I write these words with a broken heart. To those who read this and choose to ignore it, you can simply scroll past, but I am living through the most difficult moments of my life. My husband is slowly dying before my eyes. Due to a severe head and jaw injury, he has been unable to eat or drink for over a week, his weight has dropped to just 39 kilograms, and he is suffering from severe, life-threatening malnutrition.
The doctors confirmed he needs urgent surgery, but we can't afford the operation and treatment. I feel helpless watching him weaken day by day, while time is running out.š
I'm not asking for the impossible; I'm simply asking for a chance to save his life. Please, if you can't donate, don't hesitate to share our story. It might reach someone who can give him a new lease on life.šš
I write with tears welling in my eyes and a trembling hand. I'm not asking for the impossible; all I ask is a chance to save his life. Please, donate now, and share our story, so that, thanks to you, our voice may reach everyone.
Please donate now. Hashim is extremely exhausted today. His voice was barely audible from fatigue and weakness, and I couldn't hide my fear as I watched him wither away before my eyes day by day. Please, don't leave Hashim to face this fate alone. š
Welcome to the studioSVT Birthday Event! āØA Midsummer Carat's DreamāØ is our way of thanking you for a wonderful 2 years, and we're handing the typewriters out in an open invitation to all! Find out how you can participate below.
HOW IT WORKS:
We have curated a list of prompts consisting of dialogue, premises, and openings below. Pick one (or more!) of the prompts and include them in one of your writings. Post it on Tumblr according to the guidelines below and we will reblog it!
This event will run from JULY 24TH - SEPTEMBER 18TH 2026.
GUIDELINES:
This event is open for anyone who would like to join. You do not need to be a member.
All fics must include one or more members of Seventeen x Reader.
All fics must include the use of at least one prompt from the list below. They can either be quoted directly or used as a heavy inspiration.
AI must not be used at any point of the process. This includes writing, planning, graphics, and plot. Anyone caught using AI in their work will be permanently blacklisted.
Open to blogs 18 and above ONLY. You must have an age indicator on your blog. (Legal, Adult, etcetera are acceptable indicators)
Blog must not be empty/inactive.
There is no minimum/maximum word count.
Fics posted after September 18th will not be reblogged.
Mature content/NSFW content must be flagged in the beginning of the fic.
A read more cut must be used after the first 500 words (includes foreword), and before any mature content.
Fics must not overlap with another external event (this does not include personally curated events for the OP's blog only).
Use #amidsummercaratsdreamevent in the first 5 tags.
Tag @studiosvt in the foreword or at the end of the fic.
Avoid tagging members not in the main pairings.
FICS NOT ADHERING TO THESE RULES WILL NOT BE REBLOGGED.
Note: Anonymous asks have been turned off temporarily to effectively and privately answer questions pertaining to the collab. Please read through the guidelines before sending an ask.
PROMPTS:
āIs that legal?ā āDefine legal.ā
A deity you thought long gone appears to give you a job offer
āIāve been expecting you.ā
āHow long have you known about that?ā
You went to sleep in your bed and woke up in a circusĀ
āYou think this is funny?ā āIt got you smiling, didnāt it?ā
āThatās the worst idea youāve ever had.ā āAre you sure?ā āOkay, itās the second worst idea youāve ever had.ā
āNo one is going to believe us.ā
āYou werenāt supposed to see that.ā
Youāre new boss is your ex from college
āDont make me regret this.ā
You inherit a magical pawn shop from a witch you never met
āDonāt look them in the eyes.ā
You receive a text message from someone you thought was dead
āIf anyone can hear me on this frequency, we found somewhere safe.ā
āThatās not your blood, though.ā
āDonāt panic.ā āToo late.ā āOkay, so medium panic.ā
The magic in your world suddenly stops working - except for yours
You accidentally swipe right on your best friendās dating profile
You become someoneās scapegoat after an assassination
You join a book club on the weekends only to find out itās an occult group
āThis looked so much easier online!ā
An alien crash lands in your back yard and says theyāve been searching for you
The world ends while youāre at workĀ
āCan you see them too?ā
You discover an island that appears on no maps
You wake up to find that someone has stolen your memories
You wake up with someone elseās memories
āI feel like Iām finally homeā¦ with you.ā
You receive a random invitation to an exclusive partyĀ
āDid you mean what you said last night?ā
āWhy do you insist on making everything so hard?ā
The new neighborās lights randomly flashes in their windows between 3am-4am every nightĀ
āWhatās your favorite scary movie?ā
āSo I hear youāre into racing.āĀ
They showed up for you when you needed them the most
You go on a random road trip with a group of friends and it changes the trajectory of your life.
āDraw your weapon.ā
Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegasāunless itās livestreamed.
