World Cup time!!!!
So a week or two ago i was talking to darklucia and I decided to institute a writing challenge. I said I thought it might be fun to write a cracky drabble or ficlet for each game of the world cup, and she agreed. So it's on. I need something to jumpstart my writing to be honest. Now, most of these will probably suck. It's more a writing exercise than anything. I expect both the tone and the style to vary. Some will be on point, others more abstract. Some might even be slashy. And by might I mean probably haha. But who knows. Lastly, aside from a few teams, I don't know much about the teams. Or the players. So expect wildly OOC players based 90-100% on how they come off in any given game. And with that the disclaimers are over! Feel free to skip, of course. Final scores hidden behind cuts because I'm nice like that.
Wolves
Gio's legs danced under him, moving to a staccato beat. Stop and start, pause and go. This erratic rhythm carried him back and forth across the box, in and out like a boxer. All he needed was the slightest opening, he knew. The smallest lapse in their defenses and he was golden. Golden boy, golden boot, maybe golden cup? No, not yet. Focus. Eye on the ball, always on the ball, dancing back and forth in a way his muscles knew so well. Trained into him until it was nothing more than intuition, another way of breathing. Ball at his feet and the crowd in his ears. He can see his team mates, black-clad and prowling, shifting in and out of position. A thousand different formations, possibilities, strategies flow through his mind in the time it takes to take a step. So light on his feet they can't catch him, these hometown boys. He can feel the nerves radiating off their bodies. That excitement layered underneath fear and bone-deep insecurity. And yeah, he's nervous too. Maybe even a little afraid, though he wouldn't admit it. But Gio doesn't know how to feel insecure anymore, especially not now. Not here, with the ball at his feet where his heart beats to the rhythm of the game and everything about him seems to make just a little more sense. Afterwards maybe he'll say he was overwhelmed, his first game on the big stage. But right now he doesn't feel it and he's sure he doesn't look it. Just one more touch, one more step, and he'll find a way through. They're too good, he knows, to be denied for long. His strike, when it comes, will be deadly precise. Because that, Gio thinks, is what a predator is. Patient, powerful, and precise.
and now for something completely different: Battle of the Hot Goalkeepers
Lloris had felt a stab of shallow disappointment when he'd first seen the Uruguayan team assemble. They were from South America, right? Weren't Latino guys supposed to be attractive? But not these guys, oh no. They'd failed to live up tho their billing. Except for one- the youngster. His opposite number, he realized with a start. Excellent. He caught the kid's eye and nodded at him, receiving a startled look and a shy smile in return. Oh this would be fun, thought Lloris. Now they'd just have to see who was the better keeper. See who came out on top.
woo a drabble! exactly 100! Never actually accomplished that before, and it happened naturally and everything.
In other news I just finished my first year of law school. Crazy.
Wolves
Gio's legs danced under him, moving to a staccato beat. Stop and start, pause and go. This erratic rhythm carried him back and forth across the box, in and out like a boxer. All he needed was the slightest opening, he knew. The smallest lapse in their defenses and he was golden. Golden boy, golden boot, maybe golden cup? No, not yet. Focus. Eye on the ball, always on the ball, dancing back and forth in a way his muscles knew so well. Trained into him until it was nothing more than intuition, another way of breathing. Ball at his feet and the crowd in his ears. He can see his team mates, black-clad and prowling, shifting in and out of position. A thousand different formations, possibilities, strategies flow through his mind in the time it takes to take a step. So light on his feet they can't catch him, these hometown boys. He can feel the nerves radiating off their bodies. That excitement layered underneath fear and bone-deep insecurity. And yeah, he's nervous too. Maybe even a little afraid, though he wouldn't admit it. But Gio doesn't know how to feel insecure anymore, especially not now. Not here, with the ball at his feet where his heart beats to the rhythm of the game and everything about him seems to make just a little more sense. Afterwards maybe he'll say he was overwhelmed, his first game on the big stage. But right now he doesn't feel it and he's sure he doesn't look it. Just one more touch, one more step, and he'll find a way through. They're too good, he knows, to be denied for long. His strike, when it comes, will be deadly precise. Because that, Gio thinks, is what a predator is. Patient, powerful, and precise.
and now for something completely different: Battle of the Hot Goalkeepers
Lloris had felt a stab of shallow disappointment when he'd first seen the Uruguayan team assemble. They were from South America, right? Weren't Latino guys supposed to be attractive? But not these guys, oh no. They'd failed to live up tho their billing. Except for one- the youngster. His opposite number, he realized with a start. Excellent. He caught the kid's eye and nodded at him, receiving a startled look and a shy smile in return. Oh this would be fun, thought Lloris. Now they'd just have to see who was the better keeper. See who came out on top.
woo a drabble! exactly 100! Never actually accomplished that before, and it happened naturally and everything.
In other news I just finished my first year of law school. Crazy.