid but wanted to help nonetheless.

She stood up and approached him, her (e/c) eyes meeting his. She cautiously reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling it gently, signaling him to turn. He did and she pulled off a sticky note off of his back. She turned him back around held it out to him. His eyes widened and he looked over it, a frown replacing his shocked look. However, he looked up at her and gave her a nod.

"Arigato." She knew that to be thank you. She'd heard it plenty of times, so it stuck in her head. She gave him and nod and watched as he left, Ryu returning through the open door.

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah, he just had this sticky note on his back. I stopped him to give it to him." Ryu nodded and with that the two were off to get some food.

~**~

The class was currently waiting for Aizawa to show up and during that time, (f/n) and Ryu sat in the back going over some notes and whatnot. Aizawa had already told Ryu what he was planning for the day so that it would be easier for (f/n).

During their time, (f/n) watched as five kids were chatting away. She sort of knew them. She knew their names, thanks to Ryu. Katsuki Bakugou was the ash blond, Mina Ashido was the pink girl, Eijiro Kirishima was the redhead, Hanta Sero was the raven-haired male, and last but not least, Denki Kaminari the cute blond.

"Hey Ryu, what are they talking about?" They were quite loud but (f/n) noticed how the others actually ignored them.

"It's a private conversation, (f/n)." The girl rolled her eyes.

"Doesn't sound very private." Ryu only smiled at her and translated.

"The group is making fun of the one you think is cute for not being able to get a date with anyone." She recalled the sticky note, unfortunately, it was written in Japanese, so she had no idea what it said, but it made him frown.

"It must've been something similar..." She muttered.

"What?"

"The note, remember a few days ago when you saw him leave. I told you about the note. He made a similar face."

"Well, now they're making fun of him because he likes someone who they don't think would like him back." (f/n) watched as the group laughed, causing Kaminari to frown and look away. Ryu's eyes were on his notebook while (f/n)'s were on her phone, both avoiding looking at the group so they wouldn't be able to tell that they were listening. At one point, Ryu perked up. "How cute, looks like you're the one he likes." At this, the girl turned red. Her eyes were on her screen, but her head was elsewhere. Her phone buzzed and she noticed she had a text from her friend back home. It was a picture message of all of her friends. Her mind was now off of Kaminari and returned to the memories she shared with her girls. Tears started to well up as stared at their smiling faces.

She clicked on the little camera icon and turned the camera to face herself. She moved her hair around and tapped Ryu's arm.

"Take this picture with me." He happily obliged and she raised her arm. A couple of classmates caught sight of them and some caught sight of the tears as well. She ignored them as she took a couple of pictures and giggled, saying something to Ryu to which he let out a chuckle. She turned the phone to show him and for once, it was the opposite. Instead of her wanting to be in her classmates' world, they wanted to be in hers.

Aizawa had arrived and explained that they would be training with their quirks. He didn't do much explaining until they were at the training grounds. When they were, the first the Aizawa did was pair up the students. They were all split up into five groups of four. Unfortunately for (f/n), Ryu was not allowed to participate but her group was given earpieces. Her group included herself, Midoriya, Kaminari, and Todoroki. Aizawa handed all four of them, including Ryu an earpiece.

"These will do nothing but make it so that Ryu can translate for (f/n)," Aizawa explained to the class, so it didn't seem like everyone was at an unfair disadvantage. Aizawa then explained that they were all going to be facing another group and were basically sparring. It wasn't too difficult but this would test how well everyone would work together. For (f/n)'s group, it would test how well they could fair with a foreigner.

They were going up against Kirishima, Tokoyami, Shoji, and Momo. (f/n) didn't know too much about them so through the earpiece, the group heard Aizawa tell Ryu to explain who their rivals were briefly to (f/n). This was because everyone in the class knew each other and (f/n) had just arrived, so she didn't know anyone.

"I won't say much here, forgive me. Tokoyami's quirk allows him to summon Dark Shadow. Kirishima's quirk allows him to harden his skin, Momo can create any non-living material through exposed skin. Shoji's quirk is called Dupli-arms and it allows him to re-create body parts such as eyes, ears, mouth, etc." The girl nodded from where she stood.

"Thank you." Aizawa then proceeded to explain what type of training this was. It was going to be tournament-style where two groups go and the winner of those groups will be facing the next group. In this case, there were five groups, but the fifth group was going to have to sit out until the first four finished their fight. Each group had a number that Aizawa would draw randomly.

(AN: This is awful I know, but everyone needs to see how cool the transfer student is and this is the best I could come up... what a bad start xD)

Another component of this training was a flag. Aizawa had placed two flags somewhere that would represent a team's color and they had to retrieve it, on top of fighting another group.

So far, (f/n) was ok with everything as the group waited until (f/n) called out through the ear-piece.

"Hey, Ryu?"

"Yes, (f/n)?"

"Can you ask the guy with the two hair colors if he can freeze water?"

"Sure." With that, (f/n) listened to the two talk for a moment before Ryu called back through the earpiece. "He says he can only create ice from his body and that's it. Once it's outside, he can no longer control it." (<- I think that's how it works)

"Is he allowed to demonstrate for me?" Ryu, who was right next to Aizawa, asked him if that was ok. Aizawa agreed and encouraged the three to show her their quirks.

"Yes, would you like to see them all?" He then asked all three to show their quirks off with Todoroki going first since she was most interested in him, with Kaminari, and Midoriya. "Todoroki's quirk is half cold half hot. He can basically create ice with his right side and fire with his left. Midoriya has a simple strength-enhancing quirk, it allows him to hit really hard and move very quickly. Kaminari quirk is electricity, he can use up to 1.3 million volts, but if he uses too much, his brain short circuits."

"Just Todoroki's. Do they know mine?"

"I don't think so, allow me to inform them." With that, Ryu went on to explain her quirk. She watched as their faces went from interested to shocked. She didn't think it was that special. He added that (f/n) wanted to see Todoroki's abilities, especially the ice. Then Ryu let her know, she'd see that demonstration now.

Todoroki created an ice sheet in front of him and then used his fire-side to melt it. She then asked if he could create another one, but leave it up, Ryu translating it a second later. He nodded and did so. The girl placed her hands on the cold ice and attempted to see if she could melt it a bit, enough to turn it into water.

The heat from her hands started to melt the ice and slowly, the entire thing was melted, but it turned into a giant ball of water. She then moved her arms, causing the water to swirl around above her head. She moved back a little and they watched as she held the water up with one hand and with another, caused the earth to shoot up, creating a platform-like structure. She then returned to the water and they watched as it swirled around then seemingly sliced through the rocks. Nothing happened at first, but then they watched as she cut rocks slipped off of each other and fell to the ground.

That was the only thing she could do though. Her quirk was a bit more than that. She stood in front of them all and waved her hands around the air and they watched as she pulled water from the air. She then froze the water and melted it again. Impressed was too simple of a word to use, but they were beyond impressed.

Soon it was their turn and the group approached their starting positions. They had made a simple strategy, for which Ryu was there with them. Todoroki and (f/n) were going to be their offense and their way up to the flag, since (f/n) could fly using her air quirk. Kaminari and Midoriya were going to be bait while they fought. (f/n)'s job was to trap them in the earth structures she had made earlier, especially since some of their opponents were dangerous. Her and Todoroki needed to use light to keep Dark Shadow down since they were the best qualified. (f/n) more than Todoroki due to him neglecting his fire quirk for so long.

