#30 odds prediction

[mycryptosuite]

Play This Safe 2 Odds Today 25/06/2023

Play This Safe 2 Odds Today 25/06/2023 Play This Safe 2 Odds Today – We provide daily simulated reality league predictions ranging from; full-time Correct Score tip – Our sure 3 odds daily tips are so accurate you’ll wonder if the matches are fixed. Track Odds Bet Tips for today and you can aswell have a look at our free expert Football betting tips from professional tipsters around the world &…

[youaremysunshine-court]

I dreamed last night that something really good was going to happen on April 21st, like mystery guy from my recurring dreams (whom ive affectionately named madge) tied me down so I'd listen to him and told me "don't miss out on it. April 21st" and then dissipated, so now we're waiting for that actually

[scientia-rex]

I made that post about how smoking is bad—actually, no, I’ve made two relatively popular posts about how smoking is bad for you. Raises your chances of dying from multiple factors including heart disease and stroke in addition to lung (and mouth, throat, and bladder) cancer.

I am always so baffled by the responses going “well I could die from something else!” Yes. You could. Statistically speaking, you will most likely die of heart disease, stroke, or cancer, if you live in the US. Your average life expectancy is somewhere around 78 for women, 76 for men. Many people die younger than that, for a lot of reasons. Many of my patients have illnesses that will shorten their lives. I hate to split it into “fault,” as if there’s some kind of perfect way to live a blameless life. (There isn’t.) The numbers, however, are both clear and pitiless. People who smoke are more likely to die younger than they otherwise might have.

Medicine is a numbers game. My job is not to psychically predict exactly what will punch your ticket and when. It is to improve your odds. I want you to both live as long a life as possible but also as high-quality a life as possible. I want for you to live a life you enjoy.

It’s that simple; it’s not sinister. I’m not out here going “I’ll tell them not to smoke so they can have LESS FUN before getting hit by a bus at 30!”

Because smoking isn’t actually fun. What it is, is a very quick (and faster = more addictive) reduction in physical feedback systems that heighten anxiety. Withdrawal of an unpleasant stimulus is rewarding. (Technically, it’s a negative reward; the negative doesn’t refer to a moral judgment, but the addition or subtraction of a stimulus.) Something that is very rewarding very fast will be very addictive. It’s why crack cocaine is also so addictive—it is also a very fast and very potent reward. It’s also why benzodiazepines like Xanax are so addictive to so many people; it’s a slower peak blood level but the removal of severe anxiety is profoundly rewarding.

So smoking can make you feel better when you do it. But your body will try to fix any broken signals. It doesn’t just want to be able to signal to you when you need to feel stressed: it has to be able to signal you, or your long-ago ancestors would have been eaten by predators. So it ramps up the signaling. Now you’re not smoking because you feel better than baseline; you’re smoking to get back to baseline.

That’s why quitting sucks. When you quit smoking, all of the sudden your body’s signals of stress that got dialed up to 11 to overcome the nicotine are just out there at full blast, making you feel scared and jittery and irritable. It’s why when you quit benzos (or daily alcohol) cold turkey you can get life-threatening seizures. It’s why when you stop alcohol you’re likely to have sleep disruptions that can persist for weeks to months.

That’s why things that help reduce the suckage can help. Nicotine patches, lozenges, or gum. Chantix. Wellbutrin. Slowly stepping down the nicotine level on your vape. Eating more, eating things you like. (I would 1000% rather have a patient be fat than be smoking. I know other people will be shittier to you if you gain weight. Living is worth it.) Being kind to yourself helps you quit smoking. You need to recognize that “quitting smoking you” is not your baseline you. It is you with an invisible illness that will take weeks to months to get over.

And sometimes you can’t face that hump right now. But if you want to maximize your odds of the longest and healthiest possible life, knowing that any number of terrible things can happen to you at any time, making the effort—over and over again, if you need to—is the best shot you have.

There are a couple of conditions where smoking does markedly reduce symptoms. The well-known ones are schizophrenia and Crohn’s disease. If you feel not just better, but better like this is a medication for you, like you poop blood or hear things without it, talk to your primary care provider, because there are other medicines that might be safer and/or more effective for you. The landscape around pharmaceutical research has shifted dramatically over the last 30 years. We have more options than we’ve ever had before. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the expensive, dangerous medication that half-works for you. And if what you’re self-medicating is your anxiety, nicotine is a pretty crappy medication for that, because it doesn’t fix you; it changes your baseline to an even shittier place.

You have bodily autonomy. You can make your own choices. I will never go to a patient’s house and slap the cigarette out of their hand. But if what you want is the longest and healthiest possible life, smoking makes your odds worse.

The number of people who think that I, as a doctor, would be unaware of how profoundly unfair bodily health can be amazes me. It’s like the first Father Brown story, where Father Brown is explaining to the villain that someone whose main job is to hear about all of the terrible sins people have to confess cannot remain naive. My job is watching people age, or filling out their death certificates. One or the other. I prefer watching them age, but everyone will die. Someday my doctor will be filling out my death certificate. I’ve removed one potential contributing factor from that line—maybe I’ll get diabetes, maybe I’ll get cancer, maybe I’ll have a workplace accident, but “smoking” isn’t going to be on that line anymore. That’s the best I can do. I can’t psychically predict my own death, either; just play the numbers, try to do my best, and hope.

[meazalykov]

she was the golden girl

uswnt x (romantic) aitana bonmatí x (platonic) fridolina rolfo x uswnt!reader

what happened in a world where reader plays in the 2023 World Cup after winning the 2019 World Cup?

warnings: tiny bit of angst and sadness, google translated spanish.

part two (part one here)

I remembered when I stood on the french pitch, surrounded by the deafening cheers of the crowd, sometimes I can’t believe that it happened. Tears welled up in my eyes as I hugged my best friend Mallory, threatening to spill over as a whirlwind of emotions flooded my mind. 

My hands trembled as I clutched the World Cup trophy tightly to my chest, feeling the weight of my team's triumph. The third goal in the world cup was scored by me, the youngest goalscorer in a Women’s World Cup final. The journey to this moment had been grueling, filled with sacrifices, sweat, and endless dedication. But looking back, all the pain and hardship were worth it.

Before the World Cup, the Champions League medal hung proudly around my neck, a testament to the skill and hard work I’ve displayed on the field. At the time, Lyon was the club of my life. I believed that I would’ve never left the french institution, extending my contract as much as I possibly could’ve. The memories of each game, each goal, each victory rushed back to me, overwhelming my senses.

And then there was the Ballon d'Or many months after both competitions, the ultimate recognition of my individual excellence. To be acknowledged as the best, only at the age of 19 years old, was a dream I had hardly dared to entertain. Yet there I was, being the second woman holding the prestigious award in my small hands, my name etched into football history forever as I stood beside Lionel Messi who received the men’s d’or. 

Surrounded by my teammates, coaches, and supporters, I felt a surge of gratitude and humility. This moment wasn't just about me; it was about the collective effort of everyone who had believed in my skills along the way. I will never forget it.

