#academy sports near me

[fcmarina]

The Benefits of Joining a Football Academy

A football academy is an organization that is dedicated to developing young football players to reach their maximum potential. These academies can range from small, local organizations to large, professional institutions that are associated with professional football clubs.

FC Marina Football Academy in Chennai provides a structured and focused approach to training young football players. We offer programs that are designed to develop the technical, tactical, physical, and mental aspects of the game. These programs are tailored to the age, ability, and potential of each player, and we provide a pathway for players to progress from grassroots football to the professional level.

The coaching staff at football academies are typically experienced and qualified professionals who have a deep understanding of the game and a passion for developing young talent. We use a variety of training methods, including drills, exercises, and small-sided games, to help players improve their skills and knowledge of the game.

In addition to on-field training, football academies also provide education and support to young players. We may offer academic classes or tutoring, as well as guidance on nutrition, fitness, and injury prevention. They also help players to develop important life skills, such as teamwork, discipline, and goal-setting, which can be applied both on and off the field.

Many football academies have partnerships or affiliations with professional football clubs. This can provide young players with access to top-level coaching, facilities, and competition opportunities, as well as a pathway to signing professional contracts.

Do you want to check the football turf booking near me

Overall, football academies play an important role in the development of young football players. FC Marina provides a structured and supportive environment for players to improve their skills and knowledge of the game, and we help to prepare them for potential careers in professional football.

There are many potential benefits to playing football, both physical and mental. Here are a few:

Improved cardiovascular health: Football is an aerobic sport that requires players to run, jump, and move around the field for extended periods. This type of activity can improve cardiovascular health and reduce the risk of heart disease.

Increased muscle strength and endurance: Football requires players to use their muscles in a variety of ways, including sprinting, jumping, and tackling. This can help to increase overall muscle strength and endurance.

Improved coordination and balance: Football involves a lot of quick movements and changes in direction, which can help to improve coordination and balance.

Social benefits: Football is a team sport, which means that players have to work together and communicate effectively to achieve success. This can help to build social skills and improve relationships with others.

Mental health benefits: Exercise, in general, is known to have positive effects on mental health, and football is no exception. Playing football can help to reduce stress, improve mood, and boost self-esteem.

Improved cognitive function: Football requires players to make quick decisions and react to changing situations on the field. This can help to improve cognitive function, including attention, memory, and decision-making skills.

Of course, it’s important to keep in mind that any sport comes with some risk of injury, so it’s important to take appropriate safety precautions and use proper techniques when playing football.

For More Details:

FC Marina

No. 1 Football Academy in Chennai

200, RAM Nagar South Extension, 9th Street, Behind Dr. Kamakshi Memorial Hospital, Pallikaranai, Chennai, TamilNadu,

Visit us: https://www.fcmarina.com/

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[first-touch-soccer]

Top Soccer Academies Near Me: Which One is Right for You?

If you're a soccer player looking to improve your skills and take your game to the next level, attending a soccer academy can be a great option. With specialized training programs and experienced coaches, these academies can help you develop your technique, strategy, and physical fitness. Check out our list of top soccer academies near you to find the perfect program for your needs.

Research the Academy's Reputation and Success Rate

Before committing to a soccer academy, it's important to research their reputation and success rate. Look for reviews and testimonials from current and former players, as well as any awards or recognition the academy has received. Additionally, find out how many players have gone on to play at the college or professional level after training at the academy. This information can give you a better idea of the quality of training and coaching you can expect to receive.

When searching for soccer academies near me, it's important to do your due diligence and research each option thoroughly. One key factor to consider is the academy's reputation and success rate. Look for reviews and testimonials from current and former players, as well as any awards or recognition the academy has received. Additionally, find out how many players have gone on to play at the college or professional level after training at the academy. This information can give you a better idea of the quality of training and coaching you can expect to receive, as well as your chances of success in the sport. Don't be afraid to reach out to the academy directly and ask for more information or to speak with current players or coaches. A reputable academy will be happy to provide you with the information you need to make an informed decision.

Consider the Academy's Coaching Staff and Training Methods

When choosing a soccer academy, it's important to consider the coaching staff and their training methods. Look for experienced coaches who have a track record of developing successful players. Additionally, find out what type of training methods the academy uses. Do they focus on individual skill development or team tactics? Do they incorporate strength and conditioning training? Make sure the academy's training methods align with your personal goals and needs as a player.

Another important factor to consider is the size of the coaching staff. A smaller staff may mean more individual attention for each player, but a larger staff may offer a wider range of expertise and perspectives. It's also important to consider the qualifications and certifications of the coaching staff, such as a USSF coaching license or experience playing at a high level. Don't be afraid to ask for references or to observe a training session before committing to a soccer academy. Ultimately, the coaching staff and training methods will play a significant role in your development as a player, so choose wisely.

Look into the Academy's Schedule and Commitment Requirements

Before committing to a soccer academy, it's important to understand the schedule and commitment requirements. Some academies may require year-round training and participation in tournaments, while others may offer more flexible options. Consider your personal goals and availability when evaluating the schedule and commitment requirements of an academy. It's also important to understand the financial commitment, including any fees for training, equipment, and travel expenses. Make sure you have a clear understanding of all requirements and costs before making a decision.

When searching for soccer academies near you, it's important to take the time to research and evaluate each option. One key factor to consider is the academy's schedule and commitment requirements. Some academies may require daily or weekly training sessions, as well as participation in tournaments and other events throughout the year. Others may offer more flexible options, such as seasonal training or weekend camps. It's important to consider your personal goals and availability when evaluating these requirements. Additionally, be sure to understand the financial commitment involved, including any fees for training, equipment, and travel expenses. By carefully evaluating the schedule and commitment requirements of each academy, you can make an informed decision that aligns with your goals and fits your lifestyle.

Consider the Academy's Cost and Financial Aid Options

When choosing a soccer academy, it's important to consider the cost and any available financial aid options. Some academies may offer scholarships or financial assistance for players who demonstrate financial need or exceptional talent. It's also important to factor in any additional costs, such as equipment, travel expenses, and tournament fees. Make sure to ask about all costs and financial aid options before making a decision, and consider what is feasible for your budget and financial situation.

Before committing to a soccer academy, it's important to do your research and compare costs and financial aid options. Some academies may offer scholarships or financial assistance for players who demonstrate financial need or exceptional talent. It's also important to factor in any additional costs, such as equipment, travel expenses, and tournament fees. Make sure to ask about all costs and financial aid options before making a decision, and consider what is feasible for your budget and financial situation. Keep in mind that investing in a soccer academy can lead to valuable skills and opportunities for your child, but it's important to make a decision that works for your family's financial situation.

#soccer camp #sport news #soccer #soccercoach #soccer academies near me

[soccerbarrie]

Soccer Summer Camp in Barrie- FT United Soccer Academy

Summer is just around the corner, and parents are starting to plan out activities to keep their children engaged and active during the long break from school. If you have a child who loves soccer, a summer soccer camp can be a great way for them to develop their skills, make new friends, and have fun. In this article, we’ll take a closer look at what your child can expect to learn at the FT United Soccer Academy summer camp.

Fundamental Soccer SkillsAt the FT United Soccer Academy Barrie , children will learn the fundamental soccer skills necessary to become a well-rounded player. These skills include dribbling, passing, shooting, and defending. The coaching staff at the academy will use drills and exercises to teach children the proper technique for each skill and help them develop their abilities.

Teamwork and Communication Soccer is a team sport, and it’s important for players to learn how to work together and communicate effectively on the field. At the FT United Soccer Academy Barrie , children will participate in team-building exercises and learn strategies for effective communication on the field. They will also learn how to support and encourage their teammates, building important social skills and confidence.

Game Strategy and Tactics Playing soccer involves more than just individual skills and teamwork. Players must also understand game strategy and tactics to be successful on the field. At the FT United Soccer Academy Barrie, children will learn about offensive and defensive strategies, as well as how to read and react to game situations. These skills will help them become more strategic and successful players.

Physical Fitness and Conditioning Soccer is a physically demanding sport that requires players to be in top physical condition. At the FT United Soccer Academy Barrie, children will participate in a variety of physical fitness activities and conditioning exercises designed to improve their endurance, speed, and agility. These activities include running, agility drills, and strength training exercises.

Sportsmanship and Respect Soccer is not just about winning and losing; it’s also about sportsmanship and respect for the game and other players. At the FT United Soccer Academy , children will learn about the importance of sportsmanship and respect on and off the field. They will learn to play fair, follow the rules, and respect their opponents, coaches, and teammates.

Goal-Setting and Perseverance Setting goals and working hard to achieve them is an important life skill that children can learn through soccer. At the FT United Soccer Academy Barrie, children will learn how to set realistic goals for themselves and develop the perseverance and determination needed to achieve them. This skill is not only valuable in soccer but also in other areas of life.

Conclusion

The FT United Soccer Academy Barrie summer camp is a great opportunity for children to develop their soccer skills, make new friends, and have fun. Children will learn fundamental soccer skills, teamwork and communication, game strategy and tactics, physical fitness and conditioning, sportsmanship and respect, and goal-setting and perseverance. With the help of experienced and qualified coaches, children will gain valuable skills that they can carry with them on and off the field.

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[tspiremedia]

Sports Acadamy | Basketball Academy in Dubai

Jam Sports Academy - The first basketball academy in the the middle east with E-Learning facilities.Your child will be able to see the lessons before training with our video library, communicate with the coach after training. Beyond Basketball is the only program in UAE that combines the modern skills for Basketball Training with a defined purpose, tracking, and improvement plan.

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[glorykickboxinghyd]

Glory Kickboxing, Fitness & Cross fit, Martial Arts & MMA

About: 

Glory kickboxing one of the best Kickboxing classes in hyderabad. and its instructors ensures safe, secured & modern ways of training in boxing, mixed martial arts, kung fu & Cross fitness regimen focused on different age groups and type of body

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[playisa]

Travel Planning - Best 14u Travel Baseball Teams | PlayISA

We specialize in arranged travel baseball tournaments near you for sports teams. Check all the travel planning details for ISA’s events across the world.

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[babybluebex]

venus pt.1 | angus tully x fem!reader

summary: after being accepted as barton academy's first female student, you didn't think it could get any worse. as the fall semester progresses, you start to form a friendship with the outcast, angus, but what happens when the holidays come and you are the last two students on campus? PART 1 OF 2 pairing: angus tully (the holdovers, 2023) x fem!reader tags: canon compliance (this is a complete rewrite of the film, just with the added reader insert), lots of swearing, teddy is an asshole but what's new, 70s ideals about feminism (which YES is a warning), mentions of grief/loss author’s note: oof here we go, part 1 of my long-teased angus fic! be aware that this is literally 11k words, so i apologize for the absolute brick wall of text you're about to encounter (but don't worry, i put a read more on it :) ) also, if i missed any warnings/tags, pls dm me and let me know if you think i should add something! other than that, enjoy!

There were worse fates than this, right? There had to be, you were sure of it. You felt every pair of eyes on you as you walked down the center aisle of the chapel, acutely aware of the overwhelming masculine energy that you were drowning in. After all, at Barton, it wasn’t every day that these boys saw a girl. You wondered how long some of them had gone without laying eyes on a member of the opposite sex (a real one; skin mags don’t count). 

It also didn’t help that the priest at the front of the room had intentionally brought everyone’s eyes to you the moment you walked in. You had tried to slip in unnoticed, but he had said “Ah, here she is now: our very first Barton lady! Come sit up front with the headmaster!” 

You anchored yourself in the frontmost pew, next to the headmaster with a hippie beard, and kept your head still and staring straight ahead. You had known very little about Barton before that school year— you were from nearby Boston, and had gone to a larger high school with, not only a more mixed gender breakdown, but a significantly different economic situation than Barton. You had been shocked, as you took the bus from town to campus, at how many Mercedes and Cadillacs you had seen near the school. You felt like a fish out of water, in more ways than one. 

The priest didn’t end his taunting when you sat down, though. “Many of you probably wondered, when you got on campus for the beginning of the semester, what the new building next to the dormitory was,” he began, and you heard a few mumblings from the row behind you, confirming their confusion. “Well, gentlemen, this year… Barton has become coeducational. The new building, Blackwell Hall, named for the esteemed Elizabeth Blackwell, is the girl’s dormitory.” 

The mumbling behind you increased to a dull rumble, and you slightly turned your head to get a glance at the boys sitting behind you. All high school boys, kids your age, staring at you and wondering what your deal was. You took notice of one boy in particular, the only one around you not gossiping with his friends, totally uninterested and picking at his cuticles. Before you could even think to wonder about this boy, someone from near the back of the chapel yelled “Is she gonna be in classes with us?” 

“Yes, she will,” the priest said. “She is a junior, so, gentlemen, make sure you welcome her warmly to our school.” 

You sat and endured chapel while burning from all the stares in your direction, and, as soon as the priest dismissed the lot of you, you shot up and made your way to the doors, clutching your handbag close to your body. The August air hit your face as you stepped out, and you started back to Blackwell Hall, where your things sat, ready to be unpacked, but someone called out to you, demanding your attention. 

“Hey, girl!” You turned to see who had shouted, and you were met with the sight of a boy with caramel-colored hair, wearing a sports coat and tie. Come to think of it, all the boys were wearing coats and ties. You hadn’t been told anything about a uniform, and suddenly your jeans felt less than appropriate. The boy had a cigarette in his hand, and he beckoned you over to him, and you clenched your back teeth as you (for some reason) obeyed. 

“You’re a junior, huh?” the boy asked, and you nodded. “What classes are you taking?” 

You pursed your lips. “Precalc,” you began. “Ancient Civ. Home Ec. Bio.” 

“Gym?” he asked, and you shook your head. 

“There’s not a girls’ locker room,” you said, hoping he understood your explanation. 

The boy ashed his cigarette, and he said, “What period do you have Ancient Civ?”

You tried to recall what you had written down, and you said, “Fourth period, I think. With Hunham.” 

“Oh,” the boy said with a winning smile. “I’m in that period too. Maybe we could be study partners.” 

You drew in a breath and cleared your throat. “Maybe,” you said softly. “What’s your name?” 

“Teddy,” he replied. “Kountze.” 

“Right,” you mumbled. “Well, um, I’ll see you around, Teddy.” 

“Um, are you going to the cafeteria?” Teddy asked hastily, like he was looking for something to talk to you about. “I-I was about to head there, and, if you wanted someone to sit with, I have a spare seat at my table.” 

“I’m not,” you told him. “Gotta get back to my dorm and finish unpacking. I only got in town today.” 

“How did…” Teddy started. “How did you get in? Your folks hear that Barton was going coed and got you in?” 

You shook your head. “I went to Central High School, in Boston,” you replied. “I was doing a research project and saw in a newspaper that Barton was going coed and having a lottery for the first female student. I sorta put my name in as a joke, and then, when I won, it… Wasn’t really a joke anymore. I had to take some academic placement tests, since Central isn’t exactly a highbrow school, and I got a scholarship that covered a lot of my tuition. The board of trustees waived the rest of it, so…” 

“You’re going here for free?” Teddy asked incredulously. “Jesus, I didn’t even know we had scholarships.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t, Kountze,” a voice said from nearby, and you turned your shoulder to see the boy from chapel who didn’t give a shit about you. He stood tall, rail thin, a mop of dark curls on top of his head. He had eyes like black holes, his pale skin so translucent around his eye sockets that he had purplish-red bags underneath. “Nobody’s going to tell the bottom scum about possible academic achievements. It’s cruel to tease people with something they’ll never have.” 

