#still cannot believe how much he waved at my side of the stadium

[decembermoonskz]

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his little happy waves!!! 😭✨ 

[dalygrace]

@stlapin said: 🔆 + lear crew + atla (maybe with a sibling agni kai :D)! featuring @catherinedaly and @evcravens

The day of Sozin's comet dawns clear and crisp, a clean slate to usher in a new era of Fire Nation dominance. She follows the armies to the ports, kneels before her father as he prepares to battle. She can feel the energy of victory all around, crackling from the soldiers, and her heart feels as if it has lodged itself in her throat. She burns, all fierce pride, as her father names her successor in the early morning light. Fire Lord. The title is sweet on her tongue, but there is too the taste of ash - her rise tempered by her father's further ascension. Some small part of her stings with this once and final insult, but she shoves it down, revels in the glory of her day, the day of her coronation.

By noon she has dismissed all her personal servants, banished both the Dai Lee and her lifelong advisors, and thoroughly frustrated herself with the ritual hairstyles she needs for the ceremony. In other words, she was doing fabulously. The black rot of her heart was on full display, and she found she quite enjoyed the rush of giving orders as much as she thought she would. She grins at herself in her bedroom mirror, smoothing down the edges of her newly shorn bangs. "What a shame," a voice says from behind her, and Grace's blood runs cold.

Her mother stands just behind her, a sad frown on her face as she takes in Grace's crisp uniform and unruly hair. "You always had such beautiful hair." Grace does not dignify this with a response, only pulls her hair roughly back into a bun, murderous feeling in her chest growing. "How could I miss my own daughter's coronation?" Her mother continues, as if Grace had played into her little dialogue, as if she'd entertained the idea that she was worth her time. "Don't patronize me," she snaps back, eyes blazing. "I know you'd rather it be Catherine, some little soft thing for you to puppet. I am not yours to control."

"You have always been about control," her mother replies, neatly dodging the splinters of Grace's anger that underly her words. "You cling to it, draw it to you with other people's fear. Why?"

Grace's anger boils under her skin. "Being feared is easy," she replies cooly. "I am seen as I should be seen - superior." She clutches her hairbrush like a vice, focusing on the feeling of the wood in her grasp as her mother's eyes turn sad. "Fear may be easy for others, but it is not for you. You use it to push people out, even your friends and sisters." Her mother tilts her head, gaze appraising, driving deep holes into Grace's already crumbling facade. "You are only hurting yourself. Why not try trust?"

"Trust is for fools," Grace retorts. "Fools like Catia and the Avatar." Her lip curls in disgust as her mother shakes her head sadly, and she turns sharply away. "Fear is the only way to bring power," she continues on, bullheaded to the last. "Even you fear me."

"No," the reflection says simply. "I love you, Grace. I do."

Something in her crumples. Her rage expands to fill the space, bright and hot, and Grace hurls the hairbrush at her mother's face. She is out the door before the last shards of mirror hit the ground.

She seethes all the way to the empty palace courtyard, until she kneels before the fire sages and prepares to receive her crown and title. They begin to speak and a sense of calm washes over Grace. Finally, she will be what she has been born for - Fire Lord, ruler, all-powerful. She is moments away from stepping into her birthright.

Which is, of course, why fate sees fit to send her sister back home.

Daly! Catherine shouts, their shared name sharp and echoing around the grand palace architecture. Grace's rage overpowers her and she stands, sneering down at her sister as she slides off the giant flying thing that brought her here, the waterbending boy just behind. "Kitty Cat," she spits, "so good of you to join us."

"You won't be Fire Lord today," Catia continues, and Grace laughs, a cruel sound. "Oh?" She questions, all mock solemnity. "Then who is? Certainly not you," she jeers, and revels in the angry twist of Catherine's mouth, the way Everett straightens up beside her. "If you're so keen for the title, sister," she continues, voice sharp, the plan of attack suddenly clear in her mind. "Then we fight for it. Agni kai."

"You're on," Catherine agrees, ever the go-getter, ever the optimist. Beside her, Everett looks concerned - Good, Grace thinks. He should be. They both should be.

When they fight, it is a battle of light and heat, blue flame tangling with orange. The stands are barren, devoid of the usual jeering and energetic crowd that would come to witness such an event. Their flames lick the edges of the seats, catch the rooftops ablaze. It does not matter to Grace - all she cares about is her sister before her, the scar on her face a reminder of how far she'd fallen, how worthless she'd turned out to be. Grace deflects a blast of orange flame and bares her teeth at Catherine, a sickly sharp grin. This was no agni kai for precious little Kitty Cat's honor, a lesson for her to learn - no. Only one of them was leaving here alive, and Grace knows it will be her.

Catherine's next blow takes her by surprise, a whip of flame that knocks her off her feet. She's gotten stronger since she's been away, become a force with fire that almost matches Grace. "No lightning today?" Her sister taunts as Grace drags herself up from the ground, and something cracks within her. The static charge builds as she rises, sparks playing along the length of her arms. This is where Grace stands supreme, leagues above her sister in ways she could not even imagine. The force of the lightning rips through her, sending her already manic pulse skyrocketing, as she takes in Catia's form, her stance as she readies herself against Grace's renewed onslaught. "Afraid I'll redirect it?" Catherine taunts again, unwavering, and Grace can see she no longer fears her, no longer sees the dominion she holds over her. She thinks she knows what Grace will do, knows her tricks and her vices after a lifetime of battling them - but she has underestimated her once again, here, when it counts the most.

The world stills as Grace breathes. Her vision, dominated by her sister, widens just a fraction, taking in Everett's nervous form behind Catia. He stands like a sentinel, the only witness to this battle of titans, the last puzzle piece in this ramshackle life her sister has cobbled together from the scraps given to her by their father. She sees the fear on his face and knows, in an instant, that it is not of her but rather for Catia's safety. Another smile stretches over her face, angry and cruel.

Grace has seen how Everett cares for people - for the Avatar, for the rest of his traveling band of misfits - but especially for her sister. It strikes something within her, his blind faith that Catia has been redeemed, wiped clean of her sins against him. He is weak for believing it, for believing in goodness even when there is none, just as her sister is. They have not known the path of righteousness that she treads, the unwavering faith in her actions that she holds. They act as though it is Grace who has transgressed, but have they not both acted against their nature, blinded by their so-called morality? It is Grace who has never wavered from her path, who has come, at last, to the apex of her destiny.

Grace channels all the rage she has left and sends it hurtling forward, pure deadly energy, aimed right at Everett's heart.

She sees the instant he realizes, sees the fear in his eyes change, and satisfaction pools low in her gut. They may have underestimated her, but she has read them perfectly - Catia leaps, taking the bolt straight to her chest, and the satisfaction grows, washing over Grace in a sickly wave. "Oh Catia," she sighs, voice laden with sarcasm, "You always were so predictable." She sends a bolt of lightning in Everett's direction as he tries to rush to Catherine's side, blocking his approach. The energy crackles around her as she looks down at her sister, manic smile carved across her face, all teeth and sharp edges.

"Kitty Cat, you don't look so good," she mocks, taking in the crumpled heap of Catherine's body, the small shocks that send her muscles twitching against her will. Before her, Everett looks murderous, and it is all too easy to dodge the wall of water he sends her way. She comes down behind him, lashing out with flames that chase him as he skates away from her. He does not have far to run, boxed in by the faintly burning stadium, pillars to hide behind no deterrent to Grace's determined flames. She stalks him like a cat toying with a mouse, dizzy with power, with the knowledge that she has just killed her sister, with victory sharp like iron on her tongue.

It is easy to corner him, to drive him back against the far edge of the field. "Everett," she coos, sending another blast of fire his way. "Tired already?" The torches flickering around cast ghastly shadows across her face, highlight the wild tangle of her hair as it cascades down her back. It had slipped from its loose bun at some point during the fight and Grace pushes it roughly over her shoulder as she strides forward. Everett says nothing, mouth set in a hard line, and Grace smiles further, feels the muscles in her cheeks pull tight as it splits her face. He whips several strands of water at her, a last ditch effort as he's cornered that Grace ducks into an easy roll to avoid. She comes up, power surging, drawing the crackling energy once more from her heart. She lunges, arm outstretched, fingers pointed at his head - and freezes.

The weight and chill of the ice hit her at once and she panics, unable to move. The lightning fizzles on her fingertips, a shockwave of energy radiating back down her arm to her core. The suddenness of it makes her gasp, an aborted motion as it is then that she realizes she cannot breathe. Everett's slow exhale before her, the way he moves fluidly through the ice turned liquid, only heightens the rapid thumping of her heart, the desperate realization that he has manufactured a space where she is utterly and completely powerless.

No, she tries to scream, as Everett takes hold of her arms, as she feels chains bite into her wrists. She tries to struggle, to pull away, but the ice has her pinned. Panic rises in her like bile as her lungs scream for air, burning as Everett forces her to her knees and pulls the chains tight. She feels as though she is about to burst, flames tearing through her as the ice falls away and Everett lands hard on his knees beside her, breath coming heavy. She breathes flame in a ragged arc, pulling hard against her restraints, undignified tears leaking from her eyes. She pulls hard as Everett rushes to Catia's side, feels her shoulder pop from its socket. The plain blinds her more than her tears and she screams - in pain, in grief, in anger at the mercy she has been shown that she does not deserve.

She screams until her throat is raw, burning from her bright blue flame. She screams until they are forced to subdue her like a rabid animal, muzzled and bound. She screams even then, as her vision blacks out - screams for all that she should have been and never will be. She screams for herself, lost now, irrevocably.

[kpopfanfictrash]

A Wrong Righted

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Content Contributor: @baebae-goodnight (hey ily)

Pairing: You / Jimin

Rating: PG-13 [ fluff + enemies to lovers!AU + Hogwarts!AU ]

Word Count: 3,229

Summary:  A series of drabbles about Slytherin!Jimin and Hufflepuff!Y/N, the sister of his self-declared mortal enemy.

A/N: These drabbles are non-sequential.

“Lucas!” you demand, barging into the Gryffindor common room.

It has been exactly two days since you last spoke to Jimin. Exactly two days, of you racking your mind and concluding that you are an absolute idiot. This morning, you awoke and decided that there was no time like the present to begin correcting your mistakes.

“Lucas!” you call again, scanning the circular room.

You find your brother before the common room fire; he looks cozy, seated in a red straight-backed chair, although now he seems confused by your presence. “Y/N?” he blinks, glancing around.

Seokjin tumbles out of the portrait behind you, frantically waving his hands. “Whoa, Y/N, wait!” he yelps, reaching for you and missing. “Sorry, Lucas,” Seokjin gasps, apologetic. “She found me in the Great Hall and dragged me up here. Forced me to open the Fat Lady for her and everything – damn, Y/N, when did you get so strong?”

Coming to a stop before Lucas, you glare. “We need to talk,” you announce.

Lucas glances from Seokjin to you. “Okay,” he allows, slowly setting his book off to the side. “Hey, sis, nice to see you.”

“Now,” you demand, crossing your arms.

Arching a brow, Lucas turns to Seokjin. “Could you give us a minute?” he asks.

Seokjin nods before leaving, chuckling on his way out. “If you ever need a weight-lifting partner,” he offers when he passes, “you know where to find me.”

Once he is gone, you return your attention to Lucas. 

He stares back, troubled, before rising out of his chair. “Want to, uh,” Lucas pauses, glancing at the common room. More than a few people stare back, their attention drawn by your outburst. “Want to take a walk?”

Noticing their gazes, you nod, embarrassed.

Lucas tucks his book into his pack, slinging this over his shoulder. He walks behind you when you exit the common room, clambering back through the portrait to head down the stairs. The two of you walk until you reach the school grounds; to your right is the emerald green of the Quidditch pitch. Even from here, the six golden hoops are visible rising over the stadium.

Staring for a moment, you recall the time Jimin caught the Snitch an inch away from your ear. Even back then, he was always watching you. Even back then, you always chose to ignore him. Closing your eyes, you steel yourself for what you have to say next.

“I like Park Jimin,” you announce, opening your eyes. Lucas’ eyes widen, shocked. “I want to ask him out on a date.”

For a moment, Lucas seems floored. He can only stare at you, mouth open in shock. “I – I, what?” he blurts, flabbergasted.

“I like him,” you repeat, somewhat stiffly. “A lot.”

Lucas’ brow furrows, confused. At least he seems confused and not mad, which you take to be a good sign. 

“I,” he exhales, blinking again. “How? When?”

“How.” Shit, you did not think that far ahead. “That’s a great question; one I can’t answer.”

At this, your brother’s eyes narrow and now, he does seem mad. “Y/N,” Lucas mutters, folding both arms over his chest. The end of his wand sparks menacingly. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Did Park try something on you?” he demands.

“No, nothing like that,” you say quickly (perhaps too quickly), with a wave of your hand. Lucas growls in response. “What I came here to ask is...” Swallowing tightly, you steel yourself for the answer to what comes next. “Why do you hate Jimin so much?”

Your brother is still concentrated on what you last said – almost to the point where you wonder if he heard you. Then, he shakes his head, zeroing in on your features. “I,” he exhales, putting two and two together. “It’s complicated,” Lucas finishes, slowly lowering his wand.

“Try me,” you respond, narrowing your gaze. “If you’re going to tell me who I can and cannot be friends with, Lucas – I’m going to need to know the full story. I love you, Lu. You’re my brother. If you tell me someone is shit, then I’m going to believe you but right now, I don’t think Jimin is like that.”

Lucas stares at you for a moment, debating. It is colder than it has been the rest of the year. The ends of your robes are too short for your body, leaving your ankles exposed to the elements and you wish you had worn something warmer. Perhaps this could have waited for another day, another time but no – you have waited long enough for this.

Sighing, your brother shoves his wand back in his pack. “Fuck,” he mutters, pushing a hand through his hair. “Alright, Y/N. Can we walk, though?” he pleads, pulling a face. “It’s fucking cold out. You picked a hell of a day to soul-share.”

With a snort, you fall into step alongside him. “Whatever,” you shrug. “As long as you tell me.”

Nodding, Lucas slides both hands into his pockets. He falls silent for a while, staring out at the grounds and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts. Lucas has been like this ever since he was a child. He will speak honestly, but only when he is ready.

“Jimin and I were friends when we first came to Hogwarts,” states Lucas, glancing your way. Your surprise must be evident on your face, because he smiles. “Yeah. He’s Muggle-born, did you know that? He doesn’t talk about it much, since… you know. Slytherin. Anyways, I met Jimin on the Hogwarts Express.”

Grass crunches beneath your feet, as you align this bit of information to your perception of Jimin. It makes sense, actually. It makes sense why he seemed so lonely your first years here; why he is so stubbornly defensive now, always acting as though he has something to prove.

“How did you two meet, then?” you ask, glancing over.

“We both sat in the last train car,” answers Lucas, hiding his cough. “Jimin was there because, well, he had no friends at the beginning. I had friends but was back there because I was crying my eyes out.”

“Lucas!” you blurt out, shocked by his admission. “Why? Why were you crying?”

“Ah,” Lucas exhales. He laughs, embarrassed by the memory. “It was because I missed you all. It was my first time away from home and I was only a kid. I just... really missed my parents and baby sister.”

“Dork,” you mumble, punching his arm. Still, you smile. “What happened next?”

“Jimin heard me,” Lucas confesses with a shrug. “I didn’t know he was there but, rather than make fun of me, Jimin offered to sit in my seat. He said it was his first time away from home, too.”

“Oh,” you blink, surprised by this turn of events. “So, what happened then?”

Lucas sighs and comes to a stop on the path. He squints at the sun. “What else? I was sorted into Gryffindor; he was sorted into Slytherin. We tried to stay friends but, you know. Gryffindor and Slytherin hate each other.”

Stomach sinking, you remember how you once felt this way about Jimin. “Sounds dumb,” you observe, soft.

Lucas laughs, though it is not humorous. “Yeah, it was.” He falls quiet for a moment. “Eleven-year-old boys are always dumb. We each tried out for our House Quidditch teams after that; we both made them. There was a game freshman year when we both played each other. I made some sort of dive and apparently, I blocked him from catching the Snitch.” Lucas frowns. “I didn’t mean to. I was only focused on the Quaffle, but I guess I blocked Jimin, too. Gryffindor won.”

Coming to a stop beside him, you stare out at the lake. The surface is glassy, utterly still. “Was Jimin angry?” you ask.

“Really angry,” confirms Lucas, quiet. Wind whips hair back from his face. “If you know Jimin, you know how intimidating he can be. He yelled at me the second I landed; said I was hell-bent upon ruining his life. Wanted to know when I became such a fucking Gryffindor that I didn’t care about screwing him over. We – we hadn’t talked in a while,” Lucas admits.

For a moment, you have no response. It is clear from your brother’s expression he regrets it but feels powerless to change anything now, after the fact. Your brother has always been prideful, always been stubborn. It is no surprise to you, that he and Jimin once were friends. Honestly, you are not sure how you missed it before.

“What happened then?” you ask, turning to face him.

Lucas sighs. “Oh, I don’t know. A lot of things. Jimin asked out the girl I liked before I could. His friends dared him to hex me, and he did. Before long, I think even we forgot what we were fighting about.”

“Oh,” you respond, equally soft. You do understand what he means, in a way. Emotions have a certain way of snowballing without you realizing what they have become.

Lucas turns to look at you. “I think I owe you an apology, Y/N,” he exhales, chewing his cheek. “In your first year at Hogwarts, I saw how Jimin looked at you. I saw you were lonely, saw that Jimin liked hanging around you but I was stupid, and selfish. I thought he would try to hurt you to get back at me and so I tried to keep you apart.”

Swallowing hard, you realize that you expected as much but still, the facts hurt to hear. “He didn’t want to use me,” you respond to Lucas, quiet and fierce. “He likes me, Lu.”

Lucas looks up at the sky. “Yeah,” he exhales, squinting. “I can see that. Doubt you would care enough to talk to me, otherwise.”

At this, you laugh and fold both arms over your chest. “That’s true,” you admit.

Lucas makes a face. “I don’t want to know how or why you two met – okay? I just,” he sighs. “I want you to be careful, that’s all. I’m your big brother; it’s kind of my job to worry about you.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, elbowing him in the ribs. “It’s also your job to open pickle jars for the family, but when was the last time you did that?”

“Uh, when was the last time you saw a pickle jar at Hogwarts?”

“Touché,” you laugh, trying and failing to hide your grin.

The two of you stand out there for a while, in comfortable silence looking out at the lake. Every so often, tentacles of the giant squid break the surface.

“Does this mean you’re going to start dating Jimin?” asks Lucas, breaking the silence.

Paused for a moment, you gather your thoughts. The idea of dating Jimin makes your heart race. “Maybe,” you admit, shrugging a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Lucas snorts, cracking a smile. “Maybe? Seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for a maybe.”

Rolling your eyes, you hate how well your big brother knows you. “Alright, fine,” you admit, glancing his way. “I want to date him. If Jimin wants to, that is.”

“Oh, he wants to,” Lucas nods, automatic. “You’re my sister. Awesomeness is in your blood.”

“Oh god,” you groan, shoving his shoulder. “You’re such a dork. Is it contagious? Do you have dork sanitizer?”

“We’re the same bloodline,” Lucas grins, looping an arm around your neck as he turns towards the castle. “Afraid the dork can’t be removed. Anyways – on a more serious note, Jimin isn’t a bad guy, Y/N. He’s just stubborn… prideful… kind of an ass, to be honest.”

“Oh, so he’s like you?”

“Hey,” Lucas growls, mussing your hair. “Watch it, kid. But yeah, pretty much.”

With a snort, you walk beside your brother towards the castle. “Yeah,” you sigh, falling silent. “I guess I just wanted you to know. Before I… asked him out, or anything.”

Lucas is quiet for a moment. “I – hm,” he says, though there is something more to his tone.

Arching a brow, you look up. “What?” you demand, knowing your brother.

“Nothing.” Lucas shakes his head. “It’s just…”

“Yes?”

Lucas comes to a stop several feet from the front doors. “Don’t get me wrong,” he hastens, withdrawing his arm. “I’m glad that you said something. I’m glad I didn’t find out through the grapevine. But, Y/N... why are you really here?”

His words make you stiffen, surprised. “I – what do you mean?”

Your brother fixes you with a look. “Clearly, you like Jimin,” he prompts. “Clearly, you’ve already made up your mind about him, so why are you asking my opinion? What, do you need my blessing or something?”

Cheeks heating, you find yourself stumped and, in that moment, you realize the truth of the matter. “Because,” you whisper, eyes wide. “I really like him, Lu. Maybe more than that. And… if you truly hate him as much as you say you do; I don’t think I could bear it.”

Lucas stares at you for a moment, taken aback by your honesty. In all fairness to him, he does not seem thrilled by the idea of you dating Jimin. You remind yourself once again, that it has been seven long years of them hating each other.

Still, Lucas manages to nod. “Alright,” he agrees, walking again towards the castle. “Shit. That’s a lot to take in.”

You laugh, weakly. “I know. It is,” you agree, plunging your hands into your robe pockets.

Before the giant front doors, Lucas stops again. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” he declares, and you can tell by his tone that he means it. 

You would mean it, too, for him. “I know,” you respond, equally serious. Still, it is as though a lead weight has been lifted from your chest. With a huge, silly grin, you bound forward and kiss your brother’s cheek. “Thanks,” you whisper, squeezing his shoulder and scuttling past.

With an obnoxious groan, Lucas turns to stride towards the Gryffindor tower. “Why me?” he calls out, loud enough that you hear but you are already gone, disappeared down the hall with a singular purpose.

Several hallways later, you find yourself at the Great Hall. Lunch is in full swing, with multitudes of people seated down the long, wooden rows. As you march down its center, you try not to look at anyone in particular. Already, the nerves in your stomach are enough to choke out your thoughts. Several people wave as you pass; including Sandra, who yells she saved you a seat as you wave this aside.

Right now, you cannot think about lunch. You are certainly not thinking about anyone seated at the Hufflepuff table. It is the far end of the Slytherin table which catches your eye. This is where you find him.

Jimin sits lazily, slouched over a book as he toys with the rest of his food. No one is seated near him, although you sense this to be more from self-preservation, than anything else. Each time someone speaks, Jimin visibly flinches and glares at the culprit until they shut up. 

Sliding onto the bench across the table from him, you fold both hands over the surface. “Hey,” you exhale, waiting for him to look up.

Slowly, Jimin does. 

It takes him a moment to understand what he is seeing, blinking repeatedly, as though you might disappear. You cannot blame him. This is the first time you have spoken in public, after all.

“I want... to date you,” you blurt out, only to wince. That came out all wrong. “Jimin. I, what I mean is... will you go on a date with me?”

Jimin’s eyes widen slightly. “I – huh?” he squeaks, thoroughly confused.

The corner of your mouth twitches, attempting to hide your smile. You have always found it cute when he does that, although you never told him before.

“Oh,” you blink, realizing you may have jumped in too fast. For Jimin, the last thing you did was watch him leave the classroom. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should have apologized first, right? I am sorry. I messed everything up and I’m so, so sorry, Jimin.”

Jimin stares for a moment, before glancing aside. “Are you messing with me right now?” he demands, leaning in. His cheeks are red, from either anger or fear. “Honestly, Y/N, I am not in the mood.”

“No,” you protest, laying both palms flat on the table. “I swear to you now – I am wholly, and totally serious. I want to date you, Jimin. You. That’s all.”

He stares in disbelief. “You want to date me.”

Silently, you nod.

A muscle ticks in Jimin’s jaw. “So, let me get this straight,” he responds. “For months, we’ve been sneaking around in order to hide the fact that we’ve been hooking up. Then, I say that I like you and you have no response. Now, two days later, you suddenly want to date me.”

Biting down again on your lip, you nod. You should have known Jimin would react like this – obviously, he would. When he puts it like that, you have been pretty shitty. Actually; any way you slice it, you have been shitty.

Jimin leans back, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t believe you. Did Lucas put you up to this?” he demands, eyes flashing. “Was this all some sort of cruel, twisted prank? Get me to like you and then mphskd!”

His words are cut off by you grabbing the front of his robes, pulling him out of his seat and kissing him. Jimin’s eyes widen in confusion, when your lips press to his.

He seems thrown by the way your hands clutch at his robes; torn, between the shock of the moment and having you here. Having you kiss him. Then, your lips slowly soften and Jimin’s mouth trembles, sinking into your kiss.

“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing the sides of your face to kiss you properly. Your hands slide to his neck, closing your eyes as if you never want to stop, so intoxicating is this feeling. When you finally do break away, your breathing uneven, you realize how loud you have been.

The rest of the Slytherin table has fallen quiet; you could hear a pin drop in their silence. Jimin does not seem to care, though. He only sees you, breaking out in a grin. 

“What are you looking at?” he demands, whirling to face the underclassmen. Multiple parties hurriedly resume eating their lunch. “Show’s over, okay?”

“And damn, what a show,” whistles the mint-haired boy beside Jimin.

“Shut up, Yoongi,” Jimin mutters, cuffing the back of his head as he climbs over the bench. The boy laughs, winking when you rush around the other side of the table. Jimin nearly trips in his haste to get to you, grabbing your hands and tugging you close.

“Hey,” he grins, unable to help himself.

All around you, the noise level of the Great Hall has returned to normal. Much of them are probably talking about you, but you find you do not care. Let them stare, if they want. Jimin is the one looking at you, and that is all you find relevant.

Smoothing a piece of hair behind your ear, Jimin stares. “What about Lucas?” he murmurs, voice lower than usual. His expression is concerned. “He’ll hear about this for sure.”

“I told him,” you answer, lifting your chin. It makes you beam with pride, seeing Jimin’s happy confusion. “I told him how much I like you. I told him how much I want to date you. Lucas is fine with it.”