Four years later, It's 2023. I am 23 years old and still impressing the fans around the World. However, the scars of my ACL injury were still fresh, a constant reminder of the hurdles I had overcome to be here after the harsh 2022 year.

Playing for Lyon had once been a dream come true. I’ll never forget that experience. When I signed to Lyon from Portland Thorns at the age of 18, I was overwhelmed in joy. I needed that new challenge, and that challenge earned me the best awards, collectively and individually. But, the fallout from my December 2021 injury had left a bitter taste in my mouth. The club I had once called home had felt more like a distant memory as I felt forced to make the difficult decision to part ways and start a new life in the sunny Spanish city.

Now, I wore the red and blue Barcelona jersey onto the pitch. The transfer left me heartbroken, at first, now I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The road to recovery after my ACL injury in France had been long and arduous, filled with doubts and setbacks. Sometimes, I believed that my prime occurred at the age of 19, instead of the predicted 24-30 years old. Yet here I am, defying the odds once again to represent my country on the world stage in two months.

Sometimes the memories of my victories with Lyon and the United States lingered in the back of my mind, serving as both motivation and a reminder of what was at stake. The Champions League trophy I had lifted with Lyon and the World Cup I had claimed with the United States were testaments to my talent and resilience. But now, I lifted the Champions League trophy with Barcelona. 

After scoring the second goal of the final, with Patricia before me and Fridolina afterwards, the gold hung beautifully around my neck. It was my fourth time I've felt such a high amount of glory, but the happy tears still came as if it were the first. 

A month later, I am on a fourteen hour flight from Los Angeles to Wellington, New Zealand. As The plane soared through the clouds and I sat in my business class seat, my hands gripping the armrests tightly and my heart pounded in my chest.

“Y/n?” I took out my airpods when I heard the faint sound of my name coming from outside of them. I turned to my right and saw my teammate and captain, Lindsey, looking at me with a confusing look. 

“Hey.” I joked, pretending like my stress wasn’t visible for everyone to see. 

“Are you okay?” Lindsey asked. In my head, I debated on if I wanted to lie and say yes, just so I didn’t have to burden her with my stress. However, she’s known me for many years, the woman would notice my lie from miles away. 

“Not really. I’m just–a bit nervous.” I swallowed. The blonde girl nodded her head in understanding as she rested her arm beside mine. 

“That's understandable. Is it the competition that's bothering you? I mean– we are defending champions so we have a lot to prove.” Lindsey asked. I took a deep breath as my mind shifted to a particular person from my Barcelona team. 

“No– It's about–um.” I stopped speaking. I didn’t want her to cloud my head during the competition, as we both promised ourselves that we would play as rivals, not lovers. 

“Aitana?” Lindsey questioned, but yet finished what I would’ve said. I noticed my head as my face was plastered with sadness.

“yeah.” I mumbled. The Lyon midfielder looked at me with a questionable look, wondering if there were problems between the Spanish girl and I. 

“I mean– there's no problem between us. However we prioritize football first you know? we both agreed that during the competition, we wouldn’t talk much.. just so we can focus on this.” I ranted. I’m not stressed because of a possible match between Spain and the United States, I know that I’ll miss the shorter woman a lot. Also, what if we stop talking and a third factor might influence our relationship moving forward? 

“That's good that you’re prioritizing us– You shouldn’t feel nervous about your relationship because this will give you time to miss each other– things will go back to normal once the world cup is over.” Lindsey patted my shoulder in sympathy, I smirked as my nervousness started to subside. 

A month later, as I stepped up to the penalty spot, the weight of the world seemed to rest upon my shoulders. We finished the match against Sweden 0-0 and after extra time, we had to go into a penalty shootout. The stadium roared around me, a cacophony of cheers and chants from both sides echoing in my small ears. Nerves danced in my stomach, threatening to consume me with doubt and mistakes.

With a deep breath, My eyes focused on Zećira Mušović standing between me and the goal. She did great throughout the game and has the reflexes to stop my shot. Determination burned in my eyes, she saw it too. 

As I approached the ball with speed, the tension in the air was palpable but I couldn’t care. Every step felt like an eternity as my foot sent the ball soaring towards the goal. Mušović dove in desperation, but my ball went directly to the middle as she dove left. The ball crashed into the back of the net, eliciting a deafening roar from the crowd and from my teammates. 

My dimples on my cheeks showed as I am happy to make the penalty. Being substituted on the pitch after halftime, I tried my best to score but my shot on goal was overturned by VAR. Apparently, my body was offside. 

Now, my arms wrapped the bodies of Sophia Smith and Megan Raphinoe as I looked ahead at Kelley O’hara. My heart raced as I stared at her white colored cleats. She needed to score this, or else Sweden had the opportunity to win the knockout. 

She Missed. My heart dropped to my stomach as I looked at the Swedish players with rising confidence and opportunity. Hurtig took the shot and Alyssa blocked it over the line. This caused a debate among the crowd. Deep down, I knew Sweden made it. They’ve won. However, VAR was the only hope which would have proved me wrong. 

Unfortunately, I was right. Sweden emerged victorious in the penalty shootout, their celebration serving as a bitter reminder of the heartbreak that awaited my teammates and I. 

No, No, NO! I thought to myself as I felt the moisture in my eyes start to take place. Immediately, my mind did a flashback to the 2019 World Cup Final. Being 19 years old and happy as my small, yet muscular, arms held the heavy World Cup trophy. 

With a heavy heart, I broke away from my teammates and looked among the Americans in the stands. My shaky hands clapped to the fans in the stands, my facade of strength crumbling with each step she took. Cameras could capture my weak struggle to stay strong as the Swedish crowd rightfully celebrated. 

Turning around, walking back towards the Americans who were on the team, my knees collapsed on the grassy pitch, tears streamed down my tired face. This was the worst that the United States had completed in a World Cup. What went wrong? 

I wanted to stand up so badly, but I didn’t. Shame and Defeat took over my body which laid in the grass. What is my family in the crowd thinking? What are the USWNT fans thinking? What are my fans thinking?... my tears cried out more when I wondered what Aitana was thinking. 

After ten minutes of darkness in my eyes, covered by my hands. A comforting presence enveloped my body. I recognized the floral smell mixed with a tint of sweat. I looked up from my hands and saw Fridolina, my teammate from Barcelona and now my opponent who won the Round of 16. 

“You did so good, Don’t beat yourself up over this!” Fridolina spoke to me first as her thumbs wiped over my teary eyes. I felt comfort but a small amount of envy was inside of me, I wanted to win so badly. 

“Congratulations Frido.” The Swedish girl took her hands and helped me stand up as she gave me a tight hug. Aitana, Frido, and I are a trio back in Barcelona. In fact, she helped Aitana and I confess our feelings to each other. 

“Thank you! Just know that I am proud of you, she is proud of you too. Even if you aren’t proud of yourself.” The 29 year old said as my eyes stained her yellow covered shoulders. I knew she meant Aitana when she said “she”. However, I didn’t know where the Spanish woman was at the moment and what she was thinking. 