“Fuck off, Tully,” Teddy snapped. “Don’t you have some porno mag waiting for you?” 

The boy (you supposed his name was Tully) pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and skulked away, and you scoffed under your breath. “Charming,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from his back as he left the scene. 

“Jesus, yeah,” Teddy said. “That’s Angus Tully. Biggest asshole here, thinks he’s better than everyone else. God knows why, he’s such a fuckin’ loser. He’s in Hunham’s fourth period too.”  

You furrowed your eyebrows at Angus Tully’s back, and then redirected your attention to Teddy, who was presently snubbing out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” you said softly, and, without another word, departed for your dorm. 

You appreciated that Barton had built a separate dorm for the female students, but, seeing as you were the sole resident of the building, you were irked by it. It was too big and empty, too lifeless and soulless. Certainly, they had built it with future generations in mind, hoping that more girls would eventually enroll and prove the building a necessity, but, for now, you found yourself aching with loneliness. You missed your mom and your sisters, in your small apartment in downtown Boston, just a few blocks from your old high school. You missed hearing Linda Ronstadt records playing from your older sister’s room (the one she shared with your mom), or the ceaseless sound of the air conditioning unit buzzing away in the window of your room (the one you shared with your other older sister). Barton just felt too… Good for you. But, it was as your mother had told you: it was an opportunity that you could not afford to pass up. 

You didn’t have a lot to unpack, and you hung up your clothes as you chewed your lip. For some reason, the interaction outside the chapel was sticking with you. Not Teddy, although he certainly had made himself hard to forget. No, you were thinking about Angus Tully, apparently the head asshole of Assholedom. You would be seeing him tomorrow too, for the first day of classes, in Hunham’s Ancient Civ class. You had never taken a class like that— your old school didn’t even offer the Advanced Placement program, so obnoxiously pretentious classes like that were out of your realm of understanding— and you were almost worried that you would flunk right out. 

You tossed and turned all night, dreading sunrise and morning. Breakfast was served at 7, and classes began at 8, beginning with Precalc for you, then transitioning into Biology. After third period free, you had Ancient Civ, then an hour for lunch, then Home Ec, then your last few hours of the school day were reserved for something that, on the fax paper that you had been given at the front office, was called “Secretarial Studies”. You hated to think what that meant (surely, Barton wasn’t trying to prime you for being a secretary and nothing more), but mostly, it meant that your school day basically ended earlier than for others. 

You awoke early, showered and scrubbed yourself clean (the water pressure in the shower was better than the fourth floor apartment that you used to deal with), and you dressed yourself in what you hoped was becoming of a Barton girl. The dress had initially been purchased as an outfit for special chapel occasions, Christmas and Easter or whatever, but you knew that your regular jeans and wrinkled t-shirt wouldn’t be enough for your new shiny academy. 

Once again, as you entered the cafeteria for breakfast, you felt all eyes on you. You scanned the room for an empty seat (you didn’t fail to spot Angus Tully, sitting at the cornermost table, not conversing with everyone else) and sighed when you saw an open chair right next to Teddy Kountze. He spotted you and waved, and you made your way over. 

“Hey there,” Teddy said. “How was your first night?” 

“Fine,” you shrugged noncommittally. “Kinda quiet, though.” 

“Yeah, nobody else in the whole building,” Teddy sighed. “No roommates or anything; that must be nice.”

“Nah, not really,” you replied. “I got used to my mom and my sisters, and it was just too quiet. Not nearly enough chaos for me.” 

“How many sisters do you have?” A boy across the table from you asked. 

“Two,” you said. “Both older. And my mom lived with us too, so there was always something going on.”

“Shit, for sure,” the boy said. “Are you gonna join any clubs while you’re here? Or sports or something?” 

You didn’t exactly love the way that the boy said that. “While you’re here”. Like you weren’t going to stay at Barton for very long. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ve never really been a sporty type. I might see if the yearbook needs help or something.” 

“You could join chess club,” the boy laughed, and Teddy (and pretty much everyone else at the table) laughed too. 

“Why? What’s so funny about chess club?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” Teddy sighed as he finished laughing. “Except that Tully’s ugly mug is there.” 

“Tully?” you repeated. “Angus?” 

“Do you know him?” a different boy at the table asked. 

“No, not at all,” you said quickly. “Just… Heard some stuff about him, that’s all. How he’s apparently a douche.” 

“You’ll see,” Teddy assured you. “In class, try to challenge him on something. See how he reacts, and you’ll get why we all hate him.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the thought, but decided to not let it bother you. You made your way to class, hanging close behind Teddy and not really listening to him as much as you were admiring the school building. It was so… Old. So was your old school, but Barton was beautifully old, whereas Central was just old. Dark, shiny wood everywhere, framed oil paintings of people; it was a feat. You finally separated from Teddy when you reached the classroom for Precalc, and you hesitantly stepped in. A handful of guys were there, sitting on their desks and chatting, and the room fell dead as you stepped inside. You hazarded a small smile, and quickly made your way to the back of the room, your preferred spot in any classroom, but you were stopped in your tracks. 

Angus Tully. He sat in the back corner, close to the window, his tie loose and crooked around his neck. He was looking out the window, but his eyes slid over to you as you approached the desk beside him. 

“Hi,” you said gently. “Can I… Um, can I sit here?” 

Angus shrugged, as if he didn’t care, and you slung your bag across the back of the seat before you settled yourself down. You tapped your fingers on the desktop for a moment, wondering what the next course of action was, and you mumbled out, “I-I heard you were in chess club?” 

“Yeah,” Angus grunted out. “What about it?” 

“Oh, nothing,” you said, anxiously smoothing your skirt on your thigh. “Just, umm… I was wondering if there was, like… If you guys were open to new members.” 

“Probably,” Angus said simply. 

You nodded slowly, waiting for his next words, but they never came. “Right,” you said softly. “Okay.” 

To your disappointment, Angus Tully and you shared every class together, except for your free period and Home Ec. His demeanor never changed a single bit throughout the day, sullen and curt. He didn’t speak during class, didn’t answer questions or even seem as if he was paying attention. It was odd. You were thinking about it as you settled into a desk in the back of the Ancient Civ classroom, and you yourself were hardly paying attention to the teacher, a one Mr. Hunham, until he called your name. “Miss?” he said, and you lifted your cheek out of your hand. “Would you like to introduce yourself?” 

You blinked a few times, your face positively burning hot, and you cleared your throat. “I’m sure you all know my name by now,” you began. “Know that I went to a public school in Boston, got in here on a lottery and a scholarship… I guess there’s not much else to know about me.” 

“Have you ever studied ancient civilizations before, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. He seemed well-meaning, if maybe a little sarcastic. 

“No,” you told him. 

“Any experience with Latin?” Mr. Hunham asked next. 

You deflated. Shit. This was that sorta school? “No,” you said, a little quieter this time. 

“Well, that’s alright,” Mr. Hunham said. “We’ll catch you up to speed. Now, gentlemen— Ah, and lady— let’s open our books to the first chapter.” 

All during class, you felt hot tears pricking at your eyes. You were humiliated. All these words and names that everyone else seemed to know, and you had no fucking clue what any of it meant. It was all Greek to you— Latin, actually, but that didn't matter. As Mr. Hunham was mid-sentence about some sort of war, the bell to end the class sounded throughout the room, and you instantly closed your textbook and began to shove it into your bag. “Read the rest of the section tonight!” Mr. Hunham called over the sounds of your classmates packing up and chattering. “There will be a quiz on Friday!” 

You shouldered your bag and tried to avoid eyes as you skated out of the room, but a voice saying your name held you back. You hoped your eyes weren’t red as you turned to see Angus standing limply in the hallway. He had stayed quiet during Mr. Hunham’s class too, sitting again in the back corner, and you had managed to forget about him as you wallowed in shame. “Yeah?” you asked. 

Angus carefully walked closer to you, and he said, “The library has tutors sometimes. If you need help with Latin.” 

“Oh,” you said softly. “Thanks. I just… Didn’t know people still spoke that.” 

“Not really, it’s a dead language,” Angus said. “But it’s helpful sometimes in classes. A lot of Ivy League schools have Latin courses that are required.” 

“Well, thank God I’m not going to an Ivy League school,” you chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ll be lucky if community college takes me.” 

“You go to Barton, colleges will be fighting for you to go there,” Angus shrugged. 

“But I’m not somebody,” you protested. “I’m not a senator’s kid, my dad isn’t a CEO, like… I just go here.” 

“But the name is good enough for schools to want you,” Angus said. “They want the prestige, that’s all.” 

You thought on it for a moment, and you mumbled, “Thanks, Angus. I’ll, um… See you tomorrow.” 

The whole first week of classes progressed at a snail’s pace. Every day was torturous— all of your classes, except for Ancient Civ, were easy. Home Ec was a complete wash, since you already knew how to sew and cook, and Secretarial Studies was just as you had feared: teaching you to type, mostly, but nevertheless skills needed to do office work. You were a little offended; you were the only student in the class, which was helmed by the front office manager Ms. Crane. Obviously the boys didn’t have to take this class, so what was Barton trying to say? 

Finally, it was Friday night. Your dorm building was quiet again, and, even though they had provided a rec room with a radio and a few bookshelves, there wasn’t too much for you to do. You curled a loose thread from your sweater around your finger as you considered your next move, and you sighed as you grabbed your keys and shuffled into your shoes. 

You pushed your way into the boy’s dorm, and there was a palpable change in energy. The lights seemed brighter, the air thicker, sounds coming from all manner of places. Some doors were open, the residents standing and chatting, and you could distantly hear the sound of a television playing somewhere on the first floor. Much livelier, more lived in; you wished you could have been placed there instead. You followed the sound of the television down the hall, past the chatting boys, and you noticed how conversations paused as you passed by. You despised that. 

The door to the rec room was wide open, and you peeked in nervously. The television was playing some rerun of Gilligan’s Island, and boys were scattered to all corners of the room. Some played pool, some sat on the couches, some stood by the open window and smoked, but everything seemed to stop as you crossed the threshold. You made your way to an empty section of the couch and sat down, grinding your teeth as boys young and old watched you. You sighed, and you said, “What’s going on?”

The boy next to you, some kid that you knew was in your Bio class but didn’t know his name, frowned. “Huh?” he asked.

You jerked your head towards the television. “The show,” you said. “What’s happening?” 

“Oh,” the boy said, and everyone resumed their conversations. “Umm, don’t you have a TV in your dorm?” 

“Just a radio,” you said with a shake of your head. “What episode is this?” 

The boy shrugged. “Wasn’t really paying attention,” he said. 

You bunched your mouth up and sighed again, and you stood up. You could sense the disappointment as you left the rec room, but you couldn’t stand being in there any longer. You knew that being ogled at came with the territory of being the only girl at a boys’ school, but you couldn’t imagine it would have been anything like this. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your jeans and found a few errant coins in there, leftover from some excursion from God knows how long ago, and you started up to the second floor. In your building, there was a bank of phones on the second floor, and it made sense to you that this building would be the same. 

Luckily, you were right. There was just as much business on the second floor as on the first, but the little phone bank was a calm corner. You sighed and examined the phone for a moment, trying to find the slot to put your dime, and you frowned. What the fuck?

“Just dial nine, and then the number you wanna call.” 

You jumped in fright. “Jesus Christ!” you seethed, whipping around to see Angus. He sat in a shadow of the phone bank, a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. He looked a little more casual than he did in class, his tie gone and shirt unbuttoned one or two to show the top of his undershirt. Still looked a little Grim Reaper in the face, though. “You scared the shit outta me.” 

Angus huffed a short laugh through his nose. “Thought you saw me,” he said. 

“I did not,” you mumbled. “Where’s the coin slot?” 

“These aren’t payphones,” Angus told you. “Just dial nine for a non-school number, then dial away.” 

You drew in a deep breath and shoved your dime back in your pocket, and you picked up the phone and started to rotate the dial, starting with nine, then going for your family’s apartment number. You felt Angus’s gaze seering on your back, and you cradled the phone to your shoulder as it rang. ��Do you mind?” you asked. 

“Do I mind what?” Angus asked. 

“Scram, man,” you sighed. “I’m trying to call my mom, and I don’t want you listening to it.” 

“Well, you shouldn’t have come to a public phone if you wanted a private conversation,” Angus said, and you tilted your head at him in annoyance. “Doesn’t Blackwell have a phone bank?”

“Yeah,” you said. “But I didn’t wanna use it.” 

“So you came here instead,” Angus said. “I think you like the attention.” 

You swallowed thickly, anger tepid but starting to rise. “You don’t know me at all,” you bit at him. 

“Why’d you come to this building to make your call if you knew that every guy would stop to stare at your ass?” Angus asked. “You knew that. You’ve been here a week, you know by now that you attract attention. I think you like it, but you can’t admit it because you have that whole quiet mystery girl thing going on.”

“Fuck off, Tully,” you mumbled. “I’m not here to be some goddamn puzzle for you to solve. And I’m not gonna fuck you if you figure out my backstory, so just go away.”    

“Who said anything about fucking?” Angus asked smugly. 

You glared at him and that stupid crooked smirk on his face. “Stop staring at my ass first and we might get somewhere,” you told him lowly, just in time for the call to pick up. 

“Hello?” your mother said, and you sighed in relief. 

“Mom, thank God,” you laughed lightly. “You took so long to answer, I was worried nobody was there.”

“Oh, no, pumpkin, I’m here,” your mom told you. “I was just in the shower.”

“Is Rachel not home?” you asked. “Or Anna?” 

“Rach is at work,” your mom told you. “She picked up extra hours at Neiman Marcus. She thinks they might promote her to manager at the end of the year.”

“Oh, wow,” you mumbled. “Good for her. And Anna?” 

“Started taking night classes,” your mom said. “She started on Monday too.” 

“Cool,” you chuckled. “What’re you doing tonight? I think ABC is showing some sort of movie—”

“I’m going on a date,” your mom said, and your mouth went dry. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. “Like… With a guy?” 

“Yes,” your mom said carefully. “He’s nice, I met him at work. He’s taking me to a movie and dinner.” 

“That’s…” you started. “Cool, Mom. Good for you.”

“What about you?” your mom asked. “Surrounded by all those boys, there has to be someone who’s caught your eye.” 

You sighed. Your lip trembled, and you closed your eyes. You were acutely aware that Angus was still sat behind you, and the fact that you hadn’t heard his book turn in a few minutes meant that he was absolutely listening to your phone call, the little shit. “No, not really,” you said. “Everyone here is either too rich, too smart, or too… Asshole-ish. Some are even all three.” You made a point to turn your head towards Angus, and you heard his little huffing laugh before you turned back to the phone. 

“Oh, well,” your mom said. “Maybe you’ll find someone. How are classes?” 

“Fine, I guess,” you said. “I’m taking a class about ancient civilizations, and apparently I missed the class where they teach Latin, so I’m sorta lost. And Home Ec sucks because I already know how to do all that. And they’re making me take something about how to be a secretary, and that’s so infuriatingly sexist that it makes me angry.”