“Really?” Jimin seems surprised for a moment. “So… you want to date me, huh?” he asks, lips quirking upwards.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I guess,” you admit.

Jimin’s hands slide down your body, pulling you forward. “You like me, huh?” he teases, dipping his head.

“I guess,” you nod, brushing your lips against his.

“Good,” Jimin smiles, before kissing you.

 A/N: [ Master List ]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[timelock97]

Game Changer

Chapter Sixteen: A Change in Pace

Word Count: 2521

Warnings: Language probably

_________________________________________ 

Leon decided that as soon as he could get back to the stadium, he would be battling Raihan for the champion title.

“We can wait, you know.” Raihan laughs, gripping Leon’s hand in a familiar handshake as the rest of the gym leaders sat around the too small hospital room, talking amongst themselves. “Let you get back on your feet, spend some quality time with your fiancee, family, and Pokemon.”

“Oh, c'mon, Rai.” He teases, smiling widely as he squeezes my hand, “We can’t just let Galar keep waiting to see if you can beat me or not. They have to know who their Champion is.”

Raihan rolled his eyes, looking at the other gym leaders, “Do you believe this guy? Been awake less than six hours and he already wants to fight me.” He laughs as the other gym leaders laugh along with him. Raihan shakes his head before continuing with a much more sincere tone, “They know who he is, and he is sitting in a hospital bed because the Chairman is a madman.”

Leon snorts, squeezing my hand again before looking back at his best friend. “What a better way to say I am back than a match then, huh?”

~

So here we are, the morning of the Championship Finals, the only battle being between Raihan and Leon. However, today was going to be different. Leon was planning on dropping the biggest bombshell on Galar, that even if he won today, it would be his last battle as Champion.

“I just,” he paces in the living room, trying to flesh it all out to me. “If the people want me to lead the region, then someone else needs to take on the role of Champion. Even if I have you at my side, helping me, I want to be able to enjoy my life. I want to change the tower and make it a battle tower, help the trainers in Galar to have a safe place to challenge themselves and learn. There is so much I want to do,(Y/N), all for the better. To better Galar’s future.”

I fix my dress and slip my feet into a pair of sandals. I look at myself in the mirror, the bags under my eyes are still prominent even under the makeup, but they had lightened since Leon had woken up. It had only been two weeks, but he was ready for this new chapter in his life.

I turn my attention back to the bathroom, the shower had long been turned off and Leon had yet to come out and finish getting ready. I slowly walk over and knock on the door, “Baby? You okay in there?” When he doesn’t answer, I slowly push the door open.

Inside I find Leon standing in front of the mirror in nothing but a towel, his eyes are slowly looking at himself, completely unaware of my presence in the doorway. He has a hand running through his hair, pushing it to the side to look at the scar that puffs up a little still, stitches long removed. He lets out a small sigh as his hand moves over his face to rub his eyes before letting it fall onto the counter. I slowly walk over, his eyes falling on me in the mirror and smiling at me. “Hey, uh, sorry. Lost in my own world there.” He chuckles weakly, running his hand through his hair, which makes him scowl again. He hated how short it was. ‘Haven’t had it this short in years’ he had whined.

I slowly slip between him and the sink, lifting myself up so that I am perched there. I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him close. His hands rest on my thighs, sliding under the fabric of my dress to feel my skin against his own. “What’s eating at you, baby?”

He lets out a soft laugh while shaking his head, “Nothing gets past you huh?”

“Nope,” I mutter, popping the 'p’.

He leans forward and rests his head on my shoulder, I move my hands into his hair, softly and carefully run my nails over his scalp, avoiding the scar. “I don’t know, I just don’t look like myself. I haven’t worked out in weeks, I feel sluggish.” He brushes his nose against my neck, “And that’s not all, I feel like I am just filling a role that needs to be filled. Being chairman, I mean. What if I don’t do a good job?” He sighs and presses a kiss to my neck, “I just want to do good by the region, so if I win today what will happen?”

“I think whatever happens today, you are going to do amazing things.” I move so he has to look at me, cupping his face. “We’ve talked about it, we have everything set and planned. In the end, you have made this region better, and inspired so many people. What you plan to do, has always been with the people in mind.”

One of his hands moves to push a strand of hair away from my face and tuck it behind my ear, “Am I making the right decision?”

“I think you are,” I look at him gently, brushing my thumbs against his cheeks in comfort, “Not only for you, but for everyone else.”

He gives me a small smile before kissing my lips softly, “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Be lost,” I state nonchalantly, making him laugh loudly, pressing his forehead against mine.

“I’m always lost without you, gorgeous.” He teases, kissing my lips again.

I hum before moving my hands to his pecs, softly pushing him away, “Alright, hotshot, you need to get your uniform on and we have to head to the stadium. Do you want your hat or no?”

He shakes his head as he lets me off the counter, “You wear it, I don’t have enough hair to keep it in place.”

“I don’t think the hat goes with my outfit.” I tease, spinning in a circle so the pastel blue dress lifts slightly.

“Baby, you look good in everything,” he teases. “Please, wear it for me?”

I smile, “Anything for you, Leon.”

~

The crowd is deafening as we walk up to the stadium, Leon smiles widely at the crowd, squeezing my hand tightly as he stops a few times to sign some autographs and take some pictures. The crowd eats up the whole thing as he stops and poses at the entrance before we slip inside. Once inside the main lobby, we get swept to the locker room.

Leon takes a minute to breathe, resting his hands on his knees while he sits. “Are you going to hang in the tunnel while we battle or go find a seat?”

“Where do you want me?”

He laughs, “I want you close enough so when the confetti flies I can lift you up and kiss you so the whole region can see it.”

I chuckle, “Then I guess I will be waiting for you in the tunnel.” I watch as he smirks, reaching for my hand to press a kiss into it. “Need me to leave so you can clear your head?”

He shakes his head, “No, I’d rather you walk down with me in the tunnel, even come onto the field as I talk to everyone.”

“I can do that,” I mutter, swaying our hands from side to side.

The door opening causes us to look up. A league staff member smiles at Leon and I as they enter, they are still dressed in their old uniforms. “Hey, we are just about ready for you.”

Leon nods, standing up. “Let’s get the show started then.” The three of us head down the hallway, the staff member leaving us alone at the entrance. Leon squeezes my hand softly. “Walk out with me,” he whispers, looking at me with soft eyes.

I smile and squeeze his hand, “I’ll be by your side til the end of time.”

He gave me a smile before tugging me forward. The lights are blinding and the crowd makes my ears ring, but I can finally understand how Leon feels every time he steps foot on the field with the adrenaline that runs through my veins. Once we reach the middle of the field, Leon takes the mic from the announcer. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the the redo of this year’s Championship Finals!” The crowd cheers loudly, and Leon waits just a moment before continuing. “I am sorry I scared you all with what happened, and as you can tell I did not want to leave you all waiting too long before showing myself again. I obviously look different,” he turns on his heel making the crowd laugh, “They sadly could not save my beautiful locks, but those will grow back in time.” He waves at the crowd, “But anyways, I want you all to know that I am doing okay, and with everything that has happened, I decided we needed something a little more normal. That is why we are here today! To see who is the champion of the region!” The crowd screams, and I notice Riahan walking over to us, even waving at the crowd as he walks over. “Time to get this show on the road, you ready Raihan?”

“Always ready, and I am going to beat your ass this time.” He smiles, squeezing my shoulder before I run to the tunnel to watch.

The crowd goes nuts as the two shake hands, and walk to their side of the field. I watch Leon pat his face before he rips the cape off, the crowd screaming as the first set of Pokemon land on the field.

“I think it’s time for the final act!” Leon yells, Charizard blowing fire into the air. “We are about to have an even better of a champion time.” He calls as he returns Charizard and gigantamaxes him. The fire lizard grows huge, wings burning bright in the stadium and causing the temperature to increase.

Raihan laughs as he gigantamaxes his Dyralidon, the dragon looking more like a skyscraper than anything else, shimmering in the light.

The two battle at it, and I can see that Leon is going to win again, I lean against the wall waiting to hear the telltale sign that he does. Until Leon does something no one expects. He lets out a laugh and calls out to Raihan something, something the crowd and I cannot tell, and both Pokemon manage to hit each other at the same time.

When the smoke clears, both Pokemon are still standing, returning to their natural size. Leon waves up at the announcer who calls out if the Pokemon were able to battle or not.

“The Champion has called off the battle,” he calls in confusion, a small murmur falling across the crowd, “The battle has ended in a draw.”

Leon walks over to Raihan. Leon places a hand on his shoulder, and I can see the confusion on Raihan’s face. Leon looks up at the crowd, taking a mic from the announcer before speaking, “I’m sorry,” he starts. “I know this isn’t the ending you want to see, but I can’t just end my last battle as champion like this.” The crowd murmurs and Raihan looks at him in confusion again. Lee continues, “I want to do right by you, all of you, especially with what happened a few weeks ago. I have been debating doing what I am about to announce since I came to at the hospital two weeks ago. I never want what happened that day to ever happen again.” He pauses before continuing, “In my time as your champion, I have wanted one thing. For all trainers to be as strong as they can be, and I have so many plans to fulfill that in the near future. But most importantly, I want Galars’ future to be bright and prosperous, and I want to do what is right. What better way than for me to be the one who fulfills that dream.” He turns to Raihan next, “Raihan, you not only have been my greatest rival, but my truest friend that I can rely on, go to, and I always know you have my back. You are one of the strongest trainers and gym leaders I know, and you care emensilly about the people in this region. That is why I could not finish battling you today. I know if it were up to you, you could go to any other region and become their champion in a heartbeat, except you have stayed, become Galar’s strongest gym leader, and even train trainers in your spare time. I can’t see anyone better being champion now that I am stepping down.”

I can hear Raihan’s voice over the mic, it’s quiet but not quite enough, “You’re stepping down, what, Leon-” Raihan stops and looks at Leon and I can see it in his face they are having one of those wordless conversations. Raihan finally smiles and shakes his head. “Leon, I- I’ll make you proud, keep on your legacy.”

“I know you will, and I know I wouldn’t want anyone else at my side being Champion of Galar. My only challenge for you is for you to challenge your team more, and still keep up with your social media accounts.” The crowd laughs at that, then a small gasp falls across the stadium as Leon unclips his cape and places it over Raihan’s shoulders. “With that Galar, I want you all to know I have enjoyed my time being your champion. Do not hesitate to stop me in the street, I will happily still run in and and aid you in any way that I can, but I think it’s time that I settled down a bit and looked forward to my new adventure as well. So without further adieu, Galar meet your newest Champion, the dragon tamer, Raihan!”

The crowd cheers loudly, confetti bursting into the air as Leon lifts his rival’s hand into the air. I can see it on the screen, the two of them are crying, but both look so happy.

I wait until I see Leon look at me before running onto the field and throw myself into his arms. “I am so proud of you,” I whisper.

“This is the start of a whole new beginning of making Galar the greatest region of all time, and a whole new beginning I get to spend with you.”

I smile and kiss him, Leon spinning me around as the cameras snap photos of the event. Confetti gets tangled in my hair and is coating the field as the crowd gets to their feet while cheering. We look up and smile at the people in the crowd and I can’t help but think that everything in the upcoming months, even in the upcoming years were going to be nothing short of amazing.

_________________________________________  

A/N: Like I usually do, there will be an epilogue! Stay tuned for that!

Masterlist

[tisthenightofthewitch]

Ghost Are Shaping To Be Metal’s Next Awe-Inspiring Arena Act

From Motorhead, to Black Sabbath, and now the thrash kings, Slayer, metal is slowly losing its festival headliners, arena fillers, and most importantly its legacy acts. While it’s been a rather gradual shift, time only moves forward, and sooner or later metal will have to knight a new generation of arena and festival heavy weights. Early 2000’s bands like Slipknot, Avenged Sevenfold, and Disturbed have long demonstrated a knack for selling out arenas and filling headlining slots at festivals. However, most of these bands have rocked for nearly two decades, and it’s time for the 2010’s to showcase its respective arena acts. Currently completing their first US arena tour, Ghost are leading the charge for the next wave of arena and festival headliners.

Established in 2010 with their debut, Opus Eponymous, Ghost is quite possibly the fastest growing and most popular metal band of the decade. At first glance, the Swedish metal group embodies a very satanic aura, from their upside down crosses and the litany of demonic and catholic symbolism. While the music is the primary focus, their costumes and theatrics as a band are essential to the image and mythos they’ve established over the course of their career. They’ve even gone as far as making a web-series on their youtube channel, detailing the fictitious origins of the band and it’s current vocalist in power, Cardinal Copia. All masks and costumes aside, Tobias Forge is the creative force behind Ghost, being the band’s songwriter, lead vocalist, and founder. Tobias is actually the only known member, all the touring instrumentalists are incognito and share the stage name “Nameless Ghoul.”

As scary and sinister looking as they might be, Ghost brings one of the most melodic, catchy, and entertaining live shows in all of modern metal. Seeing them at their Hersey, PA stop was a remarkable and genuine concert experience; the crowd participation and the sheer enthusiasm that packed Giant Center arena is unrivaled by any band I’ve seen from the 2010’s. The crowd’s enthusiastic chemistry is comparative to Ghost’s onstage chemistry, with their goofy choreographed antics, and just their flawless musicianship between one another. Ghost’s stage production alone was worth an entry ticket; the cathedral-like stage spewed everything from pyro, fireworks, to a confetti filled finale. There’s something very authentic about Ghost as a band, but also as performers. They cater to several aspects of metal and rock music, but also theater in many ways, and at the end of the day Ghost is just pure entertainment, they give something for everyone to enjoy, and leave you feeling just awestruck.

Getting the chance to speak with Tobias Forge, he details the evolution of Ghost and how they got to their arena headlining status over the years.

Ghost went from opening arenas for Avenged Sevenfold in 2013, to more recently opening soccer stadiums for Metallica this summer, to now headlining your own arenas in the states, and soon to be in Europe. What’s the transition been like from opening arenas to now headlining them?

It’s been pretty gradual, over the years we’ve done support shows here and there, support tours here and there, but by the time that we headlined our first arena, which was now a few years ago, we had done quite a lot of arena shows before that, opening up. It wasn’t like a big physical shock, most bands will probably tell you that the weirdest thing about playing bigger places is usually you have to cover so much space on stage, like physically you have to. If you’re a semi-active rock band, the biggest shock from going to a club to arena or even worse, a stadium, is that all of a sudden you have so much physical ground, so much real estate to cover, which can be a shock. If you’re not used to running, and you have to run from one side to the other, and sing, that will punch you out. Gradually we’ve moved up through these venues, and on the first bit of the tour, not this tour leg, but on the tour when it started, we were doing “an evening with,” which meant we were playing two hours and forty minutes, and I definitely had a little bit of a shock over the first night like “whoa,��� it was very tiring.

From an Economics, marketing, and profit standpoint, how have these aspects changed or evolved with “the ultimate tour named death?”

It’s kind of like what you’d say about bringing children up, if you have small children the problems are sort of small, and if you have older children then they are bigger. So you know back a few years when we were a band and crew in one bus, it took some time before we even had a truck. Now we’re three buses of people and six trucks, and it’s sort of the bigger the show the more it costs. That is the dynamic of every tour in the world, and the only thing that is making it harder for a band like ours is that it’s sort of new in the greater scheme of things, and in comparison to a lot of the other bands that are doing it on this level, or on an even bigger level. We are a new band that has managed to qualify into this setting, and if you look at most other very established and older artists, they charge a lot more for their tickets, a lot more than we do. That’s sort of the law of gravity and that makes it sometimes a little bit uphill, but we are fortunate to have the promoters and festivals believing in us on a worldwide basis. They believe in the idea that they need to invest in new headliners, the stars have aligned and fortunately they believe us to be one of the new ones to be able to fill that space. Just back a few years, there were several bands out there, but you know Black Sabbath is gone, and so many bands are just retiring or dying and in order to sustain these festivals they will need to invest in new bands and we’re one of them. However, you can clearly see on a festival of three days where The Scorpions are headlining one night, Kiss is headlining another night, and we are headlining a third, we are not getting paid the same as they are, of course not. The bottom line with that is we’re still looked upon and it’s expected of Ghost to deliver the same show, and that requires determination and you cannot look for economic return at this point. It’s further down the line of years and years and years of proving yourself, but that’s part of the game and that’s what I’ve been doing for almost ten years now.

You’ve stated the excitement for this tour was not only the fact Ghost would be playing arenas, but because the tour is spread across so many different markets. How has the reception been so far, in playing to these different markets, or territories that Ghost has less experience performing in?

The reception at the shows has been fantastic. Of course there are a few markets where it’s hard to expect anything because it’s in the middle of no where, and on top of that some of these shows have been on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and you can clearly see the ones that are on the weekends are doing way better. A lot these places that we’re playing are essentially in small towns, so they will have a magnetism for towns and cities around them, so people have to travel to come see it. That’s sort of the basis of that market in the first place, of course it’s a little bit sensitive if it’s a Monday or a Friday, but I must say that overall the promoter is very pleased, and we’re living up to the expectation of what a tour like this can do. That’s the point of the tour, reach out to people in territories where we haven’t really been, and having that in mind it’s been fantastic.

Have you held the idea or goal of Ghost inhabiting stadiums, or large venues since you started the band? These environments seem embedded in the very nature of Ghost’s live show.

My answer will be a little bit split between yes and no. Yes, I have always intended for my band to become a big arena headlining production value band. I always thought that Ghost as a project would be very production oriented. I never thought that Ghost would be that band, as in when I started I didn’t think that that was going to be the band that would define my entire career. However, once the first record got out and we started playing and we started touring, I had definitely put all my eggs in that basket, because I was like “this is the one that sticks, let’s just do this.” This is the one that I intuitively feel most myself, and I was gravitating towards that. Compared to all my other projects, this is the only one that I really truly understood, and could just do intuitively. I knew what to do with it, where as the other bands that I had were more of a head scratch. A lot of the ideas that I managed to either do or are still on the list with Ghost are things that are based on drawings and ideas that I had fifteen to twenty-five years ago. It’s a mixture, yes and no, I always thought I was going to work either with a band or in a band that was going to do full production touring, but I wasn’t sure it was going to be Ghost. It just happens to be two of my main interests, being in a band and writing songs, but also I’m very interesting in touring, and I’m very interested in the idea of stage design, tour design, light design, and all that. Had it not been for me being in a band, I would have gladly also done it for another band, building stage design for other bands.

Seven Inches of Satanic Panic undoubtedly has a very 60’s rock aesthetic, but specifically what bands from that era are influences to you personally?  

Ever since I was a kid my absolute biggest idols before I found extreme metal were from the sixties. It was Pink Floyd, The Doors, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, I grew up listening to that. When I was eight, my favorite band of all time was The Rolling Stones. I knew everything about them, that was my biggest obsession. The sixties in general and as music have been hugely influential for me. Ghost just happened to be a little bit more heavy metal leaning, but there’s a lot of Pink Floyd in there, and a lot of The Doors, that was the stuff I listened to when I started playing guitar. When I was in my various different bands I’ve always heard that my writing was kind of odd because I had time signatures that were strange, and a melody language that was kind of peculiar. That was because I listened to Pink Floyd and The Doors, they taught me how to just write weirdly, and it’s not as outlandish as it might seem.

Many hail Ghost for their ability to balance a sense of nostalgia whilst maintaining an original song craft and sonic perspective. What has been your process, if not organically, in achieving this balance?

I always try to remember how I felt writing the first record [Opus Eponymous], and during the recording of the record coming after that, [Infestissumam], I think I’ve managed to tap into that. Don’t misunderstand and think I try to write the same record every time, it’s quite the contrary, but having that same playful approach when it came to writing that I had back when I had nothing to lose. Opus Eponymous was written in a complete void, where there was no one involved in my writing. I was depending economically on it, I had no crowd to please, and I had no one to please with my writing except my self and a buddy of mine basically. That’s what I’m trying to do every time; try the best of my ability to stay within that, and not think too much about the fact that “this is your most important record of your career.” With that being said you have that in the back of your mind every time, but you try to even that out, and you try to be somewhat distant from that. I wanted Ghost to sound like a big band, and because I’m trying to distance myself from that, that does not mean the songs aren’t commercial or whatever. I really tried to be commercial on Opus Eponymous, it was supposed to be very very catchy. I wanted it to sound like that huge band that you had missed out on. It was supposed to be very catchy, very memorable, and very playful. It was supposed to be a band from the seventies that didn’t know what the eighties were, but was trying to shape the eighties because they knew that was coming, but they didn’t know what the eighties were.

FORBES.COM

[yoonwxz]

26 May 2019, the day that I realized my dream and I went to the concert of BTS.

I was hopeless and very nervous to buy tickets, was my dream of 4 years in my hands. In 2017 I cried enough for days in knowing that they were in my country and I couldn't see them, because I did not have conditions and I was younger. I spent years of my life without a positive energy on me and just thinking about when my day would arrive. In 2018, I have been writing various notes and posting tweets like: "will be that they will return to my country and to make a concert?, "I'll be so excited if they come, "will i get?" And more procrastinations that had during the night. Day 19 February 2019, the day had arrived.

I was not understanding anything, Bighit had posted a video of an upcoming tour, warning that they would be in my country. I automatically, I began to cry. I ran toward my mother saying that they would be here and that I was sad because I do not know if he wouldn't see them again, but she soon approached and said "Daughter, you will go to the show!" And i paralised. This was really happening? I got? And could only cry more and more.

After having managed to buy my ticket (after much sweat and have cried too), months after I was queuing at the stadium, very nervous and anxious to be able to finally come. I had a lot of people and I could see my friends! Was very nice (although we spent 10 hours in the queue). was given 3:00 PM and the gates were opened, walked with shaky legs and with my heart in my mouth. I went in, I climbed the stairs, and finally arrived to my destination. I could not believe it. Everything was so beautiful! People were arriving and was ringing Euphoria in the screens of the stage when i arrived. It was the best day of my life that was about to begin.

3 hours have passed and everything had begun. It was already night, stage lights lit and began to play Dionysus. They appeared and I screamed, jumped up, did any thing that a person would do in a show. They stood close to me! Can you believe it? I cannot believe even today!

Songs passed and in some i could only cry, I was so happy to be there with them, to be able to shout along with other armys and feel the shiver with all the beats of the music, see them trying to speak the same language that my, be able to make the famous "wave" with the light of the cell phone and see the BTS smiling for all of us. It is a dream.

After a while, started Mikrokosmos. It was the last song playing and the show was already ending, were lights for all sides and confetti spreading, Jimin And Jungkook began to cry (and guess what? I was also), I still cannot forget the "Na na na na na na" in the music on show and how much i cried, thinking that I gave up all these years to be able to be here. They were saying goodbye with fireworks being loose and i was hugging my friends and having all the emotions at the same time.

I was happy, I was able to accomplish my dream.

(sorry if have any mistake in english!)

[welllpthisishappening]

Pace of Play

She can’t believe she’s never noticed it before. Because, honestly, Emma can’t even come up with a number to try and calculate how often she’s watched Killian step into the batters box. And that’s the thing. He never really steps out, either. It's a weird approach, but that could be the subheadline for their lives at this point and she’s mostly concerned with the power behind that swing. 

—-

Word Count: Like 3.4K Rating: Teen, but with kissing!  AN: This is solely for and because of @distant-rose​ who deserves every bit of baseball fic I have ever written and all the good things in any known universe. And speaking of universes. This is set in that Yankees one where Emma and Killian secretly date because David also plays for the Red Sox. If you’re so inclined to read more:

Batting a Thousand (the original one) || Puppy Love (the one where they get a puppy) || The One Where They Elope || The One Where Killian and David Take the Rivalry Too Far

Let’s go Yankees. 

—

“Is it weird that he does that?”

Emma makes a noise — barely more than a passing acknowledgement, eyes never leaving the field because Killian is up to bat and she’d lost feeling in her left foot at some point. She’s twisted at an awkward angle, legs draped over the suite seats in front of her, but she absolutely, positively cannot move.

On pain of death.

Or baseball superstition.

They’ve got to win this game. They can’t go down by two in the series. Not with the way they’ve been hitting and they need to hit better and Emma genuinely cannot remember the last time she took a deep breath.

She fiddles with the ring on her left hand.

And the ring hanging around her neck. It’s some sort of weird pattern, the weight of Mary Margaret’s gaze boring into the back of her head and David had started pacing at some point in the fourth inning.

“He’s swinging half a second too late,” David announces, which only leads to Emma nearly strangling herself. Mary Margaret has to lean over to untangle her fingers.

“Thank you, player not currently competing in the postseason,” Emma mutters.

“Ah, that’s mean.”

“And,” Mary Margaret adds, “it’s not like David would be hitting in this series anyway. Plus—“

“Mary Margaret, if you tell me that David could really add something to the Yankees starting rotation right now, I may actually scream,” Emma warns. Elsa moves her hand over her mouth.

Her laugh is still very loud.

“Ok, that’s not what I was going to say at all—it’s not, seriously stop glaring at the field, it’s freaking me out.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she’s definitely glaring at the field and she cannot fathom a world where this game doesn’t end with a win and the season doesn’t end with another title and they got married, in the middle of the season, in secret. There are rules about happily ever after.

And sports emotions.

He’s definitely swinging half a second too late.

“See,” David mutters.

Emma grits her teeth. “I am not in the mood for I told you so, right now.”

“I mean, I didn’t say that.”

“Technically,” Elsa amends. She’s stood up as well, a hand pushing on David’s chest when he threatens to wear out the carpet in the suite. “And is no one going to answer my question? Because I know I know nothing about this painfully long sport—“

“—It is the sixth inning,” Emma interrupts.

