johnny's seniors

Check You Out

Originally posted by withsuh

“Is it bad that I contemplate quitting every time I think about work?” you question as you turn to face your co-worker. “I mean, it’s kind of normal to hate your job but to contemplate quitting at least ten times a shift? I don’t think that’s normal.”

Hana laughs as she grabs the empty box from the shelf and begins breaking it down. “It’s probably not for other places,” she agrees, “but this place is an exception. Honestly, if anywhere else was hiring, I’d be gone. But no one is even looking at applications.”

“It’s because everyone just got back into town from summer break,” you huff. “If only I’d listened to everyone and looked elsewhere to begin with. I can’t quit until I find another job and I can’t find another job because everyone else has the same sentiment. Fuck, being an adult sucks.”

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Translation: Myojo December 2017 - Yaotome Hikaru 10000 characters interview

Please credit @skysj4 if reposting, retranslating, sharing, posting screenshots or quoting.

“ I will never forget Yabu’s expression at that moment. It was just that second, but at that very second, it felt as if both of us had the longest conversation we had ever had. What does it mean for us to become JUMP? What we had to carry, what we had to give up? With that second, both of us understood each other and we felt “As long as it is with you”. It was a moment where we had to accept everything that would happen from then on, and carry everything we us. Because, after that we didn’t specifically talk about it. Understanding even without having to talk, it really does happen.”

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Nobody Compares




“you’re so pretty when you cry”

It had always been the three of us; me, Ten and Johnny. We were like the golden trio; we’d always be together. If you see one of us, you can bet the other two are nearby. There was never a weekend where we didn’t hang out and I even remember way back in elementary when I’d sleepover at Ten’s house with Johnny. Needless to say, we were inseparable.

I was closer to Ten in a way. He was almost like a little brother (he was a month younger than me but I’d still use that to my advantage). Ten used to be sweet and shy and he used to do everything for me when we were little, so I formed some kind of superiority complex over him, but it brought us closer if that makes any sense. Of course, he doesn’t obey like a puppy anymore, I could still trust and depend on him for anything.

Johnny was a little different. I always felt that he was more Ten’s friend than mine, and that the only reason we could hang out together was because Ten was our mutual friend. I had never met up with Johnny alone whereas I’d done it loads of time with Ten. We had a group chat with the three of us and I’ve talked to Johnny a lot on there but our private chats were nearly empty save a couple small talks.

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she doesn’t wear costume jewelry & she knew that walt disney was/is making a fortune off false-eyelashes and that time magazine is the authority on the knee/grow. her makeup is total-real.

a negro english instructor called her: “a fine negro poet.” a whi-te critic said: “she’s a credit to the negro race.” somebody else called her; “a pure negro writer.” johnnie mae, who’s a senior in high school said: “she and Langston are the only negro poets we’ve read in school and i understand her.” pee wee used to carry one of her poems around in his back pocket; the one about being cool. that was befo pee wee was cooled by a cop’s warning shot.

into the sixties a word was born … … . . BLACK & with black came poets & from the poet’s ball points came: black doubleblack purpleblack blueblack beenblack was black daybeforeyesterday blackerthan ultrablack super black blackblack yellowblack niggerblack blackwhi-te- man

blackthanyoueverbes ¼ black unblack coldblack clear black my momma’s blackerthanyourmomma pimpleblack fall

black so black we can’t even see you black on black in black by black technically black mantanblack winter black coolblack 360degreesblack coalblack midnight black black when it’s convenient rustyblack moonblack black starblack summerblack electronblack spaceman black shoeshineblack jimshoeblack underwearblack ugly black auntjimammablack, uncleben’srice black williebest black blackisbeautifulblack i justdiscoveredblack negro black unsubstanceblack.

and everywhere the lady “negro poet” appeared the poets were there. they listened & questioned & went home feeling uncomfortable/unsound & so- untogether they read/re-read/wrote & rewrote & came back the next time to tell the lady “negro poet” how beautiful she was/is & how she helped them & she came back with: how necessary they were and how they’ve helped her. the poets walked & as space filled the vacuum between them & the lady “negro poet” u could hear one of the blackpoets say: “bro, they been calling that sister by the wrong name.”

