he's an arsenal fan

the saddest part of the whole WengerOut thing is that most of these fans have actually experienced all the glory days with him, they have enjoyed every one of his successful years. a lot of us newer fans have only read about those days and watched videos, and yet we have so much respect for the man and all that he has done for the club. it makes me sad that the fans with the first hand experience of the wins and celebrations can so easily disregard, if not forget, all his achievements and would go so far as to force him to leave. i dont deny a new manager may be good for the club in some aspects, but sometimes loyalty should stretch further than your love for your club, to the person who has been through it all with you and is probably more concerned with its present state than any fan can be.

the wedding

author’s note: i got really inspired to write this so i wrote it earlier than i planned. this also kind of went a different direction than what i planned, but i still included what the anon requested…..this is also my first loris karius imagine, so i hope you like it! (also you didn’t give me a specific team so i just chose arsenal. hope that’s okay!)

“I can’t believe you agreed to marry me.”

Loris says it wistfully, playfully, almost like he’s talking more to himself than to her. And he really means it – he doesn’t know what he did to convince her to spend the rest of her life with him, but he popped the question and for some reason she said yes.

He can’t stop staring at her. She’s wearing a white lace wedding dress that flows down to the floor, with a train that swishes behind her as she walks. She looks ethereal, like an angel, and every time she smiles it knocks the breath right out of his lungs. (Which has been happening a lot today, because she can’t stop smiling). She feels his gaze, so she turns to look at him and sees a small smile hanging on his lips. She takes a moment to appreciate the way he looks – dressed in a blue suit with a matching tie, his hair slicked back. He looks dapper.

“Well, it’s a done deal now,” she says, flashing her rings at him with a smile. “I’m stuck with you.”

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anonymous asked:

hi love! im a sucker for 'harry falling for a fan' and hes all filled with fluffy thoughts with some lust. can you please write that? x

It’s such a cute concept, cause don’t we all swoon about it? I’m not sure it delivered… it started one way, but then…. So, I sat on it for a bit, but it didn’t really present any other way to attack it. In any case, I hope you enjoy! x.

Gentle reminder: requests are closed! I’m working on putting up ones I’ve had partially drafted and trying to clear through them. We can, however, always TALK about Harry, if you want. ;) 

040. A Harry Girl

The ironic thing of it all is that he’s not even your favorite one. Niall is your favorite, and the first time he meets you, he’s with the Irishman, and you flush your whole way through the night while dropping off pint upon pint for them.

Both he and Niall are gracious and do their best to put you at ease, and pictures are posed for with polite gratitude upon his offering, but that’s as far as it goes.

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Best of British

Owen x British!Reader

Summary: Owen always felt like he didn`t need help doing paperwork, until Claire brought the reader in to do it for him. The raptor trainer instantly resented the help, until he heard the reader`s English accent, and that`s when things get interesting. 

A/N: I have been having a reader`s block lately, and I realized when reading Owen x Reader fics that there are none about British people. I am British so I wanted to change this travesty.

Warning: Swearing, lots of English slang, and a very confused Owen.

 “Claire, I do not need help with my paperwork. Barry and I can handle it with no problems” Owen followed Claire as she walked through the control center to her office.

“Owen, your papers are two weeks late, and I don`t see you attempting to finish them any time soon. You need to concentrate on the raptors, and Y/N can do the paperwork, then deal with the employees issues” she nodded firmly.

“Issues? Who the fuck said there were ‘issues’ with my staff? They all seem perfectly happy” Owen shook his head, still on Claire`s tail.

“Mr. Grady” Claire stopped walking, and looked at Owen, “Miss Y/L/N is your new assistant and that is final. Please welcome her tomorrow morning, otherwise I shall talk to Mr. Masrani about InGen helping more with the raptors” she threatened, and stalked off to her office to prepare for her meeting.

“Damn it” Owen clenched his fist, and huffed. He left the control center, and made sure the rest of the day ran smoothing as to avoid any more “issues”.

The next morning, Barry and Owen were standing by the gate, having their coffee, when a Jeep pulled up about 20 feet away.

“Well here she is” chuckled Barry. Owen had vented to Barry about having an assistant to help him, he did NOT need help, and the paddock ran fine with Owen at the helm.

The men watched as a young woman exited the car, her boots kicking dust around, as she reached over to get her bag.

After closing the door, she walked towards her new bosses, her Y/H/C hair blowing in the humid breeze, and her long legs accentuated by her khaki shorts.

“Good morning fellas” she greeted the men, and their mouths fell open to the London accent that they heard.

“Go—good morning” Barry replied, eyes going wide, English accents were a rarity on the island, as was Barry`s French one.

“Um, well, I`m Y/F/N Y/L/N, here to work for you both” you were nervous as hell.

This job was your chance to make something of yourself, and honestly, you hoped it would lead to a better opportunity.