“We’ve been here for hours, seriously. How often can you change pitchers?”

“Bring it up to Rob Manfred,” David says. Elsa swats at his shoulder that time. “Three-batter minimum for relievers. No more specialists. Pace of play.”

“Should that mean something to me?”

Emma mumbles a curse under her breath, ignoring the growing ache that’s circling around her knee and, somehow, the side of her hip. Killian rocks back on his heels in the box, hardly unbending his knees, even when he swings the bat in front of him, and Emma is dimly aware that Elsa is still talking. She’s not listening. She’s staring. Watching, really. Intently.

“Em, seriously are you listening to your brother and whatever tongues he’s started speaking in?”

“Nah, not at all.”

Elsa clicks her tongue in reproach. It doesn’t matter — Killian’s already digging his toes into the dirt again, quick taps of the bat on the front and back of the plate and—

“Seriously, why does no one else bat like this?”

Emma may growl. Although she’s not sure if that’s because Killian’s just fouled off a ball in the dirt or because Elsa isn’t making any sense, but it really may just be because of the pins and needles stretching into her calf and she snaps her jaw no less than a dozen times.

They’re pumping the live broadcast into the suite — more words Emma hasn’t really been paying attention to, what with the swirling nerves in the pit of her stomach and her heart’s apparent determination to linger in the very center of her throat.

“You know that’s not true,” Mary Margaret mumbles, finally getting Emma to pull her gaze away from home plate.

“What?”

“You cannot have an even count. That’s not how numbers work.”

Elsa sighs. “If you guys are going to keep not making sense, then I’m going to leave. Also, I totally saw Emma and Killian making out before the start of the game.”

David sounds like he’s dying.

“Oh my God,” Emma sighs. “We are married.”

She enunciates every letter of each word — as if that will make them more official or remind the world that she deserves good things and drama-free wins and, maybe, a few home runs over the short right field porch with impressive exit velocity.

“An even count does not make sense,” Mary Margaret repeats, as if they simply hadn’t heard her before. Maybe Emma can find another suite to watch the rest of the game in.

It probably wouldn’t be that hard.

Everyone at the Stadium knows her now, quick smiles whenever she’s downstairs and the security guy at Gate 4 has started waving at her, a muttered Mrs. Jones that never fails to make her heart clench and do several metaphorical somersaults in quick succession.

Killian hits a fly ball over the third base line.

And Emma slumps further into her seat. Her knee does not appreciate it at all.

“How does an even count not make sense, babe?” David asks, all placating and somehow even more married than Emma keeps reminding him that she also is.

“People say even counts on, you know, 1-1 or 2-2, but that doesn’t make sense. A 2-2 count still has more room for balls than strikes. Ergo—“

“—Oh good word,” Elsa laughs.

Mary Margaret winks. Emma’s never really noticed how high Killian’s elbow gets when he settles into his stance. He doesn’t move the bat that much, but Emma swears she can’t practically taste the energy on her tongue, which is either the most disgusting or most romantic thing she’s ever thought and—

Killian fouls another ball off.

“Battling,” David mumbles. She definitely growls that time. It hurts her throat.

He grins.

And Killian never actually steps out of the box — even when the Houston pitcher moves off the rubber, glancing at the inside of his hat for brand-new signs. David’s mumbling something that sounds like I hate when I have to do that, but Emma’s started to realize what Elsa meant.

She’s right.

Killian Jones does not bat like anyone else on the Yankees roster. Maybe even the entire MLB.

That sounds a little dramatic, though. Emma can’t get that dramatic until they win the pennant.

They’re totally going to win the pennant.

He lines his feet up again, the side of his cleat nearly brushing the back of the box, which only makes it obvious how far apart his legs move, that same distinct bend to his knees and a ridiculously high elbow and he kicks his foot out slightly when he swings.

Emma knows. As soon as the ball cracks off the bat.

She jumps up — somehow, without also managing to dislocate several joints at the same time — the ring around her neck flying up and nearly smacking her in the nose. And Emma isn’t sure what noise she makes per se, but it leaves Elsa giggling and Mary Margaret casting furtive glances at David and neither one of those matter when the ball keeps going.

Going, going, gone.

Directly into right center field.

Emma’s jumping, which probably isn’t great considering she can’t really feel any part of her left leg anymore, but Killian’s jogging around he bases and she can see his mouth move, David’s continued stream of commentary echoing between her ears.

“It’s honestly offensive how easy his swing is,” he grumbles. “Where does he even get that kind of power?”

“The making out,” Elsa responds, like it’s obvious. Emma almost chokes on her tongue.

Killian’s rounding third — a quick glance into the Astros dugout and a smile that might be half the reason Emma keeps toying with the ring on her left hand. Possibly like sixty-seven percent. Batting a thousand, or whatever.

She’s too excited to remember appropriate baseball cliches.

He glances up when he steps on home, and she knows he can’t actually see into the team suite, but it’s still exceptionally nice to think about and her heart does half a dozen front flips at that.

And there’s more game — pitches that Emma is certain raise her blood pressure and swings and misses and it’s still a save situation, so she starts pacing at some point too, but then they’re playing New York, New York and Killian’s answering questions on a post-game report and Emma’s standing in the tunnel downstairs and she absolute, positively runs.

It’s impossibly dramatic.

Especially in Game Four.

She hears Killian’s laugh before she actually looks at his face, arms around her waist and her face buried in the curve of his shoulder. He tightens his hold, only one of her feet staying on the ground.

Emma kisses wherever she can reach, which isn’t really saying much what with the awkward angle of her neck, but Killian doesn’t seem to mind, dragging his own lips over the side of her jaw.

Someone whistles.

It’s definitely Will.

“Should hit more home runs,” Killian mumbles, and it’s testament to postseason adrenaline that he doesn’t drop her when Emma starts to laugh as well.

Will might be gagging now.

Emma hums. “Something you might want to take into consideration.”

“That so?”

“I mean—I could not jump you post if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“No, no, I never once said that. Did you yell very loudly, Swan?”

“I think you’re fishing for compliments.”

“Absolutely.”

She might giggle. It’s absurd. She can’t get over the angle of his elbow when he bats. “God, that’s so stupid.”

“It’s strange, I’m not getting that compliment vibe anymore, love.”

“I yelled very loudly, scandalized my brother and I’ve got a question for you.”

Killian leans back, head nearly colliding with a wall covered in blue and white paint and the team name in enormous letters. As if they aren’t all constantly aware of where they are. History, or something. “About?”

“Well, Elsa actually brought it up, but—“

“—Jones,” a voice calls from the clubhouse, and Killian groans far louder than he should. Emma isn’t sure if that’s because of the voice or the only slightly accidental way she rolls her hips against him.

“You’re a menace,” he mutters.

“You’ve still got media.”

“I’m going to shower first.”

“They’ve got deadlines, babe.”

“I’m going to shower first,” Killian repeats. “Then I will answer questions, get ice, get a car and—“ He trails a finger up the back of her spine, making Emma twist in his hold while her teeth find her lower lip. Her breath hitches. And that smile is as different from the one he flashed in-game as it is possible for one smile to be, not quite triumphant, but maybe a little determined and she assumes she moves first.

If only because he’s still smiling when her mouth crashes into his.

Killian pulls her tighter against his chest, backing up even more so he’s got something to rest his weight on and neither one of them acknowledges the now very-clearly annoyed clubhouse voice. He tilts his head instead, mouth opening against Emma’s and tongue swiping across the lip she’d been toying with.

His hand works its way under her shirt, the same number he’d been wearing and Emma arches into the touch almost immediately. It leave hers hips canted up again, a move that is not even remotely appropriate for the bowels of Yankee Stadium, and she can only imagine that George Steinbrenner is getting dangerously close to rising from his grave and chastising them for conduct detrimental to the team.

Emma’s arms shift, fingers pushing into Killian’s hair and that only gets him to groan again, but then she’s ghosting over the side of a clean-shaven face and he has to shave every morning.

Her heart is in almost perpetuate state of upheaval.

It’s the best goddamn thing in the world.

“I’ve got to go, love,” Killian murmurs, mostly into her mouth. Also nice. Better than nice. She’s going to look up the projected distance of that home run in the Uber home.

“I really yelled ridiculously loud.”

“I’ve got no doubt. I’ll see you at home, ok?”

Emma nods — a few more quick and slightly stolen kisses, which is an almost appropriate baseball joke. Kind of. No one really steals bases anymore.

And she’s got every intention of waiting up. She does. She’s got plans and questions about batting stances, but the corner of the couch is surprisingly comfortable and the sudden lack of postseason adrenaline rushing through her leaves her questionably exhausted with eyes that refuse to watch another loop of SportsCenter.

Emma jolts up when she hears the front door close, a lock clicking behind him and one side of Killian’s mouth tugs up when he walks into the room.

She’s still wearing her shirt.

And not much else.

“That seems like cheating,” he says softly, crouching in front of the couch. She’s thinking about his knees again.

“All hail the conquering hero or whatever.”

“Is this my welcoming committee, then?”

“Something like that,” Emma laughs, pushing up and Killian moves between her legs as soon as her feet find their way back to the floor. “Did you scandalize any journalists?”

“Nah, that’s not really my game.”

“Just hitting home runs.”

“Made the Top Ten.”

“No shit.”

Killian chuckles, nosing at Emma’s cheek. “You’ve got ESPN on, Swan. Did you not see?”

“I mean I saw the real thing, so—“

“—Ah, yeah, that is true. You can’t be very comfortable.”

“It’s going ok.”

“That so?”

She nods again — suddenly finding it difficult to respond when his eyes do that impossibly blue thing, dark with something close to want, and he can’t seem to decide where to look. His gaze snaps from hers down to the ring that’s fallen back over her shirt and the one on her hand and at some point in the last few months, he’s started brushing his thumb underneath it with an almost alarming regularity. Like, for good luck or something.

Baseball players are the weirdest.

“What did you want to ask me before?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you had a question,” Killian says. “What about?”

“Oh, oh, yeah—your elbow.”

He blinks. It’s an oddly satisfying response, and Killian nearly falls over when Emma stands up, gaze shifting again to the distinct lack of pants she’s got on. She can see the tip of his tongue poking against the inside of his cheek.

“Like I said, El brought it up—“

“—I’d really you rather didn’t talk about Elsa when there’s so much of your leg on display.”

“Leg, singular?”

“Swan.”

She sticks her tongue out, but that only leads to an even bluer blue and she’s got to stop thinking about the way his knees bend. Maybe she’s the weird one. “Ok, ok, just—why do you bat like you do?”

“Are we on the record?”

“I mean no— because obviously I know how you bat—do not look at me like that.” He smirks, pulling his lips behind his teeth and sitting down. It’s ridiculous, his legs pulled up against his chest and his chin resting on an upturned palm. “I could probably reenact your stance in my sleep.”

“That so?”

“I will kick you.”

“I’ve got to play tomorrow,” Killian counters. “Something about prime agility at the hot corner.”

“You don’t ever come out of the batters box.”

“And?”

“And what? That’s super weird. I mean—other guys call time like twenty-six times and—“

“—No ump is letting anyone call time twenty-six times.”

She rolls her eyes, but Killian appears to have been counting on that and Emma has started bobbing on the balls of her feet. “Take my exaggerated point for what it is. All I’m saying is, you never leave the box. Other guys do. Every single pitch. They take practice swings or they refit their gloves and—“

“—I don’t always wear gloves.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous.”

“Where did my elbow fit into this, exactly?”

“It’s so high up when you bat,” Emma exclaims. The projected distance of that home run was four-hundred and twenty-six feet. Eventually she will blame this tirade on that.

Killian nods, tapping his fingers on the side of Emma’s ankle until she stills. “Yeah, that’s a whole thing. It’s, uh—well, the elbow is high, so I’ve got more momentum when I swing. Physics and all that. Helps with your hips too. And the wide stance.”

“So you can stay behind the ball.”

“And you acted like you didn’t know why I did it.”

“Nah,” Emma objects, “I get why you’re doing it. I just—well, El was talking about you staying in the box and—“

“—Mind games.”

“Wait, what?”

“Mind games,” Killian repeats with a shrug. “You’re right. Almost every other batter moves around between pitches, but when I first started playing there wasn’t a ton of time to do that. I—well, Liam used to toss me batting practice and it was always kind of in between everything else we were doing and so I never thought about stepping out of the box because I was cutting into my own practice time.”

Emma presses her lips together, something different than the usual gymnastics taking place in her stomach. It’s a little softer, quieter and even more comfortable. Like their couch. But in a way that sounds nicer than that.

“And now,” Killian continues, “it drives opposing pitchers insane. Your brother, especially. He hates when I don’t step out. Because then he’s got to get back into his windup quicker.”

“You’re toying with them.”

“A little. Pace of play, you know.”

Emma laughs, absent-mindedly moving her hands like she’s swinging an invisible bat over her head. It’s admittedly a little weird as far as flirting goes, but she figures the playoffs afford for these kind of moments. And Killian doesn’t move quickly when he stands, Emma’s eyes lingering on his mouth longer than they probably should, just steps into her space and twists her against his chest and—

“Lift your elbow up a bit, love.”

“This is a cliche.”

“We’re not actually on a field, I think that sets us apart.”

She scoffs, twisting her hips. That time is on purpose. Killian groans, head dropping to her shoulder so he can nip at the bit of skin there. “You were the one who said you could reenact my stance in your sleep,” he points out.

“Well, it’s distinct.”

Killian hums, and there’s this absolutely delightful thrum in Emma’s veins — wide awake and ready to flirt. She kicks her feet out, one then the other, like she’s tapping her toes with the bat. She pushes down the visor of an invisible helmet, squaring up to a home plate that isn’t there, rocks her weight from side to side.

“I can’t believe you remembered the visor thing,” Killian mutters. “You know, Swan, I think you might be stalking me.”

“Don’t act like you’re not into it.”

“Your elbow is still too low.”

“Does this not hurt your shoulder?”

“You get used to it.” Emma grumbles, but lifts her elbow up anyway, an angle her normal, human body is not used to bending at. “Now,” Killian mutters, dropping his mouth just behind her ear, “kick your front leg out, snap your hips forward and—“

Emma swings.

Which is only a little absurd, considering they’re standing in their living room and she’s definitely heard this start to SportsCenter three times already, but they won and that’s got to count for something.

Several things.

Everything.

“Straight shot into the bleachers,” Killian says.

“Right or left?”

“Batters choice.”

“I always think it’s more impressive when you can pull one.”

He spins her — that same look from before growing more pronounced and still just as attractive as ever. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Agreed,” Killian nods, and Emma isn’t really sure how they ever get into their bedroom, but there’s probably a postseason excuses and home runs and her shirt spends most of the night in the hallway.

Emma picks it up the next morning, coffee already brewing and the SportsCenter theme obvious and she lets her legs drape over Killian’s when they both watch the number one play.

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Taehyung Scenario: I’ll see you in my dreams

You woke up covered in sweat and gasping for air. You felt like you had been holding your breath for too long and just broke the surface of the water before your lungs gave out. Your blanket was thrown onto the floor and your pillows were haphazardly spread out all over the bed. You sat up and placed a hand over your chest trying to calm your racing heart beat. 

It was that dream again. The same one you had at least once a week for the past 2 months. Your dream is in black and white, as with all soul dreams. Before you meet your soulmate, your dreams are in black and white and you can’t talk to them. It is said that after you lock eyes with your soulmate, your dreams will be in color and you will be able to communicate with your soulmate in order to help you find each other. 

In your dream, you are sitting on the floor. You legs feel like they weigh a ton and you can’t move them. You can’t move your body at all. You just sit there and wait until you see the door handle turning. Sometimes you wait for what feels like an hour. Other times you are the one opening the door and at this time you can move. You are always met with the sight of a dark, shadowy figure. You can’t make out what the person looks like but you know it’s your soulmate. Your heart feels warm and you feel a spark of electricity whenever you walk into the room. Sometimes you wave at your soulmate, or they wave at you if you are the one frozen who cannot move. Sometimes they give you a finger heart, making you wonder if your soulmate is Korean or if they are a Kpop fan like you. Even though all you know about your soulmate is their wave and their kind gestures towards you, you feel so much love in your heart for them already. 

This dream was different however. Your soulmate was waving at your frantically and ran to you to try and touch you. Right before their hands met your own you were startled out of your sleep. You had never felt such intense emotions as you did right now. Sadness, longing, lonliness. It was hard to tell how much of these were your own emotions and which were your soulmates’. Sometimes their emotions can transfer through dreams and this seems to be one of those occasions.

After processing your dream you get out of bed to grab a glass of water. You check the time on the clock and see that it is 6 o’ clock in the morning. You are right in the middle of taking a sip of water when you realize what day it is and you nearly choke. It’s the day you are finally going to see BTS live in concert. Your earlier sadness is long forgotten as you dance around the kitchen singing Boy With Luv and happily thinking about the fact that in just a few more hours, you will be front row at their show. The Universe must have been on your side to help you score that front row seat. You couldn’t believe you were going to be able to see them up close. Especially the performance of Singularity.

Taehyung was your bias. You absolutely adored everything about him. From his soulful, perfect vocals, to his kind and caring personality. What wasn’t there to love about him? Too excited to fall back asleep, you decide you might as well get up and shower and get ready for the day. You made sure you pack your army bomb in your bag so you wouldn’t forget, and put on your Tata headband to support the character your bias had created. You wore shorts and tennis shoes and one of your many BTS shirts. Giving yourself a once over in the mirror, you were satisfied with how you looked and looked at the clock.

You couldn’t help but continue glancing at the clock. Letting out a huff of annoyance when only 15 minutes had gone by. Eventually you got impatient and tired of waiting and decided if nothing else you can wait in the mile long merch line and hopefully get something you wanted before they sold out. When you arrived you were a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people at the show. You had never been to a concert this big before and were honestly a little nervous. You went to the merch line and were surprised that you were actually able to get the shirt you wanted in your size. You took this as a good sign for the rest of the show. Before too long they had started letting people into the venue. Once you go through the chaos of the bag check and security you made your way to your seat and glanced around the stadium. You couldn’t help but tear up and feel so incredibly proud that they had went from having almost nothing to selling out stadiums all over the world.

Before the show started they were playing their music videos on the screen. Hearing ARMY sing along to their songs and the excited chatter of people around you made you even more excited for their show to begin. Seeing their entrance and opening song Dionysus was unlike anything you had ever seen at a concert before. Everyone was going crazy for them, yourself included. As the show went on it just got better and better. The stage effects and choreography absolutely blowing you away. You don’t know how you survived Taehyung’s solo. You found yourself screaming so loud you thought your voice was going to give out. 

When it came time for Anpanman Taehyung had made his way over to your side of the stage. He saw your headband and smiled at you, your eyes locked for a moment and you felt like you had been struck by lightning. You didn’t think anything of it, he was your bias, he was Kim Freaking Taehyung of course you would have that reaction when he noticed you. However he faltered in his singing and that made you wonder if he felt something too.

He couldn’t be.. could he? He’s staring at you intently before Namjoon comes up and places an arm around his shoulder distracting him. He carries on with the show and you can’t shake the odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

They close out the show with Mikrokosmos and as you watch the firework display you can’t help but get emotional. You were sad to have to say goodbye, but so incredibly happy and proud of how much they have achieved. You went home that night, hoping to get a peaceful nights sleep until your dreams were interrupted yet again.

It was different this time. You were the first one in the room but there were splashes of color all over the walls. You were able to get up and walk around. You put your hand on the doorknob and tried to open it, only to find it locked. You sighed and paced around the room, waiting for your soulmate to arrive. When the door opens you are surprised that your soulmate is still blocked out.

“Ah, Damnit I was hoping to finally be able to see you now.” You were almost knocked off your feet, taken aback with how deep your soulmate’s voice was. Well now you at least knew he was a male. That narrowed it down to half the population. And it was someone who must have been at the concert. You tried to remember if you had locked eyes with any guys that were at the show but none came to mind, except Taehyung. You shake your head and quickly throw the thought away scolding yourself. There was no way he was your soulmate.

“I was hoping I would get to see you too. But at least we can talk now. It’ll be easier for us to find each other.” 

“You think I can touch you now? I don’t want to be ripped away from you like last night. That actually physically hurt.” You notice he has an accent, and can’t help but think he sound exactly  like Taehyung. Suddenly the possibility of him being your soulmate didn’t seem too crazy to you after all.

“We can try it?” You hold out your hand and when his fingers intertwine with yours you couldn't stop yourself from giggling with sheer happiness.

“Can I hug you, please?” You don’t give him an answer, just wrap your arms around his waist and hug him so tightly to you. You feel his arms snake around your shoulders and a kiss placed to the top of your head.

“This just feels right. Being here with you in my arms. I don’t ever want it to stop.” You stay like that for a few moments before pulling away.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s Taehyung. What about you?”

“I’m sorry did you just say Taehyung?”

“Yeah, oh. Shoot do you know who I am? You must have been at that concert.. There’s no other explanation for why suddenly I am dreaming in color. Wait are you the one with the Tata headband?! I thought I felt something weird when I looked at you!” You can’t help but giggle at his ramblings.

“Yes, that was me. My name is y/n.”

“Nice to finally meet you. Oh gosh I was hoping it was you. You were so incredibly cute Namjoon had to snap me out of my thoughts otherwise I probably would have just kept staring at you like an idiot.”

“You think I am cute?!”

“Yes, very cute and very beautiful… If you have time tomorrow can we meet somewhere before our second show? We have to rehearse later in the afternoon but, maybe we can grab breakfast somewhere?”

“I would love that Taehyung.”

“Great! Uhh.. I kinda can’t leave the hotel or I’ll be recognized do you mind coming here? I know room service probably isn’t an ideal fist date but.. I just have to see you. Please?”

“Tae you don’t have to be so nervous. I would love to have room service breakfast with you.” Even though you can’t see him you know he’s probably smiling at you with that signature boxy smile that you adore so much.

“Okay!” He proceeds to tell you the address of the hotel and you commit it to memory.

“I’ll see you soon Tae.”

“See you soon y/n.” 

When you arrive at the hotel you aren’t really sure how to get upstairs to see him. You stop at the front desk and they tell you there is no one staying here by the name of Taehyung. You sigh heavily and try to think of something when a man who appears to be a body guard approaches you.

“Excuse me, are you y/n?” 

“Yes that’s me.” He makes a motion for you to follow him and you head up to the top floor. You see there are security swarming the floor. It seems a bit much but it honestly makes you happy knowing that the boys are so well protected. You step off the elevator and before you can even take one step off of it you are tugged into Taehyung’s arms. 

“Y/n! You came! I’m so happy to finally meet you in person.” You hug him back with as much strength as you can muster. When you pull away he’s absolutely beaming at you. 

“Let’s go eat breakfast.” It doesn’t sneak past your notice that he was already taken to holding your head and is leading you to his room. He opens the door for you and before you can sit down in the chair you are enveloped in another tight hug.

“Sorry. I’m just really happy to finally meet my soulmate. It’s the moment I have been so excited and waiting for my whole life.” You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek and his smile grows impossibly wider.

“I am really happy to finally meet you too, Tae. This honestly still feels like I am dreaming.”

“Me too, except you’re note a black shadow anymore and I can actually feel your warmth so strongly.” He finally releases his hands from your waist and you two sit down and eat together. You spend the morning talking and getting to know each other. You have a surprising amount of things in common. Before you know it an hour has gone by and there is knocking at the hotel door. He opens it and Namjoon is standing in the doorway.

“Tae we have to leave for rehearsal soon. I’m sorry to interrupt I know how excited you were to be spending time with y/n..” 

“It’s okay hyung I’ll be out in a minute.” He turns back to you and sees you fidgeting with your hands in your lap.

“Are you okay y/n?”

“I just.. I wonder where are we going to go from here? You play your last show in my country tonight and then you’re going to be gone for the rest of your tour for a few months and I don’t know when we will see each other again.”

“Well, we don’t have to put a lable on what we are right now. We are still getting to know each other and just because we are soulmates doesn’t mean we have to rush anything.” He sits on the bed and motions for you to sit next to him. The second you get close he pulls you into his lap and presses a kiss to your lips.

“Sorry I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You are left breathless just from one kiss and your heart absolutely sores. 

“I’m going to miss you Tae..”

“All you have to do is go to sleep baby. I’ll be with you every night in your dreams. Since we will be in different time zones it may take me a while to get there but.. wait for me?” 

“Of course Tae. I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.”

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia –The Sports Festival: Bonus Round!

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 38: The Sports Festival Part 11: End Credits

Presenting the next raw and unedited chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

Earlier chapters can be found here

If ever there was going to be a day for Villains to get up to something, Izuku thought, this would have been it.  Some of the highest ranked Heroes in the country were in the VIP box at the Sports Festival stadium, and he knew many more were also in the audience in the stands. In the box with him were Ochaco, Kacchan and Eijiro, Shoto and Momo, Tenya and Mei, Pony, and Tetsutetsu.  Tetsutetsu could have been in the teacher’s box with Itsuka, but with Minoru working, he had volunteered to accompany Pony.

Izuku was glad that Mirio had agreed to take watch in the Agency today, so that he could attend. Mom was here too, in the teacher’s box with Dad.  Some of his other friends were in the stands too, like Hitoshi and Camie and Mashiro and Toru.  Others were working or watching on TV at home.  

Down in front of them, his youngest daughter, Mako, sat on the floor with Kacchan’s youngest, Tai. The two were only a few months apart in age and had been good friends pretty much their entire lives.  His middle daughter, Hana, stood in the back of the room, barely looking up from her cellphone.  He should probably have said something, but that was an uphill battle and he wasn’t really interested in fighting it today.  

“Big Sister’s going to win!” Tai said.