The training had begun and the groups were off. The first thing they did was a search for their flags, but ended up running into each other instead. The fight wasn't too long and for the most part, (f/n) avoided attacking back. She also avoided talking since the other group didn't have an earpiece.

However, in the corner of her eye, she noticed Shoji and Kirishima both attacking Midoriya. He was doing fine and it allowed her the perfect opportunity. She bent down slightly and raised her arms, causing the earth to shoot up and trap them both. She made sure it was strong enough and that they couldn't escape.

Tokoyami's dark shadow was under control due to Todoroki while Momo was busy prepping something. Not wanting to give them time, (f/n) used her Ultimate form (There you is: Avatar (f/n)). Her eyes glowed white and her hair caught fire as she was lifted up off the ground. She used her air quirk to pull both Tokoyami and Momo to her and then slammed them into the structures holding Kirishima and Shoji. She pulled her allies away from the fight, levitating them in the air beside her. She trapped Momo and Tokoyami as well, but created a moat around the small island they were on. She pulled water out of the air and trees around her, filling it up and then looked at Kaminari and pointed to the water. He knew exactly what she meant.

Kaminari landed on the ground and he released some of his electricity into the water. Now the other group couldn't leave. She then raised Kaminari off the ground and the group flew into the air, searching for the flag.

Todoroki quickly spotted it and she landed on the ground, releasing herself from her Ultimate form. As she approached the flag as well, her legs gave out, but both Kaminari and Midoriya caught onto the girl, holding her upright as Aizawa declared them the winners of the training.

~**~

As the group walked back to class, (f/n) stopped. She was behind everyone with Ryu next to her. He stopped as well, which caused the group to stop and look at them. (f/n) kicked the ground and a slab of rock shot out, landing in her hands. It wasn't too big, but it was perfect for what she needed. Once she noticed the group looking at her, she spoke up.

"Personal project." Ryu translated and Aizawa gave her a lazy nod as they continued back to class.

**

It was lunch break and instead of leaving for lunch, Ryu and (f/n) stayed in class. Ryu offered to go get her lunch to which she accepted. While she waited, she decided to proceed with her "personal project". It was going to be a gift for Kaminari.

She waved her hands, pulling the moisture from the air and used the water to cut the slab of rock into a heart. Once she was happy with the shape, she used the water to smooth it down some more. Using the water like a knife or some sort of carving utensil, she perfected her shape.

Once it was to her liking, she grabbed a marker from her little pouch and sketched out Denki's name. She then grabbed a ballpoint pen and took out the ink, leaving the pen empty. She touched the pen to her fingertip, causing it to heat up immensely, then used it to carve out Kaminari's name into the rock.

Once she was done and happy with the outcome, she traced over it, causing her to get nervous. Wh-what if he didn't like it? What if he didn't like her back? What if this was just a cruel joke from Ryu? Or he heard wrong?!

As (f/n) stared at her creation, she heard the door slide open. She didn't even bother looking up as negative thoughts took over her head.

"Ryu, what if you heard wrong?" She heard someone respond in Japanese and her head shot up. N-no way. It was Kaminari. She was shocked at first, but gave him a smile and shook her head. He said something else, approaching her and she held her hand up. She had used the translator app with Ryu to see how well it worked and according to him, it was amazing.

She opened up the app and stood up, walking towards Kaminari. She held the phone close to him and pressed the microphone button. He got the hint and asked his question again. It took seconds before it was translated for her through text.

"Why do you always stay in the classroom for lunch?" She gave him a light smile, before repeating the process and letting him read the text.

"I have no here besides Ryu." He grabbed her hand, his warm touch causing her cheeks to heat up. He pressed the microphone button and spoke again, giving her a second to read it.

"You could always sit with me and my friends." She gave him a smile.

"You're sweet, but I don't wanna impose on you and your friends."

"Nonsense! It'll be fun! I'll be your friend, if you'll have me." She let out a giggle and nodded. The door opened again and their fun was cut short by his friends joining him. They said something and he gave them a smile, returning to his desk grabbing something. During this time, she watched as they teased him again. She pressed the button on her app and watched as it translated what they were saying to him.

"It's a lost cause, Kaminari. You still can't get a girl, especially not her. She has standards." Sero laughed.

"Oh shove it. She's my friend, ya know." Kaminari responded as he dug through his desk.

"So you've been friend-zoned?" Mina laughed, causing Sero and Kirishima to laugh as well. (f/n) rolled her eyes as she returned to her seat, but not before spotting her little creation.

"What is this? An attempt at getting out of the friend zone? Listen, you're a bit better than Mineta, but you can't get her!" Sero laughed, causing Kaminari to grumble something. Once had what he needed he let them know and they walked towards the door, but Kaminari walked towards (f/n). She quickly cleared the previous conversation she had heard and gave him a smile, hiding the little rock. He pointed to her and phone and she handed it to him. He spoke and held it out to her.

"Last chance to join." She took her chance. Whether he truly liked her or not, at least his friends would stop bugging him. She grabbed his hand causing his cheeks to flush a bit. She reached into her desk and pulled out the little rock and placed it in his palm. Her fingers released his hand and he inspected it, eyes widening. Grabbing her phone, she spoke.

"I made it for you. I hope you like it, Kaminari." Although he didn't understand what other words she said, he liked the use of his name. He read the text and a smile fell on his lips as he gave her a slight nod. She grabbed a pen from her desk and opened her palm, which inadvertently asked Denki for permission to write on him. He gave her a nod and followed her actions. She wrote her number down then made a little heart next to it.

The two failed to notice Kaminari's friend approach until Mina let out a small scream as she caught the numbers, causing them both to jump.

"SHE GAVE HIM HER NUMBER!"

"So she does like him?!" Sero yelled in disbelief.

"No way! Wait till Bakubro hears about this!" As their conversation overlapped, Kaminari stopped them.

"Chill! You're gonna scare her, she doesn't understand us, remember?" It was adorable how he cared for her.

"Lemme talk to her!" Mina cheered. Kaminari pressed the talk button and held it out for her. "Hi! I'm Mina Ashido! Nice to meet you!" Kaminari then handed (f/n) the phone and the girl read the text with a smile.

"(f/n) (l/n), nice to meet you. You have the acid quirk, it's super cool." Mina then read the text and gave her a smile and nodded.

"Arigato!" The only word she understood so far, so she gave a smile and nodded.

"Lemme talk to her too!"

"Me too!" While they were talking, they heard someone yelling.

"HEY! What the hell is taking so long?!" It was Bakugou. He entered the classroom and saw his friends standing around (f/n).

"Bakubro! Say hi! Look! She has this translator app and you can use it to talk to her!" Bakugou approached and listened as Kirishima explained the app, his eyes flickering between the phone and (f/n). So he decided to 'talk' to her. He said something and (f/n) watched as his friends grumbled, Mina even slapping his arm, which caused him to scream at her but Mina didn't seem phased. (f/n) read the text as the group bickered.