“Just go be-beat Japan. Okay?” I said through a crack in my voice. I found solace in the embrace of my friend. I might’ve lost but I am not a bitter person, now I want to see my club teammates have a good World Cup like I’ve once experienced.

As we exchanged jerseys, the voice in my head kept reassuring myself that I'll come back stronger than ever in 2027. 

Just a week later, most of my American teammates left Australia and went back home. However, my teammate Kristie and I decided to stay back. Kristies had a girlfriend who played on a different international team like I did, so we wanted to support them as they’re advancing to the semi-finals. 

Witnessing my Barcelona teammates play each other in the Spain vs Sweden match was intense. Standing beside Aitana’s parents, I wore a basic dark green t-shirt with 501 mid-thigh levi shorts. This is the first time I've met them as her girlfriend and they’re sweet people. We celebrated Spain’s win against Sweden and my heart would have exploded in happiness. My girlfriend will experience a World Cup final! 

On August 20th, after an intense match and a lovely goal from Olga Carmona, Spain won the World Cup! The feeling was bittersweet for me. I am happy for my girlfriend but subconsciously, I knew I wanted it to be me with the United States. However, I brushed that feeling aside since I needed to be happy for my lover. 

“Aitana ¡Estoy tan feliz por ti!” We both ran towards each other and hugged. I feel her lightly kiss the side of my head as I inhale her scent. Being able to feel her embrace after a month apart filled the small void in my heart.

“¡Esto es tan irreal, ahora sé cómo te sentiste hace tantos años!”  (This is so unreal, now I know how you felt all those years ago!) Aitana smiled. The smile on my face struggled to stay as a small frown, which I tried hard to conceal, plastered on my face for a quick second. I don’t think she noticed. 

“Lo siento por lo que ocurrió. En el fondo esperaba que fuéramos nosotros dos quienes nos enfrentaríamos en la final.” (I'm sorry for what happened. Deep down I hoped that it would be the two of us who would face each other in the final.) Aitana said as she understood my defeat in the Round of 16. 

“Aquí también. Sólo debes saber que todavía estoy muy feliz por ti, a pesar de mi derrota.” (Here too. Just know that I am still very happy for you, despite my defeat.) I said as I admired the goal medal that sat perfectly on Aitana's chest. She gave me a sympathetic smile before hugging me again. 

“¡Te amo!” Aitana whispered into my ear. 

“Te quiero más” I smiled back as I relaxed into her arms. 

<3

[hunnysnoops]

White Teeth Teens

Chapter Two: Favour

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I used to think about myself like I was a talented liar.

Premise: You’ve been avoiding Kyle like the plague but when tragedy strikes the track team, you find yourself needing to ask him for a favour, you know what you have to do but you don’t want to do it.

CW: Vulgar language+humour / underage smoking / injury

MASTERLIST

The weather had gone straight back to shit just like you predicted. You prayed that track practice would be cancelled due to the roaring sky overhead but god ignored you, turning a blind eye and offering nothing more than your coach nagging at you.

Rain wasn't any nicer to run in than overbearing and dry heat, it made you feel like a wet dog every time you had to wring your hair out or shake the droplets off your skin. It was no light sprinkle, the rain pounded down on the ground like bullets. It was so heavy that it felt like pebbles, it wasn't often that it rained in Colorado due to high altitudes but when it did, it came down hard and unwavering.

You had thought it to be a little dangerous running on turf in this weather but coach Dawsey blatantly denied any objections, sending you for another loop around the track the second you had a complaint. You were just glad that you didn't have soccer that day and wouldn't be going home covered head-to-toe in mud.

"What?" Tolkien asks you, it had been a little difficult to hear with his own breathing and the sound of rain on turf while the two of you were running cool-down laps around the outside of the track, it’s not like you needed them with the way you were freezing in the run. It was like coach Dawsey wanted the entire team to get sick, what was supposed to be a cool-down lap was working better to keep you warm.

"I said what time is it?" You repeat your question, using the heel of your palm to wipe your eyes. Each breath, huffing in droplets of rain where they rested on your lips.

"I dunno," He shrugs, "I left my watch in my bag," Everyone had either left their bags in their lockers or cars or like you, had been too lazy to do either and took the menacing odds of putting it under the bleachers and praying that whatever was inside wouldn't face water damage.

You let out a groan, at this point, you couldn't even feel your legs, they had gone numb beneath you. The sky above you was grey, it was only 4:30 in June but it looked like angry clouds had swallowed up the sun. "If the purge ever becomes legal, I'm headed straight for Dawsey." At your words, both you and Tolkien glance to where the pot-bellied coach is, timing the unfortunate guys doing hurdles, over and over again. He really had a way of actively pinning teammates against one another.

"Poor Adam," Tolkien says between heavy breaths. His tee shirt and basketball shorts are plastered against his ebony skin, you aren't much better off; your hair had been weighed down so heavily with water that it kept slipping from what you had tied it up in, so you gave up all hope and let it down to stick on your neck, flyaway hairs glued around your face to frame it. You were far from the point of caring about what you looked like, the only thing on your mind was going home and getting dried off. 

"I would feel bad for him if he wasn't so whiney," On the other side of the track, Adam, a brunette guy in your grade, was extremely muscular for such a lean guy, the perfect build for track. You could've sworn that his parents had put him on steroids as a kid with how defined his muscles were, you had been on the track team with him and Tolkien for six years now. 

Adam wasn't the friendliest but he was fast, so you didn't mind his shortness of conversation as long as he brought another medal to the trophy case. He is clearing the hurdles in comparison to the rest of the guys in the same heat, he made them look like paralyzed turtles. 

Tolkien shrugs "Yeah but we need him to win the relay," The two of you ran past the long jump team, each and every one of them is covered in sand without fail. All of them look uncomfortable, sending you knowing glances. It was an understanding that all of you wanted to drown Coach Dawsey in the steeple chase pit.

You had been wearing Tolkien's hoodie since the rain started, it was definitely slowing you down with the extra weight it had while wet but you preferred to be slower than usual as opposed to having your white tee shirt turn translucent under the rainfall. You tended to stick together during track practice since you were on the mixed relay team together, you also liked to think that you were considered friends; not just because you ran at similar paces but because he enjoyed your company.

Disregarding Tolkien's last statement, you push some hair away from your face "I should've skipped with Red." Red was the fourth person on the mixed relay team, making up for a pretty solid roster though you tended to skip practice when she felt like it.

"I was going to but you begged me to not leave you alone."

"Because I'm not a bum who signs up for extracurriculars and skips them, don't tell her I said that," You retort "I'm trying to be a good influence." You were nearing where the hurdles were set up and Dawsey blew his whistle repeatedly, before flailing his arms rapidly and singling out one boy for having a quarter centimetre of his toe over the starting line.

"If you're trying to be a good influence maybe stop smoking your body weight in cigarettes and weed."