“It’s a bunch of men, in charge of a bunch of boys,” your mom sighed. “They’re trying their best to adapt to you.” 

“I can’t even take gym class because they don’t have a place for me to change clothes,” you lamented. “Not that I wanna take gym anyway, but you see why I’m upset!” 

“I know, pumpkin, it’s okay,” your mom said. 

“Why would they go coed if they can’t even integrate girls in properly?” you sighed. “I wish I had just stayed home and gone to Central. Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.” 

“You’ll be alright, you’re still just adjusting,” your mom assured you. “But… If, by Christmas, you still don’t feel like you belong there, I’ll pull you out and you can go back to Central. But I have to know by Thanksgiving, so I can start the paperwork in time for spring semester”

“Sure,” you said. “That sounds good to me.” 

“Alright, baby,” your mom said. “Richard will be here any minute, and I have to finish getting ready. I’ll be at work until 4 tomorrow, but call any time after, okay? I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you mumbled, and you held the plastic phone by your face as you listened to your mother hang up and the dial tone drone. After a moment, you hung the phone back up on the hook, and you readied yourself for Angus’s petty insults as you turned to leave the phone bank. But they never came. You eyed him, sitting there on the wooden bench, his dark eyes focused on yours, and you snapped, “What?” 

“Nothing,” Angus said lightly, sliding back into the darkened corner and picking up his book. “Nothing at all.” 

That was your weekly exercise. Week in and week out, all you did was classes. You wanted to avoid as many interactions with the others as possible, so you stayed quiet during class, kept to yourself, didn’t accept invites to parties or football games or to sit at lunch tables. You took to having lunch with Ms. Crane in the front office, and she seemed to commiserate with you about all the boys. “Some of these kids are real stinkers,” she told you. “But they’re teenage boys. I think it’s a law that they have to be.”

Your saving grace was the deal you had made with your mom. If you could just wait until Christmas break, you could go back to your old school, to your old friends, and you could forget about the hell that was Barton. You kept your grades up, so that Central could see that you hadn’t turned into some kind of slacker, and you consistently got B’s and A’s in your classes. Except for Ancient Civ. 

The exam booklet slapped down on your desk, a red F blazoned across the front. You sighed and started to thumb through it, trying to figure out where you went wrong as the other boys also realized their grades were low, and your heart sank when you saw all of the multiple choice questions without a flaw. So it was your essay question that led you astray. On the very last page of the booklet, you found your essay, handwritten yesterday on something about ancient philosophers, and a red note in Mr. Hunham’s handwriting. See me after class. 

You could hardly pay attention to the conversation between Teddy and Mr. Hunham. Your mind was racing, wondering what he wanted to talk to you about. You should have gotten a perfect score, but something held that back. Surely he didn’t think you had cheated? Or copied someone else’s work? You thought that you and Mr. Hunham got along (as well as any student can get along with their strict, hardass teacher) and your heart sank at the thought that you had definitely somehow disappointed him. 

“... Offer a makeup exam” got your head out of the clouds, and you focused on Mr. Hunham at his podium. “You’ll all get a second run at this after break.” The class muttered and mumbled, only to be cut through by Mr. Hunham’s next words: “Of course, it will not be the same exam. You will now be responsible for new material as well. Your grade will be an average of the two.” 

As Mr. Hunham instructed the class to open their books to a new chapter, you were shocked, along with everyone else, when Angus spoke. “No offense, sir,” he began, and you sucked in a breath. You had learned that, whenever any of the boys at Barton didn’t intend offense, that offense was certainly on its way. “But is this really the best time to be starting a new chapter? I mean, we all appreciate the, uh, makeup exam gesture… But our families are here.” 

You rolled your eyes. Speak for yourself, Tully. Your mom had to work that day, as did both of your sisters, and you gotten instruction to take a Greyhound into Boston and someone would meet you at the bus station to bring you home. It wasn’t exactly the best plan, but it was what worked. Your mom had arranged with Barton to let you back on campus during break to empty your dorm room, and you sighed a thing of relief. Almost done. You were so close to leaving Barton in your dust and washing your hands of the entire school. 

“Most teachers have already canceled class,” Angus continued. “We have chapel in forty minutes, then we’re out of here. I mean, our heads are elsewhere.” 

“And where exactly is your head, Mr. Tully?” Mr. Hunham asked, and Angus shrugged. 

“Uh, I don’t know. St. Kitts.” 

Jesus. Of course Angus Tully was going to fuckin’ St. Kitts for Christmas. You would be lucky if your family could afford to have the heat turned on for Christmas. 

Your annoyance turned to dire anger when Mr. Hunham decided to scrap the idea of a makeup exam and dismissed the class without another word. You hurried to shove your exam booklet in your bag, and you glared at Angus as you edged out of your row. “Thanks a lot, dick,” you mumbled, then left the room, not even waiting to see Angus’s response. Your heart raced as you tailed Mr. Hunham, and you finally called his name as he approached the door to his private office. 

“Ah, Miss,” Mr. Hunham chuckled. “Yes, yes, let’s sit down and discuss your exam.” 

“I-I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said hurriedly as he unlocked the office door. “I didn’t cheat or plagiarize, you didn’t even mark off any points. I don’t understand why I failed.” 

Mr. Hunham said nothing as he led you into his office, and you wrinkled your nose. God, it smelled bad in there. Nevertheless, you sat down in one of the chairs across from his desk, and you waited with bated breath as he sat down in his seat. He examined you for a moment, for long enough for you to start to feel weird under his walleyed gaze, and, finally, he said, “In actuality, Miss, you didn’t fail. You got the highest score in the class.” 

“B-But I got an F…” you protested. “Angus Tully got a B!”

“I wrote an F on your paper, but you actually got a 98,” Mr. Hunham told you. “Near-perfect score, I only took off in your essay question for misspelling ‘Periclean’.” 

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Then, why’d you write an F on my paper?” 

“Because I was disappointed in you,” Mr. Hunham said. You felt sick. Your skin was hot and your stomach roiled, and hot tears pricked at your eyes. “I heard from Ms. Crane that you were leaving Barton.” 

You nodded silently. 

“And why is that?” Mr. Hunham asked. 

You sighed. “I miss my old school,” you admitted with a thick throat. “My old friends. Nobody likes me here, and I… Just think I’d be better off back home. I’m not a Barton person.” 

“What is a Barton person to you, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. His hands were clasped at his chin, his bifocals in his fist. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. 

“Someone not me,” you said. “Rich… Smart… Important. All those guys are gonna go to good colleges, and I’m gonna be stuck waiting tables my whole life.”

“You are smart, Miss,” Mr. Hunham told you. “You passed all your classes with flying colors, you made Latin look like a piece of cake. If you wanted to, you could go to any college in the country. Or the world!”

“I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for that stupid lottery,” you mumbled. “I don’t belong here, sir, we both know that.” 

Mr. Hunham fixed his mouth in a thin line and sighed, and he said, “Of course. Well, I do hate to see you go. Your essay on the siege of Troy was… Very good.” 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “Umm, have a nice Christmas, I guess… See you around.” 

Chapel that day felt exactly the opposite to your first chapel at Barton. The dread that had filled the air at the beginning of the semester had now changed to an excitement about going back home, and, even though you still felt like everybody was staring at you, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were done. You had made it. After you moved during break, you’d never have to lay an eye on Barton or any of those boys ever again. You had to admit that you were going to miss Ms. Crane, and maybe even Mr. Hunham too, but the positives far outweighed the negatives. 

After chapel let out, you hurried back to Blackwell Hall and grabbed your suitcase and changed out of your nice dress, and you made your way to the front of campus, where a Greyhound bus sat, waiting to take kids into the city. You stepped on board, taking a seat towards the back of the bus, and you looked out the window at one last gaze at Barton Academy. Although, you couldn’t admire the architecture or the pretty way the snow glistened in the midday sun. No, you could only see the tall, lanky, dark-haired kid standing on the steps of the chapel, waiting for someone. 

Even though you despised Angus Tully and didn’t really care if he lived or died, it was a sad sight to see him waiting like that. He looked so dismayed and forlorn, his suitcase at his feet, his hands in the pockets of his winter jacket. Maybe in another world, you and Angus could have been friends. Your mind wandered, thinking of meeting Angus somewhere else— your mind conjured the image of a bookstore, reaching for the same book and having a little back and forth on who should have it, before Angus acquiesced, but not before writing his phone number in the book. 

The rumble of the bus nearly lulled you asleep on the two and a half hour drive to Boston, and you roused yourself as the bus pulled into the station. Gathering your things, you departed, along with a handful of other Barton boys. They quickly found their families that were waiting on them, and you wandered through the station. Your mother hadn’t indicated who would be picking you up, or where in the station to meet them, and you made your way to a payphone. You were sure she was at work, but you wondered if you could call the restaurant and ask for her. Before you could put your dime in the phone, though, you heard your name being called, and you looked to see an older man smiling at you from across the room. 

Fear flashed hot in your face, but you kept your composure as the man approached you. “Hey, you look just like how your mom described you,” he laughed. “I’m Rich.” 

“Who?” you asked. 

“Rich,” he repeated. “I’ve been seeing your mother for a few months. She’s working the afternoon shift, and your sisters are both busy, so your mom asked me to get you.” 

“Oh,” you nodded. “Right, yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You seem tired,” Rich told you. “Long day?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you chuckled. “I’m just glad to be done with Barton, that place can go to hell.” 

“I thought Barton was a boys’ school,” Rich mumbled. 

“It’s a long story,” you sighed. “But whatever, that’s in my rearview now.” 

“Alright,” Rich said. He seemed confused, but he took up your suitcase for you. “We already put fresh sheets on the pullout, so when we get back, you can take a nap if you want—”

“The pullout?” you repeated. “Am I not sleeping in my room?” 

Rich winced. “Ah, well,” he began. “You see, my daughter is sleeping there, and—”

“Your—” you started. “Why is she in my room?” 

“The bed was vacant,” Rich shrugged. “She’s lived there for a few months now.”

“And why is your daughter living with my mom?” you asked. “Do you… Did you move in?” 

“Well, when your mother and I got married, we figured it was the logical thing to do.” 

Your heart nearly stopped. Married. Your mother had gotten married, and hadn’t told you a single thing about it. No wedding invite, no pictures, not even a ‘hey, Rich and I are getting hitched!’ You felt sick and lightheaded, and you tried to take a steadying breath. It just sounded all shaky and unsure, though, and it made you feel even worse. “I, uh…” you began. “I…” 

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Rich asked, and the camel’s back broke. Nobody can call you that but your mom. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you asked. “Rolling in here, doing all this bullshit, and for what? Are you trying to prove something? Win an award or what? Let’s see how quickly we can marry the single mom, that’ll go down great with her three adult children!” 

“Rachel and Anna said they were okay with it,” Rich said. 

“But you didn’t ask me!” you cried. “God, this is exactly what she wanted, huh, throw me in a boarding school and forget all about me? Fuck this, I don’t need this.” You snatched your bag from Rich and turned on your heel quickly, and you didn’t even hesitate when Rich called “Where are you going?” 

“Anywhere but here!” 

You begged and pleaded with the Greyhound driver to take you back to Barton. He said that he had to stick to a schedule and was really sorry, but he changed his tune when you dug into your bag and grabbed your pocketbook, pulling out a few 20s. You didn’t have a lot of money in the first place, and watching those bills go in his pocket hurt, but, in the end, you got back to Barton just as the sun was starting to set. You knew that whoever was staying over break would be shocked to see you (maybe even elated, depending on who it was), but you didn‘t care about reactions. You just didn’t want to think at that moment. 

You followed the low din of boyish muttering to the cafeteria, and you steeled your nerves for entering. You could discern only two voices, maybe a third if you listened through the thick door hard enough, and you quickly pushed on the metal handle in the middle of the door to slam the door open. 

Heads whipped towards you. You didn’t recognize a lot of them— some younger kids, and a guy that was on the football team and was a senior— and your heart sank into your stomach when you saw Teddy Kountze sitting at the dinner table. So you would be spending Christmas break with Teddy. Great. 

But the bad feeling got worse when you saw who was sitting one seat down from Teddy. Angus fucking Tully. He stared at you with no joy or humor in his eyes, and you huffed out a breath. 

“Miss?” Your gaze went to the head of the table, and a little bit of relief washed over you as you saw the face of Mr. Hunham. Was he supervising the holdovers? “What’re you…?” 

“Got room for one more?” you mumbled, approaching the table and securing the seat between Teddy and Angus. You instantly reached for the serving dishes, wanting anything to occupy your shaking hands, and you slowed to a stop as you noticed the whole table staring at you; even Angus wasn’t trying to hide it, his black eyes as big as dinner plates. “What?” you barked, and the energy resumed at the table in a snap. 

Dinner was finished soon after, and Mr. Hunham pulled you into the hall as the boys were cleaning up. “I thought you were going home to Boston for the holiday?” he asked gently. 

“I can’t…” you started. “It seems like I don’t even have a place in my own family.” 

“What do you mean?” Mr. Hunham asked. 

“My mom got married without telling me,” you told him. “And the guy and his daughter moved into our apartment, which could barely fit me and my mom and sisters in the first place, and now they’re there, a-and she’s in my room! That fucking bitch is in my room, and I-I—” 

“Easy, easy,” Mr. Hunham said, putting his hand out to placate you. “Calm down. Listen, I understand that this is hard, it’s awful, but resorting to that is not what’s going to help you. We’ll find a place here for you tonight, and tomorrow we can call your mother and try to get this straightened out.” 

“Can I not go to my dorm?” you asked. 

“The school shut off heating and plumbing everywhere except the main building,” Mr. Hunham explained. “We’re sleeping in the infirmary.” 

“Jesus Christ,” you huffed. You were so angry that you could kick something. “So now I gotta bunk up with them?” 

“It’s definitely not ideal,” Mr. Hunham mumbled. “But it’s just for one night. We can put up a partition, if that would make you more comfortable.” 

“Fuck it, whatever,” you sighed. Your eyes hurt, and a headache was starting to throb at your skull, and you said, “I don’t care.” 

The boys were split into two rooms, the youngers (and Angus) in one, and Teddy and Jason in the other. The only other empty bed was in Teddy and Jason’s room, and you were quick to settle in and start off for the bathroom. Just as you were leaving, though, a beanpole in a white shirt and flannel pajama pants stopped you in the doorway. 

“Hey,” Angus said curtly. “Where’re you going?” 

“Shower,” you told him. “Brush my teeth, stuff like that.” 

“Why did you come back?” Angus asked. “A little birdy told me that you were quitting Barton.” 

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him everything, but you were worried about the leverage he’d have if he knew. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” 

“Nah, I think it is,” Angus said with narrowed eyes. “We know why everybody is holding over. His parents are on a mission trip, his family is in Korea, Kountze The Cunt’s having his house remodeled, and Jason’s dad is waiting for him to cut his hair. Why’re you here?”

“Why’re you here, Angus?” you asked. “I thought you were going to St. Barts or St. Kitts or something.” 

“Obviously not,” Angus said quickly. 

“Then, I’m obviously not quitting Barton,” you said, and instantly regretted it. “I might be… Haven’t decided yet.” 

“What, don’t you like it here?” Angus asked. “Isn’t it a glorious beacon of education and brotherhood—” He stopped himself, dramatically clenching his fist in front of his face. “Oh, that’s right. Brotherhood.” 