“Nuh-uh!” Mako countered, crossing her arms.  “You’re wrong, Tai!  Toshi’s going to win!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Hey.”  Before Izuku could speak up, Kacchan had, bending down next to the two five year olds.  He put a hand on each of their shoulders.  “What did I tell you, Tai?”

The little blond looked up at his dad, thinking for a moment.  “That… it doesn’t matter who wins, so long as everybody does their best?”

“Right,” Kacchan said, giving both children a smile.  “So it’s okay to want Katsumi or Toshi to win.  But you shouldn’t fight about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Tai said.

“Okay,” Mako added.  

“Good,” Kacchan said, before returning to his seat.

Ochaco turned her head to look at Kacchan.  “That was some pretty Plus Ultra parenting, Katsuki,” she said.  They were pretty lucky overall.  Mako was about as well-behaved as you could expect from a five year old girl and Toshi had been an incredibly stress free child to raise (except for the part when his Quirk had come in and they’d had to tie him to his bed to keep him from floating off in his sleep).  Hana was their biggest problem and even that was more teenage moodiness than anything.

“Of course it was,” Kacchan said.  “I’m good at everything.  Why wouldn’t I be good at parenting?”

“Very manly pareting, Bakubabe,” Eijiro said, sitting on Kacchan’s left, next to Izuku.

Izuku laughed at that. Some things never changed.

“You just keep on believing that,” Shoto said, sitting on the other side of Kacchan.

“What’s that supposed to mean, IcyHot?”

“I think you know what it means.”

“Oh, it is good to see you both!”  A new voice interrupted them and from behind, huge arms wrapped themselves around Shoto and Kacchan.  

“You?” Kacchan growled, trying to slip out of the big man’s grasp.  “What’re you doing here?  You kid doesn’t even go to this school!”

Inasa just laughed. “Are you kidding?” he asked.  “I love U.A.!”

“Oh.  Yoarashi.  How… good… to see you.”  Shoto was trying to look pleased, but failing miserably at it. Inasa didn’t notice though.  He never did.  No matter how much Kacchan or Shoto tried to express their displeasure with him, he just assumed they were friends.

Not surprising that he’d gotten an invitation, though.  He was the Number Five Hero currently, even if he wasn’t a U.A. graduate.

“Besides,” Inasa added, “my son really wanted to see his girlfriend compete!  How could I say no?”

“Someone’s dating that psychotic cyclone you call a kid?” Kacchan asked.

“Yes!” Inasa bellow. “I haven’t met her yet, but he talks about her constantly!  I believe her name is Mika!”

Pony perked up at that. “Oh!  Then you must be Shinji’s dad!  Come sit by me!  We should talk… especially since Minny doesn’t know about him yet.”

“If you are all done,” Tenya said, standing, arms chopping through the air, “the Festival is about to start!  May I suggest you all pay our children and their classmates the attention they deserve?”

Izuku settled in, taking Ochaco’s hand in his.  Something told him this was going to be an amazing show.

***

“So anyway,” Eijiro said, “I decided to do one of those DNA ancestry things, ‘cause, you know, I only really know about one of my moms for bio family.  Turns out somebody with the same bio-dad as me did too!  I’ve got a half-brother out there somewhere!”

“Bro!” Tetsutetsu piped up, from the other end of the row.  “That’s so weird! I did the same thing, and it turns out I’ve got a half-brother too!  What a coincidence!  That’s just freaky!”

Izuku watched as Kacchan looked between his husband and Tetsutetsu.  He’d known his friend long enough to see the war going on behind his eyes. He was considering whether or not to say anything and what he’d have to deal with if he did.   There was a quiet, tense moment in the room.

“Yeah,” Kacchan added eventually, “really flipping weird.”

Pony gave her former classmate a funny look.  “Maybe… you two are brothers?” she tried.

Tetsutetsu laughed hard at that, slapping a hand against his knee.  “Oh, that’s a good one, Pony!  Can you imagine that, Eijiro?”

Eijiro laughed just as loud. “Real good one,” he agreed. “We’re a lot alike, Pony, but brothers? Nah.  That’s just silly.”

“But…” Pony began.

Kacchan locked eyes with her.  “Just let it go.”

“Guys,” Izuku interrupted, “look!”

Below, on the obstacle course, one of his son’s classmates, Isamu Haimawari, was racing across the finish line, with several of the others not far behind.  It wans’t long before they crossed.  As each of their kids crossed the finish line, cheers went up from the parents.

“So that’s the kid Izumi was talking about,” Shoto said.  “Pretty impressive speed.”

“Strange,” Tenya said. “His Quirk reminds me of something my brother once told me, but I cannot place where…”

“Fast guy, that’s for sure,” Mei agreed.  “Bet he could use some better gear though…”

“Not everything requires additional gear, Mei, useful though it may be.”

“You take that back right now, Tenya, or you’re sleeping on the couch.”

“I…” Tenya sputtered. “…Yes, dear.”

“Quite the display of teamwork,” Momo noted.

“I noticed that too,” Izuku agreed.  “They combined mobility-based Quirks with offensive power, letting them watch each other’s backs while still moving forward.  Not a one hundred percent one to one match, but I think they mostly compensated pretty well…  Might have been a little better to align both Twins with someone with Quirk with more of a projectile Quirk to clear the way, but…”

Ochaco gave his hand a squeeze.  “Deku?” she said.  “You’re muttering.”

He felt a little bit of a blush spread to his cheeks.  “Oops. Sorry.”

“Once a dweeb, always a dweeb,” Kacchan said.  He shook his head.  “The team-up thing had to be Toshi’s idea.  Your kid’s always thinking about other people.”

Izuku felt a stirring of pride.  That did sound like Toshi.  Ever since he was little, he’d always been looking out for his friends and sisters. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Good strategy… but I think they’re in for an earful from Aizawa over it.”

Hana actually looked up from her phone for a minute.  “Dork actually came up with a pretty good plan.  Surprising.”

***

As Quirkball got underway, Shoto leaned over so he could look around Kacchan.  “You know,” he said, “I heard a rumor about this year’s Hero Class.”

Izuku turned his attention away from the field for a moment.  He hadn’t heard any rumors, but he also admitted that sometimes, he was a little disconnected from things.  An unfortunate happenstance created by some of the distance that came with being the Number One Hero.  “Oh?” he asked.  “What’s that?”

He could have sworn he was something in Shoto’s eyes, but decided it was just his imagination.  “I have heard that one of the kids in this year’s crop of Hero students is secretly Deku’s child.”

Instantly, he felt Ochaco’s grip on his hand grow tighter.   “What?” she asked.  Despite having no reason to, Izuku suddenly felt in great fear for his life.

“Oh, yes,” Shoto said, his voice even and unchanging.  “Just a rumor of course, but it seems quite plausible.”

He paused for a moment, then went on.  “My money is on the girl with the purple hair and horns.”

There was a silent moment, before it was broken by Pony’s braying laughter.  Ochaco’s grip on his hand relaxed slightly and he could feel circulation return to his fingers.

“Shoto,” Ochaco growled, “that was terrible!”

“I’ve been trying to work on my jokes,” he replied.

Next to Shoto, Momo was burying her head in her hands.  She finally looked up.   “I must apologize for him…”

Izuku waved it off, a smile tugging on his lips as he thought back to his first Sports Festival and the accusations Shoto had hurled at him then.  He might not have been All Might’s love child, but Toshinori had become his father in every way that counted a few years later.  Something that hadn’t gone uncommented on by Shoto at the time either.

“Leave the comedy to somebody with a sense of humor, IcyHot,” Kacchan growled.  “’cause you sure ain’t funny.”

“Be nice, Bakubabe,” Eijiro said, giving Kacchan a playful punch in the arm.  

“It was only a joke, Bakugo,” Shoto said.  “No reason to… explode.”

“Was that a fucking pun?!”

“Bakugo!” Tenya shouted. “Control your language!  There are children present!”

***

Izuku was impressed with what he had seen so far.  As a parent, of course, he was most focused on Toshi, but all the students who had made it through the first two rounds had done amazingly.  Lots of General Studies students who’d made it through the first round too, which was always good, even if only one of them had made it to the Tournament round.   Kocho was definitely skilled; he wondered how she wasn’t in the Hero Course to begin with.  Maybe he’d talk to Dad about it later.  What he’d seen so far was pretty impressive.  It was ultimately the faculty’s decision, but the word from a seasoned Pro Hero like him would go pretty far.

It was when Izumi and Katsumi came up to fight that things got tense.

“Okay,” he said.  “We knew this was going to happen.  Everybody relax.  Remember, the kids are all friends and this is just a friendly competition.”

Nevertheless, he could see Shoto and Kacchan were shooting each other uneasy glances already and not a single blow had been thrown.

Eijiro leaned forward in his seat.  “Is she… giving up?”  

“Why would she not want to fight Izumi?” Shoto asked, rubbing his chin.

“…I’m sure she has her reasons,” Momo said, and Izuku was glad for it.  Shoto was… not good at interpreting relationships.  It was enough of a dodge that none of them had to explain it to him.

“How unsportsmanlike!” Tenya yelled.  “She is doing Izumi a great dishonor!”

Kacchan leaned forward to. “C’mon, kid.  Remember what I taught you…”

Fortunately for all involved, it looked like Katsumi was going to fight after all.  

“All right!” Eijiro yelled, jumping up from his seat.  “Kick her ass, Honey!”

That got him a horrified look from Momo.  “Eijiro! How could you say something like that?!”

Eijiro plopped back down in his seat, looking embarrassed.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I got carried away.”

“I can’t look!” Inasa lamented, hand over his eyes.  “The children of two of my best friends!  How can I decide who to root for?!”

“Root for my daughter!” Kacchan growled.  “You all better be rooting for her!  It’s her first fight!”

“It’s Izumi’s too,” Shoto corrected him.  

“Shut up, IcyHot! She’s gonna kick your kid’s ass!”

“I doubt that.”

“You wanna bet?!”

“Shoto… Kacchan…” Izuku began, getting up just in case he had to separate them.  This was going to be tense.

***

“Oh, that’s going be awkward,” Izuku said, as they watched Toshi and Sora Iida take the field to fight each other.  

“Look at our baby!” Mei yelled, wrapping her arms around Tenya.  “I’m so proud of her!  She’s gonna kick his ass!”

Tenya frowned.  “Mei, while the spirit of competition should be embraced, you can at least be civil about it…”

The pink-haired inventor shrugged.  “I said what I said.”

“We haven’t really talked about the fact that the kids are dating, have we?” Ochaco asked.  “How’re you holding up with both of yours dating, Tenya?”

Izuku was certain he saw a slight twitch to Tenya’s left eye.  Tenya lived what was, to all outside appearances, a very stressful life, with his mad scientist wife and equally excitable children, but he seemed very content and always spoke glowingly of them all.  Perhaps the chaos was welcome in his otherwise structured and ordered life.

“It has been… challenging,” Tenya said after a moment, “to realize just how much they are growing. I trust Toshi to be a perfect gentleman, of course, and I am trying to think kindly of Takuma.”

“Better not let Mina hear you say that,” Izuku replied.  “But I appreciate the vote of confidence.  Assuming they don’t break up over this, I know Toshi will treat Sora right.”

He admitted, he’d been surprised when Toshi had told them about it.  Their son had always gotten along fine with all of the other kids, male or female, but had always seemed a bit nervous around female attention. Granted, a lot of that had come from Mika Mineta, who would make just about anybody nervous…

“Well, at least Sora’s first Sports Festival will not go like mine did,” Tenya said.  Finding out his brother had been brutally assaulted… Yeah, that probably colored his memories some.

“Well, it was when I first started thinking about you, Tenny,” Mei told him.  “So it ain’t all bad.”

Tenya blushed at that. “There is also that,” he agreed.

“We should get together some time, though,” Izuku said.  “See if Mina and Hanta want to come.  Get together with the kids.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea, Deku!” Ochaco said.  “It’ll be like a quintuple date!  Mina will love it!”

There was that twitch of Tenya’s again…

“Toshi’s doing better than I did too,” Izuku said.  “No broken bones!  And he’s really picked up some of Gran’s style…”

***

“Oh, you should have seen her, honey!” Pony said into her phone.  “She was amazing!  Yes, love you too.  We’ll watch it together tonight!”

There were a lot of words to describe Mika Mineta’s first fight in the Tournament, but Izuku wasn’t exactly sure that “amazing” was one of them.  She’d certainly outwitted her opponent, but it was hard to exactly call it a “clean” win.  All was fair game, he supposed, but some of the things that had come out of her mouth…

Inasa grinned broadly. “I see what my son sees in her! Such a lively young lady!”

Pony hung up the phone. “Minny has a big blind spot where Mika is concerned,” she said.  “But I’m not sure it’s big enough for this.  That is going to be a very awkward conversation.”

Next to her, Tetsutetsu just laughed.  “She really does take after him, doesn’t she?  You really turned that guy around, Pony.”

The horned-woman shrugged at that.  “Minny just needed somebody who wasn’t going to immediately reject him.  Maybe he kind of tricked me the first time, but he proved he was a sweetheart underneath it.  …And also really good with his hands and tongue and other things.”

Kacchan looked like he was going to explode.  “I could have gone my whole life without hearing that.”

Pony frowned and carried on like she hadn’t heard him,  “But Mika spends a lot of her time thinking about boys.  And girls.  And everything and everyone in-between.  I worry it might get her into trouble someday.”

“She’s not nearly as bad as he was,” Momo said, from the other end of the row of chairs.  If anyone was certified to speak up on it, it would be her.  Momo had been the target of Minoru’s unwanted attentions and worse more than anyone.  “Mika’s got her problems, but at least she’s not a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Ochaco nodded along. “No offense, Pony, but before he met you, he was, well, I don’t think any of us liked him very much.”

“I know,” she said. “He told me all of this, when we started to get serious.”

“Pretty manly of him, owning up to everything,” Eijiro admitted.

“You’re still planning on giving her an offer, right, Tenya?” Pony asked, big eyes hopeful and wide.

“I am,” Tenya agreed. “I will do my best to give her some more rigorous discipline, but I can make no promises.”

Pony nodded at that. “I hate to do anything to dampen her spirit, but she’s going to need to buckle down eventually.  Even Minny figured that one out.”

“Your kid’s a freak,” Kacchan said, drawing an angry squawk from Pony and stares of disapproval from everyone else.  “But she’s fighting with everything she’s got.  That’s something to be proud of.”

Leave it to Kacchan to get straight to the point…

***

“Who the hell is this kid?” Kacchan growled, as they watched Isamu Haimawari dodge more of Izumi’s attacks.  He waved a hand in the vague direction of the arena.  “Skills like that don’t just come out of nowhere! Who’s been teaching him?!”

Izuku put a hand on his chin, watching as the young man zipped around the ring.  “I’m sure I’ve read about something with that kind of Quirk before,” he said.  “Not a Pro-Hero though, but then where?  Maybe a Vigilante?  I didn’t really follow those, but sometimes they were pretty hard to ignore…”

Where had he seen a Quirk like that before?  High mobility, yes, but also some kind of adhesion?  And some kind of repulsive force?  Very versatile, that was for sure.  And it was easy to see why Toshi spoke so highly of Haimawari. Without wanting to brag too much… their kids all had quite the advantage and leg up over a lot of the other students. That he was competing on their level was a testament to his dedication.

But it definitely meant he’d had someone training him, someone who knew what they were doing.

Either way, the kid looked like he was going to go far.  Izuku was impressed, to be sure.  And it was looking like the bookies were going to be mad at him again…

“I could swear, I remember my brother mentioning the name Haimawari once or twice too,” Tenya said.

Izuku looked over at Shoto and Momo.  Both of them were leaning forward slightly, holding hands, tension radiating off of both of them.  He didn’t blame them.  Izumi’s childhood illness after her exposure to…   No, not the time or the place to be reflecting on it.  But he couldn’t begrudge them their concern.  She’d nearly died as a child and still suffered lingering effects.  She’d done amazing well so far, making it to the Top Eight finalists.  And even after collapsing after fighting Katsumi, she’d managed to get back in the fight.

That girl had real courage, that was for sure.

“C’mon on, Izumi,” Momo said quietly, “you can do this…”

Which was when Haimawari barreled into Izzy, sending them both tumbling until she came to rest with her head just outside the ring.

Shoto was on his feet in an instant.  “That rat bastard!  I’ll kill him!  How dare he lay a hand on her!”

Momo was on her feet too, equally agitated, but her face lined with worry.  “Is she…?”

There was a breathless moment as they all waited to see what had happened to Izumi, broken only when Haimawari helped her to her feet.

“What a fight!” Insana yelled, so loudly and suddenly that it nearly jolted Pony out of her seat.

“Such a manly display!” Eijiro and Tetsutetsu both shouted, both jumping out of their seats, their body language nearly identicial.

“She didn’t pass out!” Momo yelled, relief blooding into her voice.  “She’s all right!  She’s all right!”   Tears filled her eyes as she pulled Shoto into a tight hug.

“She did good,” Shoto agreed, quietly.  He wasn’t nearly as emotional as his wife, but for someone who had known him as long as Izuku had, he was just as relieved and nearly on the verge of tears himself.

“I thought…” Momo went on, “I thought, when she wanted to keep fighting, that we were making the wrong choice letting her.  I guess I missed just how strong she is.”

“We both did,” Shoto agreed. “I talked you into it… but I wasn’t nearly as sure as I sounded.  Guess we’ve raised a pretty remarkable young Hero.”

They sure had, Izuku thought.  They sure had.

***

The results were in. Toshi sharing Third Place with Koharu Kocho, Mika Mineta in Second, and Isamu Haimawari in First.  

“<She did it!>” Pony yelled, jumping up and down excitedly, possibly unaware she’d slipped back into using English.  “<Second place!  Did you see, Tetsu?  Did you see?>”

“We saw, Pony,” Tetsutetsu said.  “We saw! Don’t worry!”

Inasa let out a laugh. “Amazing!  What a fantastic upset this year!  Where else but U.A.?!”

“Yay, Toshi!” Mako said, dancing happily.  Next to her, Tai was cheering too.  Izuku looked over and he was pretty sure he even saw Hana crack a smile.

“I don’t flippin’ believe it,” Kacchan growled.  “This is one for the record books.”

“Believe it, Kacchan,” Izuku said.  “You know as well I do anything can happen at the Sports Festival.”

Up to and including maybe him breaking his rule about scouting highly placed finishers…

[palmettoes]

Aaron/Katelyn 61

(hehe this has only been sitting in my inbox for uhh 6 months i am so sorry! anyway !!!! never written aaron/katelyn before !!! also haven’t written m/f fanfiction since i was 13 but i love these kids thanks for giving me a reason to make up katelyn’s whole backstory)

disclaimer: if ur pro inc*st u are legally not allowed to touch anything i write

read it on ao3! | prompts are closed :(

61. “I told you not to fall in love with me.”

Katelyn, eight years old, loses her mother to white lights and hospital beds. It’s preventable, low mortality rate, chance of survival looks hopeful. Katelyn knows this because she looks it up on her dad’s old box computer when he’s working late one night, her older brother playing outdated records too loudly to notice her disappearing into their father’s private study. Katelyn knows this because the doctors tell her so—not in so many words, because she’s eight, but enough that she knows they are optimistic about the results.

Katelyn, eight years old, wonders why doctors can juggle something so fragile as a life playfully among them and lie through their teeth when they catch the corner of an eye.

Katelyn, eighteen years old, is determined not to be like other doctors. Getting into biochemistry at university feels like winning the sprint but losing the marathon. Her professors crack down on the workload immediately, adamant that medicine is not for those who do not want to be there. And Katelyn wants to be there, maybe more than anyone else, but life has already dealt her so much weight and Katelyn is fast running out of strength to lift these stooped shoulders.

She tries out for the Vixens, Palmetto’s cheerleading team, mostly because her roommate, Marissa, waxes poetic about the nights she’ll spend huddled between football players in one of the downtown bars, and Katelyn figures she could do with the extracurricular.

(The exy team does not factor into her decision, but gossip travels far and fast and the idea of standing in close quarters to them puts her on edge for reasons that can only be explained through hollow whispers and stolen glances behind their backs.)

The Vixens are a rough and tumble team, from the figure eight pattern of cigarette burns on Marissa’s forearm, to the handful of Zoloft Anaïs throws up in her dorm toilet during Freshers’ Week, to the way Billie sleeps with their chin tucked over their shoulder so they can watch their own back. Katelyn is just scraping this side of nineteen, knows the weight of Prozac on her tongue better than that of a meal, and cannot remember the last time her father looked at her without looking right through her. Inexorably, Palmetto State University feels like home.

“How about that backliner though? He’s a tall, dark stranger I’d welcome into my crystal ball,” Marissa says, shaking her pom pom in Anaïs’ face as they stumble towards the bus the night after Palmetto’s first exy game of the season. Anaïs bats Marissa’s arm away, switching her duffel to her other shoulder to put an extra distance between them.

“Didn’t notice. It’s their offensive dealer that I was paying attention to.”

“Their captain.” (It sounds like an innuendo but almost everything does coming out of Marissa’s mouth.) “Anyway, I heard from Mick on the football team that Ainsley told Prati that Mia sits with two of the exy players at lunch on Tuesdays and apparently Mr Tall and Dark is hitting it with the captain. Isn’t that a sandwich you’d love to get between?”

“Not particularly.”

“Boo, you whore.”

Marissa shakes her pom pom again and Anaïs’ shove gains force.

“Don’t boo me because I’m gay.”

Billie taps Katelyn’s elbow and rolls their eyes at the other two, sweeping an arm out to offer Katelyn to climb ahead of them onto the bus. Katelyn hitches her duffel a little higher and climbs the steps. Anaïs likes the seat over the wheel so Katelyn chooses the row in front, tucking her bag under her seat so Billie can settle next to her. Anaïs and Marissa scramble in behind them, still bickering over the attraction of various exy players. Katelyn glances out the window and catches sight of an orange and white gaggle making their way to the other PSU bus parked outside Breckenridge stadium. Mr Tall and Dark backliner is holding hands with the captain but chatting to a lanky boy with a frown too many shades short of pleasant. Most of the Foxes move as a unit, a crowd collected behind their coach, but several steps and a whole chasm behind them trails the remainder of the team.

Katelyn recognises assistant coach Kevin Day because, as strong as her distaste for the sport, she grew up this side of the turn of the century. She doesn’t think she could miss Kevin Day if she tried. He is flanked by two identical blond men and an emphatic, dark-skinned man a head or so above the other two. Katelyn had watched one of the twins block the goal all night with a ferocity like he was exercising a personal vendetta against the ball, seen the other punch an opposing striker square in the jaw seemingly unprovoked. She shudders, remembering the rumours she’d heard whispered about the exy team and, for the first time, believing them. She turns away from the window and bumps Billie’s shoulder with her own, pushing blond hair and murderous glares from her mind.

*

The thing is, Katelyn has no reason to engage with the exy team. She cheers at their games and catches glimpses of them between stadium and parking lot, but she doesn’t learn their names or dance with them at college parties the way she does with the football team.

The thing is, Katelyn’s hands are full enough already. She is unofficially deemed in charge of the first year Vixens—some combination of the fact that Marissa listens when Katelyn tells her to shut up, and Anaïs trusts her enough to press a pill bottle into her hand after her second overdose in as many weeks, and Billie talks to her more than anyone because Katelyn is the only one who speaks ASL. Katelyn finds she doesn’t mind it. The constant demand for attention makes a welcome difference to the stony silence of her family home. With homework, cheerleading, and three new best friends keeping her busy, Katelyn barely has time to dwell on the hollow feeling that has been cutting her chest open for the past decade.

The thing is, the short blond boy from the exy team is hard to miss. (Well, one of them is anyway.) Katelyn figures out he’s the backliner, the one she saw punching that striker from Breckenridge, and not the one that sticks to Kevin Day like glue, or a prickly burr. He crops up in her biochem lectures, at her favourite campus café, tucked behind a bookshelf at the library across from her and Billie’s usual study spot. He is always accompanied by at least one of his little posse, usually the noisy one, except during their shared lectures. Katelyn finds herself seeking him out when she enters the room and, more often than not, she catches him blinking back at her.

They’re two thirds through their first quarter by the time she learns his name. He stops by her desk on the way out of the lecture hall, causing her notebook to slip out of her hand in surprise. He kneels to pick it up for her and doesn’t smile, but there’s a friendliness to his eyes that Katelyn has never seen before.

“Katelyn, right?” he asks. Katelyn has no idea how he knows this but she nods instead of questioning it. “Aaron. Did you get notes on Voltolini’s lecture this week? I missed it.”

She’s so caught out by the disruption to their routine, by the brittle edge to his voice that she hadn’t expected, by the abrupt introduction to the quarter-long suspense of wondering his name, that she almost forgets to answer. When she realises she’s been staring at him for coming on ten seconds, she shakes it out of her system and finishes zipping up her backpack.

“Oh. Yeah, did you want to borrow them? Or,” she swings the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and steps towards the door, Aaron falling into pace beside her, “we could go over them together?”

He is quiet for a moment, as if the question requires extensive thought. Katelyn wonders briefly if she should be offended by his lack of immediate interest, but decides she finds it endearing that the authenticity of his response matters so much to him.

“At the library?” he offers. “I have a study period now.”

“Sure,” she says. She’d been headed that way to meet Billie anyway and doesn’t suppose they’ll mind the small intrusion.

“So how come you missed the lecture?” she asks when it becomes apparent their trek to the library will remain otherwise silent.

“Andrew,” Aaron says vaguely, waving his hand as though this is sufficient enough an explanation. When Katelyn doesn’t look convinced, he adds, “My brother. You’ve seen him?”