You narrow your eyes, giving him a firm chop in the side of his midriff. His eyes go wide and he stops in his tracks to fold over, one hand clutching where you hit him, the other supporting him on his knee to keep him standing up. "Oh my god," You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to smother a laugh “I did not mean to hit you that hard."

"Nah, you're fine, I just need a second to catch my breath," He takes a deep exhale, waving you off. You stop next to him, standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do so you just wait for him to keep moving. 

"Hey!" A gruff voice calls out, travelling over the tumping rain "Is he dying?"

"No," You answer for Tolkien "He's good."

"Then get back to running!" The balding man screeched, you were surprised that the adhesive of his toupe hadn't fallen loose under the drizzle.

"Fuck you, porky," You say hooking one arm under Tolkiens to try and get the lanky boy to stand back up straight.  

"What was that?" Coach narrows his eyes at you.

"I said 'I'm on it'!" You yell back, lies seeping through the gaps of your teeth. Tolkien shrugs your arm away from him, giving you a quick thumbs up before he carries on with his quick-paced steps, albeit breathing a little heavier. You were sure that Dawsey had to be putting you through some form of child abuse. "What a dickhead," You mutter to Tolkien, eyes still trained on where Dawsey focuses all of his attention on Adam.

"I'm surprised you're not used to him by now," He says "Then again you're not the most tolerant person."

"I'm totally tolerant, I love gay people."

Whatever remark Tolkien was about to say was quickly forgotten when all eyes fell on Adam. The brunette boy's heel had skidded and slipped as he jumped a hurdle, he threw his other leg out to try to catch himself. Instead of landing on the flat of his foot, his heel rolled and he was quickly sent backwards onto another boy, Emmet, Adam's calf bending in unnatural ways against the turf.

Then came the inevitable snap like a plastic ruler, the bone in his calf had broken completely in half. The impact of the stumble caused the ivory to poke through the muscle and fat of his leg. He lay on the wet surface of the track with a sickening cry, Emmet pinned beneath him screaming out in pain. Two up-and-coming track stars down in the span of thirty seconds.

"Adam!" Coach Dawsey sprinted faster than he did to the fridge toward Adam, crumbling to his knees. While the coach was focused on Adam, you were terrified for Emmet. Adam's elbow went straight into his ribs when he tumbled back into him. Emmet was frantically trying to push Adam off of him, which was no easy feat since his entire body was muscle. 

"Fuck!" Emmet finally scrambles out from behind him, keeling over and clutching his torso. Everyone gathers around to watch the mortifying scene, both you and Tolkien stand at a loss for words.

"It'll be okay Adam," Dawsey sounds like he's being brought to tears, if there are any, they're washed away by the rain. He peals off his 'South Park Athletics' baseball cap like he's paying respects to a dead person, the front of his toupe comes up when he raises the hat, unknowingly exposing the peak of his shiny bald head. "We're going to get through this."

Coach tries to brush away some of the hair that had fallen onto Adam's face but the boy quickly slaps his hand away "Don't fucking touch me!" He spits "Someone call an ambulance!" Next to you, Tolkien gags at the sight of the mangled leg and split skin.

"You heard him," Coach Dawsey rises to his feet, trying to ignore the fact that his star runner's bone was sticking out of his leg in a mangled mess "Call an ambulance!" He yells, accusatorily at the group of teenagers in a circle surrounding him. 

"You're the only one with a phone on you, dumb cunt!" You call out from the back of a crowd to be sure he wouldn't scope out it was you who said it. 

He feels around in his pockets and surely, you're right. He made everyone leave their phones in their bags during the duration of practice. He quickly dials 911, while the line rings he looks at the crowd with furrowed eyebrows "Whoever said that, reveal yourself."

Everyone stays silent until an operator picks up on the other end.

After Chrissy drove Emmet to the hospital and Adam was rolled away into the safety of an overpriced ambulance, something else was worrying your mind now that their health was guaranteed- who was going to replace them?

"Tolkien, I have a proposition," You had taken an unnerving b-line away from Heidi and found yourself at Tolkien's table where he sat with the rest of his friends, you were already drowning in axe body spray and aftershave but you needed an impromptu meeting, dragging Red to come with you so you didn't have to face all of that testosterone alone. "Come over here," You swiftly gesture for him to come sit at a vacant table with you and Rebecca.

You spent the entire night wide awake on caffeine pills, trying to figure out who to sub in for Adam. The mixed relay team before he got injured was perfect down to every minute detail, now you were short of your fastest runner, leaving you, Tolkien, and Rebecca to fumble around for a replacement since the coach was mourning the loss of his shooting star, who was indefinitely out for at least six months. It didn't help that Adam had taken Emmet down in the process, now you were missing two great assets.

Tolkien looks back at his friends who watch him with confused and unwavering stares before pushing himself away from the table with a sigh. Leaving his lunch tray behind, he slips into the empty table next to Red and across from you. "Yeah?"

"I need you to ask Kyle to join the track team," You say, though it was difficult enough to humble yourself down into admitting you needed Kyle. He ran faster and more consistently than almost every sprinter on the team, you had plenty of girls to sub in for you and Red though with Adam dragging his sub out with him, you were left with no replacement aside from Spencer Hollis who was the other alternate and opted to go on a road trip with his friends and come back only for exams so he was out of the question with the track meet in two weeks.l

"Kyle?" Red furrows her eyebrows, tone suddenly switching "That's your solution? He's not even on the team."

"He's really fast though," You begin to plead "I've known him forever and trust me, he is one speedy little fucker, I swear on my life."

"Not swearing on much," Red shrugs. 

"Why am I asking him?" Tolkien asks.

"Because you're friends with him," You were on the verge of pulling out the list of pros and cons of having Kyle on the team you had spent Thursday night making. "Guys, I begged the coach to let this slide and it was really embarrassing so can you please ask him? He said that he'll let Kyle join if he comes to the next practice and does well."

"You're at his house all the time, just ask him tonight," Red was nowhere near as invested as you were, hence why she skipped track all of the time. She wasn't worried about getting slow or lazy, she counted Coach Jackson's soccer practices towards track and ultimately figured she didn't need both to stay fit. Red always sent you to track practice with excuses for why she couldn't make it. 

"Why are you at his house all of the time if you hate him so much?" Tolkien sits still, trying to piece together any sense. When you were frantically texting him the night of Adams's stumble, he suggested putting Scott in his place. In your not-so-humble opinion, Scott was way too slow for the 4x100 relay. You scribbled around in your notebook, trying to work out his run times which you meticulously memorised and came to the conclusion that it wouldn't work no matter where you placed him in the relay.

"Because their parents are swingers," She says this with such ease, made sense with how much she teased you about it. You would've complained if you didn't poke fun at her for worse.

"They are not swingers," You address "They are just good friends that hang out a lot and in turn, I have to hang out with Kyle a lot."

Red and Tolkien cast one another a side glance before Red turns her attention back to you. "Do they 'hang out' a lot without you guys around?" She softens her tone in a somewhat condescending way, the same way you would talk down to a child. 