“Shut up,” you huffed. 

“C’mon, man, leave her alone,” you heard Jason start from the room behind you, but Angus either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“You left, and then came back,” Angus said. “What’s wrong? Mommy decided she didn’t want you anymore?” 

You couldn’t help yourself from letting your tears spill over your lashes, and you clenched your teeth. Angus held your eye contact for longer than you thought he would, and he only averted his eyes when your tears gathered at the corner of your mouth. You drew in a shaking breath, aware that everybody was staring at you, watching you cry, and you sniffled and left the room without another word. The showers were empty, and you jerked the handle to start the water, then locked the door to the room. 

Your tears flowed freely then, and you sat on the tile floor and sobbed into your hands. You hoped that Angus could hear you crying from down the hall, and you hoped that he felt bad about his words. Knowing him, though, he had forgotten about you as soon as you left his eyeline. 

By the time you finished your crying and your shower, the lights were off in both the rooms, a soft snoring coming from Teddy and Jason’s (and your) room. Your pajamas didn’t feel like they were enough for the cold in the infirmary, and you edged by the snoring Teddy in his bed to get to yours. The sheets were crinkly and dry and rough, and you bundled the wool blanket up to your chin as you tried to sleep. 

That was destroyed, though, when you heard a “Psst!” come from the doorway. 

You sighed. “Fuck off, Angus,” you mumbled sleepily. 

“Just— Can I—?” Angus huffed. “I’m trying to apologize to you.” 

“I don’t want your fuckin’ apology,” you said. “Just leave me alone.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” Angus whispered. “I was… Out of line. Or projecting or something, I don’t know. My mom and stepdad went to St. Kitts, but uninvited me so they could celebrate their honeymoon. I guess I’m just familiar with how it feels to not be wanted.” 

You sighed and rolled over to face the doorway, and you settled yourself up on your elbows. “Can you just…” you started. “Think before you speak? I know it doesn’t really seem to matter to you, but sometimes, words hurt. Like, really hurt.” 

“I know,” Angus mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“You really have to work on not being a huge asshole,” you told him. “You know, nobody here likes you. They all call you names and shit.” 

“I know,” Angus said. “I don’t care. But you’ve gotta try to not be so judgmental. I think you write off everyone here because we’re from different tax brackets. Some of us don’t have it easy.” 

You pressed your lips together. “Fair enough,” you said finally. “I’ll, um… Keep that in mind.” 

“Alright,” Angus said. “Good night, then.”

“‘Night,” you said, and you watched Angus stalk out of the doorway and back to his room. You sat for a few moments more, thinking about how easily Angus had read your thoughts, and you wondered if the other boys could see right through you as easily. You were almost humiliated all over again at the thought that everyone could read you like that, but it didn’t matter. When the morning came, you’d call your mother and work out whatever the problem was, and you would be home in Boston by the next night. 

It didn’t work out that way. You called your mother twice in the morning; the first time, she didn’t pick up the phone, and the second, she would hardly talk to you. “Mom, I just wanna know what happened,” you pleaded. “Why didn’t you tell me? I-I would’ve been supportive!”

“Would you?” your mother asked. 

“Yes!” you sighed. “I wouldn’t have been happy, but I would’ve accepted it if you were happy!” 

“Then, why can’t you accept it now?” she asked. 

“Because you didn’t tell me!” you replied. “You didn’t ask me how I felt about it, if I wanted it to happen, if I even like the guy—  I hadn’t even met him once before you did it!” You paused, chewing your lip, and you said, “Mom. Tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?” 

“No, pumpkin, I’m not,” she sighed, but you could tell she was nearing her wit’s end. 

“Is that why you hurried to marry him?” you asked. “I-I’m telling you, I don’t care that you got married, I’m just upset because you didn’t tell me!” 

“Okay, stop,” your mom said firmly. “I thought you’d be happy for me, baby.” 

Anger flared in your stomach. “Dad hasn’t even been gone for a full year yet,” you mumbled. “And you’re already replacing him.” 

“We all mourn differently, pumpkin,” she said. “I’m sorry that you can’t see that Rich makes me happy. I... I don’t feel lonely with him.”

“Well,” you sighed. “If this is how you mourn Dad, I don’t think I wanna come home. I think I’ll stay at Barton.” 

“Where are you gonna go after the holiday ends?” your mom asked. 

“Staying here,” you said plainly. “I can personally go up to Central and withdraw my paperwork over break. If you want to erase me and my father from your life so bad, then you’ve got your fuckin’ wish.” You slammed the phone back on the receiver with shaking hands, and you turned to leave the front office, only to run straight into— 

“Fuck off, Angus,” you sniffled, side-stepping him and starting down the hall, back to the infirmary. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Angus said quickly, snatching your wrist in his hand and tugging you back. “What happened? Are you going home?”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m staying here. I never wanna see any of them again.” 

“You said something about your dad…” Angus mumbled. “Is that true? Your dad’s dead?” 

You wiped at your eyes, and your chest went hot. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumbled. 

Angus sighed, and, for once, he did something nice for you. He pulled you into an embrace, not too tight but not so loose that it felt like he didn’t care, and you pressed your cheek into his shoulder. “My dad’s dead too,” Angus whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it, but… I sorta get it.” 

You sniffled again, and you finally let your arms wrap around Angus’s thin body. You sat in silence for a moment, hugging each other, and you only parted when you heard a small scuttle from down the hall, near the infirmary door. Your head turned to see the youngest kid, Alex, standing, watching you two, and you stepped away from Angus and wiped your face. “Guess I’m staying,” you mumbled. 

“Guess so,” Angus echoed. 

The days were monotonous. Hunham would wake you up when the sun rose with a declaration of “It’s daylight in the swamp!”, and you would go through the routine of studying, then exercise, then more studying, then a little bit of free time. In the absence of gym class for months, the exercising was a little difficult, and you were left exhausted and panting every time, and you felt awkward with the guys around. However, after that brief moment with Angus, he had started to be… Better. He was still a dick most times, but he would do little things for you now; pass you the lunch dishes instead of sliding them in your direction, offer to sharpen your pencil during study time. It seemed that finding a similarity had broken his shell for you a bit, and you appreciated it. 

You had taken to helping the cook with meals. Mary Lamb was a good woman that you had minimally interacted with (she had come and given a lesson in Home Ec about cooking, which really nobody paid attention to, but you had made a point to), and you felt a special kinship with her because of her Curtis. She was the only one you told the truth about your father to, and you knew that Mary wouldn’t say anything to the others about it. She seemed as if she appreciated the help in the kitchen, especially from someone who was competent there like you were. You liked talking to Mary, hearing her stories and letting her hear yours. 

Just as you were starting to think that maybe break wouldn’t be all that terrible, less than a week into it, things changed. You shivered in the cold library, despite your sweater, and you tried to focus on the textbook in front of you, but it was nearly impossible. Angus was sitting next to you, and, every so often, his hand would inch out and he would doodle a little figure in the corner of your notebook. You rolled your eyes jokingly at him, trying not to laugh so Hunham wouldn’t fuss at you, and you shifted in your seat a bit to reach Angus’s notebook. You began to crudely sketch him, big dark eyes and messy hair, and he stifled a snort. Mean, he wrote underneath your sketch. 

Accurate, you countered. 

Before either of you could write anything else, there came an odd sound from outside. It was quiet at first, but it grew louder and louder, and you looked upwards, as if the ceiling of the library would allow for any sort of view of what the noise was. It was a loud chopping noise, growing ever louder and louder, drawing the attention of all of you, and even Hunham closed his book and said “What the hell is that?” 

But, from across the table, a smile grew on Jason’s face, a knowing grin, and, all at once, everybody stood from their seats and went to the window. You couldn’t see as well as the others, being shorter than everyone else, but Angus put a gentle hand on your side and pushed you in front of him, letting you get closer to the window. His hand, positioned just above your hip on your torso, made a shiver run down your spine, but you attributed it to the sight of a goddamn helicopter buzzing overhead, lowering itself onto the snowy, abandoned football field. “I knew it!” Jason exclaimed. “He finally caved, the big softie!” 

“What the fuck is that?” you asked quickly. 

“Jason’s dad owns a helicopter,” Angus explained under his breath as Jason pushed away from the window with excitement. 

“Any of you guys like to ski?” Jason called as he left the library, and the younger boys gasped with excitement. You all caught onto the idea at the same time, and the boys filed out, following Jason, but you stayed still at the window, watching the helicopter’s blades slow to a stop. 

“Miss?” Hunham asked, and you closed your eyes. “Aren’t you going with them?”

You shrugged, hoping to seem less hurt than you actually were. “I can’t,” you said. “I don’t have any skiing gear or whatever, I’ve never even done it before… And anyway, I’m not about to call my mom to ask for permission to do that.” 

You sat in the hallway outside the office as Hunham called all of the boys’ parents, being granted permission for the excursion, listening as each boy reacted with glee. It felt like a sick joke; of course you were left all alone again. Before you could ruminate on it for too long, the beanpole came and sat himself next to you, quiet as he scratched absently at his chin. 

“Want me to get you anything from up there?” Angus asked. “Fridge magnet or postcard or…?” 

You shook your head. “No,” you managed with a heavy, thick throat. “Thanks, though.” 

Angus sighed, his eyebrows furrowing together as his jaw tightened, and he tilted his head towards you. His dark eyes looked soft, kinder than you had ever seen from him or thought was capable, and he said, “Sorry.” 

You couldn’t help yourself. Your tears spilled and you clawed your fingernails into your palm, trying to stop from sobbing and heaving, and Angus moved closer to you, until his hip touched yours. He slung a skinny arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his body, his hand gently pressing into your head and ushering you to hide in his neck. He shushed you, whispering “If Hunham sees you crying, he’ll think I did it”, which did nothing other than make you laugh a little and sniffle hard. 

You quickly parted from Angus’s warmth, wiping your eyes with your hand and seeing your mascara smear on the back of your hand. “Gonna go to the bathroom…” you mumbled, and Angus nodded, keeping his seat as you stood up and hurried down the hall. The women’s bathroom next to the office was hardly used, only ever you, Ms. Crane, and the lone visitor using it, and you clutched the porcelain sink as you gasped for breath. Jesus Christ. Would anything ever go your way? Being stuck at Barton over the holidays with the other boys sucked, sure, but now you were all alone with Hunham and Mary. Alone again. You wondered if you’d always be alone. 

You ripped off a paper towel and dabbed at your eyes, trying to fix your makeup, and you pressed cold water to your face to try to calm yourself down. Fuck everything about this. It was unfair. Maybe Hunham would take it easy on you, loosen the reins a little. You trashed the paper towels and adjusted your sweater, trying to seem put-together, and you stepped out of the bathroom to see Hunham and Angus standing outside the office, embroiled in an intense conversation. “... Just one more time, please,” you heard Angus say, and Hunham put his hand up. 

“There’s no point,” Hunham said. “The front desk says they’re not answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”

You started closer, and you watched Angus’s face fall, his eyes narrowing. He mumbled something under his breath, and Hunham harrumphed. “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so,” he said. “I could’ve been spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.” 

“Angus?” you said, and he slid his eyes over to you. “Are you… What’s happening?” 

Angus shot Hunham a deathly look, and he side-stepped your teacher, brushing past you, his arm knocking your shoulder. You locked eyes with Hunham, then quickly turned and started off after Angus. His long legs had carried him down the hall quicker than you were capable of, and you sped up a bit. “Angus!” you called for him, and you finally came up on him at the door to the infirmary, taking his arm in your hand. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m staying here,” he said bitingly. “Mom and Stanley aren’t answering their phone.” 

On some level, you were glad Angus was staying. At least it wouldn’t be just you there. And you were glad it was Angus, as opposed to Teddy or someone else. “Oh,” you managed. “Well, umm…” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Angus said flatly. He leaned up against the doorway to the infirmary, listening to the other boys packing up, and he added, “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t say anything.” 

You sighed, flicking your eyebrows. “Got it,” you mumbled. Your eyes lifted from the floor to see Ye-Joon, bag in hand, and he softly bid Angus a happy holidays, giving you a curt smile as he edged out of the infirmary. Jason lightly touched Angus’s arm as he told him to take care, doing the same to you before he departed, and you made eye contact with Teddy as he shouldered his bag. He didn’t have his sights set on you, though; he spoke to Angus. 

“I guess that just leaves you and the chick, huh?” Teddy asked. “Be sure to do all your homework— and no funny stuff while we’re gone.” 

If you could have swung a punch at Teddy, you would have. All the boys at Barton were the exact fucking same— Secretarial Studies, sex jokes, it was never-ending and never-changing. You watched Angus’s neck go flushed, and Teddy added, “Oh, almost forgot! I found that picture you were looking for.” Quickly, he stuck a square Polaroid in Angus’s shirt pocket, and a smile crossed Teddy’s face. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Tully. You too, Miss. See you after break.” He winked at you, making your skin crawl, and he departed the room with a chuckle as Angus snatched the picture from his pocket. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see what it was, only the back that read HAPPY HOLIDAYS, but Angus’s mouth screwed up at it, and he flicked it down onto the ground. Your eyes followed it, and you saw a portrait of a family, a mom and dad and a boy, and you recognized the dark eyes and sunken features of the boy. But, in a blank space of the picture, in Teddy’s handwriting, an arrow pointed to the boy and declared “Fuckwad”. 

The cold was biting, even through your coat, as you stood on the football field and watched the boys load into the Smith’s helicopter. Your hands were deep in your pockets as you stared into space, wondering if it could get any worse. As the helicopter took off, the wind blew your hair back, and you watched as it rose, up, up, and away. A heavy energy fell over you three, and your teacher let out a heavy sigh. “Well, let’s make the best of it,” Hunham said, flat but trying to put fake life into his words. The look in Angus’s eyes was harsh enough to kill, and Hunham averted his gaze from him over to you, his two little wards, the holdovers. “Shall we?”

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers

[supriyakkkk]

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[adickaboutspoons]

When a Steard is not a Beard

I want to talk about the significance of Stede's beard in the opening dream sequence of s2e1, and how we know from Lucius in the first season that "not every beard is a beard". Of course SOME beards are just beards - most of the Revenge and QA crew sport face fuzz of some sort or another, and it's just How They Look. But, narratively speaking, when attention is called to facial hair in this show, it's all about deception and hiding one's true self.

We have Blackbeard, who has built his brand around his eponymous facial fur, but feels stifled by the way the success of said brand has left him bored out of his skull, and frustrated by the way his reputation has been co-opted and twisted into something inhuman. (And by poor Taika's accounts, the beard itself was literally stifling; unbearably hot to wear, and how he could hardly move the bottom half of his face lest the glue start peeling off). It's only when Ed shaves it off at the academy that he's able to start really approaching the question of what it means to be Just Ed. And, of course, we have the way he smeared kohl across his mouth and jaw in a frightful simulacrum of a beard as part of his Kraken transformation at the end of season 1.

We have Jim, who uses a fake beard to conceal their identity while on the run after having killed Alfeo de la Vaca. Only once that beard is discarded are they able to really think about who they are and how that doesn't fit in the narrow parameters of a gender binary. We see them go back into the beard when they re-commit themself to the vengeance quest, posing as a bearded priest in order to capture Geraldo, but, again divested of the beard, Jim is able to consider whether completing the vengeance quest and allowing their life to be consumed with a family that is dead and gone is something they want, or if they might be happier committing themself to a different path, and finding a family that will give them the love and support their own no longer can. And then, of course, the way Jim paints on a simulacrum beard when they are forced into a life of violence as part of Kraken!Ed’s crew.