Keep reading

Loyalty is a funny thing. It’s always in black and white, no shades of gray. You either have it, or you don’t. Because if you are loyal you are ALWAYS going to put the team before you, you are always going to give your absolute best, your heart and soul for the best of the club and the name on the shirt. Money, trophies, they come with time. But if you show respect and loyalty you win the fans, you get comfortable and things just fit into places. But if you don’t have it… what is the point? What is the point of doing something if you are only doing it half-hearted. Because football is not just a sport, not a place where you do business. The team is your family, the name on the chest becomes your name and once you’re in, there’s no going out”.

Daniel @ Bloody Weekend Con Day 2.
(A big thank you to @phoebetonkin for hooking us up with great pictures of the event!)

  • Daniel loved working on The Originals, but he has to move on. (x)
  • He plays video games with Tyler Hoechlin until 6 AM. (x)
  • They are also really competitive. (x)
  • He supports Stydia. (x) But he also asked “Did it ever happen?”
  • He misses shooting the Originals, also he is very good friends with Joseph Morgan and Daniel Gillies. (x)
  • Someone called Daniel a God and he said no one ever called him that. (x)
  • He prefers playing a witch, because of all the make-up and facial hair that needs to get done for being a werewolf. (x)
  • His first friend on the set of Teen Wolf was Tyler Hoechlin. (x)
  • He said he isn’t a big fan of anything (liar what about Arsenal?) but if he would go to a convention, he’d go to a Lion King one. (x)
  • Someone asked if he prefers working on Teen Wolf or The Originals and he said he likes both for different reasons. (x)
  • He isn’t watching Teen Wolf. (x)
  • Joseph Morgan always made him laugh during shooting The Originals. (x)
  • Daniel Gillies is one of the funniest people he knows. (x)
  • He learned to draw when he was a child because his mom was a painter. (x)
  • Someone asked him what he would do if a killer would be after him and he said he’d run, since he is really fast. (x)
  • He said there is no difference between people in the “noble areas” and favelas. The difference is not the people, but the things they have to go through daily. The people are all friendly and lovely. (video.)
After My Heart - Calum Chambers

My house was a mess. Boxes were everywhere, although they didn’t belong to just me. (Actually only a few belonged to me, I was renowned for being a complete neat freak amongst my friends). They also belonged to my 3 room mates: Naomi, Jordan and Tom. We all went to the same university and after our first year had chosen to get a flat and split the rent.

So far it was so good but Jordan had mentioned that he had a friend staying over for the night and we were all rushing around attempting to make the flat look half decent. Jordan had given us no clue over who was visiting but it was clearly obvious that it wasn’t someone from Uni.


A few hours later a knock at the door was heard and typically Jordan was in the shower. I was sitting on the sofa doing Uni coursework and all I heard was:

“Y/N get the fucking door!”

I rolled my eyes and only planned to exchange polite words with the guest, whoever it was, and continue with my coursework. I paced slowly to the door and opened it. I was shocked to see who was standing there.

I recognised him immediately. It was Calum Chambers. I had followed football for a long time and it happened to be that Arsenal was the team I had chosen to support. I kept my cool and smiled at him.

“Urm hi, is Jordan in?” He asked politely.

“Hi, yeah he’s just having a shower but please come on in.” I said, standing aside so he could walk in. I closed the door after him and he brushed the non-existent mud off his shoes. He was incredibly polite.

I walked through to the living room and sat back down on the sofa, pulling my laptop back onto my lap. Calum had followed me through to the living room and sat on the sofa opposite me. I was immersed in coursework instantly, forgetting that Calum was even in the room.

“Sorry to disturb you, but who’s scarf is that?” Calum asked, making me raise my head and follow his gaze to the many boxes that were lying around the house. The scarf was a Gunners one, this seasons one.

“Oh that’s mine.” I said, slightly embarrassed.

“You’re an Arsenal fan?” He questioned. I nodded back at him and he smiled.

“Who’s your favourite player?” He asked.

“Giroud, if I had to choose.”

“What about me?” I smiled at his mock hurt. I decided to continue the banter.

“Meh, you’re alright.” I joked. Calum placed his hands up in surrender.

“Well that’s rude. Well you obviously know my name, so what’s yours?”


“Suits you, it’s cute.” 

“Is that your way of calling me cute?” I smirked, expecting him to falter and maybe get embarrassed. But he didn’t, he simply just smirked back at me.

“It is. Pretty, smart and you like football? You must be a girl after my own heart.” He chuckled. This time I was the one who faltered and got embarrassed. I began to blush a little but before I got the opportunity to make a witty comeback Jordan walked down from his shower, his hair still wet.

“Hey man.” Jordan spoke, making Calum look up and remember the reason he was here.