"They're not swingers," You emphasize, choosing to ignore the insinuations of you and Kyle which almost made you gag. "Please, Tolkien, we need this but don't tell him I said that."

"It's not really a proposition if you're just asking me to do something for you," He points out.

"It totally is, it's a plan of action," You say "Action which we need to take so we don't lose or get disqualified," There had been rumours of college scouts attending the track meet and you were in desperate need of getting a scholarship if you didn't want to be in student debt until the day they buried your cold body. 

"Just put Scott in," Red suggests and you give her nothing more than a cold glare.

"Next person who says that is getting anonymously cyberbullied for the next year," You say, pointedly at the two of them before running your hands down your face, nearing defeat "Why did it have to rain?"

"Maybe it was divine intervention," Red says, nonchalantly "I think Dawsey wanted to sleep with Adam or something and that was god saving him from getting molested by a divorced PE teacher." 

"He's weird but I don't think he's a pedophile or anything."

"You two are as fast as him and he doesn't give a shit about you," Red points out, one eyebrow raising slightly "Really think about it." Your mind began to wander to the way Dawsey always had a hand on Adam's back, how he always put him in the most ideal lane, and how he almost cartoonishly sprinted to his rescue when hit leg split.

"Maybe you're right." From the look on his face, you can tell Tolkien is calling back moments of Dawsey being a little too touchy with Adam. 

"Or maybe coach just likes him more because he's a straight white guy and I can safely say the three of us are not," You draw the pair's attention back to you "Point is, he's out, Emmets out, Spencer's out, Scott is not even in question and we need Kyle."

"You need him?" A small smile begins to play on Red's face. In the past couple of years, Red had taken to a more grunge type of style, causing her to look like Kurt Cobain's lost daughter who fell into a vat of bright red hair dye, which was currently growing out, exposing her dark roots.

"Nuh-uh," You say almost instinctively, absentmindedly folding your arms. "I didn't say I need him I said we need him, like collectively because we're totally pwned if we don't coerse Kyle onto the team."

"And we're one hundred percent sure Emmet can't run?" Tolkien asks "I thought he just got hit in the stomach."

"I asked him about it and he told me cracked his ribs and it hurts to breathe or something, I dunno but it's super fucking gay." Your eyes shift to Red "Not in a derogatory way but in a lame-

"Yeah, we know," Tolkien stops you in your tracks. 

"What a pussy," Red says, she isn't really tuned in, she's moved on to watching street fights online while partially listening to the conversation "It always hurts you to breathe and you're still running."

"That's what I said," You exasperate.

"It really shouldn't hurt to breathe," Tolkien says "Might be a little on the nose but you really need to stop smoking."

Red disregards this completely, "Ask Kyle next period or Tolkien could just text him." looking up from her phone to you "Or 1 could just text him." You and Kyle had texted each other a total of six times, this was no exaggeration, it was exactly six times.

Oct 11th, 2020

Kyle Broflovski: Is Ike at your house?

You: Ya

July 21st, 2023

You: Do you know where Kenny is?

Kyle Broflovski: No

Kyle Broflovski: I thought he was with you

You: K he's not

 "I can't ask him, I can't even breathe around him without gagging," You complain "Because authentic gingers have this really specific and pungent smell, like every single one, without fail."

Tolkien eyebrows are raised, wrinkles forming on his forehead "That might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"What does a ginger smell like?" Red put her phone face down on the table, suddenly intrigued.

"It's stagnant and a little musty, not like body odour musty but more like an old second-hand bookstore that has mildew and black mold-

"I can't help but feel like we got off topic here," Tolkien abruptly cuts you off again for the second time that day "So can we just agree on Kyle so I can eat my lunch?" At this, you and Red nod, with no sense of disagreement "Okay, cool," The very second Tolkien stands up from the table, the bell begins to shriek, signalling the end of lunch hour. He throws his hands up in exasperation, looking woefully at his unfinished tray of food. 

You had been entirely too stiff when Biology class rolled around, more aware of Kyle's presence than usual. Fate, or perhaps the whims of the teacher, had decreed that you would be seatmates for the remainder of the semester. However, there was no friendship to be found between you, only a simmering animosity that hung in the air like static before a storm.

As the teacher droned on about cell structures and molecular biology, you and Kyle remained steadfast in their resolve to ignore each other's presence. You exchanged no words, no glances, only the occasional rustle of papers or the tap of a pencil against a desk.

Despite your mutual disdain, there was an unspoken understanding between you – a silent agreement to coexist in the same space without acknowledging each other's existence. And so, you buried yourself in their work, diving into the intricacies of biology as if it were a shield against the discomfort of your shared proximity.

You knew what you were supposed to do, but that didn't make it any easier for you to swallow your pride and ask Kyle for a favour. It was hard enough to admit to yourself that you needed him if you wanted to win the mixed relay which you had spent the entire year anticipating. With a deep breath, you replay how you'll ask him over and over again, being sure that you don't sound desperate.

"Kyle, have you ever thought about joining the track-

"Nope," He answers before you can even finish your sentence. Kyle doesn't even look up from his work as he says this, leaving you to stare at the side of his hooked nose before quickly looking down at your paper.

"Okay," you mutter under your breath, you were so quiet that you weren't sure he even heard you. The minutes ticked by, marked only by the rhythmic scratching of pens and the occasional sigh of frustration, you fell back to silence and didn't press him any further. 

"I did everything I could," You greatly over-exaggerate the eleven words you had shared with Kyle in biology like you had gone to war asking him to join the team, in your mind, you had. Now you were picking at a basket of curly fries in a diner where you complained about your excruciating dilemma to your Bebe. 

"Everything?" Bebe quirks an eyebrow, taking a sip of her cherry coke, glossed lips pressing around the red and white straw. When she lifts them, there's a sticky residue of glitter on the straw  "What does this entail?"

"It entails Kyle being a dickhead."

"Yeah, I'm sure," She says, not an ounce of belief in her voice. She leaned back in the red leather booth. Bebe looks beyond beat (for her standards), she haphazardly tied her curly hair into two twin braids, mismatched elastics. She had been wearing nothing more than sweatpants and a tank top when you left her house, forcing you to surrender your hoodie to keep goosebumps away from her bare arms. "Should we go to Clyde's later?"

"Why would we go to Clyde's? It's almost ten," You furrow your eyebrows "I don't really wanna spend my Friday night third wheeling."

"You won't be third wheeling, it's not like we're dating or anything-

"Yeah, but it's worse to third-wheel two horny people who aren't even dating," You had a gut feeling that any day now Clyde and Bebe would become official, Stan was now taking Wendy's time back up, Nichole and Tolkien seeing each other on the low, and you were suspicious of Red and Heidi, now Bebe was going for her elementary spark. All of your friends were abruptly falling in love and no one gave you the memo, leaving you in the dust.

"So what better things did you have planned?" She steals a fry away from you, dragging it through the ketchup.

You shrug "Get high and look at pictures of Snoopy."