She nods, not totally understanding but realising it’s personal enough that she doesn’t want to pry.

Billie is already sitting at their table when Katelyn arrives, Aaron in tow. They have printouts of various articles spread across the desk and a focused frown on their face, but they look up when Katelyn and Aaron stop in front of them.

“Aaron, this is Billie. Billie, Aaron. From the exy team.”

Billie waves at Aaron, then pierces Katelyn with their gaze, tilting their head slightly in Aaron’s direction.

“Do you speak ASL?” Katelyn asks him as she pulls out a chair and begins unpacking her bag. Aaron settles into the seat next to her, tapping the tabletop anxiously.

“No. Was that in the lecture?”

“No, no, of course not. Don’t worry about it.” Katelyn laughs lightly and makes eye contact with Billie.

“Since when do we hang out with exy players?” they sign, eyes flicking to Aaron.

“He’s borrowing some notes. What’s wrong with being friendly?” she signs back. Billie shrugs and turns back to their articles. Katelyn flicks open her notebook and grins at Aaron.

“Let’s do this,” she says. His responding smile is small and fleeting but Katelyn catches the hard upturn of his lips and her skin tingles all over.

*

Aaron falls easily into place among Katelyn’s friends. He becomes a regular at their study sessions, reading notes over Katelyn’s shoulder or catching her eye across the table with that same smile like a secret that hurts his throat on the way up. He never brings any of his teammates, but Katelyn can’t complain. Study Aaron and Exy Aaron, she decides, are two sides of the same coin. He’s softer around her and her friends, all secret smiles and nervous tapping. She can’t imagine Study Aaron punching anyone in the face.

He spills into her other routines intrinsically. She stops making excuses to invite him out for coffee or to lunch or on a walk around the campus green when she’s feeling antsy. She struggles to remember a time when the sight of him intimidated her, when she believed the rumours turning the air sour at his heels wherever he walked.

Katie he calls her from across the hall to grab her attention, and Kate when he talks about her to her friends, and K (intimate and familiar and warm in her chest) over text. Katie-Lyn he teases when they’re alone on one of their walks and he relaxes enough that his smile stops looking like barbed wire. She laughs and elbows him and writes Double-A-Ron on the back of folded notes they pass between them during lectures.

Katelyn doesn’t engage with the exy team, but every rule has its exceptions and Aaron is hers. Brilliant, beautiful Aaron, who keeps his smiles a secret and his family a mystery and who holds her gaze across a crowded hallway like it is the most fragile of things.

They never call it dating, though Katelyn suspects that might be what it is. She hardly qualifies as an expert but the shared lunches and secret notes and blushing eye contact feel too reminiscent of her high school girlfriend to be anything else. (She asks Billie, once, if they think Aaron thinks they’re a couple and they roll their eyes and wave her off. She cannot bring herself to put up with Marissa’s crowing long enough to ask for another opinion.) So it’s hard to say where he falls in the categories of her relationships, but when she invites him out for dinner he doesn’t say no and, though she doesn’t call it a date, it doesn’t feel platonic.

They go to an Italian restaurant on campus, partly because Katelyn figures everyone likes pizza and partly because Marissa says the sundae for two is a date-saver. (Not that Katelyn likes to think their sort-of-date will need saving, but it’s always nice to be prepared.) And she’s right, because Aaron does like pizza and the sundae is delicious and the date doesn’t need saving. Until it does.

“I had to beg Nicky to cover for me tonight,” Aaron is saying, no trace of the curl Katelyn has come to search for at the corner of his lips. “He doesn’t like disrupting the balance.”

Katelyn isn’t sure she follows but she doesn’t have to ask to know the only explanation she’ll get is Andrew. His name is the answer to every question, no matter how she phrases it. His name is the flat line of Aaron’s mouth and the fierce swing of his uppercut. His name is the undeniable truth behind the rumours that tail Aaron wherever he goes.

“We can’t do this,” Aaron says and the ice cream turns to dust in Katelyn’s mouth. She thinks bitterly that at least she can prove Marissa wrong; no sundae for two is saving this date.

“Do what?” she asks and her voice is too small for her mouth. She is eight years old and Aaron is the doctor dangling hope too far out of her reach.

“You, me, us,” he says, frustrated and lonely and scared all at once. “You can’t fall in love with me.”

It aches in more ways than she could have known it would. Because how do you predict the outcome when you’re missing the beginning? How do you prepare for the fallout when you aren’t part of the equation? When you’re just collateral damage?

“Says who?” Katelyn asks, and then, “Andrew” in unison with Aaron because, of course. Because, who else?

Aaron’s cheek dimples between his teeth and he lets his spoon clang against the rim of their shared bowl. Katelyn pushes hers through the half-melted ice cream, appetite fast disappearing. She wants to demand answers or argue the absurdity of their situation or maybe just cry. Instead, she folds.

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay?”

“I get it. It’s okay.”

She doesn’t get it, but Aaron looks at her like she’s handing him the moon so she breathes through her nose, counts to five, and offers him a shaky smile. Moulding herself into the shapes other people need her to be is Katelyn’s specialty. She grew up a chameleon in order to survive. This is no different to her father looking at her like he needed a clinically detached housemaid more than he needed a daughter mourning the loss of her mother.

“Ready to call it a night?” she says, because there is something irreparable in the air between them.

“I’ll walk you back,” Aaron agrees.

They say goodnight outside Katelyn’s dorm building, but what they mean is goodbye. What they mean is this is it. What they mean is we had a good thing and neither of us are good enough people to deserve that.

Katelyn, nineteen-and-three-quarter years old, watches hope shatter in all too familiar shards.

*

They never called it dating, so they don’t call it a break up, but that’s what it feels like. It is broken where Katelyn can’t reach to fix it because she does not know what fractured it to begin with. There is a week between Katelyn’s return home for the holidays and her brother’s scheduled time off, during which the silence of her childhood home sits heavy on her shoulders. She passes the time under a mound of blankets, drowning out her father’s refusal to acknowledge her with television static.

When Antoni returns, so does the life slowly trickling out of the air. He wields noise like a blade to the abrasive reticence of their home, and goads Katelyn out of bed to help him make potato fritters.

“Chiquita, college has made you so mopey,” he says, watching her instead of the eggs he’s whisking. Katelyn slices onions and pretends they are the only reason her eyes sting.

“More like being in this house makes me mopey. College keeps me too busy for that.”

Antoni hums, and watches her, and whisks his eggs.

“And how is college? Top of your class yet?”

Katelyn rolls her eyes but tells him about her lectures and her friends and her cheer practice. She finishes with the onions and starts combining the second bowl of mixture while Antoni scoops the first into misshapen ovals. When the fritters are under the grill and Katelyn’s eyes have stopped stinging altogether, Antoni pours them each a glass of iced tea and leans across the kitchen island to smile at her.

“So has the little Vixen caught a Fox yet?” He pauses to consider her a moment. “Or another Vixen perhaps?”

Katelyn sucks in a breath but doesn’t answer the question, and the silence rings deafening in her ears. She tells her brother everything but she cannot tell him this. (They never called it dating. There is nothing to tell anyway.)

“Oh, Kitty-Kat. Come here,” Antoni says. He doesn’t wait for her to move, instead rounding the island to wrap his arms around her from behind. She leans her head against his bicep, turning so her face is mashed into his woolen jumper, and closes her eyes. They stay like that, his chest to her back and his chin against her crown, for as long as it takes her to stop holding air in her chest until she’s gasping and shaky. She doesn’t cry, but her throat feels raw enough that she could have.

“Ant,” Katelyn whispers, her voice shaking on the vowel, “do you think I’m broken?”

“Of course you’re not.” His arms tighten a fraction around her shoulders. “Why would you think that?”

“It feels like everything I touch shatters.”

She thinks of her mother’s life splintering to pieces in Katelyn’s eight year old hands, of her father’s voice splitting in two and washing away whenever he tried to speak to her, of Aaron’s face contorting as their date cracked and caved around them. She feels like a fractured bone, cleft down the middle, never whole as she is.

Antoni lets out a soft breath against her hair and presses a kiss to the curve of her skull.

“No, chiquita,” he says, “you’re not broken. The world is.”

*

Returning to Palmetto is easier than Katelyn expects it to be. Antoni only has three weeks leave, so Katelyn spends the last month of vacation alone with her father. She is almost ready to welcome the noise and clutter of her college dorm.

Returning to the Vixens is more of a homecoming than entering her family house. As sophomores, they’re expected to throw themselves both into their own practice and that of the freshmen, and Katelyn and Marissa’s room becomes something of a communal ground for the first and second years. Katelyn doesn’t mind so much, because it takes her thoughts off the scowl she hasn’t seen leave Aaron’s face since they returned from break.

She watches the exy team walk to and from the stadium on game nights, their divide in half somehow having become thirds, until she realises the centre group is actually a solitary affair: a dark-haired, rabbit-eyed boy curled in on himself, alone in the rift between his teammates. She focuses on him because it stops her gaze from betraying her resolve and straying to where Aaron walks several paces behind.

And it almost lasts; this painstaking stalemate, this mutual ignorance. Katelyn sits with her back to his table in the library and Aaron walks past her without pausing on the way out of their lecture theatre. It almost stops feeling like a bruise underneath her skin.

But somehow he trickles back into her life as easily as he did once before. Katelyn finds she can smile at him when they pass each other on campus and she can make eye contact when she waves his teammates onto the court during games. She remembers the way he cupped her name in the curl of his tongue as if it were reverent and fragile as glass. She remembers how he held her gaze like he was trying to keep her afloat, and how he saved his smiles to share in the privacy of her company. She remembers he did not build the wall between them, only said he wouldn’t climb it, and she can’t blame him for resting his weary hands.

So when she misses her morning lecture because Marissa woke with a bad taste in her mouth and a tremor in her hands, Katelyn catches Aaron on his way to the library, a hand in his path and a question in her eyes.

“I had to skip this morning. Do you mind sharing notes?” It’s a surrender of sorts, an end to their face-off. Aaron made the first move all those months ago, so this time Katelyn dresses in white armour and guides her pawn forward. They have come full circle.

Aaron’s smile is slow, a tentative curl that crawls quietly up his face, and Katelyn realises for the first time how much she has missed seeing it bloom for her.

“I’m headed to the library now if you’ve got time,” he says. The words are marrow filling the cracks of Katelyn’s broken bone and she feels herself coming together as their steps line up with one another.

It’s easier, after their not-breakup, to build their routine around honesty. Andrew is still an answer, but this time one that comes served with an explanation. Katelyn still doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand the chokehold that Aaron calls family, but she respects it. After all, she isn’t in a position to point fingers at dysfunctional.

They confine their dates to the library café and the medicine building, avoiding places that Aaron’s family are likely to haunt. And it isn’t perfect, it isn’t textbook romance, but for the first time it is something whole that Katelyn cradles to her chest and it does not shatter on impact.

When Aaron leaves for a weekend and comes home a broken man—brotherless, breathless, hands a bruised and bloodied mess—Katelyn does what she has always done best and builds him back together with her own chipped pieces. She fights his nightmares with nothing but her fists and takes his hands in her own when he cannot look at them without seeing blood beneath his fingernails. She does what she can but she is still just collateral, she is still on the outside looking in on a rupture that happened long before she became a spectator. There is still a tear that Katelyn does not know how to stitch up.

*

(The dark-haired, rabbit-eyed boy is called Neil and his hair isn’t actually quite so dark and he is fixing the broken parts Katelyn can’t reach and when he says Andrew’s name it sounds like a question, not an answer.)

*

Getting Aaron back is the gift Katelyn doesn’t think she deserves. Cutting him off feels like shattering her own hope. She watches the pieces slide between her fingers, shoves the remnants deep where she can’t cut herself on their serrated edges, and tries not to think of the way Aaron’s face split apart when she told him Andrew was the answer to a question he did not ask.

She tells Billie, late one night as they pass a bottle of Marissa’s claret between them from opposite ends of the couch, that she doesn’t know if she’ll be whole again. It is a vulnerability that no one but Antoni ever sees, but Katelyn is wine-drunk and fractured, too disheartened to care that her misery has an audience.

“Why not?” Billie says, holding the bottle between their knees to free up their hands. “You were whole before him. He didn’t take anything you can’t replace.”

“He was the first thing I had that I thought I could hold on to.” Katelyn’s hands falter as the weight of her honesty hits her. She doesn’t know who she is when she isn’t fixing other people and Aaron is a fissure that is out of her hands. “What’s the point if I can’t keep anything without breaking it?”

“You have us. You have the team. You have a career path you’re good at and a hobby you love. You have a brother who adores you and you have Marissa and Anaïs and me. You are whole on your own but you’re part of bigger things too. He’ll come back to you or he won’t and either way you’ll still be the person you always have been.”

It doesn’t seem appropriate to cry, but Katelyn is wine-drunk and fractured, so she does anyway. Billie hooks their ankle around hers on the couch between them and knocks the claret bottle against her knee. Katelyn alternates between drinking and sobbing, and loses the rest of the night to the breaking of her heart.

*

Aaron comes back to her piece by broken piece. He shows up at her dorm with his pain a palpable weight in his hands and tells her he’s trying, he’s breaking faster than he can put himself together but he’s trying. And Katelyn knows a thing or two about falling apart.

They pour their fragments into one another in Katelyn’s bed because Marissa is out with some of the older Vixens and they both know better than to waste an empty dorm room. Later, with his back to Katelyn’s chest and his legs slid between either of hers, Aaron finds the parts of his voice he has been missing.

“You were the first beautiful thing I ever called mine,” he says and Katelyn remembers midnight with Billie, remembers the saccharine claret slipping down her throat, remembers thinking Aaron was the first thing she could ever keep whole. “I won’t lose you for him.”

Katelyn slides her hand across the bare expanse of his stomach, presses her face into the base of his neck, and breathes and breathes and breathes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, and means it.

They patch themselves up in tandem—Aaron knits one, Katelyn purls two—and they are old hands at this now. Katelyn watches their healing overlap in familiar stitches and she waits and she hopes and she breathes. Because this thing between them is chipped and bruised but it is whole. It is theirs.

When Andrew comes for her, Katelyn wonders if she should be surprised. She has heard his name in response to too many questions to be shocked when he treats his words like an arrow and her the target. He and Aaron are identical twins but when Katelyn looks at him up close for the first time, all she sees are the differences. He carries none of the regret that bleeds through Aaron’s teeth and too much of the horror that feeds behind his eyes.

“You won,” rabbit-eyed Neil says, gaze already chasing after Andrew like he might not be just any answer but the answer. “Aaron’s not in class now, if you want to call him.”

Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, her brain says and her fingers, though numb with fear, respond on reflex. He picks up while Katelyn is halfway through a choked sob and she hears his breath sharpen like a dagger.

“Katelyn?” His voice is a rush of concern, a spear and shield readying itself in her defence. “What happened?”

“Andrew,” is all she can say between broken breaths, and it is the answer to every question. After all this time, she gets it.

In the time it takes Aaron to get from his dorm to the library, Katelyn has found her breath but not her strength. She is still curled in on herself behind the bookshelf in the far corner and she knows her friends will be wondering but she doesn’t yet trust her legs to support her. Aaron sinks down next to her, an anchor holding her steady in the aftermath of Andrew’s storm.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks quietly and Katelyn doesn’t know how to answer. She thinks if she opens her mouth she might not know how to do anything but cry.

It’s enough of an answer though. Aaron vibrates with an anger that he almost never wears around her and Katelyn thinks of the Breckenridge striker who took Aaron’s fist to the face. He looks more like the other side of the coin, more like Exy Aaron, than she has seen him in a while.

“I told you not to fall in love with me,” he says. It is frustrated and lonely and scared, and Katelyn has heard him sound like that once before and she will do anything before she lets him shatter again.

“I didn’t listen.”

He falls into her at that, half straddling her lap, arms around her waist and face pressed hard to her shoulder. Katelyn raises her arms to cradle his body against her, rests her cheek in the nest of his hair, and thinks this is it. Thinks he is the answer. Thinks we won.

“My Katie,” Aaron whispers into her skin and it is the glue drawing her broken shards together.

[takemedancingmaine]

Go, Cubs, Go!

It was cold. Very, very cold. I had prepared myself for it, too, but wasn't able to properly stay warm no matter how hard I tried. The walk from my front door to the stadium takes less than ten minutes, and in that time I'd frozen.

I had worn a thermal and a long sleeve t-shirt underneath my jersey and my jacket, had a knit hat on and had on a pair of leggings underneath my jeans. When I'd left my apartment I'd glanced at my weather app on my phone and thought about how ridiculous I'd look all bundled up when the temperature was supposed to be 45 degrees I almost cringed in embarrassment. I was pretty good at dealing with the cold.

When I was a block away from my place though and a massive wind gust came and almost picked me up off the ground, I was thanking my forethought for the layers. We were going to be in the stands, high up and in the path of the wind, and I would have been miserable if I'd not dressed like I had. I thought wistfully of the overpriced beer that I'd purchase once inside and although the drink would be cold the alcohol would warm me up.

The streets and sidewalks were packed. Usually, they're pretty busy, especially when the Cubs play. This though. This was something else.

This was game one of the World Series.

The air was electric as I followed the crowds, the hoards of people--who had come by foot, car, train, and some by planes--down the road to the main entrance. I passed by countless scalpers yelling that they had the best price, passed people who'd bought water in bulk just to sell it to fans on the street, passed people who were overflowing out of bars with stamps on their hands to prove that they were allowed back inside per the fire code, and had even seen who I thought was Bill Murray out of the corner of my eye.

I was beyond excited. Words didn't exist that could describe how excited I was. Everyone from the group was coming out tonight, even Niall had been convinced to show up, and it was baseball at its finest.

There are two types of baseball. The first type is baseball in the spring and summer. Baseball in the summer is when you can just sit out in shorts and a jersey, get a tan while drinking a cold beer and watching a sport that enables you to have a conversation. It's a hot and lazy day with friends, sports, and alcohol. You can talk, watch, and just enjoy life as you engage with those around you.

Then there's tournament baseball. It includes lots of heckling and tension that doesn't leave your shoulders for hours. Any drinking is done to help relieve tension and not just to be done socially. The highs of the game--strikeouts, double plays, home runs--are higher and the lows are lower. There's always a belief that the impossible can happen and that's what sports are all about: the impossible becoming reality.

Both types of baseball have their merits, but both types also have their pitfalls. For instance, a negative to summer baseball is the inevitability that at least once you will forget sunscreen. Then that perfect tan you worked on turns into a radioactive, angry red colour--here's looking at you, college Cleo. A negative to tournament baseball is that it can end quickly and sour even the best of moods.

I shoved both my hands into my back pockets and tried to get to the meeting point we’d set for ourselves near the marquee. It was difficult to squeeze past and manoeuvre through countless people of all ages, but I spotted Harry and Ana along with Cleo all bundled together, chatting to each other with their backs angled toward the wind to block some of the cold.

I wasn't at all concerned that seeing my friends in person after news came out about Niall and myself. The group chat had been absolutely mental throughout the week, but it was nothing too bad, nothing neither Niall nor I couldn't handle. I was hoping that my friends would be mature and would have gotten all of their teasing out via text. I knew that wouldn't be the case, but I hoped regardless of my knowledge.

“Are we crazy for doing this?” Ana asked with a genuinely curious look on her face as I stepped up to them.

“Was Kennedy crazy when he said we were going to the moon?” Cleo asked back.

“Yes.” Harry nodded, his beanie causing the ends of his curls to wrap up and frame his face. He looked ten years younger as a result.

“Then yes.” Cleo smiled as she nudged me.

“Oh look, it's the woman of the hour.” Harry turned to face me. “I don't think I've ever known you not single.”

I groaned and closed my eyes for a moment.

“It's true,” he said matter-of-factly. “Three years now and you've not had a boyfriend for any span of time.”

“I wasn’t exactly withering away into nothingness during that time,” I sighed. “I went out and had fun.”

“Having fun with someone and dating someone are two completely different things,” Ana said.

“Cleo’s never had a girlfriend,” I pointed out.

“That's not true.” Cleo nudged me again. “Remember Mary?”

I shivered. I did remember her. “She was miserable and it only lasted three months.”

“It still counts.” She shrugged.

“It does.” Harry nodded as he gave me a cheeky smile. “Is it the accent that does it for you? Turns you on? Are you using him to get a work visa in Ireland?”

“Dude, sometimes I have an accent.” I gave him a pointed look. When I spoke to my parents or spoke in Hindi the accent just came out. I'd learned to speak it from my parents who had their own accents, so my words were tinted in the same ways.

Harry shrugged.

“And no. Seeing as he just moved back here and took a pretty good job, I doubt he's moving back to Ireland any time soon. If I was using him for a work visa it would be a poor plan.”

“True,” he said.

Even over the din of shouting and heckling and excited conversations going on around us, we all heard Louis calling out to is all in greeting. He was flanked by Niall and Liam, the three of them having met up at Niall’s and walking here instead of attempting to take the train. He had texted me while they walked saying they'd given him his fair share of ribbing.

He walked up to me wearing a Cubs hat and I spotted a Cubs shirt underneath his windbreaker. I had a sneaking suspicion that neither item was his.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed my cheek as he stepped beside me. I melted under his touch--even knowing that all of our friends were gaping at us--and leaned into his side.

“I cannot believe you got me to come out here,” he said to us all while looking around pointedly at the crowd. “This place is absolutely insane.”

“It's pretty cool though, right?” Ana asked.

“Yeah, it's alright.” He shrugged, but his smirk gave him away.

“Ignore him, he's excited,” Louis looked between him and me, “and not just because Ruby is here.”

I reached over and flicked Louis’ ear. He laughed, and so did the rest of them. I groaned and Niall's hand squeezed my waist.

“Are these yours?” I asked as I reached up flicked the brim of Niall’s hat and pulled the collar of his shirt a bit.

“Actually, yes.” He smiled, proud of himself. “They're from when I lived here the first time. I worked literally less than a block from here: I couldn't not have some gear. Plus, I look really good in blue.”

I laughed and shook my head at him. He wasn't wrong, though. He did look good in blue, it brought out his eyes. Plus the baseball cap was doing things for me.

“Ready to go in?” Liam asked. He was getting anxious. Liam and I were on the same page about this game as anxious and excited energy seemingly flowed out of the two of us in waves.

“Let's forking do this thing!” Cleo jumped up and yelled. She was less anxious and more excited. Cleo was optimistic. I admired it, Liam ignored it as his pessimism swept through him.

The seven of us started moving through the throngs of people toward a gate where we all put our keys and phones in bins as we went through the x-ray machines and got our tickets scanned.

Liam was absolutely tense as he led us toward our seats, his excitement manifested in his tight shoulders and the crinkle in his brow, in his clenched jaw. Niall gave me a curious look and then looked at Liam before looking back at me. I laughed and gave an amused look back to him.

We had no trouble finding our seats--the number of times Liam and I had each been here was a fair number--and once we’d established our spot, Harry and Louis set off to get us each a beer.

Cleo was directly behind me, next to Ana. Harry would sit back there with them while Niall was on one side of me, Liam on the other, and Louis was to be on the far side of Niall. It was strategic on everyone's part to place Liam and me beside each other. He and I varied our emotions on the events of the game much more so than anyone else. Liam because he’d been a Cubs fan since before he could talk and me because when I followed a team I gave them every ounce of passion I possessed. Liam and I just understood each other best when it came to events like this.

Niall nudged his knee against mine as we were listening to Cleo tell a story about a second grader and a bug at recess. He gave me a look and I understood that he was asking if I was okay. Clearly, he could sense the tension as it rolled off of me. Or maybe he was sensing Liam’s tension through me.

I gave Niall a small nod and placed my hand on top of his knee, making a horrified expression when Cleo said something of the young girl trying to get the bug to go into her ear. Niall laughed at that, as did Ana. Liam and I both made faces but didn't offer anything vocally. I wasn't sure either of us had the capacity to at the time.

It took a while, but eventually, Harry and Louis made it back to us with trays of cups that overflowed with beer. I brightened considerably at the beverage passed my way, as did Liam. We all toasted and cheersed before I lifted my cup to my lips. If my intent was to use the alcohol to warm up, it helped if I had more than one sip in me.

Niall peaked over the rim of his own cup at me as I chugged down a few gulps.

“What?” I asked.

“Nervous?” He laughed.

“Shut up,” I said lightly and took another pointed sip, keeping my eyes on his.

He just smiled back at me, amusement dancing across his features.

This is what I lived for. I was in one of my favourite places in the world, with my best friends, surrounded by an energy that just seemed to heighten and sharpen all my thoughts and emotions. I was experiencing bliss.

I thought about all of my worries over the past month. I’d been made to feel unsafe and had experienced the gnawing worry of opening up to someone and risking my established friends in the process. I had gone back and forth with myself on how to feel safe. I had slept poorly because of the unease in my brain.

I had put my body through difficult training in the gym and the torture of copious amounts stress and what it was doing to me--circles under my eyes, what felt like a small ulcer in my stomach, near constant exhaustion despite my inability to fall asleep quickly most nights, and what I had realized was a compulsive need to double or occasionally triple check my locks every night.

But right here with my friends, in this moment, I felt everything negative and stressful just leave my body. I knew the feeling wouldn't last, so I revelled in it. Didn't think about the end of it, only thought about the now.

I could feel Niall’s eyes on me, and they were often on me throughout the evening. Whenever big things happened I felt his eyes on me, gauging my reaction and taking it in. When he wasn't watching me, he was actually watching the game. Everyone--excluding me and Liam--was teasing Niall about it being the one sport he couldn't get behind and asking him if we were doing any good at changing his perception.

In a moment of clarity, between innings, I had heard him answer that if anyone could change his perception it would be the lot of us. Harry cheered at that and confused a few of the fans around us as to what was going on, and they looked around, curious to see if they were missing something.