We have Heartbroken Voyeur Stede’s comment about how Calico Jack had nice hair, but “his moustache is weird.” Shortly after, we learn that CJ has been a duplicitous, manipulative asshole the entire time, his only goal to lure Ed away from the Revenge before the British came to kill Stede.

So what does it say that Stede is dreaming about himself with a full beard? To have Dream!Ed specifically comment on it? Because they’re calling attention to it, so, hey, hi, how are you? You have my attention!

I think it’s not JUST that Stede is casting himself in the role of the dashing hero with all the trappings thereof, indulging in a fantasy about a joyous, romantic reunion with his beloved. Because this fantasy has some MUCH darker connotations than the sun-drenched beach would suggest. This Dashing Hero™ persona isn’t Stede’s idealized self. It’s the culmination of all his insecurities about not being the kind of person who is worthy of the attention and love of someone as impossibly cool as Blackbeard.

(Incidentally, I think it significant that Ed, in the dream, ALSO has his full beard. This more than anything is what clues me into the fact that Stede is still trying to measure up to the Legendary Pirate Blackbeard - not Just Ed with his soft, beautiful clean-shaven face, nor even a more realistic version with a beard that’s coming in quite nicely, but isn’t anywhere near the epic proportions that it once was, as we see with the scenes of real Kraken!Ed)

We learn later in the episode that Stede has been dragging his feet about setting out to reunite with Ed in spite of the all the money he and the crew have managed to scrape together working for Jackie, and the true reason behind his reticence is that he is still genuinely convinced that Ed is better off and happier without him. Even when reunited with Lucius in episode 2 and Lucius suggests that Ed’s time with Stede was “as good as it’s going to get for [Ed]”, Stede’s response is that he’s “not ready to believe that.” Stede really just is incapable of conceptualizing a reality in which Just Stede could ever be enough.

(And don’t get me started on Lucius’ beard! Lucius who was the emotional intelligence of the crew in the first season, and is now a guarded, brittle, traumatized shell of who he was. He’s 100% for sure not hiding behind a façade of butched-up toughness. Nope. Not. At. All.)

So in Stede's dreams, he’s the epitome of the kind of guy that WOULD be good enough. The kind of guy who has a beard and wears leather pants (hello queer urge to become the person that you sexually desire, how are you?). The kind of guy with neat, tidy, barely even wavy hair instead of perfectly coifed cherub curls. The kind of guy who, if he wears a fine fabric at all, it’s wrapped around his waist where it can be mostly concealed by a thick, macho belt, and trailing in front of his crotch like a fabric phallus (and, say, if Ed feels like touching it, maybe there’s something else in the vicinity that he might also be interested in touching?). The kind of guy who is tough and competent and can kill without remorse or pity.

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2e1 #ofmd s2e2 #ofmd #our flag means death #my modest contribution to fandom

[arc-misadventures]

Jaune FMK: Ren, Sun, and Neptune. No! Not the dudes! The R63 versions! Cardin gets the dudes version.

God dammit… I have a brilliant, idea for this one, now I have to do it…

Context before we begin! Jaune is in his, Atlas design, and the, Fall never happened.

Let’s begin!

Jaune: MFK VIII

Jaune was sitting at a bench near the back of, Beacon Academy reading a book before a voice pried him away from his reading.

: Hey, Jaune. Mind if I join you?

Jaune looked up to stare into the sift pink eyes of his teammate Lie Rin. He smiled as he took in her beauty, her long flowing raven black hair, and her oriental dress. He nodded to his head as he gestured to the open space on the bench.

Jaune: By all means.

Rin: Thank you, Jaune.

Jaune had expected, Rin to take the seat across from him so he was surprised when she took the seat besides him, even more so when he registered how close she was next to him.

Jaune: Uhh… You need something, Rin?

Rin: Well, we just wanted to ask you something.

Jaune: We? Who’s we?

: She means us, handsome~!

Jaune looked over to see two ladies walking over towards him. He saw a girl with cyan hair stylized in a punk cut, with long bangs draped across her face. She wore a red shirt, overtop a white dress shirt that struggled to contain her sizeable bust with it. All the while she shot him a cocky smirk as she drew near.

Walking besides her, he saw a girl with a short, and wild haircut, she wore a loose dress shirt that proudly displayed her well defined abs, a result of her drive to perfect her body. With nothing, but a grey sports bra to hide her sizeable chest.

This appeared the leader of, Team SSSN, and her teammate, Sun Wukong, and Neptunia Vasilias.

Jaune: Hello ladies, you need something?

Nep: Yeah, we wanted to ask you something.

Jaune: Oh, and what is that?

Sun: Between the three of us, who would you, MFK?

Jaune stared at the pair dumbstruck as the pair sat down across of him, each of them shooting the befuddled knight a coy, and teasing smile.

Jaune: Uhh… W-Why are you asking me this?

Nep: Oh, just curious is all.

Sun: Yeah, just curious.

Jaune stared at the pair with a quirked eyebrow, visually displaying towards the pair how much he doubted the validity of there words. He turned to address his teammate hoping to gain a real answer from her.

Jaune: Are they serious?

Rin: Yes, yes they are.

Jaune: Okay… But, why are you doing this, Rin. I mean, I expect these two to want to know something like that, but you, Rin. That don’t add up.

Rin: I’m just curious what a man sees in a girl like me, like would he actually be interested in dating me?

Jaune felt as if he had fallen into a trap, that he had fallen into the midst of field filled to the brim with landmines, and that any wrong step he took he would set one off. He needed a defusal kit to deactivate these mines lest he go up with the mines. And, he was dealing with a minefield laid out by a trio of woman asking some very pointe questions.

Stepping on the landmine would be the least of his worries.

Jaune: O-Okay… Let me think… Mmm… Marry, Rin, fuck, Sun, and, kill, Nep. Or… kill, Sun and, fuck, Nep. Your interchangeable in this situation really. There, happy?

Neptunia, and Sun, stared at him with their mouths hung wide, at the shear blunt, and casualness he said that. While, Rin turned away with her hands over her face as a fierce blush spread across her face. Jaune just stared at the duo before he helplessly said:

Jaune: What?

Nep: You just said it?!

Jaune: Yeah, because you asked me to.

Sun: No, what she means is you basically spent no time thinking about it, you just said it. You didn’t even need to think about it?!

Jaune: No, I thought about it, there just wasn’t that much to think about.

Sun: Okay then, what did you think about that decided these pairings.

Nep: And, why are we interchangeable in the fuck, kill department?!

Jaune: Well, that’s easy; You’re, Miranda, Sun is, Liara, and Rin is, Tali.

The trio of girls stared at him like he was mad, mad that he based his decision after three characters from a video game that you could romance. Or, that he thought they fitted these three characters.

Nep: Okay, where the hell do you get the idea that we’re those three girls?!

Sun: Yeah! And, why am I, Liara?

Rin: I’m a little curious as well.

Jaune: Well, since this is such a simple thing, I thought of you as who I would romance in the game, and well you three fit those roles best. Mostly

Sun: And, we are that way because?

Jaune: Well… honestly, Sun the other girls don’t really fit you. Liara was the only other character I could tie you to since those three were the only girls I really romanced in the game. Blake could possibly fit her character better. Unless you have mother issues you haven’t told anyone about.

Sun: Is that it?

Jaune: Well, you are sexier than her, so we can’t use that.

Sun: I’m sexier than her~? And, why is that?

Jaune: Abs. You have abs for days little lady.

Sun pulled open her shirt, allowing, Jaune to see a clean view of, Suns tantalizing abs on full display. His eyes trailed her hand as it traveled down her body showing off every rise, and fall across chiseled abs.

Jaune would die before he’d admit he drooled just a bit. He was already dealing with hell from, Nora when he caught her drooling in desire at, Pyrrha’s well defined chiseled body.

Nep: And, why am I, Miranda? She’s an absolute bitch!

Jaune: Aye, but you are as hot as her.

Nep: Oh am I now~?

Jaune: You’re dressed in tight clothing that shows off your body just like she does. You have enticing eyes, and a cocky smile just like her. And, Miranda is best known for two things; A bitch, and that scene in the engine room. And, well…

Nep: You’ve fantasied about me doing just that haven’t you? Me pushing you down, sitting on your waist, pulling down my coat, and revealing the lacy bra I’m wearing as you take me there on the spot.

Jaune looked away nervously, he didn’t want to answer her, unfortunately him looking away from her with a faint blush across his face was answer enough.

The duos soft laughter was something he could do without.

Nep: Oh, you naughty boy~! If your up for it I’m all too willing to make your dream a reality~!

Jaune: N-Noted…

Jaune brushed away the growing blush across his face from the girls rather suggestive teasing. But, he was pulled back into it as he felt a soft tugging on his sleeve. He looked down to see, Rin looking away from him, hiding the faint blush across her face as she simply asked him her question.

Rin: J-Jaune… Why would you marry…?! W-Why am I, Tali?!

Jaune decided to spare, Rin any further embarrassment, but he made a mental note to address what she actually wanted to know. He wasn’t as dense as he was before, he could catch on to the hidden details now. At least he hoped he could.

Jaune: W-Well… Tali is my favourite character to romance. She’s one of the few characters that stands by your side throughout the series. She may leave your side every now, and then, but she does it to help her people. And, they’ve written her in such a way that you can’t help, but want to help her, and her people. She kind, cute, and endearing, when she loses her father you can’t help but give her a comforting hug to reassure her. How she reacts, being all flustered when you start flirting with her is so endearing I can’t help, but fall for her. Except for her singing that’s… that’s cringe.

Sun: It is cringe, but Tali’s no where near as sexy as, Liara is.

Nep: Or, Miranda for that matter.

Jaune: True, but I prefer her personality more so than her looks. Beauty fades in time, personality overcomes death. Not to mention her goodbye line at the evac is the best there is, hands down!

Sun: Pff! And, what makes you say that?

Jaune: Everyone else’s goodbyes are mostly, ‘I love you,’ said in some colourful way. But, Tali’s is unique, she’s pleading with you not to go, she knows she can’t stop you, you are her home, and she doesn’t want to lose you. Talk about pulling at the heart strings, I love that scene!

Nep: But, what about…?

Rin: J-Jaune…!

The trio were about to argue more, but stopped when a flustered, Rin dragged away, Jaune’s attention to her as she nervously tugged on his sleeve again.

Jaune: What is it, Rin?

Rin: “I-I have a home…”

Jaune: …?!

Rin: “Come back to me…”

A million thoughts were running like lightning through his mind that, Jaune thought his mind was going to short circuit. Was, Rin just just saying that to tease him? But, she sounded so sincere as she said it. What does she mean when she said this? Does she see, Jaune like family? His mother loves her her like another daughter, and she in turn sees her like the mother she lost. And, he see her as another one of his sisters… Wait, no, no he didn’t see her as that. Jaune’s not really sure how he sees, Rin; as a friend yes, but does she see him as potentially more than just friends, and if so, does he want them to become more than just friends?

His mind was so clogged with conflicting, and competing emotions, he didn’t break away from staring into, Rin’s beautiful pink eyes until he heard, Sun, and Neptunia’s snickering that caused his already deep blush to grow even more.

Jaune: O-Okay, there I said it! Happy now?!

Nep: Mostly, I wanna know who you see as the other romance able characters are?

Sun: Yeah! Why couldn’t I be, Samara instead of, Liara?

Nep: Yeah, why couldn’t I be, Samara?

Jaune: The pair of you may be stacked, but even, Yang’s impressive bosom wouldn’t qualify her as, Samara if you’re taking just appearances into account. You gotta add her personality into the equation.

Sun: Then who would be, Samara? Certainly not…?!

Jaune: Glynda.

SN: …

Sun: Shit, you can’t argue against that.

Nep: I wouldn’t mind her stepping on me… B-But what about, Ashely; Who best fits her?

Jaune: Considering, Ashely’s history, her familial problems, the desire to prover herself, and her xenophobia. Weiss.

Nep: That fits

Sun: She was a bit racist towards faunas when we first met. I understand why, but nonetheless.

Rin: But, at least she fixed her racist views.

Sun: True.

Nep: Since we already got the opinion of one of your team members, what about, Nora, who would she be?

JR: Nora.

Sun: Eh?

Rin: Nora will never be someone else, she will always be, Nora.

Jaune: But, if you must know she’d at least be a Krogan.

SN: …

Sun: That fits. She certainly hits like one.

Nep: My ass still hurts from that time she punted me with her hammer.

Sun: Maybe you could give her a massage, Jaune?

Jaune just stared down, Sun with a blank gaze that simply screamed: ‘Really?’ Rin quickly spoke up hoping to break the growing tension before it became too overbearing.

Rin: W-What about, Pyrrha? What would she be?

Jaune: Pyrrha? She’d be Fem-Shep hands down.

Nep: And, suddenly, Pyrrha became even hotter than she already is…

Sun: Not really hard for her to.

Rin: Does that mean your her, Garrus to her female, Shepard?

Jaune: I’m not cool enough to be, Garrus.

Nep: I would have agreed with you when we first met, but you’ve grown a lot since then.

Sun: And, you can be a surprisingly good smooth talker when you want to.

Rin: And, you looked good, damn good when we all went to the shooting range together…

Jaune: O-Oh… T-Thank you.

Sun: Wait, you forgot, Jack. Did you romance her?

Jaune: No, I find, Jack’s personality, and appearance unappealing to me. I don’t like the bad mouth kind of girl.

Nep: Everyone has their preferences, but who would, Jack be?

Jaune: Bleiss.

Sun: Oh that fi…?!

Bleiss: WHY THE FUCK AM I THAT UPTIGHT BITCH?!!

Jaune: What the hell?!!

#rwby #jaune arc #blake belladonna #pyrrha nikos #nora valkyrie #weiss schnee #lie ren #sun wukong #neptune vasilias #bleiss schnee #glynda goodwitch #yang xiao long

[killa-trav]

Oliver Bearman: No lunch, hug from Lewis and a bad back - my F1 Debut

Ferrari's 18-year-old might not have realised his dream had his parents decided on a carpet for Christmas over buying their eldest child a go-kart when he was six

The first grand prix video game that Oliver Bearman played on his Xbox in his Chelmsford home was F1 2012, for which the advertisers’ tagline read: “Be the Driver. Live the Life. Go Compete”. When he was choosing which driver to adopt as his in-game persona, Bearman would alternate. “I used to always pick Jenson Button or Lewis Hamilton,” he says. “They were the home heroes.”

Last weekend on the helter-skelter street circuit in Jeddah, he was given a more three-dimensional experience of Hamilton’s racing. As one of Ferrari’s reserve drivers, the 18-year-old was catapulted from the F2 meeting in which he had secured pole position to compete in his first Formula 1 race, with Carlos Sainz struck down by an appendicitis. He became the youngest British driver to race in a grand prix and the third youngest of any nationality.