"That's more of a thing you do with Red," Bebe said. Despite the statement itself being true, you could tell she was trying to deviate from you to go see her new fling.

"So you're tyna ditch me now to go hang out with Clyde?" You fall short of the amusement that Bebe's trying to portray.

"What? no," She says this like your statement was incredulous "I'm just saying that you would have more fun smoking with Rebecca."

"And you'd have more fun banging Clyde?" You weren't sure if it had been the nagging feeling that all of your friends were leaving you in the dust and making time for better things or the fact that this wouldn't be the first time Bebe cancelled your plans to hang out with someone else but something about this conversation was irking you.

Her face drops "Why are you being a dick?"

"Why are you trying to get rid of me?" 

She wouldn't admit to it but it was true. Not that Bebe necessarily had strife with you, more so she tended to fall on the fickle side of things and being around you so much had put her into a rut. "I'm not," Bebe wrangles her mind to sedate this before it blows up "Sorry, can we please just drop this?”

Silence stretches between the two of you, if it weren't for the chatter of other customers and light buzzing of decrepit ceiling lights, it would've been utter stillness. Her icy blue eyes were peering into your soul, your hoodie hanging limp off her narrow shoulders.

You didn't necessarily want to leave it alone, you weren't one to lie down rather than win an argument but today your internal chemistry had been tweaked; for a moment you thought about letting it go, being rational and not provoking, which was so hard since it was what you were so good at. "No," You answer "I don't think we should drop it."

You can see the look of annoyance creep up on Bebe's face "Why?"

"It's better to talk about it-

"This always happens though," Bebe begins "I say something, you say something, and then we don't talk for a month so I don't think it's better to talk about it."

"Maybe there's a reason we fight all the time," you point out. There were at least one hundred reasons why you and Bebe fought all the time, mainly because the two of you fed into each other's agitation, putting the two of you together was like leaving a lit candle in the woods.

"I'm not here to psychoanalyze this, let's just go and get stoned." She pulls the final trick from her sleeve, pot to put this to sleep.

Bebe was the match to your kindling, the fuel to your fire and that's why you had been so off and on with her since middle school, you were like that annoying couple who kept breaking up and then exhausting everyone by getting back together. 

As much as you want to argue until your throat turns dry as sandpaper from yelling, you also want to get high and laugh until your lungs burn. "Sure, okay."

It goes quiet for another minute. Followed by another and another until you both accept that there's nothing more to say, you pay the bill and begin the trek back to your car. While the rain had subsided it was as cold as ever, always an unwelcomed familiarity that came with living in South Park. Even with summer inevitably approaching, the nights were still frigid after rainfall almost to the point where you could see your breath. 

Bebe had stolen your hoodie and left you shivering on the walk to your car. The diner parking was something outrageously complicated where you had to download an app and pay online, to which you were lazy and in being lazy, parked far away in a faraway spot. This had taken far more time to find the spot, park, and walk to the diner than it would've been to get an app and pay the three dollars.

You had clutched the pink bottle of pepper spray that was hooked onto your carabiner tightly in your hand, never too sure of who would try to get one on you while you found your way through the dark streets. 

Finally, after what seemed like a century of stumbling blindly through darkness, you made it to your car, parked in front of a locksmith. The street lamps were dim, you supposed it was nice that you didn't have light pollution in town but you hadn't even noticed the oddity on your car until Bebe pointed it out.

"What's that?" She squints her eyes before turning on her phone flash to inspect. 

There it was, unmistakable in the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp: a bright yellow clamp securing your car's front wheel. "Oh no, no, no!" Your exclamation cut through the eery quiet of the night "Fuck!"

"Oh, shit," Bebe mutters, immediately beginning to rapidly type on her phone, the blue light illuminating her tanned face, you heat the loud ding of a notfication.

Your hands find their way to grip your hair "What the fuck!?" You shout, louder than intended, your voice echoing off the surrounding buildings, the emptiness of the night amplifying your distress. "I don't have any unpaid parking tickets, what the fuck?" You repeat, mind running wild with how your parents would react. Your phone had died a little over a half hour ago so you were choosing to use that as an excuse to delay telling your parents.

"Look, you parked in a bike lane," She gestures out. Surely enough Bebe was right, you had and you were also inexplicably screwed over.

"Why didn't you tell me?" You knew Bebe wasn't to blame for your car being immobilized but a million thoughts were tangling into a jumbled mess inside of your head.

"I didn't see either," She looks up from her phone to where you frantically pace the sidewalk "Not my fault you parked in a fucking bike lane and didn't notice."

Your eye catches a slip of paper wedged into your window shield and immediately you reach for it. 

This notice is to inform you that your vehicle has been clamped due to a violation of parking regulations or outstanding fines. The clamp has been securely attached to your vehicle's wheel, rendering it immobile. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO MOVE THE VEHICLE OR REMOVE THE CLAMP.

Reason for Clamping: [illegal parking]

Location of Clamping: [Maplewood Street, v2ah60]

For instructions on release please dial +15392848788

Thank you for your cooperation.

You wave the notice around "Bebe take a picture of this, my phone died and I need the number," To this, she just stares at you blankly "Please!?" You insinuate. Panic is etched clearly across your features.

"Jesus, just relax," The irritation is obvious in her voice as takes a picture with a blinding flash not just of the slip of paper but of you holding the notice, eyes squinting from the sudden bright light and hair messy from nearly ripping it out due to stress. She looks at the picture she took and giggles. 

"Fuck off, can you be serious right now?" You're too busy thinking of all the ways your dad will execute you rather than the harsh tone you were using with your friend. He didn't speak to you for a week when he found out you were on birth control, you couldn't imagine what he would do when he found out that you had a fine. 

"Sorry?" She sounds like she's actually taken offence to your words. "I'm trying not to be stressed since you're two minutes away from tearing your hair out."

"Because you don't have to worry about your dad turning you into taxidermy," To others, this may have sounded ridiculous but you had no doubt in your mind that your father would take such extremities. "Can you please be mature about this?"

Bebe's eyes widen slightly, eyebrows raising "You want me to be mature when all you do is bitch and moan about Kyle like we're in the fourth grade?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind it." You snap. You weren't the most rational person, now desperately grasping for someone or something to shift the blame. 

"You can't get all pissed off when this is your fault," Bebe crosses her arms, physically getting defensive, the phone still clutched in one hand "You're the one who parked illegally."

"Because you told me to park in front of the locksmith!" You gesture towards the building you were now arguing in front of. The building itself looked haunted, the run-down locksmith shop stands like a forgotten relic amidst a row of bustling businesses that were kept with the care that this shop was definitely missing. The windows, clouded with grime and dust, offer only glimpses of the dim interior beyond. Some are cracked, their fractured panes held together by strips of weathered tape. The exterior itself was hideous, a bright yellow paint dulled by the passage of time that had orange patterns of keys and locks all over it, a sign above hung that read 'chipper locks' You didn't imagine that they got much business.