"I saw you earlier. Just know, I'm gonna kick your ass and be the number 1 hero!" A smile took on her face and their bickering was interrupted by her laughter. They watched as she laughed until her cheeks turned red and she was wiping tears from her eyes. She spoke and then turned it to face him.

"Challenge accepted, Katsuki Bakugou. I look forward to beating you." This only caused his friends to laugh as Bakugou almost lost it. (f/n) pressed the microphone button as he went on a rampage. She laughed as she read the text which only made him angrier.

Her eyes flickered to Kaminari who was laughing as well. The two looked at each other and smiled. A language barrier didn't matter, they could easily overcome stuff like that, especially for each other.

[localminstrel]

Stray Kids reaction : Kiss them out of the blue in a public place but when no one is looking and their crush/gf/bf pretending nothing happened just for fun

Warnings : none

Tag : gender neutral!reader

Words : 2 700

Notes : i know i’m veryyy late for this one but I hope you would like it ! Also, they are going to have a lots of typos and grammar mistakes and i’m really sorry about that, i try to improve my english !

Gifs credit to owners !

Chan :

You and Chan are in a secret relationship since the last six months. You met because JYP hired you to work wih 3racha for Stray Kids’s new album. Chan and you talks about mutual feelings after two weeks and both are agree to keep this a secret for both compagny and members before this begin to be serious. Well, you began to be but for this moment, you two are a secret and, unfortunally for Chan, you’re a biiiig teaser. Even more now, because you say « i love you » to each other for the first time one month ago. And, to be honest, the whole secret situation thing kind of turn you both on.

So, with your job, you are really often in the 3racha’s studio with Jisung and Changbin and one day, you really wanting to tease your boyfriend. The four of you are siting on the couch’s studio in this order : you, Chan, Jisung and Changbin, working on tablature and lyrics on the table in front of all of you. At a moment, Changbin was writing something while talking, Jisung was speaking to him, his back half facing Chan, so you give your boyfriend a big peck on his lips, while making it as soundless as possible. He turns freeze.

« _ So Chan, what do you think about incorporate some spanich here ? It’s gonna match the rythm more than english or korean i think. » Then you flowing to seems less suspicious.

_ Where do you want to put it, Y/N ? » Asks Jisung while bending over the paper on the table in front of Chan. «  Hyung ? Are you okay ? » The younger asks to his non-talking hyung.

_ Hum ? Oh yeah yeah, i am. What are we talking about ? »

Jisung talks but Chan didn’t listen to him, just sigh at your winning face.

Minho (non idol!) :

All the kids were silent when you step in the classroom. Some of them lift their heads to look quickly at you before getting to their test again. It was the last test of their highschool year, the famous Suneung. Minho smiles at you while sitting at the desk at the end of the classroom, grabbing the coffee cup you take for him.

You two were teachers in this highschool and also, a couple. But you keep it secret for the students because they doesn’t need to know your personal lifes. In fact, only the headmaster knew about it and he’s not really a fan of it because he’s concerned about the good relationship if you break up one day. Well, you are now married for a year so… it’s quite unlikely.

You were on the monitoring team for the maths exam this time, the two of you being at each corner of the classroom : you at the front, Minho at the end. So, when you give him the coffee, you put a little peck on his lips, knowing that all the students turning their backs at you. Minho were shocked before throwing you a dark look and a disapproval face.

You just give him a questionable look, like « i did nothing why are you looking at me like that ? » and walks to the front desk, can’t resist to have a little smirk on your face.

Changbin :

As usual, Changbin is sleeping when you’re doing his make up and hair. The room was really quiet because half of the Stray Kids members are asleep, during their make up or just waiting on the couch. Nobody really paid attention to everybody. Unlike the habits, you were on time on the planning so no did to rush. Gently, you’re applied eyeshadows on Changbin, can’t stand but looking deeply in love with your boyfriend. You two are still a secret, even between the members so you can’t be touchy with him all the time. But you can be on purpose while doing his make up.

Next to you were your colleague doing Minho’s make up, in the arms of Morpheus too. They excused us and leaving to the bathroom, making you the only staff member at the beauty tables.

With a quick glance, you check if anyone looks at you (spoiler : no one did) and you quickly kiss Changbin, who just startled, eyes wide open.

« _Y/N, what are you doing ? » He whispers while you’re back at your beauty supplies, faking choosing a brush.

_ Nothing, what are you talking about ? Go back to sleep ».

Hyunjin :

You are in the Stray Kids’s dorm for the annual video games tournament and Hyunjin, your boyfriend, is eager to beat you at Mario Kart, because he never did. The living room is a fucking mess, full of yelling and foot tapping everytime something happenned in the game. Rapidly, all of the Stray Kids member got eliminated, remains you and Hyunjin. Everything like relationship, love and other sweets things is gone between you : only victory remains. At this point, you are really perfect for each other. Chan makes the two of you checking hands and wishing each other good luck (« _ you better need luck, looser / _ watch me ») and, joysticks in hands, the first run begins. When the last one begins (the famous rainbow run), you’re winning 2:1 and no way you gonna gave him a tie. Especially because it’s almost 1am and the members got tired (Jeongin, Seungmin, Felix and Changbin are already in bed. Such loosers, you think). Only remains Jisung, Chan and Minho but they’re not focused on the game like earlier. Jisung just try to not fall asleep on the couch next to you, Chan is working on the floor and Minho, sating on the floor as well, just looking at some cats videos. So, for the sake of the members, you need victory, of course. For the sake of the members and, obviously, to tease your boyfriend until forever.

So, it’s the last ride, the last bend before the final line, Hyunjin is second but really close to your first ass. So you need to employ your final weapon. When you two finished the last bend and it’s just remain the straight line before final line, you crashed on Hyunjin’s mouse to kiss him so deeply the poor boy drop his joystick on his lap. You free your innocent boyfriend only when you ear the wining music. Hyunjin looks at you, panting and red, while you jump on your feets and give him a winning dance.

« _Hum… Oh ! What’s happen ? Y/N finally win ? » Jisung says, wake up by your victory celebration.

_ Yes ! Call me the master of games ! And i’m hungry now, so the winner gonna steal all your fridge’s food ! » You say as you walk into their kitchen.

Chan just smile and giggle before focus on his laptop, Minho follows you (but still looking at cats pictures or videos), Jisung gets up of the couch to go to his bed and Hyunjin is still shock, don’t know if he reveals your cheating move or not.

Jisung (non idol!) :

You and Jisung are dating for two years and he gets used to your non PDA, even if he loves this kind of attention. So in public, he loves to tease you with holding hands, hugs and stuff like that because you get embarassed right away and he laughs a lot about that. One day, in the summer, you two takes a walk in a park when you decide to buy ice cream. You choose rapsberry and him chocolate, then you decide to sit on a bunch to enjoy it. The park was quite empty, even more where you are. As usual, Jisung teases you a lot, with tickles this time. Half laughing, half out of breath, you ask him to stop because you are afraid to drop your ice cream. And nothing is more important than food (even more when you paid for it). In a last laugh, he obeys and a sweet silence sets up between you two. Jisung contemplate the small wind in the trees with a absent look, while liking his ice cream. Obsiously, this dummy gets a small account of it on the corner of this mouth and doesn’t seems to care or to know. However, you finised your ice cream and begin to move close to your boyfriend. Quickly, you kiss him to get a taste of his dessert before get back to your inital sitting on the bench. Jisung startles a little and blinks several times while looking at you before open his mouth. But you are quicker that him.