If u want to write a story about a character thatās just you but hotter with a dark twisted backstory and magical powers and a pet falcon or something, I think u should just go ahead and do that. Whoās gonna stop you? The government?? Fuck the police.
*Slow burn, Sports, Fanfiction, New Adult, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary, Slice of Life, Idol AU*
5.9k words
song playing: Roxanne by Arizona Zerves
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A post-concert escape to a Paris sports complex was supposed to be a chance for SEVENTEENās Mingyu to unwind. Instead, a chance encounter with Y/N, a captivating local athlete, sparks an unspoken challenge that neither of them expected.
When a playful, high-stakes wager forces their two worlds to collide, a single lingering glance shifts the gravity of the room leaving them both wondering just who is chasing who.
The Parisian air was crisp, carrying the faint, intoxicating scent of incoming rain, damp asphalt, and fresh pastries from a nearby boulangerie. Inside the Accor Arena just the night before, the atmosphere had been completely different a suffocating, beautiful heat generated by twenty thousand screaming fans. SEVENTEEN had just wrapped up the first European leg of their āRight Hereā world tour. The three-hour concert had been a masterclass in performance, leaving the stage stained with their sweat and the arena echoing with the remnants of Rose Quartz and Serenity lightsticks.
By the following afternoon, the explosive adrenaline had finally subsided, leaving behind a comfortable, lazy ache in the members' muscles. While the older members opted to sleep in or ordering room service at their luxury hotel, and the other members went to checkout a local contemporary dance gallery, the restless energy of Seungkwan, Dokyeom, and Mingyu couldn't be contained. Mingyu, possessing the stamina of a golden retriever and physically could not sit still for more than two hours, and he quickly roped Seungkwan and Dokyeom into sneaking out with him.
They wanted to experience Paris not as global idols flanked by security, but as ordinary twenty-something guys looking for a pickup game.
Bundled up in oversized black hoodies, low-slung baseball caps, and plain black masks that covered everything but their eyes, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Dokyeom strolled through a vibrant, less-touristy district in the 12th arrondissement. They were actively avoiding the Eiffel Tower crowds, opting instead for the raw, architectural beauty of the residential neighborhoods. Thatās when they stumbled upon a massive, ultra-modern facility. The sleek glass-and-steel building occupied nearly an entire block, its facade boasting a towering, glowing neon sign that read:
Curious, Seungkwan pressed his face against the tinted glass windows, pointing excitedly at a digital, interactive directory near the sweeping entrance. "Look, itās a massive multi-sport complex. They have everything here basketball, volleyball, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, an indoor ice skating rink, football, taekwondo etc... itās huge!"
"Basketball?" Mingyuās eyes lit up instantly. He adjusted the brim of his cap, a boyish, competitive grin spreading beneath his mask. "Hyungs, we have to go in. Just for an hour. My hands are literally itching to shoot some hoops. If I stay in that hotel room any longer, I'm going to lose my mind."
"I'm down," Dokyeom cheered, already bouncing on his heels and mimicking a shooting motion. "Let's see if French streetballers can handle our energy !"
After paying the guest entry fee at the automated kiosk and navigating the sprawling corridors, they headed straight for the indoor basketball courts. For the next hour, the three of them lost themselves entirely in the game. It was pure, unadulterated fun. They didn't even join a pickup game with locals; they just rented a half-court to themselves. Mingyu used his massive frame and height to dominate the paint, driving to the basket with explosive power. Dokyeom screamed dramatically every time he missed a simple layup, throwing his hands up to the ceiling as if appealing to a higher power, while Seungkwan hit surprisingly clean three-pointers, trash-talking in a hilarious, broken mix of Korean, English, and random French words he remembered from their flight menu. They laughed until their stomachs hurt, completely shedding the heavy armor of their idol status.
Sweaty, breathless, and thoroughly energized, they finally decided to call it a day on the court. However, instead of heading straight for the showers, their curiosity got the better of them. With water bottles in hand, they decided to roam around the sprawling, multi-level complex to cool down.
They walked past the thick glass walls of the indoor ice skating rink, watching figure skaters spin gracefully under bright floodlights. They passed the volleyball courts, where a fierce high school tournament seemed to be taking place. Eventually, as they wandered deeper into the western wing of the complex, down a long, echoing concrete corridor, they began to hear a distinct cadence of sounds the sharp, rhythmic squeaking of heavy-soled sneakers, the booming thud of a resin-covered ball hitting the floor, and the aggressive clanging of a metal goal post.
Intrigued, they followed the sound through a set of heavy double doors, slipping quietly into a secondary arena dedicated entirely to handball.
A friendly, yet intensely competitive match was underway between local club members who were registered at the complex. There weren't many spectators just a dozen or so friends, family members, and off-duty athletes scattered across the bottom rows of the wooden bleachers. The trio quietly slipped into the very top row, pulling their caps down to blend into the shadows, content to just sit back and watch the fast-paced game.