Throughout the game as the score fluctuated--we were up first, they came back, we levelled, they went ahead again--Liam and I were in absolute agony, especially as the game came down to the last inning. I can admit though that it was an absolute cracker of a game to watch. There was a fair bit of excitement.

It was only game one of the series. and there would have to be at least three more to come no matter what, but you never want to be the first to drop a game, especially with a home-field advantage.

I really found myself while watching baseball in college. I'd take a textbook and a notebook and pretend I was going to study or do practice problems as I sat in the sun on a warm Saturday afternoon, but the books would always remain closed as I watched the game, or just closed my eyes and felt the sun soak over me.

It was a way to relax. A bit like running would help me to clear my head, baseball would give me a way to just sit and feel at peace. It was weird, my attachment to baseball. I wasn't a sports person. I didn't play anything. I ran, but I didn't do anything like volleyball or soccer or lacrosse. So the fact that I'd become so taken with baseball and being at games was a strange happening.

I felt a calm rolling over me as the first out of the bottom of the ninth came in and it looked bad for us. I shouldn't have felt calm at all. In fact, the nervous energy I felt was causing me to practically vibrate, but underneath it, I felt a feeling of peace just being here in the first place.

Liam and I were mirrors of each other. We were each leaning forward in our seats with our elbows resting on our knees, our hands locked together in front of our mouths. I felt Niall put his hand on my knee as we got a runner on base. His warm touch was spreading through me, radiating his ease into me. It wasn't working. Even Niall, the force that could calm me in any other situation, wasn't working for baseball.

We’d each had a second beer (because why not spend a small fortune on beer that's ten dollars cheaper just outside the stadium walls?) and it had made Harry very talkative behind us. Between him and Cleo, the banter was borderline funny, but I honestly kept forgetting to laugh.

Niall squeezed my knee as the next batter stepped up to the plate. We were in dangerous territory, double-play-could-go-against-us territory, a fact that even Niall knew. Louis has been explaining things to him all night. Niall knew the basics of the game, three strikes, three outs, the concept of a double play, and a home run, but Louis was getting into strategy, which I think made it more real.

Despite my nerves, I looked over at Niall. He was trying and that made me give a small smile. I looked back down at the field but nudged him with my shoulder and he squeezed my knee again.

Liam groaned as strike one flew over the plate.

And then it happened.

The crack of the wooden bat echoed around the park and the ball sailed far and fast, landing just over the wall and in the fourth row of seats.

The air was incredibly still, almost like everyone else was also having a hard time believing what we’d seen, was holding their breath. And then Liam and I snapped into the present. And so did everyone else. The thunder, the roar of the crowd was deafening as the stadium erupted in euphoria. A walk-off home run.

It was only game one, I kept telling myself, but as I leapt from my seat and yelled and clapped I couldn't help but be optimistic. Hope is the thing with the feathers.

Five nights later we were huddled in what Louis had dubbed ‘Niall’s Old Bar’ a half-block from Wrigley. Apparently, Niall still had some influence there, because unlike everyone else we didn't have to start lining up to get in at ass o’clock in the morning. We did get here a bit early, but nothing too unmanageable.

“This is batshirt crazy!” Ana called as we--the entire bar--just finished another rendition of ‘Go, Cubs, Go!’ during a commercial break in the seventh inning. The series was 3-2 in favour of the Cubs, and tonight could either see us win or see us go even and leave it to a final game seven

Everyone here was really hoping for the first option. The win it all tonight option.

The Irish Oak was packed to capacity and we were currently waiting for our food. We’d ordered almost every appetizer on the menu to split amongst the group of us all, and we were on our second round of drinks at this point.

It was a Sunday. We all had work tomorrow. I'm sure our customers at the bakery would understand, but they wouldn't be too happy. And the teachers couldn't exactly show up with raging hangovers. However, Liam seemed to incline that regardless of the outcome he would be drinking himself to sleep tonight.

We sat huddled around a tall table right below a television screen and my face was right beside a picture of Anthony Rizzo’s butt--not that I was complaining. The whole lot of us was more than content with our situation.

“I won't say I'm a fan or anything like that,” Niall trailed off as he sat down beside me. He’d gotten up to talk to the manager, thank her for letting us ‘reserve’ our spot, basically and had missed Cleo’s screech singing and Harry’s falsetto. Liam, despite his nerves, decided to participate and sang quite loudly in that baritone voice of his.

“But?” I asked as he sipped his drink.

“But being part of these past few nights has been really great craic,” he said.

“Oh fork off with the Irish slang,” Louis teased as the commercial break ended and the bottom of the inning began. The Cubs were up 5-3 but had dropped game two after leading so we were all agreeing to be cautiously optimistic. Except for Liam who was just cautious.

“I will not fork off, mate,” Niall said. “In fact just for that, I'm going to speak Irish.” Niall took a large sip of his Guinness, almost as if to prove his Irish-ness.

“You don't even know your own language.” Louis rolled his eyes. “That's an empty threat.”

“I'd learn the language just to annoy the piss out of you,” Niall said.

“Honestly, I don't doubt that you would do that.” Louis smiled and held up his glass, which Niall then clinked his own glass against, a bright smile on his face. In fact, they both wore the same expression.

Ana’s face brightened considerably and I knew what that meant: food. Sure enough, when I looked up and followed her gaze a server was coming up to us with a tray loaded with food.

It was wonderful.

Truth be told though, I was too nervous to eat. Liam looked at the food as if just seeing it made him sick. I always felt like Liam and I did our best bonding when talking about--or watching--baseball. Sure we connected on other levels, but there was this level we occupied away from everyone else in the group.

I know Liam can be quick to judge and that to others he may seem critical and impatient, but truth be told he was anything but. He was judgy because he was protective of his friends, and critical because he was protective of himself. His impatience stemmed from dealing with children all day. When he was away from that environment he preferred not to waste time and energy and just move along. Loyalty was Liam’s biggest strong suit. He was never not supportive.

I loved bonding with Liam like this. Words weren’t needed. We just silently appreciated the similarities between us and that was more than enough. Liam and I were the perfect partnership when it came to watching baseball.

Everyone else started in on whatever they could get their hands on first though. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Niall. If I had learned anything about him in the two weeks or so that we’d been together, it was that he loved food. All food. He was a vacuum.

Nothing was going for the Cubs in the seventh so it went to commercial before the start of the eighth. Two more innings of pain and uncertainty.

One of the good things about the last six nights was Niall wearing a baseball cap every single night. I couldn't tell whether or not he was doing it on purpose because of me and what I'd said about him in a cap, or because it was one of the very few items of paraphernalia he owned. It could have been a combination of the two things.

Brian had cancelled self-defence classes on Thursday so I didn't have to come up with an excuse to be late to our viewing party. I was thankful for that. The gym had sent out an email that morning to all the members of the class and my discomfort over thinking up excuses just eased away with my morning tea as Louis flitted around the kitchen.

Although I didn’t have to stress over my making excuses with my friends, I could feel the extra tension in my shoulders from not going to the class this week. It felt wrong. I missed the routine of it, of going and being in a place where I was pretty sure everyone knew--from my bruising the first class--why I was there and why being there was important to me.

If the only person who really knew was Brian and I could be free and not have to worry about keeping it a secret, then not going was like shaking a bottle of soda until the top was bound to pop off and everything would spurt out in the messiest of fashions.

Even though Brian had mentioned a noticeable change in me before and after class, I hadn’t really paid attention to just how necessary the effects were in terms of getting through a week normally. I felt antsy these past few days. I felt like I was on the edge of my seat, metaphorically speaking, and that someone would come up at any moment and pull the seat out from under me. I wasn’t looking over my shoulder every ten seconds on my walk home or on my run over the weekends, but I did feel unsettled.

I didn’t know if my friends could tell. I was getting better at keeping the secret from them, I thought. Once the initial shock of the event wore off, it became second nature to keep it to myself. If they had noticed I was on edge though recently, maybe they attributed it to the series and my stress over the outcome. I suppose that gave me a good cloaking excuse for any noticeable tension and uncomfortable behaviour.

I had been worried that by getting closer with Niall that he would begin to notice my being off; however, I’d only know Niall as what I had dubbed Post-Attack Ruby--aka my new normal. I felt like that gave me a little bit more leeway with him.

“Shirt,” Liam cursed under his breath across the table from me.

I looked over at him and then up at the television. The score was now 5-4 as the inning shifted. We would have to either maintain or add to our lead in order to win. I’d been so lost in thought that I’d completely missed what had happened.

I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“You want anything?” Niall asked, his eyes watching me with concern as I shook off my thoughts and brought myself back into the present.

I looked down at the food on the table and made a face.

“I’m not all that hungry,” I said.

“No?” he asked, knowing I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“I’m honestly too nervous to eat,” I said and glanced over at the screen. Still a commercial. I could breathe.

“Are you really?” he asked. I just looked at him. He smiled. “Six nights in and I still can’t believe you’re the type of person to get this nervous about baseball.”

I just shrugged while I thought about what he was saying. Even when I expressed my love for it, even when he’d teased me for being nervous the previous nights, he was still relatively new to the whole experience. He moved his hand from my shoulder to my back and leaned in and kissed my cheek.

I felt my face flush and refused to look up to see if any of our friends had seen him do it. I got hit with a napkin though and when I looked up to see who’d thrown it Cleo was giving me a smirk. I rolled my eyes and threw the napkin back at her before turning my eyes back to the television, but I had a smirk on my lips and the flush on my face as the game returned from commercial.

Adrenaline has a way of staying in your system long after the moment is over. After the euphoric yells and cheers that had bounded across the walls of the bar and echoed throughout the streets, after the songs had been sung and the celebratory beers had been downed, and the pictures in front of the stadium and the marquee had been taken I could still feel the adrenaline, the excitement as it coursed through me and gave me a jittery feeling, the good kind of jittery feeling.

Niall had walked me home. With the packed streets and the lights and the partying, it was now the early hours of the morning. I couldn’t care less that I had to be up in a few hours for my kickboxing class and then spend an entire day at work. I was on top of the world. I’d high fived so many strangers, taken pictures for others, and had just ridden a high the whole time.

I wasn’t regretting a moment of it, and I wouldn’t regret a moment of it when I woke up. I was genuinely happy at the moment. No stress, nothing to make me feel heavy, and no worries about anything… I felt light. I felt like I was walking on air as Niall held my hand and guided me through the crowded streets toward my apartment.

His cheeks had been flushed from the singing and the yelling--and the beers he’d downed--before. He was walking with a spring in his step as well, and he just listened to me as I talked through all big plays and moments from the game and doted on so many of the players. He’d nod and make affirmative sounds at all the right times, the amusement clear upon his fair features.

It was cold, colder than it had been the other night in the stadium, but with the alcohol and the excitement, I didn’t feel it. Even as the wind rushed past me, even as the leaves swirled around my feet, and my breath came out in puffs before me, I didn’t notice the cold that was trying to bite at my fingers and nip at my nose and cheeks. It was irrelevant to me in this state. Nothing could get to me.

When we got to my front door I bit my lip and once the door was open I turned to him. Seeing him in the baseball cap and the Cubs gear I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was the adrenaline still, or maybe it was the high from the win, maybe it was the alcohol, but when I turned to say goodnight I opened my mouth and then closed it, and made a split second decision.

I grabbed him by his jacket, and pulled him inside with me, crashing my mouth against his as he tried to close the door behind himself. It took him a hot minute, his hands fumbling to complete the task while his eyes were closed and I pressed myself against him, my mouth moving against his, but the moment it was closed--and locked--his hands were on my waist as mine flew up to his face. One hand shifted and tangled itself in his soft hair, knocking his hat to the floor behind him and pulling a bit at the base of his neck, and one holding his cheek.

It felt feverish as he pushed me back against the wall and our bodies aligned, the entire lengths of us pressed together and causing a blaze to rip through me from my head down to my toes. His touch felt like it was going to chemically react with whatever fire was already going on inside me and I would explode. His fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt and their contact with my skin caused me to gasp against his lips.

He took the opportunity and before I could bring my brain up to speed with what was happening, his tongue was tangled with mine in an experience that was putting everyone I’d ever kissed before in my life to shame. How dare they kiss me and have been any less than this? It felt like this was truly the first time I’d really been kissed like this, every other boy, every other kiss fading from my memories until all that remained was Niall and the feeling he was inducing as we made out in my front entryway.

I tugged his hair a bit and he growled. I swear to god my knees buckled upon hearing it, feeling it against my lips as it escaped from him. I smirked against his mouth and tugged again.

“Fork,” he gasped out as I pulled my mouth from his and began kissing my way along his chin until I reached the spot behind his ear. He shivered when my teeth grazed the spot and my tongue followed after them.

“Jesus, Ruby.” His voice was ragged, and his chest was heaving against mine as our bodies fought to intake enough oxygen to sustain us at this moment. I could feel his pulse in my lips on his neck. It was racing.

I brought my lips back to his and I could taste the many pints of Guinness he’d had earlier just as he could surely taste the whiskey I’d downed. He took my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. Without me telling it to, one of my legs came up and wrapped around his thigh, interlocking us together and pulling him closer yet.

With another shudder he brought one of his hands up to tangle in my hair as the other pushed my shirt up a bit more and settled in the small of my back, his large hand spanning the expanse of my back as he used the leverage to keep me as close as possible.

There was something that passed between us at that moment. The vulnerability of the moment perhaps, as I realised just how long it had been since I’d done this with someone where it wasn’t a fling or a one night deal. It could have been just that at that moment I realised how much I liked him. He had said many times that he wasn’t a baseball fan, had even made some mild complaints throughout the week about how boring it was to watch a game with that many commercial breaks, but here he was six nights later with me after having watched every game at my side.

He had put up with it for me--and our friends--and that made me realise that he’d been willing to do something he wouldn’t normally do because I was invested in the outcome. He had sacrificed his time to spend time with me and to try and understand something I felt passionate about. The thought alone sent a shiver through me as together we slowed our pace and our intensity began to mellow into lingering kisses that made my mind feel like goop.

I lowered my leg back down to the floor as Niall brought his hands to my cheeks, cupping my face gently.

“I love baseball,” Niall said when he eventually pulled away.

I laughed. I laughed like Niall. I felt my head fall back against the wall as my laugh echoed around the small space we occupied and he giggled as he watched my response. When I’d calmed down a bit I looked over his face.

His cheeks were flushed a bright pink, his lips a vibrant, delicious shade of red from our kisses. It was his eyes though that sent an electric shock up my spine. They were glistening in the low light and locked onto mine I felt like I could do anything, accomplish anything in the world. It was my favourite sight in the world, the sight before me.

“Thanks for walking me home,” I said. “And thank you for watching baseball every night for almost a week. I know it’s not your favourite despite your very recent declaration otherwise.”

“I mean, I still don’t understand it, but I honestly think I might be beginning to like it,” he said, his voice somehow both light with elation and gravelly from what we’d just done. The juxtaposition of it all stirred something in me and I had to resist pulling him back against me for round two.

“You don’t have to lie.”

“M’not lying.”

“Okay.” My tone conveyed my disbelief.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday?” he asked.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday.” I nodded. I watched as he disentangled himself from me--I instantly mourned the loss of his hand against my back--and bent to pick up his hat from the floor.

“Sleep well, Ruby.” The kiss he pressed against my lips was the sweetest thing I’d ever experienced. It was sweeter than the triple chocolate brownies Louis baked every Thursday. I felt the kiss through my entire body as he brushed his thumb against my cheek and pulled back.

I nodded as he opened my door and stepped out.

“Let me know when you get home safely,” I called out to him as he opened my gate.

He gave a nod and slipped the hat back on his head before heading off into the night.

[yurionice-secretsanta]

If it’s me you really seek

To @nooowestayandgetcaught From @singeiji

Hi! i hope you like the fic!!!

Title: if it’s me you really seek Rating: T Word Count: 3.4k Notes: wings/fairy au, canon compliant

Yuri is three when his Mama sits him down and tells him why they have wings that no one else can see.

Before tucking him in at night, Mama tells him a story. It’s always about a girl who can fly. She lives in the countryside with all of her fairy friends, and everyday, they go on a brand new adventure. But today, Mama tells him about the time the girl finds a boy in the woods.

“Her mother taught her to always be careful of strangers, but the boy was lost, and he seemed very nice, so she decided to help him anyway,” Mama says.

Yuri stares up at her, wide-eyed, captivated like he always is.

“What happened?” he asks, and he watches as Mama’s lips curl upwards in a smile.

She tucks his hair behind his ear and says, “It turned out that he was so nice, she decided to stay with him.”

Yuri’s eyebrows furrow.

“But what about her mother? And her fairy friends? Did she leave them?”

“Well, she did, but she made new friends, and she found a new family,” Mama says. “She got married to the boy and they had a baby together and she loved them both very much.”

“Just like you love me, Mama?”

Mama bends down to press a kiss onto Yuri’s temple.

“Yes, Yurochka, exactly how I love you,” Mama says. “You know why, my love? Because you are that baby, and I am that girl.”

Yuri’s breath catches and mouth drops open. “Does that mean we’re fairies, Mama?”

Mama’s smile widens. “Yes. That’s why we have wings, because we’re fairies who can fly.”

“Teach me how to fly, Mama!”

Yuri squirms, excited at the thought of it. He’s tried to, before, but even when he jumped as high as he could, he couldn’t follow the seagulls up to the sky.

But Mama shakes her head at him.

“You’re too young, Yurochka,” she says, and she reaches out to smooth the crease that appears between Yuri’s eyebrows. “But someday, Mama will teach you. We’ll fly together and we can show it to Papa.”

That night, Yuri dreams of flying above a forest. He dreams of his Mama and Papa all the way down on the ground, as tiny as a little kitty. They’re waving at Yuri, and Yuri waves back.

That night, Yuri dreams of flying towards the sun.

Yuri is five when his parents die in a house fire.

Yuri’s Grandpa lives all the way in the city. Yuri sleeps through most of the ride there, and when he wakes up, he’s on a bed he doesn’t recognize in a room he doesn’t recognize.

His room back home was always so bright and warm, even at night, but this room is cold and lonely. The corners are dark and they scare Yuri. But he has no more Mama to tell him he’s alright, and he has no more Papa to hug him and protect him from the monsters hiding in the dark.

Yuri doesn’t realize that he’s crying until Grandpa is already shushing him, until he’s already wrapped in Grandpa’s arms.

It isn’t the same. Grandpa is bigger than Papa, and his hands are rougher. Grandpa doesn’t have wings like Mama’s and Yuri’s, so he can’t hide Yuri away behind them like Mama used to do.

But it’s still nice. Grandpa is warmer than the rest of the room, and he lets Yuri cry into his shirt. His voice is low like Papa’s and his words remind him of Mama’s.

And even though Yuri cannot sleep with his parents on either side of him like he used to when he was having a bad night, he sleeps that night with his head on Grandpa’s lap and his hand wrapped tight on Grandpa’s wrist.

That night, Yuri dreams being stuck on the ground while his Mama and Papa hover above him. He can’t see them clearly because the sun is too bright behind them, but he knows it’s them. He can hear them calling for him, telling him to come, but he can’t. Yuri doesn’t know how to fly; his Mama hasn’t taught him yet.

That night, Yuri dreams of being left behind.

Yuri is six when he discovers the ice.

The figure skaters on TV look like they’re flying.

They glide along the ice with their arms spread, and to Yuri’s eyes, they look like birds with their wings extended on both sides, riding on the air. They take off for their jumps—triple axel, quad lutz, double toe—and to Yuri’s eyes, they look like birds taking flight.

There’s one who Yuri can’t take his eyes off. His hair is long and grey, and he’s wearing a pale gray costume to match. There are frills along his arms and his torso that almost look like feathers when he spins, and when he jumps, he soars.

His name is Victor Nikiforov and Yuri wants to ask him how to fly.

That night, Yuri dreams of skating. He’s on the lake back home, and when he looks up, he sees that Victor is with him. Victor is holding his hand and pulling him around. His smile is wide and there’s gold around his neck.

“You’re doing so well, Yura,” he says, and Yuri believes him.

That night, Yuri dreams of hope blossoming in his chest.

Yuri is nine when he first meets the man who coaches Victor.

A lot of the other kids are scared of Yakov, but Yuri isn’t.

See, Yakov Feltsman looks like the angry dog next door who always barks at Yuri when he passes by. That same angry dog turns to putty when Yuri reaches through the gate’s bars and pets him, and Yakov is very much the same.

Yakov barks out corrections and commands, but his touch is gentle when he moves to adjust Yuri’s limbs and his eyes are warm when he tells Yuri that he did a good job. Yakov reminds Yuri of Grandpa, and that’s why there isn’t any way he could be scared of him.

Yuri was hoping to catch a glimpse of Victor at Yakov’s camp. He doesn’t, but it’s fine. Instead, he takes home the image of Yakov’s face, his lips set into a line and his eyes warm with satisfaction so, so close to Grandpa’s face when he tells Yuri he’s proud of his Yurochka.

That night, Yuri dreams again of flying. The wind is strong, but he doesn’t get blown away with it. There’s a string wrapped around his ankle. When he looks down, he sees Grandpa and Victor and Yakov, and they’re the ones holding him to the earth.

That night, Yuri dreams of smiling down at them.

Yuri is eleven when he finally meets Victor Nikiforov.

Victor looks nothing like he did when Yuri first saw him. His hair is cut shorter, his shoulders wider, his legs longer. He still soars when he jumps, but now that Yuri can see him up close, he looks cold, lonely. He wraps his arms around himself and holds on like he’s hoping it’s someone else’s touch. He smiles like a lie.

He’s sitting down when Yakov first introduces Yuri to his new rinkmates, and yet it still feels like he’s looking down on Yuri.

“You’re good,” he says, after he watches Yuri skate for the first time, “but you’re still young.”

When he walks away, it feels like a slap to the face. Crystal clear dismissal that starts a spark in the pit of Yuri’s stomach.

Victor is still beautiful when he skates, but Yuri doesn’t want to fly with him anymore.

That night, Yuri dreams of Victor skating in a stadium empty except for Yuri, sitting at the very back. It’s cold and it’s dark except for the spotlight that follows Victor around the rink. Yuri doesn’t think Victor knows he’s here. He doesn’t think Victor realizes that there’s anyone watching at all.

That night, Yuri dreams of what loneliness looks like as it pours from Victor and fills up the whole room.

Yuri is twelve when he learns his first program.

Yakov tells him not to overwork himself. Yakov tells him he shouldn’t practice his jumps yet. Yakov tells him he can’t sneak into the rink after-hours all the time.

Yuri doesn’t understand why he can’t skate every hour of every day if it’s what he wants. He doesn’t understand why Yakov won’t let him fly. So he doesn’t listen. He practices, even when Yakov is shouting at him. He skates, even when Yakov threatens to drop him as a skater.

Weill. If Yakov drops him, then Yuri will find someone else who will let him fly.

That night, Yuri dreams of flying. The sky is clear and the sun is bright as it beckons at him to come, my child, come to me. But when he tries, he finds that he can’t. When he tries, he finds a string wrapped around his leg that pulls him back down, further and further away from the sun.

That night, Yuri dreams of falling to the ground before he can even reach the sky.

Yuri is thirteen when he wins his first gold medal.

In the last few seconds of his skate, Yuri replaces his triple with a quad. He touches down, but he gets the rotations in, and he hears the audience gasp and roar when they realize what he’s done.

But that doesn’t matter to Yuri. To Yuri, all that he can think about as he stands here with his chest heaving and sweat dripping from his skin is that he’s finally gotten to fly.

Yuri is always cold these days, but today, he’s as warm as the last time he was in his Mama’s arms.

That night, Yuri dreams of being back home. He’s in his childhood bed, tucked in tight just the way he likes. Mama is sitting beside him, telling him a story about a girl who can fly.

That night, Yuri dreams of warmth.

Yuri is fourteen when he first sees Yuuri Katsuki.

It’s easy to sneak out of a hotel room when there’s no one guarding him, and since Yakov has to look after Georgi, Yuri has absolutely no trouble at all.

Yuuri Katsuki skates first, and he takes Yuri’s breath away. His costume is plain and he falls on most of his jumps, but he skates like it’s what he was born to do. When he moves, he is smooth, effortless. He is ethereal and otherworldly. He is extending his hand to the audience and telling them come and watch me, only me.

He makes Yuri want to skate. He makes Yuri want to fly.

That night, Yuri dreams of the time his Mama flew for him. She hovers up in the sky, her hair blowing in the wind, her wings wide enough that she covers the sun.

“It’s beautiful up here, Yurochka,” she tells him. “Someday, you’ll see this too.”

But when Yuri blinks, Mama is gone. In her place is Yuuri Katsuki, his hand extended to Yuri.

“Come, Yuri,” he says.

But Yuri can’t.

That night, Yuri dreams of failure.

Yuri is fifteen when he’s reminded that those who fly can fall.

Yuuri Katsuki places sixth in his first Grand Prix Final event.

Maybe Yuri should have expected it considering how Katsuki is so inconsistent. Or maybe Yuri should have expected it considering how everyone he thinks could teach him to fly seem to fall flat in the end.

Somehow, though, this hurts more than the last time. Yuuri Katsuki had yet to soar, but now he’s bent and broken. Now, Yuri can’t take his hand and learn with him.

Yuri gets angry. Then again, he’s more angry than not these days.

That night, Yuri dreams of skating Yuuri Katsuki’s program.

He falls.

He gets back up.

He falls.

He gets back up.

He falls.

That night, Yuri dreams of falling so far that he can’t get back up again.

Yuri is fifteen when he learns to rely on himself.

Lilia Baranovskaya is scarier than Yakov Feltsman could ever be.