« _ Where do you want to go after, babe ? I want to drink something ». You say casually.

Felix :

It’s been 7 years that you’re dating Felix. Fans knows about your couple, obviously and you receiving nothing but endless amount of love. Stray Kids was still a thing, even if all the members  have a solo career. You, in an other end, are in their staff member (in the sound team to be specific). This day was the day of a countless solo concert for Stray Kids, an important one because this is the first together since a long time. Felix was stressed as fuck. Be as serious as he’s always be, you see him dancing and lipsyncing everytime he could before the concert begins. You can’t talk to him as much as you want because you were so overworked with all the soundchecks to make that you barely can’t talk with anybody but your crew members. You know he knows his job, he’s doing it since a long time, his korean is better than ever, etc. but you see him nervous and you can’t but want to hug and confort him, cause you’re an amazing signifiant other (and i guess… a normal one ?).

Two hours later, it’s the rush, the concert begins in like 2 min so all the last things to test are testing. Stray Kids planned to appears on the stage with a rising launch pad so all of them were crouching on it, stylists, make up artists and all the staff checking them a last time. As well, you’re doing their check ups and keep your boyfriend for the end. He smiled absent-minded at you, while you reached for his mic. In the same movement, you give him a long kiss, hoping to give him all the strength you wanted to gave him. You knew no one gonna watch you because they know your relationship (and you were right, no one gave attention to you). Even if he startles a little bit, Felix respond to your kiss with eager but you have to break it and get out of the launch pad because all the signals for the concert’s debut are ringing.

« _Thank you for the help babe ! », Felix sceams at you while the launch pad are rising, above all the fans’ screams, the electronic mess and the staff’s bustle around you, the flashs and the artificial smoke.

_ I don’t know what you’re talking about ! ». You reply to him with smile and irony.

Seungmin (non idol!) :

You and Seungmin were bestfriends since middle school and the first year of high school, he began to have a crush on you. But he also don’t want to ruin your friendship so here we are, last year of highschool and a poor boy deeply in love (but that he don’t know, it’s that you are deeply in love with him too but you say nothing for the same reason).

One day, he was at the school library, searching for a book in the shelves, deeply concentrated. He don’t catch you getting at his side. He was so cute, pouting that you can’t but putting a little peck on his lips. Seungmin jumps really high, shallows a gasp and looks at you like you are ghost.

« _ Y/N ! What are you doing in the school’s library ? » He whispers, trying to hide his happiness wih admonition.

_ Just looking for books. Oh, it’s the one i search ! Meet me at the usual table to study ! » You say, smiling at him and turning away, leaving the poor boy really shocked.

Jeongin :

Jeongin was stressed, you can see that like the nose in the middle of the face. His ears were red like a tomato and he can’t but bit his nails, almost at blood. You glance at him quickly, before reporting you eyes on the road, turning the wheel.

« _ Are you okay dear?

_ Hum? Oh yeah, Y/N, i’m okay, don’t worry.

_ Honey, I know you and it’s like I’m driving you to the purgatory. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.

_ Really it’s okay, I…. I’m just afraid your family doesn’t like me. »

You were dating Jeongin for 2 years now and this night is the night you finally introduced him to your family (parents, siblings, aunts and uncles, grands-parents) and the poor baby is really stressing up. You are also a foreigner and this is the first time he travelled to your country.

« _ Don’t worry, I tell them about you and they already love you! How can they not? You’re the sweetest person I know.

_ I… I just don’t want to messed up. You’re important to me and I don’t want to make mistakes! Like, what if I struggle speaking your native langage and I end up insulting someone?

_ Baby, trust yourself! You are basically fluent! And don’t worry, they gonna be nice about it. »

To appease him, you put one of your hands on his knees. Jeongin looks at you and smile, locking your fingers.

The dinner happens to be really good ; your family were really nice to Jeongin, even if you can tell the boy is not fully at ease yet. While the table is cleaned up and the chairs’s empty, you called him.

« _Honey?

_ Yes? » He said, turning his head to you.

You catch his lips and you feel him being breathless but he can’t returned the liss because you’re already parting away.

« _You’re doing great.

_ Oh Jeongin, are you feeling alright ? You’re very red! » Your mother asks, just back in the living room with the coffee.

_ Oh yeah, don’t worry about him, he’s just a little hot. » You smile while catching the hands of your boyfriend under tha table and squeeze it.

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 11

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, a bulldozer

WC: 6.1k

-----------

Penny stops outside the spotless glass doors of Silver’s home and uses the reflection to primp one last time. 

She’s in fine form today, at least on the outside. In a sleek peach-toned Cushnie pencil dress and the first pair of Louboutins she ever purchased (the nude ones with the pointed toes), she means business. She’s the kind of put together that puts the fear of god into the hearts of every man she walks past. She craves that kind of control right now.

She can’t control her feelings, she can’t control his. But she can control her wardrobe and her hair and the reports she runs for the monthly La Splendeur financials. She fights to focus on what she can control.

Silver’s housekeeper walks her back to the library. Silver in a pantsuit black as night sits in sharp relief against her walls stacked high with colorful books. The first time Penny ever made Silver laugh was the first time Silver invited her here and Penny immediately commented on its resemblance to the Beast’s library in Beauty and the Beast.

Silver looks pleased to see her. Any residual weirdness from their last meeting is gone, at least visibly. She’s serving lapsang oolong from her English garden tea set today.

“Good morning, love. I do like your dress. And your necklace sits above it nicely.”

Penny lifts a hand like she wants to check it’s still there. She’s wearing Shawn’s necklace. It seems a waste to leave it in a box in a safe, where it’s been since Ava died. Silver herself said that. And it does go so well with the dress.

Penny smiles placidly. “Thank you. How was Monaco?”

Silver looks mischievous for a moment. Penny finds herself grinning back, enjoying the spark she sees.

“Hot. A little muggy. Terribly crowded.”

Silver’s expression doesn’t match her words.

“Who is she?” Penny laughs.

Silver lifts her chin in defiance. “Tell me I’m not that transparent.”

Penny snorts indelicately and sips her tea. “Silver, you’re as transparent as a cinderblock. But you forget how well I know you.”

The women exchange a meaningful look. Silver glances down at her perfect manicure.

“Her name is Sylvie. She owns a cafe on the Boulevard de Suisse. She makes the best mille feuille I’ve ever had.”

Penny’s eyebrows lift slightly. There’s something in Silver’s voice now that replaces the familiar mischief with which she talks about her romantic dalliances. It’s a little trembling, a little soft, a little warm. Penny attempts to remain stoic. Spooking her is the worst possible thing Penny could do.

“Wow. Sounds like a nice trip.”

Silver meets her eyes. “It was. I’ll be going back next week.”

Penny only barely manages to school her face out of a delighted grin. Silver shakes her head softly and opens her portfolio.

Numbers are up this summer from last. All the girls have been doing very well. Silver has interest in bringing on a few more, has gotten recommendations from girls on the roster, which is where the best talent comes from. Penny assures her that financially, they’re in an excellent position to expand.