At first, they were just admiring the intense, grueling athleticism of the sport. Handball was notoriously physical, a brutal hybrid of basketball maneuvering and soccer-like scoring. But within minutes, Mingyuās eyes became completely, unblinkingly glued to one player in particular.
She wore a dark blue, almost indigo jersey with the number 7 emblazoned in white on the back, paired with crisp white shorts and matching white sneakers that were scuffed from aggressive defense. Her hair was tied back in a high, thick ponytail that whipped violently through the air every time she changed direction.
Your name was Y/N. And to Kim Mingyu, you were the most captivating thing in the entire building.
Mingyu watched, completely fascinated, as your team played defense. You were positioned as a backcourt player, reading the opposing teamās passes with terrifyingly sharp reflexes. Suddenly, the opposing playmaker tried to execute a bounce pass through a tight gap. Like a flash of indigo lightning, you anticipated the trajectory, lunged forward, and intercepted the ball mid-air.
"Whoa!" Dokyeom whispered loudly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "She's fast!"
Without a single beat of hesitation, you pushed the ball down the court in a rapid fast-break. A defender shifted heavily to block your path, but you executed a sharp, fluid spin move that left her grasping at air. As you reached the six-meter line, you took three explosive steps, launched your body high into the air, suspended yourself for what felt like an eternity, and whipped the ball past the opposing goalkeeperās outstretched hands. The ball ripped into the top right corner of the net with a deafening thwack.
"Wow, she's an absolute ace," Seungkwan muttered, genuinely impressed by the technique. "Look at the form."
Mingyu didn't say a word. He just nodded slowly, his jaw slightly slack beneath his mask, his eyes tracking the way your ponytail swung as you jogged back to the defensive line, high-fiving your teammates.
The match grew increasingly physical. The opposing team was getting frustrated, driving harder and playing a suffocating zone defense. Yet, your team remained dominant, largely because you seemed to be everywhere at once. Then, a bizarre turn of events occurred. During a chaotic scramble near your team's goal, the starting goalkeeper collided heavily with the goalpost while making a save. She groaned, holding her shoulder, and signaled to the bench that she needed a few minutes to recover.
Because it was a friendly club match with limited substitutes, the team faced a dilemma. Without missing a beat, you jogged into the goal crease. You grabbed a bright neon green training pinnie from the floor, threw it over your indigo jersey, and slapped the crossbar with both hands, shouting words of encouragement to your defense in rapid French.
Mingyuās eyebrows shot up to his hairline. She can play keeper too? he thought, a sudden surge of respect warming his chest.
For the next five minutes, you proved that you weren't just an offensive threat; you were a wall. The opposing team, seeing a court player in the net, immediately unleashed a barrage of powerful shots. You deflected a low rocket with a swift, kick-out extension of your left foot. Seconds later, a wing player tried to loop a shot over your head, but you leaped backward, tipping the ball over the crossbar with your fingertips. Your team maintained their five-goal lead entirely because of your fearlessness in the box.
As soon as the injured goalkeeper signaled from the sidelines that she was ready to come back, you pulled off the green pinnie, tossed it to her, and seamlessly sprinted back out onto the court as a backcourt player, transitioning back into the game without missing a single second of the action.
Suddenly, a loud, mechanical buzzer echoed through the high ceilings of the arena. The referee blew a sharp, double whistle, raising his arms to signal a temporary timeout. The players immediately relaxed their posture, wiping the sweat from their faces and conversing in a torrent of fast, animated French.
"Ah, must be a five-minute break before the final quarter," Seungkwan deduced, checking his phone to track the time.
While the majority of the players gathered in a huddle around the coachās whiteboard near the center line, Y/N walked away from the group. You were completely wiped out, the heavy exertion evident in the deep rise and fall of your chest. You jogged over toward the bleachers specifically, directly toward the section right below where the three disguised Seventeen members were sitting. Resting on the bottom bench was your oversized black sports backpack.
Mingyu involuntarily held his breath as you approached. From this closer proximity, the dim lighting of the arena fell perfectly across your features. He could see the flush of heat on your cheeks, the stray baby hairs plastered to your forehead, and the fierce, lingering fire of competition in your eyes.
You unzipped the side pocket of your bag, pulling out a large, matte-black hydro-flask. Unscrewing the cap, you tilted your head back and took a long, desperate drink of cold water. Because of how fast you were drinking, a few stray droplets escaped the corner of your mouth, running down the line of your jaw and onto your collarbone. You wiped it away with the back of your wrist, letting out a long, breathy sigh of relief that echoed faintly in the quiet corners of the gym.
As you leaned over to place the flask back into the depths of your backpack, you froze. It was that instinctual, undeniable sensation of being watched.
Slowly, you tilted your head back, your gaze traveling up the rows of empty wooden bleachers until your eyes locked directly onto the top row.