In the closing stages, he found himself pursued by Hamilton and Lando Norris, both on fresher tyres and expected to gain ground quickly on Bearman’s Ferrari. Remarkably, the teenager held them off, finishing in seventh place, and the first person to greet him as he strode unsteadily out of his car was Hamilton, the seven-times world champion.

“I can’t really remember what he said,” Bearman says. “He shook my hand, gave me a hug, which was a great moment. I’ve grown up watching these guys and to have shared a track with them was just an honour. To have recognition from Lewis, one of the greatest in our sport, was a very proud moment.”

What Bearman had just done would have seemed, to most teenagers, like stepping directly through the screen and into one of those video games. Be the driver? Tick. Go compete? Tick. Live the life? Well, he did for one weekend, even if he was back that night, after the race, in the budget Ibis hotel where all the F2 drivers had been billeted.

This week he returned to a dose of relative normality at his flat in Modena, from where he spoke to The Times. He is based at the Ferrari Driver Academy and walking into the company factory on Tuesday, he glanced at the big screens around the building that are usually showing footage of Sainz and Charles Leclerc in action. Bearman had to pause momentarily when he looked up to see his own image.

Over the past couple of days he has been testing near Venice with his F2 team, Prema, beginning preparations for his next race in Australia, for which he flies out on Saturday. As Sainz is expected to have recovered, Bearman should be back in his F2 car in Melbourne, but last weekend demonstrated the need to be ready for anything and Bearman, with composure beyond his years, showed that he was more than equal to the task.

May the G-force be with you

When he eventually made it back to his hotel room, the first thing he did, naturally, was to watch the entire race back. “The race finished about 10pm, you have about 1½ hours of media and then you’re into a debrief with the team,” he says. “By the time I got back to the hotel, it was 1am, and by the time I got to sleep it was half two, because I had to watch the race. We had a flight at 11am, so I slept for five hours, which didn’t help because I needed some recovery. But I had to watch the race. I’ve watched it maybe five times now.”

How did it feel watching it back? “The first time I was like, ‘Ah, I missed a bit of lap time there, I should have overtaken there,’ ” he says. “But now I’m really happy with what I achieved. I don’t think I could have asked much more of myself, considering the circumstances.”

The next morning he had breakfast with his F2 team and realised how gingerly he was walking, having experienced the G-force — up to about 5G — of an F1 car for the first time, in a race almost twice the length of his usual outings, with over 50 laps and about 1hr 40min of time on the track. His seat had been swiftly installed in Sainz’s car and the indentations in his headrest gave an indication of how he had been jolted around.

“Most of the pain was from my lower back,” he says. “The neck is a given, but Jeddah is one of the most difficult tracks. Even the straights, they twist quite a bit, which doesn’t look much, but when you repeat it 50 times, there’s no rest. With my back, I’m quite tall [6ft 2in], F1 cars are very tight and not built for comfort. Everything was very last minute. When I made the seat, I didn’t think I’d be having to use it.”

Bearman was struck by the physical differences from F2. “We don’t have as much downforce or G-force in F2, so the strain is much less,” he says. “But we don’t have power steering in F2, so the steering work is super-heavy. When I’ve finished an F2 race, my arms are usually tired, but apart from that I’m fine. In F1, the steering is very light, but it’s everything else. You’re just getting thrown around. Muscles you don’t feel like you’re engaging, they’re aching the next day.

“And it’s exhausting; you lose a lot of water, I couldn’t believe how sweaty I was. The race is so long. Every time you cross the finish line, the dash pops up with how many laps [there are] to go. I could have sworn that number stayed frozen for a couple of laps. When I got to 25 laps, I was like, ‘Wow, we’re only halfway!’ It was a big challenge. But I really enjoyed it.”

'I realised this is really happening'

Ever since he sat behind the wheel of his first go-kart, a Christmas present at the age of six, Bearman has displayed a relish for the challenges of racing, with an exceptional ability to learn quickly. It is only 3½ years since he moved from karting to racing cars and his progress has been swift. His prowess in karting led to a Formula 4 opportunity in 2021 with the same Van Amersfoort Racing team with whom Max Verstappen had driven, and his results were spectacular. The next season he drove in Formula 3, the next in Formula 2, finishing sixth last year in the drivers’ standings.

But the step he was being asked to take on Friday, shortly after ordering chicken and rice for lunch in his Jeddah hotel, was something else altogether. After securing pole position for the F2 race, he had enjoyed a relaxing morning and was ready to eat alongside his father, David, his manager, Chris Harfield, Jamie Smith, his former kart mechanic, and other members of his team.

“I was feeling really chilled, I’d been in the gym and we didn’t have to be on the track until 3pm,” he says. “And then I got the call.” That came from Frédéric Vasseur, the Ferrari team principal. “I could guess what was about to be said,” Bearman says. “Something just clicked and I was, like, ‘Right, this is it.’ They said we had to be at the track in half an hour. My food didn’t even come out. I skipped lunch completely and went straight to the track.”

Within three hours he would be in the final practice session, with qualifying to come that evening. “When I got to the track, the news hadn’t been announced, so no one was taking any notice of me,” he says. “By the time I was walking to the car, everyone knew, and I was shocked at the amount of people gathering. That was very nerve-racking; I’m not used to that attention. And I got nervous when I saw some of the big stars. But that all made me realise: this is really happening.”

From kart track to street circuit

On the fastest street circuit in the F1 calendar, despite less than an hour of practising in the car, Bearman drove admirably in qualifying, coming 11th and only missing out on the final ten-car session by finishing 0.036sec behind Hamilton. For the first few laps of the race the next day, he achieved the aim of keeping out of trouble before the chance to exhibit his native racing instincts presented itself.

On the 11th lap, shortly after a safety car interlude, Bearman found himself behind the RB-Honda of Yuki Tsunoda. He dummied to pass on the right, prompting Tsunoda to cover his tracks, only to duck inside and pass on the left.

“It was a nice overtake, I was happy with that one, I’ve watched it back quite a few times,” Bearman says. “A lot of your racecraft comes from karting; I remember from eight, nine years old, racing bumper to bumper for the entire race. Those dummy moves are perfect, especially in karting without wing mirrors. It still works if you time it well.”

From an early age, Bearman had developed a passion for cars, inherited from his father. David had raced at club level and Bearman would go along to the track whenever possible. He developed a knack for identifying the makes and models of cars. “I’d have been able to name every single car on the road,” he says. “I was a bit of a nerd with that. At home, I had a bunch of model cars. A lot of kids have their thing, mine was model cars. I had a Bentley, a Ferrari, a jeep. I had my own little world there. Once I’d got my first kart, I just couldn’t wait to go racing.”

Perfect Christmas present for a boy racer

That first kart, bought in Christmas 2011, might not have come his way if his parents — David and his mum, Terri — had opted instead to buy the new carpet that was sorely needed at the family home. “We had some old lino that I absolutely hated,” David says. “We were either getting the carpet for Christmas or the go-kart. We scraped together the £1,500 for the go-kart and knew it was worth it the first time he jumped in; he just had a beaming smile all over his face.”

Once Bearman had given some early glimpses of his talent, at the age of eight he was entered into the British Championships, which meant long weekends on the road up and down the country for father and son. Bearman was often the youngest in his race, experiences that would prove formative. “One race, at Buckmore Park, I was up against some 12-year-olds and they just looked huge compared to me,” he says. “I remember the nerves. It was a rolling start and I got spun round before the race even started. They saw I was a novice and said, ‘Let’s get rid of this guy.’ But I loved those weekends and I learnt a lot.”

The problem was that the better Bearman became, the greater the cost involved in financing the hobby. His father knew from his own attempts to compete in motorsport how prohibitive the costs could be and realised he needed to be prepared. He had started an insurance broking firm in east London with his sister and brother and realised that the business needed to bring in more money if he was going to be able to support his son’s hobby, with two other children as well, Thomas, now 14, another budding racer, and Amalie, now 12.

In Ollie’s early teens, the next competitive step would have been to start travelling around Europe to compete in the FIA Karting Championship, but that was not a viable option. “You get the best karters in Europe, but the problem for us was twofold,” David says. “One, it’s very expensive, and we couldn’t afford it. Two, you’re taking the kids out of education, some of them at ten or 11. Yes, we were supporting him in sport but we didn’t know it was potentially a career. There are no guarantees in life and his education was really important.”

The insurance business, Aventum, has grown considerably, is now housed in smart offices in the City and has been one of Ollie’s primary sponsors. “We’ve had to keep upping our game and attracting more sponsors,” David says. “If you look at Ollie’s F2 car, every little bit is covered in sponsorship. I don’t own our business, we’re all shareholders; we can’t blow money just because it’s Ollie, there has to be a genuine return.

“But people look at this sport and think it’s for the elite only. Anyone can do it if you work hard enough and have the right mindset. Ollie is the proof of that.”

Passed GCSEs and a failed driving test

It was when Ollie’s success in F4 attracted the attention of Ferrari that the possibility of a career in the sport became tangible. He had just completed his GCSEs, with glowing results, at King Edward’s, a grammar school in Chelmsford, and a place at the Ferrari Driver Academy was an exciting prospect, but he had only just turned 16 and the idea of moving abroad without his family was daunting. “At the start, I missed my family and I tried to get home as much as possible to see them, it was tough and I was lonely,” Ollie says. “Now I still miss them, but I’ve got lots of friends here and I’ve grown up a bit.”

Learning the language was another challenge into which Bearman threw himself. A little more than two years later, he has picked up Italian to the extent that even his spoken English now comes with something of a lilt. “My friends do make fun of me for sounding a bit international,” he says. “Latin was compulsory at my school and I remember thinking, ‘I’m never going to need this,’ but it’s come in handy.”

On his returns to Essex, he now has the luxury of being able to drive on English roads, having passed his driving test 18 months ago. While he had already been identified by Ferrari as a future world champion, it was not something that impressed his driving examiner. “I failed my test the first time, which was really embarrassing. I asked [the examiner] if he liked F1, he said he hated it, and he failed me because he reckoned I didn’t stop at a stop sign. It was so difficult for me, things like how they want you to feed the [steering] wheel, it’s counterintuitive for me. I had to put a lot of thinking into that. I only took one lesson, I thought it would be easy. I found out the hard way that it wasn’t.”

He spends three or four days per month in England now and every time he returns home he hopes that he is still recognised by his dogs, Freddie, an English bull terrier, and Ruby, a Boston terrier. “I can’t Facetime them like I can my family,” he says. “But they always seem excited to see me.”

He still misses his family, but he knows that he is in the right place to continue his exhilarating progress towards one of those coveted regular seats in F1. “I’ve been making sacrifices all my life,” he says. “When I was younger, it was little things like birthday parties when I was away karting on weekends. My schoolmates would laugh when I said in year three that I wanted to be an F1 driver. Now I miss out on seeing family and friends. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat and I’ll keep doing it to make my dream a reality.”

BY JOHN WESTERBY FOR THE TIMES

#this is really long and really worth the read #will make u cry #hes literally my son n im so proud of him #ollie bearman

[vee-crytraps]

Kiss Me More | Ch 1 | {Groan}

SUMMARY: It’s been twelve long years since you were the sad little girl tugging on the tails of your adoptive father’s coat.

Your brothers take notice. AN: New to posting fics on Tumblr, feel free to read here or over on Ao3 under the username VenusCrytraps. Same bat time, same bat channel.

{Trigger warning/Themes Masterlist}

And yeah, i wanna spend the night with you Yeah, i wanna feel a beating, bleeding heart, don't you? Because i've never really known But i pinky promise you i'm grown And i wanna know what it feels like

You’re deep in your head as you lean forward in your vanity’s mirror, lightly dabbing away the smeared lipstick at the corner of your mouth with your middle finger. You don’t notice the creak of your door as it opens, and the protest of the frame as one of your many adopted siblings leans against it.

You don’t see the range of emotions he cycles through- some visible on his face, and others happening only in his head, behind those stormy green eyes.

“Yeah. I don’t think so.” Jason scoffs to himself after a minute, startling you. The tension drains from your shoulders as you turn around to see him standing there, all geared up in his Red Hood uniform sans the armor and that goofy fucking helmet of his. Your surprise has less to do with the atrophied instincts you’ve barely managed to keep from your two weeks as Robin back in the day, and more to do with the strangeness of Jason serving you his best impression of Dick’s Blue Steel, A.K.A, his ’Concerned Big Brother’ face. Something your oldest brother pulled so often, he could have it patented. It looks totally ridiculous on Jason, a dude you legitimately haven’t seen out of his uniform since he was welcomed back into the family. You think to yourself that he must be doing his rounds, doing his best to repair the dynamics that were lost when he died, and soured when the pit left him more than a little trigger happy.

Still, you remind yourself of Dick’s advice, to reward vulnerability and welcome these moments. Jason was supposedly quite fragile beyond his hulking form.

You sighed. “What can I do for you?”

There was some lingering awkwardness around the fact that he’d briefly dedicated his life to ending your dads, but if Bruce could trust him enough to welcome him anywhere near the Batcave, you supposed you could, too. He was trying his best, after all. You just wish he’d take it elsewhere, for once.

Still, you’ll play along.

“Where the hell are you going?” Dressed like that, was the implication that hung in the air. You’re smart enough to fill in the blank. He’s smart enough to let you.

“Out.” You turn around, unable to help but be a little bit guarded about this particular line of questioning.

God, on all the nights…

Turning your back to him, you casually resume your preening. He doesn’t at all remember you being this stubborn, but he’d died and come back to find you a whole lot older than he remembered.

“Out,” Jason repeated, exhaling heavily as he pushed off the doorframe. Jason was your age, once. He knew all about ‘out’. When he was in your shoes, going to Gotham Academy, making those fancy friends with more money than sense, ‘out’ meant joyriding around, bar hopping with fake ID’s and hooking up with fast, socialite girls wearing skirts not unlike the one you sported as you shifted in your plush vanity seat.

“What’s his name?”

“Are you still here?”

It slips out of you before you can remind yourself of Dick’s instruction to give Jason the room and encouragement he needed to be a part of your life again. As if he were a scared cat, and not a six-foot-something giant with the wrong kind of bodycount.

You try again, but it doesn’t come out any more cordial. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting that. He also wasn’t expecting you to look so…grown up. His gaze flickered over you, over the short skirt and lace trimmed cardigan you were wearing. Over the way you applied that mascara and eyeliner with practiced skill and patience.

You were beautiful. God damn it, Bruce.

Catching his gaze in the mirror, you falter. His unreadable stare pulls the plug on your brat-ittude. A sigh escapes you.

“I’ll be careful, Jay. I promise.” You mumble, capping your eyeliner with finality as you give into this game of house he insisted on playing with you. When your eyes finally flicker up to meet his again, something in them seems…changed. The expression he wears is no longer unreadable. You recognize it, but can’t seem to place it. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you, but it’s been just as long since you were able to get a good look at him, too.

And then it’s there, again. The guilt and shame that coils within you as you notice the way his arms bulge under the brown leather of his jacket, the set of his strong jaw and the pout of his full bottom lip. You want to bash your head against your vanity. Tonight was supposed to be your night to get away from this feeling. To distract yourself with normal boys that weren't off limits. To cure yourself of the way you instantly became distracted whenever your brothers were near.

Adoptive brothers, you remind yourself inwardly. But you know that fact doesn’t make you feel any less fucking gross.