Haki R. Madhubuti, “Gwendolyn Brooks”

a short bit of post-yuri!!! on ice ep 11 meta/musings, contains spoilers

I just came to a realisation about Victor, Yuri P., their parallels, and why Victor might have been watching Yuri P. so intently during his short program.

We all know that Victor is lauded in the skating world for constantly breaking records and doing new and exciting things, for making history like no one’s ever made before. He did it in Juniors, he did it in Seniors. But consider. We’ve seen Victor in his Juniors years, and when he was about seventeen in Seniors (the Johnny Weir allusion). We have also seen him in his last Grand Prix final and European Championship, and we know that he won both, plus the Worlds, for the last five years. So we’ve seen him on highs at seventeen, and from age twenty-one onwards. Long hair and still fairly svelte and small, and then suddenly short hair, and much bigger and more built.

What happened to those in-between years? The years which make up the majority of skaters in the Grand Prix series this year: the 18-20-year-olds? Where are Victor’s ground-breaking skates and world records in that? Why haven’t we seen any of that?

Now, Yuri P. has parallels with Victor with regards to his skating. He embodies that androgynous skating persona, the male skater who dances on the ice like a prima ballerina. He’s growing his hair out, he’s got twig-like limbs on the ice—I hate to use the term, but he’s tiny compared to the other skaters. He’s breaking massive records at a young, relatively inexperienced age. He skates with beauty. He is, in effect, the parallel to Victor at that same stage of his career.

But the key thing we know about Yuri P., the thing he has said outright, is that he doesn’t have long like this. He has said that his body is going to change, and that it’s probably going to change soon, and that he needs to make the most of how he physically is now so he can win.

So that makes me think that not too long after the European Championship when Victor was seventeen, his body started to change. The way he skated would have had to change enormously. He probably had a period (that golden 18/19/20-year-old period) when he wasn’t doing so well, but would have been figuring out how to make skating work for him again, and how to improve even further on what he had already been doing so well. He started absolutely dominating the skating world at age twenty-one, and then kept skating like that in that age bracket that we know, from both Yuuri K. and Chris, is the “getting old” age for a skater.

So what if, when he was concentrating so intently on Yuri P. in his short program, and with such a serious expression, he was realising what would be likely to happen to this boy within a couple of years, because it had already happened to him himself: he makes a world record at age 15, he peaks at this stage of his career in this body—and then his body starts to change, and he’ll have to make some serious changes to how he skates and how he approaches skating, or else he’ll have to bow out of this career early.

for anonymous

It was three in the morning, and you were once again out on the streets wandering all by yourself. It was a Monday night and not even the insane teens were out. You thought this to yourself, and then questioned it. The teens who acted insane all went to bed several hours ago. Now the teens that were out were the ones who in fact were completely insane. At what point would you even consider yourself to be insane? Is it after endless nights of crying yourself to sleep, or not being able to sleep at all? Is it never being home or never going out? Insanity is a broad definition, and every passing day, you were steering closer towards it. 

You were the quiet girl in town, at school, and even at home. You didn’t have a single friend in the whole entire state… could you imagine that? After years of both mental and physical abuse, getting treated like shit, and never being good enough, you decided that it might just be easier to stop trying. When you moved to Tulsa a little over a year ago, you wanted a fresh start. You wanted to forget your blood related family, and all the court cases and trials and even your old friends. They weren’t ever there for you. When you found out that you were going to live with a foster mom along with six other kids all much younger than you in the east side of Tulsa, you were happy. You only were happy because you knew that nobody would pay attention to you, and you could do whatever you wanted to. At least, that’s what you kept trying to convince yourself.