“Speaking of expanding, how are things looking on the non-profit end?” Penny murmurs without looking up from her laptop. She can feel Silver’s curious gaze.

“Still tying up some legal loose ends in the back before we really move ahead,” Silver answers carefully.

Penny looks up now with her game face on. “Anything I can do to help us along? I’d like to get moving on it.”

Silver’s expression goes a little sour. She puts her teacup down more forcefully than necessary. Penny flinches.

“You were singing a different tune during our last meeting, love.”

The corners of Penny’s lips pull in slightly. “I don’t believe that’s true, I checked on the progress and you gave me an update and said it was slow. I’m checking again now and you say it’s still slow. So perhaps I should step in.”

Silver’s eyes narrow. “Please don’t forget how well I know you.”

The words are simple and somehow both threatening and loving. Penny’s stable facade breaks. She looks down.

“I know very well how long you’ve wanted to do this kind of work. I know how important this is to you. That’s why I was surprised when you seemed flippant about it last week.”

“I wasn’t flippant, I--”

“Penny, please. Don’t suggest that I can’t read you. It’s insulting to me and to our friendship.”

Penny’s mouth shuts. She feels like a scolded child.

“And now you’re getting impatient to get started. I don’t understand, my darling. Please. Explain this to me.”

Penny’s lips part. She hesitates and reaches for her teacup instead.

Silver softens. “You’re allowed to be a little lost, you know.”

Penny’s eyes shut as she chews on her lower lip. “Don’t like getting lost,” she mutters.

“None of us do, babe. But you need to choose your path now. You owe it to your clients and to this foundation.”

Penny’s expression goes dark. “Don’t make this about him.”

Silver eschews her infuriating wise owl gaze and leans into sympathy instead. She shakes her head slowly.

“I didn’t. You seem to have gotten there on your own.”

Penny’s face goes hot. Her chin quivers slightly. Silver reaches across the table and takes her hand. The physical contact freezes Penny in her tracks.

“Listen to me, my love. I know this is scary. Everything is changing on you right now. But you always knew you couldn’t escort forever. You always knew you wanted to help in a larger, more lasting way. I know he isn’t the reason you want to move forward with the foundation. But… it’s ok if he’s the reason you want to do it now.”

Penny’s jaw locks up. Her hand slips cold from her friend’s grasp. She gathers her folders and laptop and stands.

“I have to go.”

Her voice is a croak. Silver winces in response, but leans back in her seat and watches her go.

+

Well this is…. Not what he pictured.

Shawn’s not exactly sure what he envisioned when he thought about where Penny lives. It shifted depending on her mood when she was with him. Sometimes he imagined her living in a big, scary haunted house-looking mansion deep in the Hills. Sometimes he pictured a bright, vibrant penthouse in Santa Monica.

Not this. It’s so… normal.

It’s lovely, obviously. It’s a little cottage almost all by itself in the Studio City hills. She parks the leased Passat in the driveway and keeps the Aston Martin in the garage. She has a welcome mat that asks visitors to wipe their paws. Pammy’s leash is hanging from a railing on the porch.

He stands in front of her door for almost five minutes trying to prepare himself to walk into her private space and not become a walking heart eye emoji. 

He’s in LA for 24 hours for meetings and a premiere with Bex. He has painters in his house, so they can’t go there. He doesn’t even have time for an overnight with her. So she takes him as an in call.

It’s standard procedure to have a driver meet the client at the courtesan’s house when she’s taking an in call, but Penny waved Gus off. Given that she’s a partner in the business, she has the power to do so. Gus sends her confirmation of Shawn’s wire transfer and tells her if she needs anything, anything at all, he’ll be close by at Jamie’s tennis tournament. He’s a little twitchy, she thinks, because actually, Penny’s never taken an in call before.

Pammy hears him walk up before she does, even over the soft crooning of “Songs for Young Lovers” on vinyl. With little sniffs and gruff grunts, Pammy jogs to the door to greet their guest.

The sun is behind him when she opens the door, casting him golden and glowing as he smiles at her. She smiles back.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he greets, and she’s beset with butterflies walking him into her foyer to meet her dog and breathe her air.

His attention turns almost immediately to Pammy, who’s very eagerly and politely sitting, thumping her tail and waiting to be noticed. Shawn doesn’t disappoint.

He crouches low, holds out his hand and ducks his head a little, looking non-threatening. “Hi. Are you Pammy?”

Pammy walks up for his inspection without answering him. She thoroughly sniffs the hand he offers and when she decides he’s decent enough to let in, she snuggles up against his chest for pets. 

Shawn, having been recognized by Pammy for the puppy he is, lifts his head to look at Penny in triumph. “She likes me!”

“She does,” Penny agrees, flustered and glancing around her foyer like she’s looking for more personal items to clear out, though there wasn’t really anything there when she did a walk-through earlier, just the painting of the Las Vegas Strip in the 50s.

Shawn stands and pleasantly towers over her. His eyes flit to her lips as he smirks. He looks back up at her eyes for permission.

Penny tilts her head up and lets him kiss her, nice and soft and sweet. Probably too sweet. It reminds her of Silver’s words the day before. When he pulls away, she bites her lip.

“The premiere’s tonight?” Penny mutters weakly, walking him into the living room where the record player whirls and the blinds are open to the hills. Shawn gazes around, memorizing. He nods.

“I have to leave here at 4.”

Penny does some mental math. “Guess we better get started.”

She turns on her heel and plants her lips back on his. He catches her, a bit startled, whimpering into the firm set of her mouth. She backs him into the wall and slips her hands beneath his shirt, feeding on the perfect sizzle of his hot skin. He explores her mouth, keeping his hands on either side of her neck until she tells him otherwise. As he starts to run out of breath, he notices her hands are still and her lips aren’t moving against his with the same fervor. His brow puckers. He pulls away slightly.

“You ok?” he pants.

She nods and sucks him back in. Her thumbs work against the dips in his obliques and it makes him dizzy, but he still feels a disconnect. He settles further into the wall and tugs a little at her hair, feeling like a needy kid. She doesn’t react.

“Hey,” he tries again, pulling back more fully this time, “If you’re not into this, we really don’t have to do anything. Seriously.”

“What?” she asks dumbly.

Shawn goes pink. “I mean, we can just hang out. Or… I can go. It’s whatever.”

If she sent him away, he could totally pretend not to be devastated. No problem.

Penny chews the inside of her lip, then tilts her head forward to rest against his chest. “‘S not you.”

Shawn resists his desire to nuzzle his cheek against her hair. Instead, he cups his hands around her upper arms and rubs her softly.

“I’ve been having… a weird couple days.”

Shawn’s brows lift, but she doesn’t elaborate. He nods.

“Do you want to talk?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you… want me to go?”

Her pause before she shakes her head is the longest of his whole godforsaken life.

He feels a little desperate. “What can I do?”

She lifts her head from his chest. She looks worn and maybe a little panicked underneath. It rises in him in response.

“I don’t know,” she sighs.

Shawn absently combs his fingers through the ends of her hair. He looks around.