“Hey J.” Calum replied, standing up and exchanging a bro hug with my room mate.

“Sorry for taking so long.” Jordan apologised.

“Nah, it’s alright. Y/N was keeping me entertained.” Calum smirked. Jordan glanced down at me, sending me a knowing grin.

“Sure she was. Now come on, we’ve got FIFA to play.” Jordan said, clapping Calum on the back and pushing him in the direction of the stairs.

“See you Y/N.” Calum called over his shoulder, causing Jordan to roll his eyes and push him upstairs. I laughed at their antics, continuing with my coursework until my other room mate Naomi came downstairs.

“Flirting with a footballer now eh Y/N?” She teased. I groaned, knowing I wasn’t going to hear the end of this for a long time.

“Don’t you start….” I grumbled. Naomi flopped down on the sofa beside me, removing my laptop from my lap and placing it carefully on the coffee table, knowing I would snap if she handled my laptop thoughtlessly. 

“Forget coursework, tell me everything!” 



I loved the prompt for this imagine so thank you to whoever sent it in! 

Request if you want :)


Champion - Calum Chambers

“I just don’t understand why you can’t wear my jersey,” Calum huffed for the millionth time that morning, making Y/N shake her head, feeling worse than she already did.

They’d managed to keep their relationship a secret for over six months now, and they’d had a valid reason to do so. The critics would have a field day if they were to learn that a player was dating the FA Chairman’s only daughter and neither one of them wanted to bring that negative attention towards what they had.

He’d been captivated by her the moment she’d (quite literally) fallen into his arms at the League awards. She’d missed a step whilst on her way to her table and he’d been there to catch her. Both of them instantly falling for each other as they’d locked eyes, smiling giddily at each other and bashfully small-talking their way into each other’s hearts.

He’d been disappointed to learn that she was Greg Dyke’s youngest and only daughter, not only putting her way out of his league but also completely off limits. Yet he’d found himself unable to stay away as he’d kept running into her at galas, and had finally been bold enough to slip her his number.

That had been the start of it all.

He’d fallen for her harder and faster than he could’ve ever imagined. He didn’t know if it was her shy nature; the way her cheeks turned pink as she giggled at the smallest of compliments or the heart shaped birthmark on her collarbone, but he knew that this girl was everything he’d ever want. He was the happiest he could ever remember being and he was willing to protect that at whatever cost.

Their dates consisted of homemade and takeout dinners followed by movie nights and lazy Sundays spent tangled up in each other’s arms. Calum was thankful that she lived on her own or else the relationship would’ve been even harder to hide from her father, who had a strong dislike towards his daughter dating at all.

But at the moment he was annoyed that his girlfriend couldn’t sport his jersey as she came to the FA Cup final to watch him play, despite the rational part of him telling him exactly why she couldn’t.

“Cal, you know I’m going to be sitting with Daddy at the match. And I’m presenting the trophy to the winners - I can’t exactly do that whilst wearing your jersey!” She replied, a hint of exasperation in her tone. She wanted nothing more than to show her support for her boyfriend, but given her position in the football world she had to remain as neutral as possible in public.

Calum sighed dramatically, walking over to her and burying his face into her neck as he hugged her from behind.

“I know. I just want to covet you and be selfish for a moment,” he replied, making her chuckle and turn around to face him, taking his face in her hands.

“You’ve coveted my heart, isn’t that enough?” she asked him.

Calum shook his head.

“I’ll never have enough of you,” he murmured, before sealing a kiss to her lips.

~ * ~

Y/N sat in the bleachers amongst the sea of red, white and blue. Arsenal took Chelsea head-to-head in Wembley, London’s two champions battling it out on the pitch.

She wished she could say it was a clean game but it wasn’t. She was constantly on the edge of her seat, her lips pressed together to stop herself from yelling out loud. It wasn’t in her nature to be violent or loud, yet at the moment she wanted nothing more than to curse the players who had made a mission of trying to injure the Arsenal players. As much as she respected Oscar dos Santos, she was going to kill him for straight up pushing Calum over.

Her father sat beside her, amused at the tension on the pitch and completely oblivious to his daughter fuming on the inside as she kept a neutral expression on her face.

Half-time came and went, and the score was still 0-0 up until the 89th minute.

When Giroud swerved between Eden Hazard and Azpilicueta and Calum was there, a flick of his foot sending the ball straight between Courtois’ legs and right into the net.

She couldn’t help her face breaking into a grin, jumping to her feet and cheering with the Arsenal fans. Her face mirroring Calum’s as he ran towards Giroud, the other boys jumping onto them as they celebrated just as the referee blew the final whistle. Letting Wembley know that Arsenal had won their 12th FA Cup.


She could feel Calum’s piercing gaze on her as she walked towards the team stood in front of the press, the FA Cup trophy clutched in her hands. Their eyes locked and her face automatically broke into a smile, wanting nothing more than to run to her boyfriend, lock her arms around him and tell him how proud of him she was.