She tells him that pain is beauty, and so Yuri reaches into the deepest, darkest part of himself and pulls out everything he can use to be beautiful. She tells him that his natural talent is nothing if he doesn’t work hard, and what Yuri hears is that his wings are nothing if he can’t use them.

She tells him that he needs to throw his past self away, that he needs to be reborn, and Yuri listens.

He dances and he thinks of the sky, coming closer and closer until it almost seems like it’s within his reach. He skates and he thinks of his wings unfurling around him, of his feet lifting from the ground because of his own power.

Yuri learns to fly.

That night, Yuri dreams of his Mama.

“You had it in you all along, my Yurochka,” she tells him.

Yuri bows his head. His hand tightens around hers.

“I’m sorry it took me so long, Mama,” he says.

Mama doesn’t reply. Instead, she stands up and she walks to Yuri’s window, which is open, showing the full moon. Mama extends a hand, palm up.

That night, Yuri dreams of jumping out of his bedroom window and flying with Mama right beside him.

Yuri is fifteen when he becomes friends with Otabek Altin.

Yuri loves watching the sunset. The world glows yellow, and for a few minutes everyday, Yuri can bathe in the sun without having to fly to it.

Today, he watches the sunset with Otabek. Today, he listens to Otabek describe a boy Yuri doesn’t remember. Otabek says he has the eyes of the soldier, and it’s the first that Yuri’s ever heard it.

Everyone has always told Yuri that he’s too delicate, too angry, too lazy, too greedy. They contradict themselves. They never know what they really want from Yuri. Yuri has enough confusion and doubt in him; he doesn’t need theirs.

But Otabek—

Otabek saw Yuri’s hard work, even though he hadn’t. Otabek saw Yuri’s efforts, even though he felt like they weren’t enough. Otabek wants to be Yuri’s friend, even though he thought he’d always have to be alone to fly.

When Yuri takes Otabek’s hand, it feels like a new beginning.

That night, Yuri dreams of being back in that novice ballet class.

This time, he sees Otabek. This time, he’s the one who offers a hand to Otabek when he falls.

That night, Yuri dreams of dancing in a pair.

Yuri is fifteen when he wins his first gold in the Senior division.

Grandpa is proud of him. Yakov and Lilia are proud of him. Katsudon and Victor are proud of him. Otabek is proud of him. Yuri wishes his Mama and Papa could be here, but he knows that wherever they are, they’re proud of him too.

Most of all, though, Yuri is proud of himself. He breaks Victor’s world record. He won so Katsudon wouldn’t stop skating with him. He wins gold on his Senior debut.

But there is more to overcome. Yuri has flown to the top of this mountain, but there’s more left for him to cover.

That night, Yuri dreams of standing on top of the podium. Everyone is with him, surrounding him, and Yuri has never been happier.

That night, Yuri dreams of warmth that starts in his chest and spreads to the rest of his body.

Yuri is sixteen when he shows Otabek that he can fly.

They’re in Yuri’s room in Grandpa’s apartment. It’s Otabek’s first night in, and he sits on the futon laid beside the bed while Yuri paces back and forth.

“What do you need to show me?” Otabek asks.

Yuri pauses, takes a deep breath. He hasn’t shown anyone else but Grandpa before, but Grandpa already knew he could do it, just like he knew Mama could.

Yuri doesn’t know how Otabek will react, but Otabek is his friend. His first friend, if not his only friend. Yuri wants him to know.

“Watch me,” he says.

He flies.

Otabek blinks, says, “Amazing.”

Then—

“I guess we don’t need my bike to run away from your fans now.”

Yuri tackles Otabek in a hug and pretends he isn’t smiling into Otabek’s neck.

That night, Yuri dreams that he’s back in his childhood home. Instead of seeing Mama like he usually does, though, it’s Otabek who sits on Yuri’s bed. It’s Otabek who stands up and offers a hand to Yuri.

It’s Otabek who jumps out of the window and flies with Yuri.

That night, Yuri dreams of Otabek’s rare smiles.

Yuri is seventeen when he first shares a podium with two of his favorite skaters.

Getting silver isn’t the same as getting gold, but it’s not so bad when it’s Katsudon who snatches the top spot on the podium right from under Yuri’s nose. It certainly isn’t so bad, getting a score barely two points above bronze when it’s Otabek who’s standing on Katsudon’s other side.

Yuri can see Victor standing with Yakov and Lilia. He has Yuri’s phone pressed to his ear, and Yuri can easily imagine Grandpa on the other end of the line, asking Victor to tell him what’s happening.

There’s a feeling in Yuri’s chest. It blooms and it blossoms and it makes Yuri feel like he’s flying even though his feet are still touching the ground.

That night, Yuri dreams of sitting in his burning childhood room. It’s alright, though. It’s not just Mama with him tonight, but Papa too.

“You’re doing so well, Yurochka,” Mama says.

“We’re so proud of you,” Papa says.

When they offer their hands to Yuri, he takes them.

That night, Yuri dreams of his parents letting him go, letting him fly without them.

Yuri is eighteen when Yakov retires and hands him off to Victor.

Hasetsu is far away from St. Petersburg where Mila and Georgi are. It’s far away from Moscow where Grandpa is. It’s even farther away from Almaty where Otabek is.

But Yuri is used to having to talk to Grandpa through phone calls everyday, and he’s used to talking to Otabek online.

So Yuri makes Grandpa promise to keep calling him everyday and ask how his practice is going. Yuri makes Otabek promise to keep sending him recordings of his mixtapes, and he promises to keep sending pictures of Potya to Otabek. Potya, who’s now safely in Hasetsu and all too condoning of Victor’s dog.

Victor and Katsudon—

Well. Yuri promises to keep making a fuss whenever they get too affectionate with each other in public, of course.

That night, Yuri dreams of flying across the distance between Japan and Almaty.

That night, Yuri dreams of meeting Otabek.

Yuri is nineteen when he realizes he’s in love with his best friend.

By some cruel twist of fate, they have to wait until the Grand Prix Finals to see each other again.

Yuri waits in the hotel lobby. Katsudon has to hold his leg down because he keeps bouncing it on the floor otherwise. Victor has to confiscate his phone because Yuri keeps checking it obsessively for a new message from Otabek.

But finally, Victor says, “He’s here.”

Finally, Otabek comes through the doors and Yuri sees him again after more than half a year of nothing but messages they have to sneak into their busy schedules and Snapchats that consist of less selfies than Yuri would like.

Usually, Yuri wouldn’t even consider openly giving affection in such a public place, but Otabek is right there and he feels like he’s been waiting so long for this. So Yuri runs and he runs and he jumps into Otabek’s open arms.

“I missed you, Beka,” Yuri says.

“I missed you too, Yura,” Otabek replies.

Yura doesn’t even mind that Victor is so obviously taking a video of them.

That night, Yuri dreams of flying with a string wrapped around his ankle. It doesn’t connect him to someone on the ground like it did before. Instead, it connects him to Otabek, who’s flying right beside him.

That night, Yuri dreams of finally finding someone he wants to stay by his side.

Yuri is twenty when he first kisses his Beka.

They’re in Almaty. Yuri is staying at Otabek’s while Victor and Katsudon are away on their honeymoon.

Otabek’s sister is in the next room, and his mother is in the room across theirs, but somehow, those details disappear from Yuri’s mind when he and Otabek are staring at each other under the dim light of Otabek’s bedside lamp.

“Yura,” Otabek says. “Will you kiss me or not?”

Well.

Yuri kisses him, of course.

That night, Yuri takes Otabek flying. They stay up until sunrise.

[bangtan]

[Article] Meet BTS, the K-Pop phenomenon breaking world records

We speak to rapper RM of BTS, the seven-member boy group whose ultra-dedicated fanbase have made them the most prominent South Korean act to break the west

The phone line crackles out of Seoul where it’s nearly midnight, and where RM, the leader of seven member South Korean group BTS, is looking back at a crazy month in which they broke records – some their own, some they never even thought they’d achieve – one after the other in a relentless wave.

“I feel like we’re a balloon…,” RM says, surmising the time period, and there’s a tinge of disbelief in his voice. That’s unsurprising given their latest mini-album Love Yourself: Her is the biggest selling K-Pop album in pre-orders ever (over a million in domestic alone), and with the lead single “DNA”, they’re now the fastest K-Pop group to hit 10 million, 20 million, then 100 million YouTube views. Then there are those killer chart standings – #14 on the UK album chart, top 10 on the US Billboard 200 album chart – while DNA not only reigned over worldwide iTunes charts but rose to #67 on the Billboard Hot 100, the highest position ever for a Korean group.

Expectations had, naturally, run high for their comeback; BTS (rappers RM, J-Hope, Suga, and vocalists Jimin, Jin, V and Jungkook) reached ‘phenomenon’ level last year with their second studio album WINGS and moombahton-style single Blood Sweat & Tears, yet 2017 has already provided an almost unbelievable new layer of success. Every day now brings another milestone, another article or another Western radio station playing the frisky, echoing electro-pop of “DNA”, adding to the feverish atmosphere around them. If their powerhouse fandom, known as A.R.M.Y, even felt momentarily overwhelmed by it all, then they’re not alone.

“Everything is going so fast,” RM adds with a small laugh. Intriguing and charismatic in conversation, he’s a rapid-fire lateral thinker who can whisk you on the mental equivalent of a gigantic wood-track rollercoaster. “We don’t know where that balloon is going but I’m just trying to enjoy it because there was so much suffering before. I’m trying not to lose (sight of) what we’re doing.”

Over the weeks since its mid-September release, pre-empted by a series of trailers bridging from the previous concept for the The Most Beautiful Moment In Life double album, Love Yourself: Her became trickier the more time you spent with it. Saturated in double entendre (both an exploration of love and a direct letter to their fans), its sound, for the most part, strides in a confident, glossy groove, yet peel back its shimmery surface and bruises and scratches lie along its limbs, even on the sweetest of tracks such as “Serendipity”.

While it’s not often that you get to step into an album’s lifecycle where hindsight begins to glimmer and perhaps shape an artist’s next phase, it’s a curious, illuminating and slightly vulnerable experience. But, without a trace of hesitation, we dive into Love Yourself: Her to explore the parts instantly indoctrinated into BTS lore, its impact, shadows and the wider reaching effect on its owners.

On release you called Love Yourself: Her a ‘turning point’ and BTS’s ‘chapter two’, pointing at the music as the primary cause. Have further reasons for these descriptors emerged over the past month?

RM: The concept of The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, that was chapter one for us, it feels like that because we were starting from the bottom but on this concept, Love Yourself, we started to talk about some brighter things, like the real things in life. Professionally, we got on the Billboard and UK charts, and our stadiums are getting bigger… so both inside and outside, it’s a turning point for BTS. I’d like to say we’re just in a different universe now, I think, like a crab, we got a new shell.

Two of the album’s most emotional moments are the hidden tracks, the spoken word ‘Skit: Hesitation & Fear’ and ‘Sea’. They both deal with struggles in your early days as well as current concerns about fame and success. Why was it important to have them on the same album?

RM: We add hidden tracks when we want to add details, right? ‘Skit’ was necessary for ‘Sea’ to be explained. I think they’re reacting to each other. I actually first talked about those fears, happiness, the sea and the desert on our first album (2 Cool 4 Skool), they were the hidden tracks – a skit called ‘On The Start Line’ and a track called ‘Path’. Four years has passed and I’m talking about how we dealt with it, what is the sea and desert inside of us and what’s the future.

You’ve come full circle and, damn, I didn’t realise. So over those four years, using this latest concept, what have you had to accept or learn to love about yourself that you didn’t like back then?

RM: Ummm, I’ve had to accept that that everyone cannot love me. Because when there’s love there’s hate, when there’s light there’s dark. But it was really hard to accept as an artist that there’s a lot of people that hate me but, on the other side, there are many more people who love me. I think everyone goes through that.

Do you recall when you were able to say, ok, I can deal with this?

RM: Actually I’m still on the way (laughs). I don’t really feel like I’m really out of it, but I’m getting used to it. I’m like a surfer, first you just paddle and fall off the board but as time goes by you can stand up on the bigger waves (laughs).

Themes of fate and destiny run through this album. Have you always believed you have a set path?

RM: Nietzsche… one of his famous phrases was amor fati, or ‘love your fate’. Let’s say, me who is born in Korea, and you, Taylor who is born Australia, we can’t change that, we cannot have the same life. Amor fati isn’t just saying leave everything to fate, but to first accept things we can’t change. Love our fate, and our environment, then (think) we could do something with fate and turn directions. We’re on some path that’s set since we’re born, but I still believe we can change some things. So I believe in my faith but I still don’t believe in my fate (laughs).

The huge success you’ve experienced off this album, how is that impacting your creativity? Can you think ‘I’m gonna write a song and see how it goes’, or it is ‘I have to write a song and it can’t be anything less than amazing’?

RM: That is a pressure actually, I can’t say I don’t feel it. What’s happening is so much for me, and everything around BTS moves so fast, like making ten songs in half a year. Sometimes (it’s) too much, but I always remind myself of things back in 2007, I started this because I wanted to say something. There was a message inside me and I wanted to spread it as music, so when I’m in my studio writing I try to take it slow. I’m trying to take a deeper look, like what am I really trying to say?

Except with people knocking on the door going, are you done yet, have you got a song for me?

RM: (laughs) Ah yeah, that’s why people call it a deadline, cos you feel like you’re dead.

‘Mic Drop’, both song and performance, is already classic BTS. ‘My bag’s filled with trophies… / Haters are already giving up / My success is already so golden… / You’re rushing to run away.’ BTS have always stood up for themselves but what’s made this track integral to your new chapter?

RM: Hitman Bang (the group’s CEO/producer) wanted us to let out anger and pain on this track but it was hard ’cos there isn’t any anger or jealousy left inside, I’m satisfied right now (laughs). I love our fans, so many miracles are happening every day. I have no time for the haters. I think this goes with why Her is a turning point for BTS and ‘Mic Drop’ (helps) say that – we drop the mic and chapter one is over. It’s a lot of fun.

How many mics has Suga broken by throwing them down at the end of each performance?

RM: (laughs) Oh, no not (the good ones) yet, we buy cheap ones from the market, karaoke ones that cost like $30.

You’re clearly enjoying life right now but there’s darker emotions lurking on this album, so might we see more of those on the next one?

RM: Those (emotions) are still inside, they’re not going away but they’re now a different shape. I think love isn’t just made up of happiness and compliments and light. Love includes scars, a little bit of hate and some dirty things inside us.

And I guess no one is ever 100% happy 24/7, even when everything is going well…

RM: We do have darker emotions and sometimes we feel so heavy with these records and the articles and people going ‘Oh, you’re representing Korea, you’re, like, making Korea famous!!’, and every second we’re like ‘Thank you so much’, but, you know, I’m still just here in my small studio and I try to write some lyrics and that’s all I do. I’m still trying to deal with it.

So what, outside of BTS, makes you happy?

RM: Thank you for this question, not many people ask it! (long pause) I have no driver’s license, so I ride a bicycle beside the Han River. That’s what I really love because no one gives a damn about me for that moment. I feel so free. I also love to collect figures and watch a midnight movie ’cos I can watch it all alone and in the best seat.

Do you have to wear hat, sunglasses, and a face mask to avoid being recognised?

RM: I don’t wear a face mask, I just wear a hat because my hair is too colourful, it’s too shiny (laughs).

Critics had a conversation online that centred around the possibility of BTS being nominated for a Grammy. It didn’t happen this year, but next year… you never know! How does that make you feel?

RM: I’ve heard people are talking about it, I try to not think about it. If I start to expect something, I get disappointed. A Grammy is a whole other level, it’s a whole other world for us!

If you guys won, you’d have to wear seriously waterproof makeup.

RM: Of course. Everyone would cry. I think we’d have to prepare a waterproof suit as well.

Maybe just wear plastic from head to toe.

RM: (laughs) Yeah, we’d have wear a spacesuit or something.

You’ve had a gruelling month’s schedule in Korea, plus two concerts in Japan for 80,000 fans – what’s still the hardest thing during that, and who keeps you sane?

RM: Sleeping. No sleep makes a human into another human (laughs). Culturally, Koreans are used it, but still it’s really hard. We get used to but we can’t ever get used to it. J-Hope always tries to cheer us up and I’m so grateful. Actually I like to call him a new leader for the group.

After being together for years, who in BTS can still surprise you?

RM: V. His words are crazy and his English is crazy too. He makes new words and new grammar and he always surprises me. I feel like he’s quite good at English too because he can speak to everyone, he’s got confidence, he’s got the guts.

They say when you learn a new language you can’t be afraid of making mistakes.

RM: (sighs) I’m always afraid of making mistakes. I think I was born with that.

I’ve always wondered what BTS do before an album drops, is there a ritual?

RM: We gather in our living room, have a little drink and talk about how we should deal with the schedules and how we’re doing. It’s really nothing but it makes us feel different, it keeps us running and it keeps our attitude because we always remember when we were sad and poor (laughs). Popularity is a bubble. It’s a mountain, you can go up really hard but walk down really fast.

Okay, last thing… you are the king of high fives and handshakes that go slightly wrong.

RM: (laughs) Yeah, that’s what fans from Europe and America say! But they love those moments, right! It’s a cultural thing? I don’t know why, but no one pays attention to my handshakes and high fives. My hands are really big and I’m like six foot, so they can see me really easily. It’s very sad, isn’t it (laughs).

Source.

[nikpavl2002]

Don't Covet Another Man's Pie На чужой каравай рот не разевай

[Eng]

All hail, dear readers of my journal! There is no more absurd occupation than trying to convince a person of anything. The rescue of a drowning man is still the drowning man's own job. The process of the struggle of those in power with COVID-19 has turned into a theater of the absurd. As the saying goes, knowledge is power but the unknowledgeables are overpowering. Pharmaceutical companies making COVID-19 vaccines are making huge profits, and their owners are becoming billionaires. WHO, with its monetary handouts to the governments of countries, motivates them to conduct blanket vaccination of the population, and the latter, in turn, defame all opponents of this process through the media. Recently I learned from reliable sources that 70% of seriously ill patients diagnosed with COVID-19 who are now in medical institutions in Israel have completed a full course of vaccination. So, life refutes the thesis of immunization supporters that people who have completed a full course of vaccination bare a new infection with coronavirus in a mild form. On the contrary, vaccination leads to the gradual destruction of the immune system of people and contributes to the spread of COVID-19, as well as other infections. As they say, teach a fool to bow with grace and he would fall flat on his face. It is difficult to avoid infection during a pandemic, when the actions of the authorities to combat it multiply the number of people infected with COVID-19. Scientists have counted more than two hundred strains of coronavirus that do not pose a great danger, as they continue to mutate and weaken after each mutation. In parallel, those who created the "Wuhan" virus continue to infect the population in different parts of the planet with its new modifications such as "delta" and others, hoping that they will no longer be susceptible to mutations, which means they will not weaken and exterminate as much as possible number of people. This will accomplish the task set to reduce the population of the Earth to the level of one billion. At the same time, those in power do not stop trying to unleash a global war, creating new conflicts and hotbeds of tension around the world. It is for this reason that Trump initiated the withdrawal of American troops from Afghanistan, which is what his successor Biden is doing today. Now the world has received another terrorist threat from the Taliban movement, and a new wave of refugees awaits Europe. Many are wondering why a wave of natural disasters has hit the world recently. The representatives of contemporary science, which has long ceased to be such, are trumpeting about global warming, allegedly caused by human-induced carbon dioxide emissions. In fact, this is another fake, since one active volcano emits more carbon dioxide into the Earth's atmosphere per day than all the cars in the world in a year. Taking into account the fact that volcanic activity is observed everywhere, in reality the share of carbon dioxide emissions as a result of industrial activities of people tends to zero. Modern "science" has no idea about the deep processes in the Earth's atmosphere and the reasons that give rise to them. It only observes the consequences of natural phenomena and is engaged in statistics. The current "rampage" of nature strongly resembles what the biblical stories about the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah say about. I remember that their inhabitants came into conflict with God and ignored Him, for which they were punished. At present something similar is happening in the world. The Triune Essence indwells now on Earth, and people, especially the power brokers, pigheadedly ignore this fact. That is why the Creator decided to remind about Himself, using the forces of nature. As soon as Mrs. Merkel set up a "get-together" with Biden and ignored the interests of Ukraine, where the Triune Essence abides, the heavens opened up over Germany. As for the series of natural disasters that have been overtaking Turkey in recent years, it is the compulsion to peace by the Creator in response to aggressive actions against Armenia and Erdogan's attempts to build on blood a new pan-Turkist empire. Traditionally, Russia is also taking a beating for Putin's unwillingness to get out of the Crimea and the Donbass. And this is just the beginning. All those who have tried and continue trying to harm the Triune Essence are also facing the music. If you, "good gentlemen," do not hang on every word, then understanding will come through circumstances that will turn your life upside down. There are two ways of knowing for a person. The first is the path of wisdom, and the second is the path of committing personal mistakes that can be fatal. Ukrainian President Zelenskiy, due to his inexperience, chose the second path. The mantras about Western aid were dispelled when the betrayal by Merkel and Macron was revealed. Only a lie is convenient, but the truth is bitter and impartial. Russia has enough strength and resources to "swallow" Ukraine overnight, and if this does not happen, then it is not at all because Putin is afraid of the West, led by the United States, which in 2014 gave tacit consent to the start of a "lightning war" and destruction of Ukrainian statehood. In fact, Putin was stopped outright thanks to the intervention of the Triune Essence (that is, the Creator). He should have understood long ago that it is difficult to see and accept the truth when you are surrounded by sycophants and lickspittles. It took Putin 5 years to realize Who opposes him in Ukraine, and now in Armenia. He dismissed about thirty generals, believing that they were sabotaging his instructions to seize the entire territory of Ukraine. It is difficult to say how long it will take Zelenskiy to see the real picture of what is happening. He has no idea that he should have lost the presidential election and could not have left the stadium, where he participated in the presidential debate with Poroshenko, adequate, alive and healthy. Zelenskiy is still alive only because I protect him. Blessed is he who does not know. The president of a country is not a position that allows one to learn by making mistakes, because a lamb cannot survive in a wolf pack. First you need to stop fussing. There is no need to imitate hectic activity and play the "peacemaker" when nothing depends on you. Israel has been at war with the Arab world for decades. It is not in the power of the President of Ukraine to stop the war until Putin wants it. His troops are preparing to repel possible attacks from the territory of Ukraine (on the part of the Triune Essence), and he himself is looking for an opportunity to reverse events and return what was captured without losing his face. His article on Ukraine was addressed to me, and not to someone else, because the Triune Essence appeared on the territory of the former USSR, which means that God (Creator) came to the peoples which inhabited it, and not only to the Ukrainians. This is also an answer to the question why I recently intervened in the conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia on the side of the latter. What kind of Master of the House am I, if I do not stand up for peace and order in it? The current rulers are blind and deaf, which means that they leave me no choice but to force them to peace through circumstances. First, remove the log from your eye, and only then go to get the hangnails from the eyes of other people – something other is from the evil. The world is not at all the way people see it. The battlefield of Good and Evil is there. The agents of the latter are all sorts of people with "unconventional" abilities. At present such agents in the power are Merkel and Poroshenko. Of course, there are also some others, but from time immemorial such people served as a "secret weapon" of the power to suppress the "controlled majority", but they were deprived of access into the power itself. Zelenskiy had no idea with whom he clashed in the elections and, if not for my interference, he could have lost not only the chances for the presidency, but also the very life. The first meeting of the President of Ukraine with Merkel ended with a "tremor" for her, and the current one will finally undermine her health, as she will definitely begin to influence Zelenskiy before the latter's trip to the United States and will receive a worthy rebuff. By the way, it was the possession of this kind of abilities that made Merkel a long-liver on the Olympus of the power. Neither Putin, nor Patrushev, nor Patriarch Kirill have such "abilities", and therefore, by habit, they resort to the services of strong shamans, witches and witchers, magicians and other agents of Evil. At the same time, science denies the very existence of something like that, which is very convenient for the authorities, because it allows the powers that be to possess a secret and effective weapon to solve "unsolvable" problems. It is possible that after reading this article, the President of Ukraine will take a different look at the people around him. More recently it is interesting to keep an eye on the behavior of persons involved in the power. On the one hand, they are trying in every possible way to kill me, and on the other – to get ahead of the competitors in order to be the first to meet with me, believing that the sword does not cut off the guilty head. And a little bit about the good. Everything will be as the Creator wants, for a human only presupposes, and He disposes.