What helps him feel better when he’s distracted and wigging out a little? She does. Maybe he just has to be ok with the idea that he doesn’t have the same effect on her.

His heart thuds extra hard for a beat in his chest. Maybe he could.

Shawn sweeps his hands up to position his thumbs under her ears, tilting her face up.

“Do you want me to take care of you?” he breathes.

Her expression goes blank. She looks lost. He wets his lips and tries again, like he’s trying on a suit that he’s not sure fits.

He brushes his nose over her brow and hopes his voice is steady when he says, “You wanna be my good girl?”

Penny feels her hands, still resting on his sides, clench hard. The strangled gasp she releases sounds kind of like a moan. She’s suddenly very aware of him, of everything about him -- his light hint of cologne, the tenderness of his lips on her forehead as he smirks, the sheer size and broadness of him in her arms.

“That a yes?”

Words fail her. Her head is whistling like it’s ready to fly off her body. She’s glad he’s holding her up because otherwise her knees would’ve gone weak.

“I’ve… I mean, no one’s ever…”

“I know,” he soothes, surprised by his own confidence, but he supposes he learned it from her, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go easy on you.”

Penny recognizes the words. She’s probably said them before. Being on the receiving end is different. She thinks if anyone else tried them on for her, she’d laugh and pin them into a corner, reminding them who’s in charge.

But as he holds her, she can feel the way his desire to shoulder her burden is seeping off him. His gaze is steady. If he’s anxious at all about stepping into her shoes, she can’t see it.

Is she really about to do this? Is she ready to strip off all the armor she’s so carefully crafted and made a home of? It doesn’t even feel like armor anymore -- it’s a second skin, as close to her as she’s let anything get.

Her own responding certainty runs so deep it touches her trembling bones. She doesn’t feel like fighting it. She wants this with him, wherever it ends up taking them.

“Please.”

When her eyes drift open again, his are locked on her, virile and hungry and so fucking alive. She swears she could come just by looking at them. They watch her for a moment or two, then drop. He pries her claw-like hands off his body and holds them between his own. He cradles them against his lips, blinking up at her lazily, a single curl falling over his hot gaze.

“Where’s your bedroom?”

His words restart her breath. She nods behind him. He gestures toward the hallway she points down and follows her little steps as she guides him.

Her bedroom is bright, surrounded by windows on three walls in the corner of the house. The ceiling gables to a peak so it feels like a little tower. Her bed takes up most of the space -- it’s enormous with white wrought iron head and footboards and blood red sheets. It’s covered in dog hair -- he bets Pammy usually sleeps there with her.

He grins and spends time unapologetically studying. He can feel the way her eyes track him, waiting for his next move. He finds he enjoys being the cat to her mouse. He wasn’t sure it could feel natural, but he finds he wants to relieve her. This is the best way to do it.

He stops in front of a photo print on her wall, a black and white portrait. It’s a close up. Her hair is wet and slung around her face. She appears to be laughing so hysterically it’s almost a scream. Shawn recognizes it and is sure it came from the shoot she used in her La Splendeur portfolio. He glances over his shoulder at her to see her watching him with her hands folded.

“You’ve really never done this before? Not even before you started escorting?”

Penny shrugs. “No. I mean, I wasn’t always so bossy, but I’ve never been… a sub.”

Shawn turns, smiling. “Something tells me you’ve always been a little bossy.”

Penny’s eyes flash for a moment and he can see the domme in her, the one that will always be there, even when she needs a rest. It shoots a thrill up his spine. He gets to give her what she needs this time.

“I’m gonna take your clothes off now,” he says quietly, waiting for her nod before his fingers skip to the buttons of her shirt. He plucks at them, watching more freckled brown skin come out as he goes. He licks his lips, and then remembers he can taste her whenever the hell he wants. With a little murmur, he ducks his head and sucks on her collarbone right next to her throat. She mewls, tilting her head to accommodate him, dragging her hands up his sides. 

Shawn stops. He bares his teeth against her shoulder. Her eyes fly open.

“Baby, you know the rules. No hands until I tell you.”

Penny’s chest tightens. She drops her grasp on him. From her shoulder, he watches her little hands clench into fists. He scoops her closer and sucks harder, working the rest of her buttons until he can shrug it off her shoulders. It flutters to their feet. Shawn starts in on the button of her boyfriend jeans, securing his lips now to the base of her throat to suck a twin burgundy mark. Penny’s breathing is heavy and erratic. She’s having trouble letting go.

Once he gets her clothes off, she’s left in a set of heathered gray Calvin Klein lingerie. He laughs. She preens a little.

“Did you do this on purpose?”

Penny sweeps her hair off her shoulders and looks down, licking her lips. “I fuck in my Calvins.”

Shawn’s eyes go dark. He shakes his head slowly. “No you don’t, honey. Take ‘em off.”

He steps back, rests his ass against her dresser and hopes his knuckles aren’t visibly white against the antique wood. She sheds the sports bra first, bending to drop it at her feet, letting her breasts swing. She rises slowly, teasing him. He’s enjoying it. She loops her thumbs through the panties at her hips and drags them down. Shawn spots the wetness darkening the crotch and grunts approvingly.

He looks her up and down. She stands tall and confident because that doesn’t come from the domme in her, that’s just Penny. He tilts his head.

“Where’s your necklace, Pen?”

Her easy confidence is rocked. She blinks and looks around. When she can’t find the words around her, she looks back at him, wide-eyed.

“Wanna see you in it when I make you come.”

Penny’s thighs squeeze. Shawn bites his lip.

She goes to her vanity and reaches into the first drawer. The red box is cracked and faded by time, but what’s in it still shines like the day it was made. She locks eyes with him in the mirror while she clasps it around her pretty neck.

Shawn takes slow, quiet steps up behind her, eyes trained on hers until he’s a breath away. He looks down and admires the glimmer from the curve of her neck. Now exposed to her other unmarked side, he slips a hand down to her stomach to anchor her against him. The other delicately traces the path of diamonds along her throat.

“It’s so pretty, huh, Pen?” he rasps.

She nods. “Really pretty.”

He hums and presses his lips against her jugular, feeling his pulse thrum as hers does.

“And who got it for you?” His voice is a muffled growl against her skin.

She closes her eyes. “You did.”

He skims up along her jaw to the corner of her soft mouth. “That’s right, baby.”

His warm hand cups her throat, not applying pressure but just to hold her head back while he kisses her nearly upside down. She’s eager and responsive now, gripping the little chair in front of her vanity but still squirming under his control. The hand on her stomach dips between her legs. She’s nice and wet, but still not as wet as he wants when he takes her.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he grunts into her mouth, swallowing the crooning whine she releases when he works the heel of his hand against her clit. She spreads her legs a little wider, giving her the purchase to work back against his hand for more friction. He clocks her greediness and smiles against her sweet lips, giving her clit a rough smack. She yelps and lets it trail into a moan.

“Getting desperate, sweetheart?”

His voice is all sharp honey. She wants to fucking bathe in it. She whines again weakly and lets her weight fall back against him. He holds her up, locking an arm around her stomach so the hand between her legs can come up to offer to her.

“Have a taste.”

Penny looks down at his glistening fingers. She brings her hand up to cradle his, and he allows it, focusing on her mouth as she sucks his fingers in between her lips.