"You listened!" She deflects the blame like a game of tennis

 "No, I said I didn't want to park here because it's sketchy and I was scared a crackhead would hide under my car and slash my Achilles tendon when I got back in but you told me to stop bitching about it!"

"You're the only person on earth that would worry about something so fucking irrational, shouldn't you be stressed about finals instead of having nightmares about serial killers you made up in your head?"

"I didn't make it up in my head," You defend "It's all over like everything." It did quickly become a fear of yours since Nichole sent you a video about traffickers hiding under cars and slashing women's tendons, all she said was 'that's crazy lol' but it instilled terror in you and made you glance under your car before getting in no matter where you had left it parked.

"You're insane," She mutters, so quietly that she hadn't expected you to hear. 

Unfortunately for both of you, it didn't fall deaf upon your ears "I'm sorry?"

"It's okay," Bebe waves you off.

"No, I'm not apologizing," You furrow your eyebrows "You just called me insane, what the fuck, Bebe."

"Not in a bad way," Bebe hugs herself to try and fight off the cold. She doesn't seem to grasp the gravity of every word she spat out at you.

"How is there possibly a good way to call someone insane?" 

"I meant you're insane in a wild kind of way, like a party animal," She tries to climb out of the grave she was digging for herself. "Like, wow, this girl's insane," Bebe mimics in a deeper voice, trying to portray some frat guy referring to you like you are the life of the party.

You stare at her, mouth slightly agape as you process the situation. "You know what?"

"What?" Bebe tucks a flyaway strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, her messy twin braids swaying slightly in the wind. 

"You're a fucking cunt," You spit, pointing a finger at her in an accusatory manner, eyes narrowing. The words fell from your mouth like venom puncturing skin. 

Whatever Bebe was expecting you to say it wasn't that. She's genuinely taken aback and it's clear across her face, her eyes widened in disbelief, pupils dilating as if trying to take in the enormity of what she had just heard. The muscles in her jaw slackened, her lips parting slightly in a silent gasp. "Yeah?" She raises her voice "You're a little bitch."

"I don't really care," The two of you had an almost impressive way of taking things from zero to one hundred with little build-up between. 

"Do you care about anything?" Bebe's expression shifted subtly, betraying the undercurrent of annoyance coursing through her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, a silent indication of her displeasure, while her eyebrows drew together in a slight furrow, hinting at the frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

"You'd probably know if you weren't too busy trying to get dicked down by Clyde," You retort, the muscles in your jaw tensing up.

"At least I can get laid, you just wallow around in your own loneliness and get all bitter about happy couples for whatever fucking reason."

You completely breeze past the fact that she's right and scramble for something to say "You wanna be an author and you can't even read the ingredients list on a can of Coke," Though you tried to maintain composure, there was a flicker of impatience in your movements, a subtle stiffness in your posture that spoke volumes.

Her brows arched upwards, forming a perfect curve of incredulity. A flush of colour rose to her cheeks, a telltale sign that you had hurt her. "You're such a dick," Bebe says and a hush settles over you "You know your now a good person, right?"

“And you think you are?" 

For another time, the conversation fell into a lull. For a long while, you stood there in the cold, breath mingling with the frosty air, until a familiar car rolled to a stop right next to yours. It was Clyde's black Chevrolet.

"You texted Clyde?" This might've been what hurt you the most, more than any other sentence uttered that night.

"Yup, sure did,” Bebe turns away from you to open the passenger door "You have a huge pimple on your face by the way, it's literally the only thing I can focus on when I look at you, it's fucking disgusting." 

Your hand reaches for the small bump on your cheekbone on instinct "It's a spider bite, actually," You're correct this fact makes you seem high and mighty "Because I sleep with my window open."

“Oh my god," Bebe mutters, wrinkling her nose. 

"Does she need a ride?" Clyde asks eyebrows furrowed as his eyes shoot between where you stand on the pavement and Bebe climbing into the passenger seat.

"No, she's fine," Bebe answers for you, shutting the door. Inside the car, Clyde says something to her that you can't make out, just muffled mutters. In just seconds you hear the ignition start and watch as he glides down the road.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as a surge of newfound anger washes over you. As Clyde's car pulled away, disappearing into the darkness with Bebe at the wheel, the cold seeped into your bones, matching the icy chill in your chair as you stood alone on the deserted street.

"You're a fucking asshole, Bebe!" You shout after them though it's futile, you know she can't hear you, but it doesn't stop you from holding up your middle finger and cussing her out. To passersby, it probably looked like you had something in your system "And you're wearing my hoodie!"

You run your hands down your face, nearly scraping the soft skin with your fingernails as you pace around in a small circle. You were left with a car rendered immobile, a dead cellphone, nine dollars on you, and a home forty minutes away in walking distance, better start moving. 

Glancing at your car and the long dark road ahead, you quickly unlocked your car, hopping into the driver's seat and rummaging around in your compartment for a little bit of relief. You dig deep into the console box for a box of stale cigarettes you had forgotten in there, still it was better than nothing. You yank one out and let it rest between two fingers while you bring a lime green lighter to the end to ignite it.

The tip glowed bright orange as you brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling a plume of smoke into the cool night air. You lock your car, tucking the lighter and pack of Marlboros into your pocket, snatching the notice from your windshield for the phone number and begin the trek home. 

While it was only an eight-minute drive, the walk was more strenuous. You wished that you had some heavily padded parka to wrap around yourself though you had nothing more than the heat radiating off the end of your cigarette, in your other hand you grasped to the pink bottle of pepper spray for dear life, the car clamp notice tucked under your arm. 

As childish as it was, you found yourself almost fighting back tears, that familiar feeling building in your throat like every awful thing you had ever felt was going to fall through the gaps of your teeth. You were sure that you deserved to be deserted on the damp streets, truthfully you didn't expect Bebe to show you any form of mercy after what you had said to her and you had proved to be correct on the matter. 

It was moments like this where you were sure there was nothing worse than making friends.

Maybe you would be a hermit for a bit, head straight home after track and soccer, then lock yourself away for the summer until you've reinvented yourself into someone a little more agreeable. 

The rhythmic sound of your breath mingled with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the chill of the night air nipped at your cheeks, but you pressed on, fueled by the knowledge that there would be a hot shower waiting for you at home. That almost cancelled out the idea of telling your parents you were getting charged for illegal parking and then explaining a fabricated lie to them that you smelled like tobacco because the man beside you at the diner was smoking. What a delinquent you were. 

As you walked, your thoughts drifted like smoke on the wind, swirling and shifting with each exhale. Memories and worries danced through your mind, fleeting and ephemeral, like wisps of smoke disappearing into the night sky. You were so close to subbing in Scott for the relay even though you had been so opposed to it since it would guarantee a loss but if Tolkien wouldn't ask Kyle then you would have to accept the fact you were bound to lose since you were cursed with a team that only signed up for track to skip school on the day of the meet and hang around the concession stand.