She kept up her persona though, gracefully walking up to him stood in the middle as the crowd erupted into a cheer around them.

“Congratulations,” she told him, holding out the trophy towards him.

Calum smirked, deliberately brushing his fingers over hers as he took it from her and leaning in to kiss her cheeks. Physically having to restrain himself to kiss his girl right there and then in front of everyone.

The team cheered in celebration, the boys shaking Y/N’s hand as she congratulated them all before she lined up in the midst of them for a photo. Her heart raced as she felt Calum slip his hand into hers, locking their fingers together and possessively bringing her into his side. Casually smiling as the cameras snapped away, the world completely oblivious about the two of them.

Trophy or no trophy, she was the real prize.

Arsenal defender Per Mertesacker tackles his toughest test as German is welcomed at St John's Synagogue || World Cup winner does not shirk his nation’s past as he is welcomed at St John’s Wood Synagogue and answers questions from Jewish fans:

Until he came to London, to play for Arsenal, Per Mertesacker had never before met a Jewish person. Then, one Friday night, when the new signing was living in Hampstead, his neighbour invited him and his wife round for a Shabbat meal. This was some cultural summit meeting. And it was, the giant German centre-back recalled, rather awkward when he was expected to contribute to the musical section of the evening. But the welcome was so effusive – and the food so delicious – he overcame his nerves and soon settled in.

Later that night, however, in conversation around the dinner table, he discovered that his new neighbours also had German heritage. So, he politely inquired whether they spoke the language. No, he was told. On their arrival in England, escaping the Nazis, their grandparents had forbidden German ever being spoken in the house. It was, he recalled, a chastening moment. “We have a responsibility for our history,” Mertesacker suggested. “We – the new generation of Germans – have to show everybody that we are honest, that we do not shy away from it and that we will teach our kids to do things properly.”

Mertesacker was revealing his Friday-night dining experience during a fundraising event at the St John’s Wood Synagogue in north London on Wednesday night. A charitable soul who runs his own foundation in his home town of Hanover, targeting disadvantaged youngsters, he was, it turned out, the first former member of the German army ever to set foot in the place. Not that he had borne arms during his year of compulsory national service.

“I told them I was too big to fit in a tank,” he explained. “So, I took the social option, I worked in a hospital for people with mental illness.” Questioned by the London-based German journalist Raphael Honigstein in the synagogue’s social hall, in flawless English Mertesacker talked about his relationship with his country’s past. To a large and almost exclusively Jewish audience, he explained that he had, as a schoolboy, visited Auschwitz.

“You have to face it,” he said of the Holocaust. “In that place you got an imagination of what happened. Of course, you can never understand it. But you come away thinking that what we did in the past must never, ever happen again.”

Just turned 30, Mertesacker has several more years to look forward to as a top-flight defender. But when he does retire, one thing is sure, he could walk into a job in the diplomatic corps. In a place with every justification to be suspicious of a young German, he gave a masterclass in the subtle breaking down of barriers.

After sitting through a short fundraising film detailing the work of the synagogue’s youth wing, called Tribe, he was asked how he might ever top the experience of winning the World Cup last July. Scarcely missing a beat, he said: “Easy. Next year I fancy going on the Tribe summer camp.” At which point, the hall erupted in cheers.

Indeed, what was evident in the synagogue was the enormous power sport – and football in particular – has to bring people together. Here was a substantial crowd, many of whom had relatives murdered in the Holocaust, welcoming a representative of the nation that devastated their families with a warmth that was remarkable. Why? Largely because he plays for the football team many of them support. Even the rabbi confessed that he was “a religious Gooner”. By which he meant he worshipped frequently at the altar of the Arsenal.

Thus it was that when Honigstein invited questions from the floor, nobody was anxious to quiz Mertesacker on what his views were on the state of Israel or to ask him what his grandfather did in the war. Nobody sought to blame him for what had been done in a previous German generation’s name.

What they wanted to know was something much more pressing: do Arsenal ever actually practise defending corners? And why does the Arsenal manager insist on playing people out of position? And what was the best shirt he ever swapped? To which the answers were yes, it’s only because there’s an injury crisis and “opponents aren’t that much interested in my shirt”. Though at the World Cup semi-final he had swapped his top with Fred.

“He retired after that game,” he said of the Brazilian centre-forward. “He went out on a low.”

And when one man asked a lengthy question about Arsenal’s tactical shortcomings, he replied, to great applause, “You’d make a good manager. Maybe you can come to the dressing room and tell us how to do it.”

This was a German who would always be welcome to Shabbat.

Article by Jim White | Source

This is so wonderful, I am forever impressed by Per and his gracious, caring, nature. Big fucking German with a big fucking heart.