Penny’s not unfamiliar with the taste. She’s sucked on fingers and toys that are coated in her many times, but never like this, never as it’s being presented to her by a partner. It’s headier and more erotic. She moans low, overwhelmed by it. Shawn’s eyes dim.

“Fuck, you like that? You taste so fucking good, huh?”

She nods eagerly, still swirling her tongue around his fingers one by one. The arm around her holds her fast while he grinds, still fully clothed, against her perfect round ass. She releases his fingers with a filthy slurp and pants at him.

“Can I suck your cock?”

Shawn wants to fall to his knees for her, but resists, given her request. He kisses her hard, nodding, letting her turn in his arms and lead him to the bed. On the way, she shucks him out of his t-shirt and jeans. He’s in gray Calvins, too. She giggles. It makes his cock throb.

He sits on the edge of her bed. She kneels in between his legs, charged by the confident way he shifts a hand into her hair and spreads his knees. His eyes are molten, looking down at her. She cups him through his briefs and sighs.

“Missed your cock.”

Shawn groans, his brow wrinkling. “Show me.”

With one last glance up at him, she pulls him free, tugging his briefs off his ankles to fling away with her own Calvins.

Penny leans in, her hands planted on his powerful quads, her breath short at seeing how he’s already leaking for her. She curls her tongue over the tip of his cock greedily to swipe up his salty precome. He hums.

“Gonna take me nice and deep, honey?”

She’s never heard him talk like this. It makes her lightheaded and whimpery. She nods and kisses a path down the underside of his shaft to his balls. She peppers them with kisses, light and teasing, then follows her trail back up.

She stops with her lips brushing his head. It pulses for her eagerly. She runs her tongue along the ridge, enjoying the way his stomach clenches.

“I want you to fuck my throat,” she whispers, her voice sounding like he’s already done it.

Shawn’s eyes nearly roll back in his head. “Fuck yeah, baby. Shit. Yeah, wanna feel your throat around my cock.”

With his hand still firmly in her hair, she slicks him down first with her tongue, bobbing her head a few times until her nose brushes his abdomen, warming herself up. She pulls back up, catching his eye, nodding without releasing him from her mouth.

It occurs to Shawn as he starts to slowly rock his hips that he’s never actually… done this. He’s had many blowjobs -- the good, the bad and the ugly. Penny has sucked him down several times, each more perfect than the last. But he’s never been asked to treat a woman’s throat like her pussy before. He hears himself whine as he grazes the back of Penny’s throat, only to feel her swallow.

“Shit, that feels… Pen…” he breathes, letting himself pick up a rhythm, planting his feet for leverage. Her hands rub at his inner thighs, coaxing them apart as she scoots forward, eager for more.

He watches in amazement until he realizes he can’t because he’s so fucking close to coming in her pretty mouth and he’d so much rather come in her warm cunt. He eases her back by her hair, watching her slurp at his bright red tip, popping her lips around it in a way that almost makes him thrust back up into her mouth and say screw it.

“So good, honey, shit, fuck, we gotta…” He chuckles at himself, at the way he sounds like he’s really ready to bust. He shakes his head and falls back into her sheets, inhaling deeply.

“We gotta slow down. Not ready to come yet.”

Her sheets smell like lavender fabric softener. She leans her cheek against his inner thigh, sneaking a little kiss.

“Shawn?”

Her voice is softer than he’s ever heard it. He lifts his head to look at her.

Her brown eyes are peering at him from over his thigh. She blinks quickly.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask… you for something?”

His heart squeezes. He nods.

Penny turns her face into his thigh, brushing her nose through the downy hair there.

“Will you spank me? Please?”

Shawn lurches upright, leaning on his hand as he stares down at her.

“Say it again.”

He hears himself give the command but doesn’t remember thinking it.

She folds her hands in her lap. “Please spank me.”

Shawn beams at her, reaching for her hand and yanking her up onto the bed and against his warm, needy body. They both writhe and moan in reaction to the fullest contact they’ve had, skin against skin, desperation mixing. He tastes her desire on her tongue, mixed with his own saltiness. He groans and bites into her lower lip, cupping her firm ass in both hands. She arches into it, fisting the sheets in her hands as she fights her instinct to touch him, to take whatever she needs.

Instead, she lets him give it.

Shawn holds her close and sits up, cradling her in his lap. He spreads tender kisses across her cheeks and chin and mouth, his fingers crawling over his most precious -- her shoulder blades.

He gets her so soft and pliant in his arms he almost decides not to let her go. But she’s squirming and wet and he thinks maybe he’s about to fulfill a long held curiosity and fantasy of hers, and what could be better than getting to do that for someone you love?

Shawn sighs into her hair, tucking it back behind her ear so he can whisper.

“Lie across my lap.”

The responding whimper is so sweet, so charged and eager, Shawn’s hips rut up against her before he can stop them. She’s dripping in his lap and he thinks her spanking is only going to make her wetter. The heady power makes him growl again. His toes curl against her rug.

He helps position Penny across his lap facedown. Her thighs are clamped together, likely to offer her some relief as he traces patterns across her smooth hamstrings. The well-used muscles clench magnificently. Her back arches, offering him her plump, round ass like a fucking Christmas present.

Penny holds herself up proudly, taking the first teasing smacks against her soft flesh with only gentle, approving coos. He distracts her, teasing his fingertips down her thighs and out over her hips. She breathes shakily.

When the first hard spank comes on her left cheek, she yelps. Shawn’s hand holds tight, squeezing to make a mark, keeping the bite in place just like she does when she spanks him.

Suddenly, the pressure is gone. His hand rests limply.

“Penny, what’s your safe word?”

His voice is totally sober and clear. She blinks out of the haze.

“Uh… I don’t… have one.”

His thumb rubs a circle into the palm mark he left. “Can you pick one?”

Penny squints. She can barely remember what day it is, she’s so gone. She glances around the room, looking for inspiration. Her eyes land on her closet.

“Stiletto.”

She can hear Shawn’s smirk. He accedes and goes back to massaging the nice welt he left from his first strike. He leaves another on her other cheek to match. Penny squirms. She knows he can feel her wetness pooling in his lap. She knows that’s why he isn’t afraid to spank her a little harder -- the harder it gets, the more she drips.

Penny lies slack across his lap, weightless, worry-less. The pleasure-pain has her higher than any other substance she’s tried. She feels so fucking free with him, safe and cherished in a way she can’t quite replicate on the other side of a punishment.

There’s an element of awe in a D/s relationship. If it’s right, it’s shared by both parties -- the dominant partner in awe of their submissive’s willingness, their singular desire for whatever the dominant wants to give them; and the submissive in awe of their dominant’s ability to strip them of everything that stresses, aches or bothers, leaving them only to feel what the dominant wants them to feel. Penny thinks she understands both now so fully as she arches her back a little higher and murmurs into the pillow, waiting to see what else he’ll give her.

On the third slap across her left cheek, she cries out and comes off her elbows, letting her cheek rest against her duvet as he rubs her and coos.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me,” Shawn marvels. His erection is trapped between his stomach and her side. She writhes against it, gifting him the same relief he’s giving her.

