footballverse fics
Title: untitled
Character: none
Rating: g
Disclaimer: fiction
Written for footballverse season three. Prompt: injury
Injuries. You feel like they are starting to define your career, your life. Well the same could be said for so many other players as well. Just when an injury heals another creeps up on the footballers. Unfortunately it is a part of the sport. Of course it is frustrating, to be sidelined and helpless, useless especially when while their team is on a steady decline, falling to their demise and there is nothing you can do to change this but wait patiently until wounds seal, bones heal. Too much time will have passed and you pray that your spot on the pitch has been reserved for you, that the fans in the stands every weekend will remember the number of your shirt, of your face and skill. You pray that some young hotshot doesn’t replace you though at one time all those years ago that kid was you to others before you.
But you believe. As cliché as it is you continue to believe that a goal, a win could change it all around for them, your team even if you aren't on the pitch contributing along with the men you have come to call your brothers.
Like they say you never walk alone...
Title: untitled
Character: oc - young football fan
Rating: g
Disclaimer: fiction
Written for footballverse season three. Prompt: build up
Finally - finally - he is here. After months of doing every possible chore around the house he could for his parents (and even his neighbours too!) he has made it to Anfield, proudly sporting his brand new Liverpool shirt with number nine on the back, a warm scarf with the team’s red and white around his neck. He may only be fourteen years old but he know he will never forget today. The crowd is ready, has been ready for more than an hour now. It’s like a different kind of family but a family nonetheless; one that all bleed red.
When the squads make their way onto the pitch the sound that roars from the crowd momentarily deafens him but he just turns to his left and grins manically to the just as excited supporter. And then, then the Kop breaks out to the anthem, their anthem, he has been dreaming about singing in this stadium for days, weeks even. Arms sling over his shoulder but he couldn’t be bothered to care right now because When you walk through a storm...
Kick off signals the start but no one sits down, no one quiets down. He feels like his veins are like livewire, his palms sweaty. He cannot imagine what the players must be feeling right now.
Right from the start play is both electrifying and nerve wracking. As much as the Chelsea players have been firing away, Liverpool has been one step ahead. The play is hard however, tackles and challenges pressed into to muscles and skin. The crowd reacts to every single one with either a cheer or with much louder jeering.
The first half is about to come to an end and he’s got his eyes on his favourite player, Liverpool’s number nine, Fernando Torres. There have been some great strikers that have proudly worn the red, that have shed blood, sweat and tears for the club but the Spaniard has shown how much Liverpool lives in his veins as well.
When Torres gets the ball in the box with an extra added minute, he feels like his heart is in his throat. With ease and expertise, the striker dances around Ivanović. The crowd urges him on with a burst of cheers, anticipation heavy in their bones. The only one between Torres and Čech is Cole but the Spaniard sees him coming and side steps him as well, the ball still in his possession.
Torres pulls his right foot just behind him, focused on the goalkeeper and himself. So focused he doesn’t see the Chelsea captain barrelling towards him.
The crowd however does.
title: maybe then you'd understand
character: none
rating: g
disclaimer: fiction
written for footballverse season three. Prompt: songfic
Tough match. So tough, you have more bruises and cuts on your skin than usual. You’re the last one in the locker room - like usual. The others know this by now and give you your space, win or lose. You like the quite, like being alone with your thoughts on the match, of your own and team’s performance. Others have accused you of thinking too much but it’s what you do, what you have always done and you aren’t going to change now.
Taking a seat on the bench, you take off your boots and roll down your soiled socks, stains marring the once stark white material. You discard them to the side and flex your right foot, not caring that the skin of it is wrinkled and pruned. Someone had tackled you during the match, nothing of out the ordinary but it was a bad challenge that should have rewarded a yellow. But of course, it didn’t. You are used that by now.
Padding towards the mirror, you note the bruise that is purpling on your upper thigh and press your index finger against it. You wince but in some weird gratifying way the pain is satisfying. You skim your fingers higher and grasp the hem of your shirt, white and blue forever. Forever. You pull it up and over your head, letting it slide to the floor. There are a few marks on your stomach but those aren’t from today.
You reach up to your head and pull your hair out of the ponytail you put in it for the match. The clothed elastic is soiled with sweat and it feels funny in your grasp so you drop it to the floor as well. Your hair falls just past your shoulders, not long enough to graze your breasts just yet.
You stand there for a moment, looking at your body, still wearing your shorts and sports bra though your mind is still on the match. Football - it’s all you have ever known. And for you it’ll always be your first love even if others don’t understand why you don’t give it up.
It’s a part of you just like your long hair and supple breasts.
if i were a boy
i think i could understand...