For as much as you appreciated some of the upsides of puberty hitting you like a train, there were some notable downsides, too. Inappropriate attraction to the other gorgeous men that live in this house aside, you’d found yourself concerned with things you had always prided yourself on being above. The way you gravitated towards more flattering clothes and cuter underwear, your proclivity for flavored lipgloss and this…overwhelming desire to feel attractive had you feeling so unlike yourself that it was hard to embrace the change, let alone enjoy it. Sometimes, the process of becoming a woman often felt like you were being beat with a pretty pink nightstick.

It takes you a moment to realize you’ve been quiet for a strange amount of time. And the knowledge that he has too makes you tense in places you didn’t know you could.

“Besides,” You continue, though too much time has passed to really consider it a continuation of your promise. “I’ve got backup.”

Swiveling around in your vanity’s chair, you don a self satisfied smirk as you slip the hem of your skirt up your thigh just a smidge, exposing the knife holstered to your thigh.

Jason’s eyebrows almost hit the ceiling. He wasn’t expecting that of all things. Not the sight of you, gorgeous and young and supposedly retired from this whole vigilante thing having a butterfly knife strapped to your leg. He wasn’t expecting the thrill he was getting just by looking at it, and how much he wanted to see it in use.

What is wrong with me?

He clears his throat to regain his composure.

“Where the hell did you get that?” He asks, his voice rougher than before.

“Where do you think?” You can’t help but laugh, tugging the hem of your skirt back down. Your sharp tongue gets him hot under his collar in a way he is beyond not proud of.

Still, he joins you, letting out a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a snort. The moment brings about a sense of familiarity, the conversation finding a groove it hasn’t been able to since before he had died.

Clearing his throat again, he has to fight against the heat threatening to rise in his face- unable to do much about the blood rushing south. “Look. I know it’s not my place, just…I’m concerned. About you going outside wearing…” The way he vaguely gestures to your outfit with his hands makes you forget he’s supposed to be some kind of sharpshooter.

“I’m…going on a date.” You finally answer, offering an olive branch. Maybe the truth really will set you free. From this cage of Wayne Manor, from the clear gloss, sensible shoes and frumpy skirts that were good for your optics, whatever the fuck that meant. Jason was in your shoes, once. Under the microscope of society, young and repping the name of an entire family on your back. You hope he can relate, and give you some grace. So you lay it on. Thick.

“Do you like it? It’s pretty much brand new. I never get to wear it, because there is no way dad would ever let me out dressed like this.”

Jason nods slowly.

He likes more than your outfit.

“You’re going on a date.” He turns it over in his mind. It seems his suspicions were correct. “And…Bruce doesn’t even know?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that. As if you told him where you were sneaking off to when you were my age. And don’t you dare say it was different or whatever bullshit you’re about to-“

Jason crosses the room to your still seated form before you can finish, stepping into your personal space and placing a hand under your chin. He lifts it gently, and tries not to absolutely lose it at the way you look up at him from beneath your lashes.

“Where is he taking you?” Jason asks, his voice low and rough.

You do your best to beat back that feeling again. The warmth in your core is persistent, but you’ve had a few years of practice surpassing it. Digging your nails into your palm, you try not to observe how handsome he looks, even now, with that spark of disapproval in his gaze. Focusing hard, you manage not to bite your lip at his tone.

“Drive-in.” The truth slips from you quickly, and quieter than it would have several minutes ago, when you couldn’t smell his cologne. You lean into his touch imperceptibly. “And then there’s a party we might stop by.”

“Drive-in?” Jason repeats, his eyebrows arching. “Like, a literal movie drive-in? Do those places still actually exist?” His fingers tighten, his thumb rubbing against your chin- dangerously close to the fullness of your bottom lip. There’s no way you could miss the way his eyes devour your face. And drop to your lips.

“Uh-huh.” You confirm, dropping your chin ever so little, kissing his thumb. “They’re popular spots. Sitting in your car with your date. Alone, in the dark.”

“God, you’re killing me right now.” His heart pounds as your lips touch his thumb, but makes no move to pull it away. His fingers grip your chin a little tighter. His other hand comes to your neck, the pads of his fingers brushing over it gently. “You’re just begging to be kissed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” the word escapes you breathlessly. It’s so fucking embarrassing. You can’t help it. That you care so much about your hair, that your showers are extra long and that you’re so horny all the fucking time now because living in his house is like being in the Olympic village- constantly surrounded by beautifully sculpted people. It was beyond difficult, even if you were now counted among them.

Jason doesn’t care that your door is cracked open or if anyone could walk in and see you. He drops one hand off of your chin, and the one tracing your pulse trails back and up into your hair, forgetting himself as he fists the strands and tugs it back.

“God, look at you.”

It’s all he can manage before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours. The discovery of your flavored lipgloss sets off a wave of possessiveness in him when he thinks that some other punk was planning to savor the taste. He wants it to be just for him.

You kiss him back before you can think about it. You’re touch starved and aching, barely thinking straight as he lifts you into his arms with his impossible strength and picks you up as if you weigh less than nothing. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist. Breaking the kiss, your hands find his face, thumbs brushing over the scars on his cheek. “Forgot how strong you are, Jay.”

He lays you across the bed with one swift motion and kneels between your legs as his large hands roam your thighs. You know for a fact that your skin is soft and smooth. Your Everything Shower routine was of the gods.

“You’ve grown up, baby bat.”

His dark eyes bore into you, the old nickname rolling off of his tongue with ease. It no longer brings an irritated flush to your face the way it did when you were still playing with dolls. For a moment, he’s reminded of the fact that he was here to try and step into that role again. To be the brother that keeps you from making the sort of dumb mistakes he had been known for at your age, and not to touch you- but you’re so soft and so sweet. There’s no pity in your eyes, or fear of the monster he used to be. He can't decide if he wants to cherish you or ruin you, but he's greedy enough to try and get away with both.

Manicured fingers twitch to the front tie of your lace cardigan. The edge of the ribbon rests between your forefinger and thumb before you slowly pull, releasing the bow. You reveal your bare, ample chest to him as you agree breathlessly. “Yeah,”

Jason bites his lip at the sight of your chest. A deep sense of satisfaction fills him as you reveal yourself to him, and the hand on your thigh rises slowly, stopping at your hip. He lets out a soft groan as he promptly resumes to think with the wrong head.

Catching his gaze, you drag your nails down his chest, fingers stopping at his belt. Tilting your head, you don’t bother to look as you work on undoing the buckle and pull it free from the loops of his pants. “Jay,” You whisper.

“Don’t call me that.” His voice is low, his gaze still boring into yours. “It makes me…feel a certain type of way.” Tilting his head back a little, he lets out another soft grunt when he feels you working open the front of his pants. His eyes fall shut. He seems to be on the verge of something, no doubt attempting to convince himself to stop before the two of you do something you can’t take back.

“What if I want you to feel that way?” You ask, dipping your hand beneath the open waistband of his pants, your soft fingers brushing against his swelling cock.

“Jesus Christ.” Releasing a deep breath, he looks down at you. His hand travels up to your throat, fingers digging into your skin.

“Please.” You finally just beg him, your bare chest heaving as you attempt not to squirm with the anticipation. “Please, Jay. Please.” How long has it been, since you were touched? Yeah, you were gorgeous, and fairly popular at school, but being involved with the precious daughter of the ‘prince of Gotham’ was often too risky for a lot of the guys at school. With you, they couldn't get away with half of the things they could with some of the other girls you know. And then there’s Jason. Someone she’s known for a good chunk of her life. Someone she trusts, someone she’s mourned, and most importantly- someone who is not afraid of Bruce Wayne.

The dying embers of his resolve are snuffed out the minute you shift your hips, that too short skirt riding up and revealing your absolutely soaked panties. And fuck, has he even touched you yet?

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, sweetheart. I got you.” Jason leans over you, one hand supporting himself by your head as the other drags your underwear to the side. Two of his calloused fingers stroke your slippery folds, covering his hand in your warm slick before he fists his thick cock.

He brings the blunt head of him close to you, stroking your clit before it brushes against your core. “Relax for me, sweetheart. You gotta let me in.” He murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Hold onto me.”

You do. Your fingers dig into his strong shoulders as he finally manages to push into you with a long suffering groan. You’re no virgin, but you’re half his size, and so, he bets, was every other chump you had before him. And from the way your walls quiver and stretch around him? He also bets that list is pretty short.

“ ’S okay, princess,” He breathes, his pupils blown wide. It takes everything in him not to pin you down and absolutely destroy you, but he reminds himself that your desperation does’t equal experience. You can act as fast as you want, you still need time to adjust to him.

“Oooh, fuck.” Jason hisses, his nails digging into the sheets beside you as he somehow manages to bottom out. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” You can feel his shoulders tense under your palms, and your soft hands slip down his biceps until you’re holding his forearms. You’re so tight it’s criminal, and he can’t even focus as he begins to thrust into you.

His name sounds magical coming from your lips, and you look so gorgeous beneath him, your eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he fucks you hard and deep and bare. Your cunt is noisy and desperate, sucking him deep into your impossible warmth, covering every inch of him in your slick. His hand finds your throat again, and he can feel the way you squeeze around him in response. He groans complete delight. “You like that? Huh?”

Something akin to a yes escapes you as he begins to fuck you harder, the wood of the antique bed frame creaking in protest as your distant sort-of-stepbrother practically folds you in half, seemingly unable to get deep enough inside of you. Jason is a complete mess above you as you all but melt into your sheets, fingers tangled in the linens as each deep thrust forces a desperate whine from your parted lips.

“Such a perfect little cunt. So warm and fuckin’ wet-“ His free hand greedily palms at your tits as a string of other obscenities that make your clit throb begin to fall from his lips. He finds a spot deep within you that makes your toes curl and your walls tighten, and he grips your hips for leverage as he abuses it relentlessly. The difference between you is such that he barely has to shift his hand from your thigh to have his thumb roll over your clit shortly after you feel him spit on it, the oddity and the sudden stimulation forcing your back to arch.

There’s a part of him that hasn’t yet forgiven Bruce for leaving him to die, and that part greedily soaks up the sight of you coming undone beneath him, your tits bouncing as your back arches off of your bed. You may be barely an adult, but you’re still Bruce Wayne’s little girl, too precious for combat, but not too precious for Jason to spread you open on your pastel linens, under your daddy’s roof. You cream around his cock as your greedy walls threaten to milk him but he refuses to let up, determined to bully another orgasm out of you before he’s through.

“Tell me you want it,” Of course he knows you do. You’re the one who practically scrambled for his belt the minute he got you onto the bed, but it’s not enough to see it. He wants to hear you say it. To beg for him His voice is hoarse. Desperate. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” You manage, barely able to get the words out. “Want you, I want you-“ His nails bite into your thigh and you can hear the blood rushing to your ears.

“Jason,” You look up at him through your lashes, tears of pleasure collecting in the corners of your pretty eyes. He mumbles your name in return, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

“Get off in me.”

“Fuck!” His orgasm hits him like a train almost instantly, and he grinds into you needily with a disbelieving groan, filling you up. Your eyes nearly roll back as you come undone around him, and you’re not even though your orgasm before he lets out a barely coherent whine that sounds like it could be ‘good girl’ or ‘dirty fucking tease’. Your mind is spinning too much to make sense of anything and you decide take your pick, leaning back into your nest of plush blankets and pillows.

“Shit,” You breathe, exhausted.

“Yeah.” He agrees.

Jason allows himself to roll off of you, the bed creaking with impact as he collapses beside you with an uneven exhale. You close your eyes and try to catch your breath, hearing the shifting of his tactical pants beside you as he tucks his cock away. He casts a sidelong glance at you, swallowing before he can think of something to say. “That…you were okay with that, right?”

It takes a good moment to register the words, and you blink your eyes open. Turning to your side, you meet his gaze. You’re both sweating, and you feel decidedly un-sexy with his cooling cum leaking out of you. “What…what are you asking me?” You frown.

Jason tilts his head towards you. “It’s just…you know. What I was like before you uh…grew up.” His thoughts trail off, and his face creases with a frown as he tries to get through the next few words. “I just. I want to make sure…” A deep breath. Another heartbeat. “I can be rough, is all.” His expression softens, and guilt begins to seep in. You may live under this roof, but you aren’t like him. Not really. You were the soft one. The normal one. And that makes him feel equal amounts of pride and shame when he thinks about what you two have just done.

“Hey,” You recognize that shame, and you decide to put a stop to it before he overflows with it. “I may not spend my nights being tossed around by thugs anymore, but Gotham is rough. Our life is rough.”

Reaching out, you rest a hand over his heart, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. “But…being here…like this- with you? Being roughed up doesn’t have to suck.” Sitting up, you offer him a smile. “In fact, it felt so good I came twice. So. You know.”

Your answer is honest, and he can’t help but chuckle as he moves to sit up with you. His hand moves to caress the side of your face. You lean into his hand, and his gaze softens.

“You’re so different than you used to be.” His words come out in a whisper, and his thumb traces your jawline. “I want to keep you safe from this. But…I like this side of you. I like what I can bring out of you.”

“It’s been a long time, Jay.” You mumbled, closing your eyes. "A really long time."

You open them when you feel the way his lips brush against your forehead. They linger there for a heartbeat.

The moment is cut shot when you can hear the pneumatic hiss of the downstairs grandfather clock as it swings open, no doubt your adoptive dad home from patrol. “Shit. Dad’s home,” You whisper, and Jason grumbles as he leans against the headboard to catch his breath, watching you sit up. “You sure know how to kill the mood.”

“Dude, I just let you unload in me. I am the mood. So like, zip it.” You huff, fixing your underwear. Jason, despite his casually annoyed exterior, is lighter on his feet than you’ve ever seen him as he moves to get off of your bed. He’s sneaking out of here like his life depends on it, but he has the feeling it actually might.

“See you at breakfast, Jay!” You call a little too loudly, snickering at the way he tenses up in fear. He makes sure to flip you off right before he disappears past the doorframe, and you walk over and shut it.

Looking over to your desk, you see the screen of your phone is lit up, flooded with half an hours worth of texts and missed calls.

Guess you missed your date.

I ain't scared of boys, but boy, you're a man And if anybody could, I'm sure you can For a girl this young, naive, and miserable

#v.fic #batfam x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you

[soccerbarrie]

Top-Notch Soccer Coaching in Barrie: Experience the Best with FT United Soccer Academy

The FT United Soccer Academy Barrie is one of the best soccer coaching programs in Barrie. Founded in 2015, the academy is dedicated to providing quality coaching to young soccer players in the Barrie area. The academy offers a wide range of programs for children aged 3–18, including developmental programs, recreational programs, and competitive programs.

Developmental Programs

The developmental programs offered by the FT United Soccer Academy Barrie are designed to introduce young children to the game of soccer in a fun and supportive environment. These programs are open to children aged 3–6 and focus on developing fundamental skills such as dribbling, passing, and shooting. The academy’s coaches use age-appropriate drills and games to help children develop their coordination, balance, and agility.

Recreational Programs

The recreational programs offered by the FT United Soccer Academy Barrie are open to children aged 7–18 and are designed for players who are looking to have fun and stay active while improving their soccer skills. These programs are non-competitive and focus on developing players’ technical skills, tactical understanding, and teamwork abilities. The academy’s coaches work with each player individually to help them reach their full potential and to foster a love for the game of soccer.