Directly onto Mingyu
Time seemed to grind to a sudden, screeching halt. Mingyu froze instantly, caught completely red-handed in his intense staring. He was wearing a dark hoodie, a cap pulled low over his brow, and a mask hiding his mouth by all accounts, he looked like a mysterious stranger trying to hide. He fully expected you to look away in discomfort or confusion.
Instead, as your eyes lingered on him, a small, knowing, and genuinely amused smile slowly tugged at the corner of your lips. You didn't find him creepy; you found the intense devotion of this masked spectator entertaining. Recognizing the universal language of sportsmanship, you offered a polite, subtle nod of acknowledgment to the man who had been silently cheering you on.
Mingyu felt his heart do a sudden, violent flip against his ribs a sensation far more intense than any stage fright he had ever experienced. Breaking out of his stunned paralysis, he quickly nodded back, his eyes crinkling deeply at the corners, a clear giveaway that he was beaming broadly beneath his black mask.
" Yo Y/N! On y va, on reprend!" ("Yo Y/N! Let's go, back to the game!") a teammate yelled from the center line, clapping her hands loudly to gather the squad.
You broke eye contact with Mingyu, turning your head to call back a quick response. You zipped your backpack with a swift motion, throwing it securely under the bench. Before turning back to the court, you glanced up at the top row one last time. You raised a hand, giving Mingyu a small, brief wave, and then spun on your heel, jogging back out onto the hardwood, your indigo jersey swaying beautifully with your stride.
"Yah, Kim Mingyu," Seungkwan whispered loudly, leaning over and aggressively poking Mingyu's ribs with a massive, mischievous smirk. "Your ears are literally bright red. Are you blushing under that mask? I think you are."
"Wow, our Mingyu is smitten," Dokyeom teased, shaking his head and laughing quietly into his hand. "Should we leave you two alone?"
"Shut up, both of you," Mingyu muttered, his voice muffled by the mask, though he didn't deny it. He pulled his cap down a fraction lower, but his eyes never left the court as the referee blew the whistle to restart the match. He settled deeper into his seat, a sudden, burning determination blooming in his chest. He was going to stay until the very last second of this game and he was absolutely going to find a way to say hello properly before their flight back to Seoul.
The atmosphere inside the secondary arena shifted with the sudden, violent finality of a glass vase shattering on concrete. The comfortable, rhythmic squeaks of sneakers and the echoes of friendly banter dissolved instantly, replaced by a suffocating, hostile tension that seemed to lower the temperature in the room. The opposing team, thoroughly humiliated by Y/Nās absolute, effortless dominance throughout the first three quarters, had abandoned all pretenses of a "friendly club scrimmage." They were losing badly, and their frustration had mutated into a reckless, hyper-aggressive edge.
Down from the very top row of the wooden bleachers, the three SEVENTEEN members sat up straighter. Mingyuās knuckles went completely white as he gripped his knees through the fabric of his jeans. His protective instincts, usually reserved for his members during chaotic broadcasts or crowded airports, were suddenly firing on all cylinders for a girl whose name he had only heard shouted across a gym.
The catalyst happened just three minutes into the final quarter.
Y/N anticipated a lazy, looping pass near the mid-court line. Like a flash of indigo lightning, she lunged forward, intercepted the ball cleanly, and burst into a full, explosive sprint down the center corridor of the court. She left two defenders clutching at thin air behind her. As she hit the dotted nine-meter line, she gathered her momentum, took three long, powerful strides, and launched her body high into the air. She was completely suspended in the atmosphere of the gym, the handball cocked back in her right hand like a loaded weapon, ready to deliver a definitive, crushing blow to the back of the net.
But mid-flight, an opposing defender charged blindly from the blind spot on her right. Instead of attempting a clean, vertical block on the ball, the player violently lowered her shoulder and shoved Y/N heavily directly in the ribs, knocking her completely off balance while she had absolutely zero ground leverage.
Y/N hit the polished hardwood hard, a sickening thud echoing through the rafters as she skidded and rolled heavily across the floor, the ball spilling wide and bouncing uselessly out of bounds.
Mingyu stood up instinctively, a sharp, angry gasp escaping his lips as his tall frame cast a long shadow over the bleachers. Beside him, Seungkwan and Dokyeom groaned in pure disbelief, their jaws dropping. It was a dangerous, highly illegal challenge that could easily cause a severe concussion or a broken rib. In any standard handball match around the globe, an intentional, physical shove on an airborne player was a mandatory two-minute suspension, if not a direct, non-negotiable red card.
Yet, the referee stood just meters away, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, his whistle entirely silent. He didn't even blink. Instead, he simply gestured with a casual wave of his hand for play to continue, completely ignoring the blatant foul.