Translated by professor Leonid Bilousov

[Ru]

Здравствуйте, уважаемые читатели моего журнала! Нет более абсурдного занятия, чем пытаться убедить человека в чем бы то ни было. Спасение утопающих по-прежнему остается делом рук самих утопающих. Процесс борьбы власть предержащих с COVID-19 превратился в театр абсурда. Как говорится, ученье свет, а неученых тьма. Фармацевтические компании, производящие вакцины против COVID-19, получают огромную прибыль, а их владельцы становятся миллиардерами. ВОЗ своими денежными подачками правительствам стран мотивирует их на поголовную вакцинацию населения, а те, в свою очередь, шельмуют через средства массовой информации всех противников этого процесса. На днях узнал из достоверных источников, что 70% тяжелых больных с диагнозом COVID-19, пребывающих ныне в медицинских учреждениях Израиля, прошли полный курс вакцинации. Так что жизнь опровергает тезис сторонников иммунизации о том, что люди, прошедшие полный курс вакцинации, переносят новое заражение коронавирусом �� легкой форме. Наоборот, вакцинация приводит к постепенному разрушению иммунной системы людей и способствует распространению COVID-19, равно как и других инфекций. Как говорится, заставь дурака Богу молиться, так он лоб разобьет. Сложно избежать заражения во время пандемии, когда действия власти по борьбе с нею многократно умножают число зараженных COVID-19. Ученые насчитали более двухсот штаммов коронавируса, которые не представляют большой опасности, так как продолжают мутировать и ослабевают после каждой мутации. Параллельно те, кто создал «уханьский» вирус, продолжают заражать население в разных точках планеты его новыми модификациями типа «дельта» и другими, надеясь, что уж они-то больше не будут подвержены мутациям, а значит, не ослабнут и истребят как можно большее число людей. Так будет выполнена поставленная задача по сокращению численности населения Земли до уровня одного миллиарда. При этом власть предержащие не прекращают попыток развязать глобальную войну, создавая новые конфликты и очаги напряженности по всему миру. Именно по этой причине Трамп инициировал вывод американских войск из Афганистана, чем сегодня и занимается его преемник Байден. Теперь мир получил еще одну террористическую угрозу в лице движения талибов, а Европу ждет новая волна беженцев. Многие задаются вопросом, почему в последнее время мир накрыла волна природных катаклизмов. Представители нынешней науки, которая давно таковой не является, трубят о глобальном потеплении, якобы вызванном выбросами углекислого газа в результате человеческой деятельности. На самом деле это очередной фейк, так как один действующий вулкан выбрасывает в атмосферу Земли за день углекислого газа больше, чем все автомобили мира за год. С учетом того, что вулканическая активность наблюдается повсеместно, реально доля выбросов углекислого газа в результате промышленной деятельности людей стремится к нулю. Современная «наука» понятия не имеет о глубинных процессах в атмосфере Земли и причинах, их порождающих. Она лишь наблюдает за последствиями природных явлений и занимается статистикой. Нынешнее «буйство» природы сильно смахивает на то, о чем рассказывают библейские сюжеты о городах Содом и Гоморра. Помнится, их жители вступили в конфликт с Богом и игнорировали Его, за что и понесли наказание. Сейчас в мире происходит нечто подобное. Триединая Сущность ныне пребывает на Земле, а люди тупо игнорируют этот факт. Вот Создатель и решил напомнить о Себе, используя силы природы. Стоило госпоже Меркель устроить с Байденом «междусобойчик» и проигнорировать интересы Украины, где обретается Триединая Сущность, и небеса разверзлись над Германией. Что до череды природных катаклизмов, одолевающих Турцию в последнее время, так это принуждение к миру со стороны Создателя в ответ на агрессивные действия в отношении Армении и попытки Эрдогана построить на крови новую пантюркистскую империю. Традиционно достается и России за нежелание Путина убраться из Крыма и Донбасса. И это только начало. Получают по полной также все те, кто пытался и пытается причинить вред Триединой Сущности. Если вы, «господа хорошие», не внемлете слову, то понимание придет через обстоятельства, которые перевернут вашу жизнь. Есть два пути познания для человека. Первый – это путь мудрости, а второй – путь совершения личных ошибок, которые могут оказаться фатальными. Президент Украины Зеленский по причине своей неопытности избрал второй путь. Мантры по поводу помощи Запада развеялись, когда открылось предательство со стороны Меркель и Макрона. Удобной бывает только ложь, а правда горька и нелицеприятна. У России достаточно сил и средств, чтобы в одночасье «поглотить» Украину, и если этого не происходит, то вовсе не потому, что Путин боится Запада во главе с США, которые в 2014-м дали молчаливое согласие на начало «молниеносной войны» и уничтожение украинской государственности. На самом деле Путина остановило исключительно вмешательство Триединой Сущности (то бишь Создателя). Ему давно следовало бы понять, что сложно увидеть и принять правду, когда тебя окружают подхалимы и льстецы. Путину понадобилось 5 лет, чтобы осознать, Кто противостоит ему в Украине, а сейчас и в Армении. Порядка тридцати генералов он отправил в отставку, полагая, что те саботируют его указания по захвату всей территории Украины. Сколько времени понадобится Зеленскому, чтобы увидеть реальную картину происходящего, сложно сказать. Он понятия не имеет о том, что должен был проиграть президентские выборы и не смог бы уйти со стадиона, где он участвовал в дебатах с Порошенко, адекватным, живым и здоровым. Зеленский пока еще жив лишь потому, что я защищаю его.  Блажен, кто не ведает. Президент страны – это не та должность, которая позволяет учиться, совершая ошибки, ибо в волчьей стае ягненку не выжить. Для начала надо перестать суетиться. Не нужно имитировать бурную деятельность и играть в «миротворца», когда от тебя ничего не зависит. Израиль десятилетиями живет в состоянии войны с арабским миром. Не во власти Президента Украины остановить войну, пока этого не захочет Путин. Его войска готовятся к отражению возможных атак с территории Украины (со стороны Триединой Сущности), а сам он ищет возможность повернуть события вспять, и возвратить захваченное, не потеряв при этом своего лица. Его статья по поводу Украины была адресована мне, а не кому-то еще, ибо Триединая Сущность появилась на территории бывшего СССР, а это означает, что Бог (Создатель) пришел к народам, его населявшим, а не только к украинцам. Это также ответ на вопрос, почему я недавно вмешался в конфликт Азербайджана и Армении на стороне последней. Какой из меня Хозяин Дома, если я не ратую за мир и порядок в нем? Нынешние правители слепы и глухи, а значит, они не оставляют мне иного выбора, как через обстоятельства принуждать их к миру. Сначала удалите бревно из своего глаза, а уж потом ид��те доставать заусеницы из глаз других людей, иное – от лукавого. Мир вовсе не такой, каким его видят люди. Здесь поле битвы Добра и Зла. Проводниками последнего являются разного рода люди, обладающие «нетрадиционными» способностями. Таковыми сейчас во власти являются Меркель и Порошенко. Конечно же, есть и другие, но испокон веков такие люди служили в качестве «тайного оружия» власти для подавления «управляемого большинства», но в саму власть их не пускали. Зеленский понятия не имел с кем схлестнулся на выборах и, если бы не мое вмешательство, то мог лишиться не только шансов на президентство, но и самой жизни. Первая встреча Президента Украины с Меркель закончилась для нее «тремором», а нынешняя окончательно подорвет ее здоровье, так как она обязательно станет воздействовать  на Зеленского перед поездкой последнего в США и получит достойный отпор. Кстати, именно обладание такого рода способностями сделало Меркель долгожителем на Олимпе власти. Ни Путин, ни Патрушев, ни Патриарх Кирилл такими «способностями» не обладают, а потому по привычке прибегают к услугам сильных шаманов, ведьм и ведьмаков, магов и прочих проводников Зла. При этом наука отрицает само существование чего-то подобного, что весьма удобно для власти, ибо позволяет обладать тайным и эффективным оружием для решения «неразрешимых» проблем.  Возможно, прочитав эту статью, Президент Украины по-другому взглянет на людей, его окружающих. Интересно наблюдать за фигурантами от власти в последнее время. С одной стороны они всячески пытаются убить меня, а с другой – стараются опередить конкурентов, дабы первыми встретиться со мной, полагая, что повинную голову меч не сечет. И немного о хорошем. Все будет так, как того хочет Создатель, ибо человек лишь предполагает, а Он располагает.

[tina-incambodia]

I met a man.

A night in Kampot Town all to myself. Finally, minding my own business, soaking up the sun and all the emotions from just receiving my first postage from home... Happy to be alone in the city.

"You want some lunch?"

"No, no thank you!"

"Please, Please come sit!" 

I cannot say this is the first time this happened. Cambodia has a culture of "onkoi lane," literally, "sit play." I am invited quite frequently in my village or homes near by. The slow lifestyle allows for unplanned visits with no expectations other than conversation. But no, this is my day to escape the PCV obligations of speaking with strangers in my broken Khmer. I am in town and I just want to be me, no strings attached. 

"No thanks!"

"Please, please. I insist. Come sit."

I guess I can compromise and sit for a bit, give the generic, well practiced answers, "I am a volunteer...I teach English...I will live in Cambodia for two years. Yes, I miss home..." and be on my way.

"Okay.. Okay..."

"Where are you from?" 

Here we go. I gave the generic, "America... United States" 

"Where in the US?"

"Rhode Island...?"

He obviously won't know of my tiny little state all the way on the other side of the world. I usually follow this answer with, "It is near New York."

"Where abouts in Rhode Island?"

This man is inquiring much more than I feel comfortable with.

"Uhhh...northern."

"Ahh. Okay. Do you know Barrington...? Bristol...?" 

First I was just confused and skeptical, but as he continued to list off the small town names in my home state he gave me no other choice but to believe him. I've met people in the US that don't know where Rhode Island is or even that it’s a state and not just an island in the corner of New York or something. But there I sat, on the sidewalk along the river in Kampot, Cambodia  and a seemingly poor Khmer man, in close to perfect English, asks me if I they have finished building the mall near the stadium in Providence or if I ever swim at the YMCA in Cranston. 

I sat there, jaw dropped. Which, I mean, being in Cambodia and all, I wouldn’t recommend unless your looking for some extra protein in your diet. 

He went on, "Yea, I lived there for ten years. I went to Central High School in Cranston. Do you know it?" 

"Yes... Yes. I know it. I was living in Cranston just last year." Still stunned and amazed my answers are to the point. Sitting in suspense, waiting to hear more from this man. 

"Yea.. I lived in Barrington for a bit. Not to far from Newport. You know Newport? I used to go down to Narragansett Bay and go fishing. You know Narragansett?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. My little brother lives there." My confusion and amazement lingered so heavily that I struggled to form responses, never mind questions. "Wow." All I could think about was how incredible the universe is. It was iffy that I was even going to visit Kampot Town and, initially, I was planning on going with a friend. When plans changed I still felt that I needed a night away. Just a short time to do whatever I please with no obligations, wear shorts and a tank top, drink a beer, and blend in with the backpackers and expats. So, I followed my gut, I walked along the river with no obligations and the universe brought me to this man. I finally conjured up some sort of question, "So, now you’re in Cambodia?" 

"Yea. I was deported. I am an American citizen." He rattled off his social security number quickly as I'm sure he has had to do 100s of times in order to just be shuffled from desk to desk with in a broken immigration system. At the end left with nothing more than the standard disappointment, "There is nothing we can do for you."

"...I took the test. I waved the flag. I lived in the US my whole life and then they sent me back here. My family is in the US. Everything I knew was there." Stunned, I managed to inquire further. "I left Cambodia in 1979 after the Khmer Rouge. I was just a little kid. I served 23 years in prison. I got out. I had a good job. I was making good money working in Seattle. They told me they were sending me back. I went to my Deportation Officer. There was nothing they could do. She asked if I had any last requests before I got on the plane. I wanted to ask for freedom, but I knew I wouldn't get that. So, I asked for a pack of Marlboros and to go to the top of the Space Needle. She took me up and I smoked that whole pack in about an hour. She looked at me and said, "Don't even think about it." "Jumping?," I said. Yea I thought about it. Of course. I had nothing to lose."

Khom Soeun, or David, left Cambodia in 1979 as a young child refugee and in 2007, almost 30 years later, he was taken and dropped off in what might as well be called a foreign country to him. He left Cambodia as it was falling to pieces. The United States illegally bombed the country terribly during and following the Vietnam War, demolishing whole villages in attempts to halt supply routes. The Khmer Rouge held power for four years, during which 1/3 of Cambodians were murdered in an attempt to establish a communist state. In 1979, Vietnam ousted the leaders from the capital but, even then, there was not peace for decades to come; power struggles in politics and violence continued to wreck havoc across the country. This is the country he escaped from, only to be faced with further hardships, just on the other side of the world and then return.

"I moved from foster family to family. I got in trouble a lot in school. The kids would call me, "Chink," so I'd lash out and call them names or fight them. I got sent to the principal all the time. I was in sixth grade, I didn't know my ABCs. They made fun of me. I started getting in trouble at home a lot too. So I moved families. But I still remember my first family." He gave me their names. Asked me to look them up when I returned home. Tears began to form in is eyes as he told me about his family he left behind. "My parents are in a nursing home now. They sold their house. Look them up please. If you can find them...use the white pages, ya know? Can you tell them I'm sorry. I wish I could change time. If I could, I would be with them again." My heart breaking bit by bit for this man as he went on, "I have three daughters," more tears as he listed their names and where they live, "...Can you look them up? Can you tell them, Dad is sorry he was in prison and did not get a chance to take care of them or raise them" 

My feelings of amazement towards my encounter with fate were now overcast with sadness and distress. I had goosebumps; my eyes watering and hands shaking as I struggled to record Soeun's words in my pocket sized Moleskine notepad. Although tragic, Soeun's story is not unique. After the fall of the Khmer Rouge, over 100,000 Cambodian refugees fled to the United States. After being forcefully removed from their homes, working in concentration camps, living in refugee camps, and escaping a genocide, their struggle would only continue in the states. In the midst of a recession, the US government provided little aid to the new comers, most of whom ended up in large ghettos specifically in Long Beach, CA, Seattle, WA, and Lowell, MA. They had never used a flush toilet or a gas stove, had little to no education, and faced discrimination. Carrying the mental, emotional, and physical scars of the war torn country they left behind, and unsuccessful and unaccepted in school, many young Cambodian boys formed their own support systems, support systems which took the form of gangs, and adopted a life style which would eventually lead to their deportation to a land of which their only connection to was the violence and pain they and their families suffered decades before.

The immigration laws are complicated and Soeun's story doesn't line up exactly with what policy states. He repeated, sternly, a few times, "I am an American citizen," however; laws passed speak only to refugees, Legal Permanent Residents (LPRs), green card holders, and those married to American citizens. Those falling in these categories could be deported for minor offences such as, urinating in public regardless of their social, moral, or economic status. For example, a morally sound, married individual with a few kids, and a stable job could simply be deported for a minor crime. Since 2002, when Cambodia began accepted the deportees, over 600 Cambodian-Americans have been deported as a result of the following policies,

“In 1996, the United States introduced two new immigration laws,  the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act (AEDPA) and the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) which eliminated judicial discretion from the removal process and expanded the categories of mandatory deportation. In the years since the passage of the two laws, the United States has deported more than 87,000 LPRs.... After serving time and reentering society, refugees and LPRs suddenly found themselves eligible for deportation.” *Numbers from 2010(http://leitnercenter.org/files/2010%20Cambodia%20Report_FINAL.pdf)

So, Soeun is one of hundreds in Cambodia, but thousands all over the world. When he returned to Cambodia, he hardly knew the language or the culture, having grown up in the care of American foster families. He has been here ten years, so he "gets by now." He currently lives on a house boat along the river in Kampot. He jumps from city to city trying to find work. He is honest with employers; he has no papers, no Cambodian I.D. and no passport. They shoo him away when they learn of his status; a homeless convicted felon. "They want my I.D., my reference; those things I cannot give them. When you get deported, you don't get a passport you just get a piece of paper. I have no documents. I have no papers. I go to the Embassy and they say they can't help me." He has a wife here whom he loves very much. She sat by us while I listened to his story, "She's my world. She's all I have. I want to support her."  My amazement returned as a man, funneled through and mistreated by our inadequate and inhumane systems, foster, juvenile, justice, prison, immigration and so on, concluded his story, "I am happy. I only miss two things: my children and my good job. I'm gonna write a book. I already started. Its going to have my picture on it and the title will be, Cambodian-American Returnee."

I am not sure I have ever felt as I did in that moment. I was shaking as I wished him good luck, thanked him for sharing his story, and praised him for his strength and resilience. My heart, full and heavy, dumbfounded and sorrowful, I walked away unsure how to process my thoughts or feelings. Amazed and overwhelmed that I even had this encounter with a man from my home state; the world is so small and the universe works in mysterious ways. Disheartened by his tragic story and inspired by his resiliency; refugee to deportee. Angry with inhumane policy; a man with three daughters in the US and no family in this foreign land. Helpless in my venture to help Cambodians, and struck by the irony of American actions. Here I am, a proud Peace Corps Volunteer, committed to helping the Cambodian people as they strive for progress and development, while my own country, the country I swore to represent, is unmistakably and directly creating lives of poverty and hardship.

[coldplay-kid]

My adventure of a lifetime 💕

Hey, guys, it is only me Alycia. I thought I would write up my Coldplay Cardiff experience. Please be warned that I am fairly exhausted and it would be impossible to write every little thing that happened. My mind is racing, with so many happy vibes shooting off here, there, and everywhere. I’ve tried to write as much as I could about things that happened to me so I can look back on it. However, it is kind of brief, and I will probably write more about this subject later!

So, ladies and gentlemen, here I write about the happiest days of my life. Though words are insufficient to express my happiness, please find some sort musings below.

Most of you may know this already but my life has been defined by Coldplay. Ever since I can remember they have been by my side, through the good times and the bad. Bigger Stronger is one of the first things I can ever remember listening to, and I even waltzed into nursery during the AROBTTH era with a book of Coldplay things and a Jonny hat. I would scream “DON’T TAKE MY JONNY HAT” if anyone touched it or told me to take it off inside. I’ve loved this band my whole life and they honestly mean everything to me. I fondly remember racing back from Primary School to catch the Viva updates and live interviews and Roadie 42/Matt’s blog posts. For my entire life I have adored this band with my every being, however being lucky enough to do what most hardcore Coldplayers do has not been a smooth ride.

You see, I was born with a pretty complex physical disability. Though I often seem fine, with no visible or obvious signs of being disabled, my legs easily collapse and I can barely walk or climb hills. I have malformed muscle, splitting spinal disks, malformed kneecaps, abnormally short hamstrings, and many more physical ailments. In response to having this condition, I’ve faced many challenges. I have faced them bravely with Coldplay by my side even in my loneliest hours, but nevertheless, it took a lifetime to get where I am today.

It kind-of sucks because had I have been able-bodied, I would have probably had more success persuading my parents to let me see Coldplay at a much younger age. I am not complaining, as I was lucky enough to see them on the MX tour, but to have missed the earlier tours will always be a bit devastating.

A dream of mine, since the Live 2003 DVD was in my small child hands, was to be close enough to the band, to my boys, and to be at the barrier of a gig. Much of my life has been spent feeling envious of those who got to do it, I hope understandably so, and to overcome this I have spent my whole life up to this point in intensive physiotherapy. I may never meet my heroes, but I had to see them up close, and I would not let my disabilities stop me!

A lifetime of hard work, however, has recently paid off MASSIVELY. If you had told child Alycia in the X&Y era that any of this would have happened, she would probably furrow her brows and ignore you, quickly returning to watch Live 2005/How we saw the world, or Austin City Limits, for the tenth time that day.

Armed with a crutch and a friend, I managed to see my favourite people in the whole world up close TWICE. Cardiff has been everything I could have ever have wished for, and gone above and beyond my wildest dreams.

11th July 2017

After a fairly long (but worthwhile) journey, myself and two friends (@jonathanbuckland and @blindbankers ) met up and queued for a few hours in the pouring welsh rain. Though the weather conditions for the first gig were not ideal, they were soon forgotten about when we finally went to the stadium. I remember the awe and wonder when I realised I was on the floor (previously I was always in the gods) and Coldplay would be stood right there. Instantly, I was ecstatic, and honestly I still am. We managed to snatch the most perfect position at the C-Stage, and passed the time with party rings and chatting to a very kind steward. The first gig was, as always, phenomenal. The confetti, the xylobands, and the joy akin to electrical charges. We even serenaded Hoppy (Chris’ guitar tech) with Fix You! Though we got hit with beer bottles (some drunk guys were aiming at the stewart, who had told them to not sit on each others shoulders for security reasons) it was still one of the BEST days of my life (joint only with night two).

It got pretty crazy when the band got to where we were stood. I distinctly remember, holding up my sign with crazy joy, and seeing Hoppy and Jonny discussing something. Though I didn’t hear it word by word, I do recall Jonny pulling something out of his trouser pocket after speaking to his technician, and the next thing I knew Hoppy (with a wink and a huge smile) placed a scuffed plectrum into my hand. It was just crazy! I wasn’t the only one to receive a plectrum, with @jonathanbuckland also being lucky.

The C-Stage was filled with laughter (we had awesome signs, especially @blindbankers having a “There’s nothing wrong with jazz” sign backed onto cardboard) and tears of joy. Honestly, it was just incredible, and our group of friends (five in total) was even invited to the A-Stage barrier by Hoppy after the gig to get even more plectrums (sadly there weren’t enough to go around during the C-Stage).

Surely, I couldn’t get any luckier could I? I had waited my whole life to be so close to a band that has meant everything to me since I can remember. I was one of two people be chosen to get an actual Jonny plectrum. I had met up with some of the greatest friends ever.

I was sure it couldn’t get any better, and I couldn’t get any more lucky.

Boy... I was wrong!

12th July 2017

For the second night, it was only myself and @jonathanbuckland . We both had VIP, and after a hearty Pizza Express, we stood in a queue chatting to some really nice Coldplay fans. I even met one of my oldest and dearest fandom friends, @nathanr38 , which was just fantastic.

After a very rough descent into the stadium, we managed to snatch the A-Stage and had the most perfect view. Again, there was a very nice steward opposite us, who even admitted he was a huge Coldplay fan and he wished he could turn around, clap, and cheer! It was very kind of him, but he somehow snagged me Embrace’s drumstick and plectrum, realising how much these gigs meant to me.

Once Coldplay came on stage a series of insane things happened. First of all, and straight away, Jonny smiled at @jonathanbuckland and I, and that was only the start. We appeared soon (during Yellow) on the big screen, screaming and just being ecstatic as hell. Jonny repeatedly smiled towards us throughout the gig, and I melted inside whenever he did. During Charlie Brown, Chris read my sign, smiled at me, and gave me crazy eyes (this was also a fabulous moment I will discuss in a moment). I couldn’t believe, and still struggle to, the interactions I had with my absolute favourite people in the whole wide world! Within moments of Chris noticing me, I was handed a third plectrum, meaning I somehow now have four plectrums from the best days of my life.

So already I had Jonny’s plectrum from (I am certain) the A-Stage, another plectrum from Hoppy, Embrace’s plectrum, and their smashed drumstick. Surely my luck ended there right? If it had, I would be absolutely content with life. All I wanted was to see my heroes live again at any cost.

Nope. I still had four more crazy moments left. During the latter half of the show, I was given a folded up setlist. I didn’t even ask for one, knowing they give them out sparingly. Apparently, there had been some commotion at the runway barrier with so many people ‘bothering’ the roadies with their requests for a setlist. To be chosen to receive one was just... breathtaking, and two days later I am still beaming.

As the show was coming to the end, Coldplay did their usual wave, claps, and thank-yous. Amongst all of the screaming and flashing phones, I mouthed “thank-you” to Will Champion. We locked eyes, and he mouthed “and you too” back to me. He beamed at me and clapped me and I just cannot believe this actually happened. I also thanked a roadie, who said it was “fans like me who make their jobs worthwhile”.

Do you want to know what else happened to me? Well, I’m going to tell you anyway, because it is another thing I cannot stop freaking out about. So earlier, if you have stuck with this giant textpost, I mentioned that Charlie Brown was a key moment I am to return to later on. Well, you see, Roadie 42 was around when Chris smiled at me. He snapped this photo:

Which can be found on their Twitter and their Instagram (Photo credit: @coldplay crew legend Roadie 42/Matt Miller). Now, I had no idea of this until I saw my groupchat blowing up asking for us to fill them in. I finished the gig with a bundle of supportive and lovely messages. When I was termed “their Aly” by several fellow Coldplay superfans, I just felt so amazed, and even an update account said “congratulations” to me. I am just still freaking out. THEY CHOSE A PICTURE OF ME TO REPRESENT THE WHOLE GG! THEY COULD HAVE CHOSEN SO MANY OTHER PHOTOS! Honestly, I just can’t believe my luck. I was called the “luckiest girl in the world”, and though that is quite true (I certainly feel like the luckiest girl in the world), I think I am also the happiest girl in the world right now.

Sitting back at home, I don’t think life can get any better. I think, or at least I hope, that I impressed them because I was stood at the barrier on a crutch having the absolute time of my life. It must be known that this is only the start. I proved to myself and to my family that I can be barrier even with a collapsing musculoskeletal system. I am immensely grateful for all that happened, but I have really fought to be where I am now. Honestly, I have had the best week of my life. I am so thankful for all of the lovely people I met, an amazing crew and band who made all my dreams come true. 3/4 Coldplay interactions, a ton of random gifts, and featuring on their Instagram and twitter pages? What did I ever do to deserve this!?

PHOTOGRAPHS

I hope you all enjoy my small gallery, most photo credit to @jonathanbuckland:

NIGHT ONE --

NIGHT TWO --

My Coldplay stuff (not including merch/VIP package but I can post that later if anyone wants to see it):

Embrace’s plectrum and the second Coldplay embellished guitar plectrum that was given to me on the 12th June 2017 (second gig).

Two plectrums. The top one was given to me indirectly by Jonny Buckland, and placed into my hand by Hoppy. The second was given to me after the gig at the A-Stage barrier by Hoppy again. Both were given on the 11th June 2017 (first gig).

This was the drumstick used by Embrace at the second gig.

This is my set list given to me by a roadie during the second gig.

Excuse the grammar and stuff. I am still so hyper and everything I am absolutely freaking out!! Though I do wish I was going to Paris, I am so lucky for all that has happened to me and I will definitely try to follow them around the continent next time they tour. Thank-you Coldplay. Words don’t do justice what you mean to me, and what the last few days have meant. I will do whatever it takes to be back at a Coldplay concert, and I am immensely proud to be a lifelong fan.

💛💙💜💚❤️ Thank-you Coldplay, thank-you for everything. 💛💙💜💚❤️