Competitive Programs

The competitive programs offered by the FT United Soccer Academy are designed for players who are looking to take their game to the next level. These programs are open to players aged 9–18 and focus on developing players’ technical skills, tactical understanding, and physical fitness. The academy’s coaches work with each player individually to help them reach their full potential and to prepare them for competitive play. The academy’s competitive teams participate in local and regional leagues and tournaments.

Coaching Staff

The coaching staff at the FT United Soccer Academy is comprised of experienced and knowledgeable coaches who are dedicated to helping young soccer players reach their full potential. All of the Soccer academy’s coaches are certified by the Ontario Soccer Association and are trained in the latest coaching techniques and methodologies. The coaching staff is committed to providing a positive and supportive environment for all players and to helping each player develop the skills and confidence they need to succeed on and off the field.

Facilities

The FT United Soccer Academy is based at the Barrie Sports Complex, which features six full-size soccer fields, as well as change rooms and washroom facilities. The academy also has access to the indoor soccer facility at the Barrie Soccer Club during the winter months, providing players with year-round training opportunities.

Community Involvement

The FT United Soccer Academy is committed to giving back to the community and to promoting the development of soccer at the grassroots level. The academy partners with local schools and community organizations to provide soccer programming to children who may not otherwise have access to organized sports. The academy also hosts a number of community events throughout the year, including charity fundraisers and soccer tournaments.

Conclusion

The FT United Soccer Academy is one of the best soccer coaching programs in Barrie. With a focus on developing fundamental skills, tactical understanding, and physical fitness, the academy offers a wide range of programs for players of all ages and skill levels. The academy’s experienced coaching staff, top-notch facilities, and commitment to community involvement make it a great choice for young soccer players in the Barrie area.

FT United Soccer Academy Barrie goal is to provide intensive soccer training programs for all age groups. FT United Soccer Academy soccer coach Andrés Hidalgo adept in creating soccer practice plans for all age groups. He is an experienced soccer coach and providing progressive soccer training programs for athletes to improve their skills at a young age in soccer ball passing & receiving tactics,footskills training,soccer training methods, goalie training, and dribbling styles. To register for any of the soccer programs visit soccerbarrie.com or call us at [phone].

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[roosterforme]

Meet the Parents | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley meets your parents and wishes you could have met his.

Warnings: Just a bunch of fluff, mention of oral sex

Length: 1400

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This should be read to accompany my Series Is It Working For You? with Bradley and Baby Girl!Reader!

Masterlist

You could tell Bradley was nervous. "Roo, there's nothing to worry about. They are going to adore you. And they are so excited to meet you."

"You say that now, but they've met other guys you dated in the past, and they are definitely going to compare me to them."

You snorted. "Well then that's great for you, because they always tell me I can do better. And you're the best."

Bradley groaned as the Bronco zipped along the coastal highway as he drove you to dinner with your mom and dad. You had been looking forward to spending some time with your parents, and showing off your boyfriend a little bit. 

"I'm slightly afraid they're gonna hate me. When I leave for deployments, they are going to think about you out here all by yourself for stretches of time, and resent that for you. Plus they probably think I'm too old for you as well, Sweetheart."

"Bradley! Stop it! I talk about you all the time with them. They don't care how old you are, I promise. They just want me to be happy, and it will be plainly evident to them that you make everything in my life better." You sighed, trying to figure out how to put his mind at ease. The truth was, your parents were really antsy to meet him, because you had already told them how much you love him. You told them he's definitely the one. 

"First of all, I have only let them meet two previous boyfriends, much to my mom's disappointment. So they definitely know you are a big deal. The first one they met was when I was at the Naval Academy, and he ate so much food at dinner, he threw up in my car afterwards." 

Bradley barked out a laugh as he drove. Okay, this was a good reaction. You could work with this. 

"The other time was a couple years ago, and I broke up with that guy shortly after he met my parents, because he was pretty rude to them, honestly."

"What the fuck kind of asshole did you date?"

You smiled and wrapped your fingers around his. "You're not wrong, he was kind of a dick. But not you, you're always sweet, Roo. They are just going to want to talk to you. I talk about you all the time, so they already know a ton about you, but they want to get to know you through you. That's all. It will be totally chill."

As Bradley pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant near the hotel where your parents were staying, he took a deep breath. "Any last minute tips, Sweetheart? I need them to like me so they aren't upset when I coax you to move in with me like next week."

You smiled and squeezed his hand, shaking your head. "Just do your best to listen when my dad drones on and on about sports and his gardening projects. And definitely don't interrupt my mom, especially if she says something about me that you don't agree with. After the last one she met, I wouldn't be surprised if she tries to find out if you have a temper."

Bradley nodded as he pulled the key from the ignition and tucked his aviators into the console. "Okay, okay. What else?"

"Definitely hold my hand, but keep the PDA to a minimum otherwise. And for sure don't mention that you had your face buried in my pussy all afternoon," you said with a wink as you hopped out of the Bronco. 

Bradley rushed around to your side and laced his fingers through yours. "What the hell, Baby Girl? Now that's all I can think about."

"Good, you look a lot more relaxed!" You laughed and kissed his cheek. "There they are," you told him, gesturing to your parents as they stood holding hands, much as you and Bradley were doing. "Just be sweet like you always are. If you need me to bail you out of a conversation, pinch my hand, okay?"

Bradley nodded, squared his shoulders and let you introduce him to them. 

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

Bradley couldn't even remember why he had been so nervous. Your parents were great. You looked just like your mom, and you had your dad's sense of humor and laugh. The four of you had shared a bottle of wine, which had definitely helped him calm his nerves, but he would have been fine without it. 

They asked him about himself, his job and his interests. He prayed he wasn't giving off any red flags, but they seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying. When he told them he was moving to San Diego permanently and that one of the reasons for his decision was to be near you, they both smiled at him.

And when he mentioned that he loved cleaning up the kitchen after you cooked something for him at your place, your mom looked delighted. So he made sure he talked up all his wonderful domestic qualities, which really only included cleaning. 

He found he liked listening to them too. They knew all the stuff about you that he didn't get to witness himself. They told embarrassing stories about your childhood, and you were such a good sport about it all, your hand resting against his. 

As dinner was wrapping up and everyone stood to leave, you slipped your arm around his waist and smiled up at him. 

"We're going to get brunch at our hotel tomorrow morning and then do some sightseeing," your dad mentioned. "Are you two planning on joining us?"

You glanced up at Bradley, and he nodded with a smile. He didn't even have to fake it. He wanted to go to brunch with your parents.

"Yeah, we'll meet you there," you told them as you hugged and kissed them good night. 

Bradley was shaking hands with your dad when he heard your mom ask you, "I'm assuming it's not too early to talk about the holidays? Will you let me know if you two will be coming for Thanksgiving or Christmas? Or both? Please bring him with you."

He took that as a very good sign. And now he'd have to look up some flights. Because he wanted to go back home with you. He wanted to spend more time with your family. He wanted to keep being around you. 

"See you in the morning," you called as Bradley walked you back to the Bronco, hand in hand.

"Well? What did you think of them? Because they definitely liked you," you told him with a big smile. He kissed you soundly as he buckled you in.

"They're great. You're so much like them, it's crazy. I think I was so nervous earlier partly because I don't have my parents to take you to meet. But if I did, Sweetheart, they would have fallen in love with you at first sight. Pretty much like I did." You preened at his words as he kissed the tip of your nose and walked around to the driver's side.

"My mom is already texting me about you, Roo," you said with a giggle as Bradley pulled out onto the road.

"What's she saying?"

"She said you're very handsome, and I should definitely have kids with you."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "What did she really say?"

You laughed and turned to face him. "That is what she really said! And apparently my dad thinks he can exploit you to help him work on a project at their house if we go there for a visit. He's saying you look strong and you seem like you wouldn't complain about helping him with manual labor," you said, tipping your head back in laughter.

"Can we go for Thanksgiving? Or Christmas? I want to go," Bradley told you, and he really meant it.

"Sure. We can tell them tomorrow. It will make my mom's day."

Bradley held your hand and played with your fingers as he drove you back to your apartment, and he let himself indulge in a short daydream about how much he would have loved to take you home to meet Carole and Nick.

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

Thanks for reading about Bradley and Baby Girl! I have so much more on the way.

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#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x reader #top gun fanfiction #rooster #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader

[kenniel-fanfic-readerinsert]

Forget the Past, Enjoy the Present (Jack Salter x Reader)

_

lame *ss title.

Disclaimers:

1. I should be sleeping

2. It's been like... 6 years? since the last time I wrote a fanfic

3. I am sorry for the cringey writing, I needed to get this out of my system

4. I only saw the movie 1 time, I hope I can go again before they remove the movie in the cinema

5. annddddd I don't own brands, names and etc. Only the cringe plot

5.5. I don't know much of how motorsports work, maybe when I have more free time I will write something really good, in the meanwhile, I ' m r e a l l y s o r r y

6. Jesus, David Harbour, I love you

Part 2 or a remake of this, yess

There is like a 10 year age gap, I believe Jack was in his 30s when the accident happened, so Reader is in their 20s making their way on racing things.

Italics for past time and details about yourself

-----------

15 years ago…

“This is devastating” a car race has gone wrong before, but this wrong? “Jack Salter seems to have lost track of his path along with another racer. Everyone at the expectation of what is going to happen next.

“Is he all right?” Jack asked while the paramedics were taking him into the ambulance “He seems to be stable, we need to hurry”, assured his trainer.

“You’ll be okay, Jack, don’t fall sleep” he heard a familiar voice before getting unconscious.

.

.

.

.

Present Time

Jack got a call from that stupid gremlin Danny Moore while he was working. Gamer racers? People who probably never drove a real car before on these powerful vehicles? Crazy idea, but here he was.

“Oh, but our special team is not complete yet” Danny was showing him the GT Academy, but once they reached the racetrack for the academy he stopped at the pits. Jack just sighs. “Now what?”

“I want our racers to have a different kind of life experience besides yours” Moore gave him a little smile.

“Stop talking around the bush, who is it”

“Well, you know them”

Jack just closed his eyes.

.

.

A demi sport sedan of (your design) was nearing them on the pits. The driver’s door opened reveling a (your hair color) person. They got closer to them. The marketing expert clapped his hands and opened his arms to embrace Y/N in a hug.

“Can’t believe you still are so energetic, Daniel” Y/N greeted him. He smiled but also sensed the tension between the other two. He pulls apart from Y/N and gestured to Jack “I’m pretty sure you remember this big guy”, Moore gave Jack a gentle pat in his belly, making the taller man grunt.

“Of course, hard to forget a man with his nose. Hello, Jack”

“Hello, Y/N” they gave each other a quick look and turn their eyes to any other place possible.

Danny clapped his hands again “Well, let’s get to it!” He gave both Jack and Y/N a pat on their backs before leaving to greet the players.

Once they saw the gaming racers arrive and Jack gave them a depressing speech, Danny introduced Y/N to relieve the pressure of the competitors. “Hello, I’m Y/N, I love racing so much that I’m an Industrial Designer to understand better everything about cars. I’m a racer but since I was young, I participated in street racing. That’s why Daniel here wanted me in the team, to teach you about how savage real racers will be with you.” They gave them a wink before getting in their place behind Danny.

“All right, get comfy guys, but not so much because you start your training tomorrow” the marketer for Nissan dismissed everyone.

Jack was left confused, so they got a degree to understand more about cars?

.

.

.

.

A couple months before the accident

“Hey, you know it wasn’t your fault, right?” they said, Y/N’s fingers touching only with the tip of the fingers in his shoulder.

“Yes it was, I should’ve more careful!” he got angry, everyone kept saying that it wasn’t his fault, that maybe could have happened with another person. He push Y/N’s hand away, but they got used to that reactions.

“Besides, what do you know about safety? The only track you know is the street, you have never been in a real race” He added fueled by the anger remembering the crash and the loss of a life.

“Is as dangerous if not more, but whatever, I tried everything to cheer you up, but it seems that you never bear my presence. I’m sorry, I hope you find peace someday.”

Y/N met Jack when they started to become more interested in racing in a professional way, not that they doesn’t enjoy street racing, but earning cups and medals looked really nice.

Jack doesn’t say anything nor gives them a glance. They picked their things up and left him alone in silence.

.

.

.

.

The team of Danny Moore, Jack Salter and Y/N worked just fine, even if the racers ended up with mixed instructions from the older racers. Moore found it problematic, he needed Jack to be synergic with Y/N so the racers could get better and better.

“Jack, my brother”

“We are not brothers”

“Oh, c’mon, we been working for days now.”

“Whaddaya need” Jack didn’t enjoy when people interrupted his Walkman’s sessions.

“Welp, always straight to the point. The three of us, we are making a great team, but no perfect.”

If Jack got a cent for every time he sighs for something that came out of Danny’s mouth, he will have tons of money. “Now what, just tell me and I will work on it”

“Nice of you to say that. Apologize to Them”.

Jack lifted his eyebrows surprised. “You think that’s the issue? We are fine, we talk the necessary.”

“Yeah, like divorced parents. That’s the problem”

“…”

.

.

.

.

“I liked the turn you made on that weird curb, but next time…” Y/N really takes pleasure in giving feedback to the young drivers. Jack approached and cleared his throat; the other instructor paused at the interruption and turned their head.

“Yes…?” Y/N raised a brow, clearly confused because Jack never shared a word with them aside from things related with the competitors or Danny (Danny himself is a topic).

“Can we… uh, talk, like the two of us” he tried to say as quiet as possible so the others couldn’t hear.

“Sure, let me finish with them” Y/N gave some last instructions to the gamers and then followed him far from the pits.

“Well, I don’t know how to start”

“Why are we here, then” Y/N crossed their arms.

“Fine, fine. Look, I’m sorry” he ran his hand over his face trying to find the courage. “I… what happened 15 years ago wasn’t my fault, you were by my side even if I never liked it. I was young and stupid to push you like that. I’m sorry” he ended and looked at the (your eye color). "I also took you for granted as a driver, hell you drive better than most of those assholes out there"

They cast their face down for a moment and then up to his eyes. “It’s fine, I appreciate your apology. Everything is in the past now” Y/N offered a small smile to him. He nodded his head. "And thanks for the compliment, it means a lot coming from you."

.

.

.

.

After that they manage to find a better rhythm of teaching the competitors. A couple of weeks have passed, Y/N and Jack became friends (the first time they met doesn’t count to Y/N since it was one-sided). Sharing meals together without Danny.

Danny Moore got an eye for perfect opportunities, and again he found one. He noticed the long glances Jack gave to Y/N, and how he worries when Y/N got in a car to give the gamers extra lessons.

“Jack, my brother” He said to Jack once they were in the press room alone.

“Jesus Christ, now what?”

#gran turismo #jack salter x reader #gran turismo imagine #jack salter david harbour #david harbour #david harbour x reader #reader insert

[playisa]

Camps and Clinics – Youth Baseball Camps 2022 |  PlayISA

ISA holds youth baseball camps & Clinics year-round all over the world, and it is available for all ages 6u-18u and divided up by specific age groups.

#international youth sports #international sports association #international sports camps #youth baseball camps 2022 #travel baseball teams near me #travel baseball teams #travel baseball #academy baseball training #travel baseball tournaments near me #9u travel baseball tournaments #ISA academies and facilities