"Hey! Are you blind?!" Dokyeom blurted out in Korean, his voice booming loudly against the high metal ceilings before Seungkwan quickly grabbed the back of his hoodie, pulling him back down into his seat to prevent them from drawing attention to themselves.
Y/N pushed herself up off the floor, refusing the cynical hand stretched out by the girl who had just shoved her. She dusted off her white shorts, breathing heavily. She didn't scream, nor did she throw a tantrum, but her jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles jumped in her cheek. As she jogged back to the defensive line, her dark eyes locked onto the referee with a look of pure, icy disbelief.
If the first incident could be generously excused as a missed call by a poorly positioned referee, the next few minutes proved it was something far more insidious. It was blatant, unapologetic bias.
Two possessions later, Y/N executed a flawless, textbook breakthrough. She used a sharp hesitation step to split two defenders cleanly, kept her feet firmly outside the six-meter crease line, and fired a bullet into the bottom left corner of the net. A perfectly clean, undeniable goal. But the exact microsecond the ball ripped into the heavy mesh, the referee blew a sharp, piercing whistle. He waved his arms frantically above his head, disallowing the score and signaling a phantom "offensive charge" against Y/N, claiming she had initiated contact.
"What?! No way! That's absolute garbage!" Seungkwan hissed, tossing his hands in the air, his competitive nature flaring up. "She didn't even touch her! The defender was sliding sideways! That was completely clean!"
Mingyuās eyes were practically blazing beneath the brim of his black cap. He adjusted the bill, his gaze burning holes into the back of the referee's shirt. He could feel his blood pressure rising. Down on the court, Y/Nās teammates were erupting, shouting in rapid, furious French, throwing their hands up in protest. But Y/N herself just stood at the center line, a bitter, humorless laugh escaping her lips as she shook her head.
The absolute tipping point came less than a minute later. Your teammate, a swift left-winger, caught a beautiful, cross-court looping pass from you, drove aggressively down the baseline, and scored a brilliant tactical goal under heavy pressure. Once again, the refereeās whistle cut through the air like a knife. He disallowed the score yet again, this time claiming that you had traveled before releasing the pass a completely fabricated, non-existent violation.
The entire arena erupted into absolute chaos. The head coach and the substitutes on Y/N's bench stormed onto the sideline, their voices overlapping in a furious, echoing torrent of French indignation. The match ground to a complete, screeching halt.
The referee looked visibly cornered, his face flushing red as both teams including a few of the opposing players who looked genuinely embarrassed by the blatant favoritism being displayed in their favor crowded tightly around the small technical table by the sidelines to watch the playback.
Up in the shadows of the highest row, the three SEVENTEEN members were locked in their own intense, whispered huddle, leaning in close so no one else could hear them.
"This is ridiculous," Mingyu muttered, his voice dropping into a low, protective rumble that vibrated with genuine anger. He was practically vibrating in his seat with sheer indignation. "They are completely robbing them in broad daylight. Anyone with working eyes can see her team is dominating, and this ref is actively trying to hand the game to the other side on a silver platter."
"Look at Y/N, though," Dokyeom murmured, nodding his head toward the chaotic huddle around the monitor. "Sheās not backing down even a single millimeter. She looks like a boss."
Mingyu looked. Y/N wasn't crowding the monitor or screaming at the official like her coach was. Instead, she was standing just a step back from the frantic crowd, her arms crossed tightly over her indigo jersey, her posture commanding and entirely unbothered. She possessed a calm, lethal aura of absolute confidence. She didn't need to yell; she knew the footage would speak for itself.
As if sensing the heavy, unmistakable weight of the gaze coming from the top row of the bleachers for the third time that afternoon, Y/N slowly turned her head away from the technical table. She tilted her chin up, looking straight past the empty rows until her eyes locked directly onto Mingyu.
The intense anger and frustration radiating from Mingyu must have been incredibly visible even through his black mask and the low sweep of his cap, because the moment Y/N caught his eye, the rigid tension in her shoulders visibly melted away.
A genuine, deeply amused, and incredibly grateful smirk slowly spread across her face. Right there, in the middle of a high-stakes confrontation with the officials, she covertly raised two fingers in a subtle, reassuring "peace" sign, keeping it low against her side just for him. It was a private message across the distance, as if to say, Don't worry, big guy. I've got this entirely under control.
Mingyuās chest tightened instantly, a sudden, overpowering wave of warmth washing over him and chasing away all of his irritation. He lowered his head slightly into the collar of his hoodie, letting out a soft, defeated laugh, and gave her a firm, deeply supportive nod back.
"Wow," Seungkwan whispered, watching the silent exchange from the corner of his eye, a massive, teasing grin stretching across his face. "Kim Mingyu... you are totally, completely, hopelessly gone."