It was now 3:15, and you had walked around the block of your neighborhood three times now, noticing something new each round you made. The streets were silent, except for the light splash of a raindrop that would hit the ground. On the fourth walk around, you found yet another thing that was different about the neighborhood. There were lights on in a house. You take a few steps before you slow to a stopping point. There’s shadows from the curtains in the windows that show what’s going on inside of the house. It’s a woman, throwing her hands in the air, with a man mocking her. It’s not long before you hear yelling and screaming, and see something get thrown at the man. As the sounds get louder, you get more uncomfortable, and quickly walk away from the house. It reminded you too much of your old home, which you had tried so hard to forget.

As you get halfway through this block around, you decide to stop and check out the park. There’s a giant tree with inviting roots to your left, so you go and lay up against it while watching the stars. You were thinking… like you always did. It’s the thinking that really made you insane. There was something so peaceful about the sky at night. You had never really looked long at the stars before. Your thoughts get interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing and footsteps. You slide up close and hide behind the tree so this person doesn’t see you. 

The footsteps and breathing come even closer, and through the reflection of the poles for the swing set, you can see that it’s a boy. He has tan skin with dark greasy hair and is wearing a worn out jean jacket. The boy comes to a stop and disappears to the other side of the tree where he slumps down, and sobs. You assume he came from the house with the lights on and the screaming parents. 

After a few minutes of debating whether or not to talk to him or leave the boy alone, you decide to approach him. 

Casually, you get up without making much of a sound, and walk around the tree. “You alright?” you ask with a sweet and concerned voice. Surprisingly, he doesn’t even seem startled by your appearance. He just keeps his head down. “Why you out here so late?” he asks. His eyes make him look like a lost puppy. “Why not? I don’t really have anything better to do.” “Most people tend to go to sleep at around this hour,” says the boy. You sit down in the grass next to him. “I’m not like most people,” you reply. The boy looks at you, and slyly smiles. “Why are you out here so late?” you question him. “Sick of bein’ at home. I just gotta’ get out, you know? I’m tired of this whole town. I was originally gonna’ run away tonight, but…” “But what?” “I don’t have anywhere to go. I’d be crazy to go off somewhere else with no money, car, or even suitcase,” he says. You pick at the grass, and tear each blade in half. “I wouldn’t say crazy; just desperate,” you finally reply. There is a silence, and the boy finally breaks it.

“My name’s Johnny Cade by the way. And what is yours?” he asks. “I’m *y/n*,” you reply. 

“So really, what are you doing out here so late?” “I thought it might help me clear my mind a little bit. I always thought about running away, you know.” “What kept you.” “False hope,” you smirk. “I always thought that if I left, I’d miss something big. Every day, I would hope for somebody to come in and change my life…” you trail off, and stand up. “Listen, I have to get going back home… Or whatever it’s called. It was nice talking to you,” you say. As you walk off, he says your name. You spin around. “Same time tomorrow?” he asks with a smile. “I’ll be here,” you say back. Each morning at three, you and Johnny would meet in the same spot and talk about anything and everything. Johnny was the first friend you’d had in a while. He was the best one you’d ever had, too. There’s something about 3 am talks that make them more special than regular hours of the day. They were deeper, more special, and just a little insane. Somehow these insane talks made you even more sane. Johnny would hold you in his arms when the nights got cold and you’d both look at the stars that seemed so different each night. One night towards the end of your senior year, Johnny meets you at the tree with two tickets in his hand. “What are these?” you ask. “Train tickets. There’s one for you and one for me,” he says. It comes as a complete shock to you. “I don’t… How are we going to pull this off?” you sigh. “I’ve been saving my whole life so that I could get out of here. When you came around… I started working even harder. Because I knew that I wanted to take you with me. It’s to Kansas City, Missouri. I’ve got enough money for a small house, and a little for food. Once we find some work, there’s no stopping us. We’re getting out of here, *y/n*. It’s finally happening.” You don’t know what to say, so you just hug him and a tear of joy slips down your cheek. “You’re insane,” you laugh into his shoulder under a muffled cry. “The best people are,” he replies and kisses you for the first time.