His hand slips between her thighs. Penny moans, leaning her weight back into it. Shawn slips two fingers inside her, sighing.

“Fucking soaked. Want you nice and ready for my cock.”

Penny’s gurgling mewl would be embarrassing with anyone else. She thinks he likes watching her react when he flicks his wrist a certain way, brushes her g-spot teasingly, or scissors his fingers apart. She gasps and squeaks and moans and whines and cries out when his free hand slaps at one of the livid marks her left on her perky ass. He soaks it all in with an easy smile until she’s panting, desperate.

“Please, I need your cock,” she sobs, pressing her hip up against it again, tempting him. His eyes droop, showing weakness.

Shawn doesn’t see the point in waiting any longer. He’s ready to make her come all over him, to burst inside her in that way that could never be so satisfying with anyone else. He eases his fingers out of her, lavishing them with his tongue while she watches. Her pussy clenches again, waiting for him to fill it.

He helps her off his lap, still smirking, easing her onto her stomach with her head on a pillow. He pauses.

“Pen, do you want a condom?” he asks softly. She shakes her head no, facedown. His cock gives a twitch.

Shawn straddles her, his knees bracketing hers as he lowers himself down against her back, reveling in her sharp inhale when his cock slips between her thighs. They start to rock in time like they planned it, but it’s just them. Shawn moans contentedly against her neck.

“Been so good and sweet for me, Penny. My perfect girl.”

Penny hums in reply. It rumbles through Shawn’s chest where he’s pressed against her.

“Gonna make you feel so good, honey. Wanna make you come so fucking hard for me. Can you do that?”

Penny nods before he’s even finished the question. He grins and kisses a mark he left on her shoulder.

Shawn eases back and positions himself at her entrance, held up just barely by his knees. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and presses his hips forward.

Shawn remembers the first time she let him in. She reached between her legs, her eyes never leaving his, and guided him in herself, slinging a leg over his shoulder like they did it every day. It was hot and brazen and he came a little embarrassingly fast but she just beamed at him and let him play with her nipples until he fell asleep, only to fuck him harder when he woke up before dawn. It wasn’t intimate, it wasn’t elevating, it was just satisfying.

Shawn turns his face into Penny’s neck. He can feel her pulse and hear her sharp breathing into the pillow as her body adjusts to his. With his weight against her, she’s enclosed by him and still reaches for more, sliding a hand up to clap over his, linking their fingers. Shawn’s hips snap forward once, hard, in response to her instinctively personal gesture. Penny rocks with the motion, gasping wetly into the pillow. 

“Feels good, sweetheart?”

Penny squirms at the pet name, one she’s never heard from him before, it only made an appearance tonight after he donned his dom costume. 

“Good. So… good,” Penny sighs, running her thumb against his. Shawn looks at their fingers and it has him rocking back up against her to start a comfortable rhythm.

She’s cradled beneath him, wet and content, holding his hand, her body gripping his cock like maybe they’re in love but fuck, he’s not gonna say it, he’s definitely not gonna say it because she hasn’t said it and he’s still paying for the privilege of being balls deep inside her, even if it’s the greatest privilege of his life.

So he swings his hips a little faster into the red, welted flesh of her ass and absorbs every moaning breath she gifts him like he’s losing his hearing tomorrow.

Penny is melting. She’s smearing makeup onto her pillow, she’s dripping wetness into her sheets, she’s fucking coming apart. But it’s more than that. She’s never felt like this before. And she’s seen and heard a million women say it. She understood conceptually what they meant, but she never got the glassy awayness in their eyes when they said it. Penny can’t see herself now, and she’s glad she can’t, but she bets her eyes are pretty thoroughly glazed.

Beneath his perfect hips and pressed up against his broad chest, she’s somewhere she never thought she’d be. She’s under, not over, out of control but not powerless. She didn’t think the happy medium could exist in her life, not when she’s spent most of it fighting for as much control as she could gather. Control meant comfort. If it was broken, she could fix it. If she couldn’t, it was on her. But it was a burden she could deal with. She never had help. She didn’t ask for it. She didn’t want it.

But that’s not really true. She’s always had Peter. She’s always had Gus. She’s always had Silver. The man shifting his hips above her to find her g-spot while he sucks on her earlobe and squeezes her fingers is new to the picture but becoming maybe just as important.

Perhaps the things she values most in life are those she can’t control.

She presses her forehead into the pillow. Her chest is caving in with each swing as it bottles up inside her. She shakes her head slightly, wetting her lips. Holding it in.

“Penny, fuck, honey, I’m so close.”

Her release of breath is a sob so sudden and so violent that Shawn’s rhythm falters. He slows, tucking his head over her shoulder to check on her. His eyes are wide. His lips are parted.

“Pen--”

“Mia.”

Shawn’s hips stop altogether. He’s buried so deep neither of them can breathe, but neither of them moves, either.

“What?” he pants.

She turns her face, brushing her nose against his. His eyes fall shut.

“My name is Mia, not Penny. Mia Violetta Bianchi. My name is Mia.”

Mia. Mia. Mia.

The connections snapping in place in Shawn’s brain feel like livewires sparking all over the place. He pants harder into her ear, though he’s stopped moving. 

Mia. Mia. Mia.

He holds her hand tighter and starts stroking harder, feeling her body pulse around his, a hot, wet warning.

Mia. Mia. Mia.

He doesn’t realize until now he’s been saying it out loud. Her name. Her real name.

“Mia,” he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, “Come for me, Mia.”

Her body pops like a bottle of champagne. She goes impossibly tight around him, pulsing erratically, desperately seeking his mouth to cry into as she comes harder than he’s ever fucking seen. He follows blindly, his hips taking off without him. He calls out her name over and over as he releases inside her, like he’s trying to make up for every time he’s said the other name. By the time his most powerful orgasm to date abates, leaving him shaking and ready for collapse against her soft, languid body, he can’t think anything else.

Mia.

+

He feels something’s wrong before he even wakes up. He turns over to find her sitting on the edge of her own bed beside him, staring at him mournfully. She doesn’t appear to have been crying, but she looks close enough.

“Hey,” he whispers, starting to sit up.

Mia turns her head, looking at the floor. The motion makes one of the center diamonds in her necklace catch the light. He’s never wanted to touch her so badly.

“I need to ask you for something.”

He nods. “Anything.”

“I need you to leave me alone for awhile.”

Shawn’s eyes slide shut and he thinks maybe his body is willing him back to sleep so he doesn’t have to face this.

“Ok,” he breathes.

“Just… I need some time. I know if you call I’m supposed to see you, so I’m asking you, please, if you care for me at all, don’t call me. I… don’t know how long. But I need this, Shawn.”

Her sincerity is jarring, as is the tightness with which she’s wrapped up in her terrycloth bathrobe.

“Yeah. Ok. I--”

He was about to say he understood, but he doesn’t. Not really. He bets there’s a lot he doesn’t understand. He drops his gaze.

She stands and looks at him again. “I’ll be in the shower.”

Don’t be here when I come out.

The message is unspoken but clear. In a daze, Shawn dresses and walks out. On his way, he passes a stack of mail on a credenza addressed to Mia Bianchi.

---------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi @ultradreamologistblog @bluerose711 @sauveteen @valedictorian65 @cleocc