The digital scoreboard overhead finaly buzzed with a definitive click, cementing the final score: 11ā7. Despite the referee's blatant attempts to tilt the scales, Y/Nās team had utterly dominated the final minutes, executing a suffocating defense that left the opposing side completely grounded.
Down on the court, the indigo-and-white jerseys erupted into pure joy. Y/N was instantly swarmed by her teammates, laughing as they hoisted her up in a brief, chaotic celebratory hug before turning to high-five their coach. In true sportsmanship fashion, the initial hostility dissolved the moment the final whistle blew. Y/Nās team lined up, meeting the opposing players at the center line to shake hands, exchange quick hugs, and clap each other on the back, acknowledging the grueling battle they had all just survived.
Up in the bleachers, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Dokyeom looked at each other, the same spontaneous, chaotic lightbulb lighting up in their eyes.
"Let's go down," Mingyu said, his voice leaving no room for argument as he pulled his cap firmly over his brow.
"Oh, so now you're brave?" Seungkwan teased, though he and Dokyeom were already following the tall youth down the wooden steps.
They waited by the edge of the court for about twenty minutes, letting the post-match rush clear out until only Y/N, a couple of her teammates packing up their gear, and her coach remained by the bench. Taking a deep breath, the trio walked onto the hardwood, clapping their hands enthusiastically to draw their attention.
"Bravo! Bravo!" Dokyeom yelled, his broken French echoing loudly as he gave a dramatic two-handed thumbs up. "Very good! Super match! You... boom! Wow!"
Seungkwan chimed in, projecting his best English with a thick, charming accent. "Honestly, the referee was... bad. Very bad. But you guys? Amazing. Besteu team!"
Mingyu stood slightly behind them, his large frame suddenly feeling incredibly conspicuous. His heart was hammering against his ribs as his eyes immediately found Y/N, who was holding her sports drink, looking at them with a mixture of surprise and instant recognition.
Before the trio could stumble through any more broken languages, a rich, deeply amused voice interrupted them in flawless, unaccented Korean.
"You guys don't need to stress over your French. We can understand you perfectly."
The three idols froze, their eyes widening in comical unison. They turned their attention to the teamās coach. He looked incredibly young around thirty years old wearing a sharp athletic tracksuit. Funnily enough, despite coaching a French club in the heart of Paris, he was born and raised in South Korea to Korean parents, only moving to France later in life to study sports science and coaching for fourteen years.
"Ah! You're Korean?!" Seungkwan gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.
The coach laughed, bowing politely. "Yes, I am. And I definitely recognized you three the moment you walked down. Don't worry, your secret is safe with us. I'm Coach Park."
"Wow, what a small world," Dokyeom breathed, bowing back deeply along with Mingyu.
"And actually," Coach Park continued, a mischievous glint in his eye as he nudged Y/N forward, "you don't have to speak English to her, either."
Y/N stepped into the circle, pulling the hair tie out of her hair and letting her locks cascade over her shoulders. She wiped a stray bead of sweat from her temple and looked directly at Mingyu, a brilliant, breathtaking smile gracing her lips.
"Hello," Y/N said softly, speaking in perfectly clear, natural Korean. "Thank you for cheering for us. It really helped when the referee was making those awful calls."
Mingyu felt his brain completely short-circuit. "You... you speak Korean?" he stammered, his usual smooth confidence completely deserting him.
Y/N let out a light, melodic laugh that made Mingyuās chest tighten. "I do. I actually lived in South Korea for a full year recently. I had to play a series of exchange and promotional matches with the corporate leagues over there, so I had to learn fast."
"She was the MVP of that exchange program, too," Coach Park added proudly, crossing his arms.
"Ah, really?" Seungkwan beamed, instantly shifting into his natural MC mode, completely forgetting they were supposed to be laying low. "I knew it! The moment we saw you intercept that pass and make that airborne shot, I told these two, 'She is an absolute ace!' Right, Mingyu?"
Seungkwan aggressively elbowed Mingyu in the ribs.
Mingyu cleared his throat, his face heating up beneath his mask. He finally reached down, pulling his mask down to his chin, exposing his handsome features and a devastatingly soft, boyish smile. He looked directly into Y/Nās eyes, his nervous energy melting into genuine admiration.
"You were incredible," Mingyu said, his voice dropping into that deep, resonant tone that usually held thousands of fans captive. "Seriously. When they pushed you mid-air, I almost stormed the court myself. And when you went into the goal? Iāve never seen a court player move like that. You really deserved that win."
Y/Nās cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, completely caught off guard by the sheer, unvarnished sincerity in his gaze. She looked down at her white sneakers for a brief second before looking back up at him, her smile softening.
"Thank you, Mingyu," she said softly, her voice holding a subtle warmth. "Coming from someone who just tore up the Accor Arena last night, that means a lot."
Mingyuās eyes widened slightly, a massive, proud grin breaking across his face. "You knew who we were?"