Character: none
Rating: g
Disclaimer: fiction
Written for footballverse season three. Prompt: injury
Injuries. You feel like they are starting to define your career, your life. Well the same could be said for so many other players as well. Just when an injury heals another creeps up on the footballers. Unfortunately it is a part of the sport. Of course it is frustrating, to be sidelined and helpless, useless especially when while their team is on a steady decline, falling to their demise and there is nothing you can do to change this but wait patiently until wounds seal, bones heal. Too much time will have passed and you pray that your spot on the pitch has been reserved for you, that the fans in the stands every weekend will remember the number of your shirt, of your face and skill. You pray that some young hotshot doesn’t replace you though at one time all those years ago that kid was you to others before you.
But you believe. As cliché as it is you continue to believe that a goal, a win could change it all around for them, your team even if you aren't on the pitch contributing along with the men you have come to call your brothers.
Like they say you never walk alone...
Title: untitled
Character: oc - young football fan
Rating: g
Disclaimer: fiction
Written for footballverse season three. Prompt: build up
Finally - finally - he is here. After months of doing every possible chore around the house he could for his parents (and even his neighbours too!) he has made it to Anfield, proudly sporting his brand new Liverpool shirt with number nine on the back, a warm scarf with the team’s red and white around his neck. He may only be fourteen years old but he know he will never forget today. The crowd is ready, has been ready for more than an hour now. It’s like a different kind of family but a family nonetheless; one that all bleed red.
When the squads make their way onto the pitch the sound that roars from the crowd momentarily deafens him but he just turns to his left and grins manically to the just as excited supporter. And then, then the Kop breaks out to the anthem, their anthem, he has been dreaming about singing in this stadium for days, weeks even. Arms sling over his shoulder but he couldn’t be bothered to care right now because When you walk through a storm...
Kick off signals the start but no one sits down, no one quiets down. He feels like his veins are like livewire, his palms sweaty. He cannot imagine what the players must be feeling right now.
Right from the start play is both electrifying and nerve wracking. As much as the Chelsea players have been firing away, Liverpool has been one step ahead. The play is hard however, tackles and challenges pressed into to muscles and skin. The crowd reacts to every single one with either a cheer or with much louder jeering.
The first half is about to come to an end and he’s got his eyes on his favourite player, Liverpool’s number nine, Fernando Torres. There have been some great strikers that have proudly worn the red, that have shed blood, sweat and tears for the club but the Spaniard has shown how much Liverpool lives in his veins as well.
When Torres gets the ball in the box with an extra added minute, he feels like his heart is in his throat. With ease and expertise, the striker dances around Ivanović. The crowd urges him on with a burst of cheers, anticipation heavy in their bones. The only one between Torres and Čech is Cole but the Spaniard sees him coming and side steps him as well, the ball still in his possession.
Torres pulls his right foot just behind him, focused on the goalkeeper and himself. So focused he doesn’t see the Chelsea captain barrelling towards him.
The crowd however does.
title: maybe then you'd understand
character: none
rating: g
disclaimer: fiction
written for footballverse season three. Prompt: songfic
Tough match. So tough, you have more bruises and cuts on your skin than usual. You’re the last one in the locker room - like usual. The others know this by now and give you your space, win or lose. You like the quite, like being alone with your thoughts on the match, of your own and team’s performance. Others have accused you of thinking too much but it’s what you do, what you have always done and you aren’t going to change now.
Taking a seat on the bench, you take off your boots and roll down your soiled socks, stains marring the once stark white material. You discard them to the side and flex your right foot, not caring that the skin of it is wrinkled and pruned. Someone had tackled you during the match, nothing of out the ordinary but it was a bad challenge that should have rewarded a yellow. But of course, it didn’t. You are used that by now.
Padding towards the mirror, you note the bruise that is purpling on your upper thigh and press your index finger against it. You wince but in some weird gratifying way the pain is satisfying. You skim your fingers higher and grasp the hem of your shirt, white and blue forever. Forever. You pull it up and over your head, letting it slide to the floor. There are a few marks on your stomach but those aren’t from today.
You reach up to your head and pull your hair out of the ponytail you put in it for the match. The clothed elastic is soiled with sweat and it feels funny in your grasp so you drop it to the floor as well. Your hair falls just past your shoulders, not long enough to graze your breasts just yet.
You stand there for a moment, looking at your body, still wearing your shorts and sports bra though your mind is still on the match. Football - it’s all you have ever known. And for you it’ll always be your first love even if others don’t understand why you don’t give it up.
It’s a part of you just like your long hair and supple breasts.
if i were a boy
i think i could understand...