"Of course," Y/N murmured, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "It's hard to mistake a 187cm giant who keeps giving me intense supportive nods from the very top row."
Dokyeom shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes scanning the expansive indoor arena with a sudden, burning excitement that he couldn't possibly suppress. The initial shock of finding a Korean-speaking handball prodigy and her coach in the middle of Paris had completely worn off, replaced entirely by his natural athletic enthusiasm.
"Weāre actually staying here in Paris for a little bit because of our concert schedule," Dokyeom explained, gesturing broadly with his hands to emphasize the scale of their trip. "But right after the official tour dates wrap up this week, the company is actually giving us a few months off right here in France to rest, live like locals, and just recharge our batteries. Do you think we can come back and play handball here during our break? Like, is the court open to foreigners?"
Seungkwan immediately chimed in, stepping forward and crowding into the circle with an incredibly competitive glint in his eyes. "Yeah! Forget just practicing. Do you think we could actually play a real match against you guys one day? A proper club versus idol showdown?"
Y/N let out a soft, melodic laugh that seemed to echo in the now-quiet arena. She crossed her arms over her damp indigo jersey, leaning back slightly as she looked the three idols up and down, taking in their athletic frames. "Definitely, yes. You guys can absolutely rent the courts and play here whenever you want. But," she paused, a teasing, incredibly confident smirk playing on her lips as her eyes lingered just a second longer on Mingyu, "no, you guys canāt win against us. At least, not yet."
Mingyuās eyebrows shot up to his hairline. The natural, fierce competitor in him the guy who hated losing even a simple game of rock-paper-scissors on variety shows instantly woke up at the gentle provocation. He stepped closer, stepping out of the shadow of his hoodie, and looked down at her with a challenged, handsome smile.
"Oh? You think so?" Mingyu asked, his voice dropping into a playful, challenging register.
Y/N didn't even flinch at his towering height or the sudden intensity of his gaze. She tilted her chin up, her dark eyes locking onto his with absolute fearlessness. "If I think so? No, Iām entirely sure."
"Oh, wanna bet?" Mingyu challenged, a low chuckle escaping his throat. He had completely forgotten about being a global superstar in this moment, reverting entirely to a competitive twenty-something guy trying to hold his ground against a girl who had thoroughly impressed him.
"Sure, let's bet," Y/N replied smoothly, her smirk widening as she tapped her foot. "But you need to understand the reality first. You need seven players on the court to even form a legal team. And more importantly, you need a lot of training. Handball isn't just basketball with a smaller ball, you know."
"No way," Dokyeom boasted loudly, waving his hand dismissively in the air as if waving away her warnings. "Without training, we beat you guys easily! We have over a decade of intense choreography and incredible teamwork. We can read each other's minds!"
Right on cue, both Coach Park and Y/N exchanged a look, letting out a highly synchronized, deeply amused, "Oh?"
"Without training?" Coach Park repeated, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Kids, I love your confidence, and I loved your concert last night, but my girls have been running tactical drills since they were twelve. Choreography won't save you from a body check."
She threw the heavy bag over one shoulder, adjusting the strap, and fixed her gaze directly on Mingyu, her eyes practically dancing with the thrill of the challenge. "Just make sure to come with four more members, right? Because three of you won't even cover the backcourt. Are you down?"
Mingyu felt a thrill rush straight down his spine. The combination of her competitive streak, her fluent Korean, and the way she held his gaze without a hint of intimidation was dizzying.
"Four more members? That's easy. We have ten others sitting in the hotel right now bored out of their minds," Mingyu said, a confident grin spreading across his face as he reached out his hand to seal the deal. "We're absolutely down. Tomorrow, we'll be here. Get ready to lose your undefeated streak, Y/N."
Instead of a standard, polite handshake, Y/N reached out and gave Mingyu's palm a firm, athletic slap a decisive, crisp athleteās greeting that sealed the contract between them.
"We'll see about that, giant," she murmured, her voice laced with a cool, untouchable confidence. "Don't be late."
As her hand slid away from his, neither of them immediately pulled back. The ambient noise of the massive complex the distant thud of a volleyball on the upper floors, the hum of the ventilation system, the faint chatter of departing players seemed to bleed into a muffled static. Mingyuās hand hovered in the space between them, his fingers still warm from the brief contact.
He didn't pull his gaze away, and neither did she.
Y/N stood ground, tilting her chin up just enough to maintain direct, unblinking eye contact with the 187-centimeter idol. There was a shift in the air, a quiet, charged gravity that had nothing to do with handball or the bet they had just made. Mingyu looked down into her beautiful eyes, completely fascinated by the steady, unyielding intensity reflected in them. She wasn't looking at him like a fan, nor was she looking at him like a stranger anymore; she was looking at him as an equal, a fellow competitor who had successfully managed to pique her interest. For a long, suspended moment, they simply stared at each other, a silent, lingering challenge passing between them that stretched the seconds out like taffy.
It was Y/N who finally broke the spell. A subtle, fleeting softness flickered across her features before she abruptly pulled her eyes away, clearing her throat lightly as she took a half-step back to grab the strap of her heavy sports backpack.
"Well, I should let you guys get to the showers," Y/N said, her voice smooth as she turned her attention to the rest of the group, waving warmly. "Bye, everyone! See you tomorrow."
"Ah, goodbye! Thank you so much!" Dokyeom waved back enthusiastically, his voice echoing through the gym.
"See you tomorrow! We won't be late!" Seungkwan called out, bowing politely as Coach Park also offered a friendly wave, bidding them good-night before walking with Y/N toward the exit corridor.
As the two of them walked away, their footsteps echoing down the long concrete hallway, Mingyu remained standing exactly where he was. He didn't move a single inch. His eyes followed the line of her indigo jersey until she vanished around the corner, a slow, unmistakable smirk spreading across his handsome face. It wasn't just a competitive grin anymore; it was the satisfied, deeply intrigued smile of a man who knew he had just stumbled into something entirely unexpected.
"Wow," Seungkwan muttered, walking up beside Mingyu and crossing his arms as he stared at the empty doorway. "Look at him. Heās still smirking. The girl has been gone for ten seconds and heās still standing there like a statue."
"Heās completely gone," Dokyeom agreed, shaking his head with a theatrical sigh, throwing an arm over Mingyuās broad shoulders. "Kim Mingyu, are you planning on sleeping here tonight so you aren't late tomorrow?"
Mingyu finally snapped out of his trance, turning to look at his members, though the devastating, cocky smirk never left his lips. He shoved Dokyeomās arm off playfully, his eyes bright with a dangerous amount of motivation. "Let's go back to the hotel. We need to recruit the others. I don't know about you two, but I have absolutely no intention of losing tomorrow."
I actually do think we should discourage women from becoming housewives. Do not become financially dependent on a man. That's how a lot of women ended up dead over the years. A man gets violent suddenly and you have to choose between homelessness or potentially dying at his hand because you have an enormous gap in your resume and no degrees or certifications or anything that will help you pursue a career that will allow you to be financially independent. He owns your bank account. His name is probably the one on the car. Try and leave and he can report it stolen. Where will you go then?
And if you do become a housewife, take steps to protect yourself. Make sure youāre legally married, for starters; stay-at-home girlfriends have very little legal recourse to claim their partnerās assets in a breakup. Make sure your name is on the house deed/rental agreement, and have your car in your name, even if your spouse is paying for it. Have your spouse transfer money every month into an account solely in your name, so you can buy yourself things without needing permission, but also so you can save up to leave if needed.
If your spouse fights you on any of this, then donāt quit your job. The tradwife to poverty pipeline is real, and so is financial abuse.
also, many women/people experience controlling behaviour and domestic violence from their partner for the first time during pregnancy. donāt risk thinking āheās just stressed, itāll get better when the baby comesā because it wonāt. neither you and your child will ever be safe with that man. get out as early and safely as you can
roald dahl was antisemitic and misogynistic. george orwell was openly homophobic. edgar allan poe married his 13 year old cousin. dr seuss cheated on his wife (and was racist as well as antisemitic!). hp lovecraft was racist as fuck.
anyways theyāre fucking dead itās not like youāre enabling their behaviors in the afterlife or something. then again I think they bleed into the books so uh keep an eye out for that
the difference between these old white guys and jk rowling is that the former group is all dead. jk rowling is alive and using your money to oppress trans people
People asking why Artemis II matters, lemme tell you
1. First woman to enter deep space, Christina Koch, went as a mission specialist to help test the preventative measures against the radiation that causes cancer in the ships, and primarily affects women. It affects men too but less so. Christina's literally so inspiring to me.
2. This mission and further Artemis missions are testing safety concerns to help push the boundary of what we've been able to explore up to this point. Safety is the primary purpose of the trip. This is the first step to exploring Mars and further planets! Including Europa (my beloved.)
3. Before this, only 24 humans have ever entered deep space. Of that 24, 5 are alive today and they're all in their 90s. We very much needed a newer trip to help confirm or change whatever information we had from years and years ago. Having 4 living testaments of space exploration is a very important part of keeping said exploration alive.
4. Even though it wasn't the primary purpose of the trip, we've gotten so many rare pictures! Including my favorite "Hello, World" taken by commander Reid Wiseman:
It's the second photo EVER to have a fulll illuminated Earth hemisphere, the first being "Blue Marble". All other photos of the Earth have been spliced. Blue Marble was taken during the day and Hello, World was taken at night (the exposure has been lifted for clarity). It's my new favorite photo, it's so beautiful.