The quiet peace that you had lost in your own thoughts was quickly broken when you picked up on the navy blue car slowing down as it approached you. Your cigarette burns to the filter and you drop it to the ground, smothering the fizzing embers out with your heel as you watch the car for a brief moment before quickly turning and quickening your pace. Praying to every god you didn't believe in that this wouldn't evolve into something more.

When you speed up, so does the car. You're even more aware of your surroundings now, the mace firm in your grip, you kept one thumb on the top preparing yourself for the worst. "Hey!" A gruff voice from the car yells, he rolls his window down, you can't make out his face and you aren't sure that you want to.

This is all it takes for you to move from your fast walk to a run, ignoring the cold air eating away at the tip of your nose and the sharp burning in your lungs. The man from the car yells something else but your heart is pounding too loud for you to hear anything off in the distance.

Your senses suddenly heightened, a prickling sensation crawling up the back of your neck. You felt a surge of unease wash over you as the sound of an engine revving filled the air, growing louder and closer with each passing moment.

Instinctively, you hastened your pace even further, your heart pounding in your chest as you cast a nervous glance over your shoulder. Its headlights pierced the darkness like beacons of warning.

You knew you had to act fast, figuring that whoever was chasing you was the type to slash tendons and the streets were absurdly empty aside from you and the man in the car. With a desperate glance around you, you spotted an alleyway up ahead, a narrow passage shrouded in darkness. Without hesitation, you veered off the main road and plunged into the shadows, heart pounding in your chest as you raced for safety.

With another glance around, you finally stopped to catch a breather, trying to swallow up all of the air you could and think of what to do next, it felt like wild horses were racing through veins in the form of adrenaline. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and your shaky breathing seemed to devour every last rational thought you have.

You renavigate your way home, trying to avoid the sketchy road where the man in the car was likely waiting to pull you in. You emerge from the ally on another street, clear of any cars, with a deep sigh, you light another cigarette, leaving you with an empty box that you toss into the nearest garbage. The nicotine had soothed you, the notice was now crumpled up into your pocket wedged next to your dead cell phone and your carabiner hung off one of your fingers, keys and mace clattering against one another.

Still, you were anxious despite the cigarette smoke loosening your tightly wound nerves just a little. You stayed hyper-aware of everything around you, walking as fast as you could before it classified as a run and being sure to remain silent so you could hear everything around you.

"Wait, man!" You hear a voice off in the distance and turn to see that navy blue car once again. You were ready to take off until you noticed something in the dim light of the street lamps. The face of a guy around your age, a straight nose and dark hair, Stan Marsh.

You pause as the car pulls beside you and you see the other faces in the car, in the back sit Cartman and Kenny, in the passenger seat is Stan's right-hand man and your least favourite person, Kyle. "Oh my god, I thought you were a pedophile!" Your voice picks up with agitation.

"Why?"

"Because you fucking trailed me with your car at night and yelled at me on an empty street!” You look past Kyle and directly at Stan where he sits by the wheel. You take one more long drag of your cigarette before snubbing it out on the pavement. Kyle wrinkles his nose at the smell "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He gives Kyle a little nervous glance before looking at you "Wendy said something happened with Bebe and we saw you and figured-

"That you would make me think I was going to get kidnapped?" You almost want to drag him out of his seat and sucker punch you for scaring you so badly.

"Hey," Kenny chimes in from the back, he's smiling at you, a fresh scrape across his left cheekbone. "I texted you and you didn't answer."

"So-uh, do you want a ride?" Stan asks "Because you'll get kidnapped for real if you keep walking."

"We don't have room," Cartman adds where he sits behind Kyle, stretching his legs out with what little space Kyle had given him. 

"Because you're taking all of it up fatass," Kenny points out "Sit in the front."

"I don't want to be in the same car as a junkie, she'll probably stick us with needles and get us all addicted to heroin." Cartman was well bundled up on this chilly night, a grey hoodie and flannel hanging overtop.

Stan ignores this comment "So?"

You think through Stan's offer, even though it was a nightmare situation to be stuck in a vehicle with Cartman and Kyle he was likely right when he said you would get kidnapped for real. South Park wasn't the safest town despite how it was portrayed on travel pamphlets and blogs. While the residential area was good for kids to play in, the main streets were a little crude. "Yeah, sure," You mutter "Please."

Cartman lets out a loud groan as the boys reorganize themselves to accommodate you. Kyle ducks out of the passenger seat and out into the chilly night, to your surprise, he isn't wearing his hat, his red curls hanging loose. Cartman hauls himself into the passenger seat, uttering complaints the entire time.

You wait for Kyle to clamour into the backseat but he doesn't, he just stands by the open door, waiting expectedly for you to get in. When you realize that you're meant to be sitting in the middle you almost want to protest but decide against it, Stan was being nice enough offering you a ride when you barely knew him aside from being Wendy's boyfriend. 

The very second you buckle into the backseat, Cartman begins to cough dramatically. He's heaving on nothing, exaggerating the slight smokey smell that lingered on you. He claws at his throat "It's so hard to breathe," He mumbles like he's choking.

This must be what hell feels like. 

“Why were you walking?" Kenny breaks up the sound of Eric wheezing. Wordlessly, you reach for the crumpled slip of paper in your pocket and smooth it out as much as possible over one of your thighs before handing it to him. His eyes visibly brighten as he reads it a small smile splitting across his face "Illegal parking," he lets out a low whistle "I love myself a lawbreaker," He hands the notice back to you.

Kyle subtly looks down at the paper, he didn't finish reading it before you fold it up and tuck it back into your pocket. He's interested but he won't admit it, so instead of pressing the matter, he trains his eyes to watch the concrete sidewalk roll by out of the window. 

You're crammed between the two, your thighs touching theirs, Kyle tries to make himself as small as possible while Kenny carelessly man-spreads, his leg almost overlapping yours. "How long are you going to be grounded for that one?" Kenny asks.

"I'm trying to get it settled without them finding out," With aptitude you peek at Kyle whose eyes meet yours before deviating. You didn't think he would go snitching on you but it still worried you. He had far more blackmail over you than you had on him, you were still clinging to things he did in freshman year while it seemed that every month you had a new secret to keep from your parents. 

"Good luck with that," He says, also staring out the window though he didn't do it to avoid you "You got the money to pay for the fine?"

You find yourself glimpsing back at Kyle, using this question as a scapegoat to clear yourself before he even gets the idea of telling either of your parents "Yes and I will pay the fine as soon as possible, from this point moving forward I am going to be a law-abiding citizen, I vow to never park in a bike lane again and not to steal prozac from my dad," You indirectly address Kyle, he can tell what you're trying to do based on the way you keep shifting your eyes to look at him. Kyle looks at you, he doesn't say anything but you understand him clearly 'What the fuck are you doing?'

"Okay?" Kenny says, sounding confused "That's cool, I guess, good for you."

"Hide your Advil, Stan," Cartman peeps up, watching you from the rearview mirror "Crash is on a crime spree, she might steal your mom's jewelry for drug money too.”

Growing too tired to say something snarky in return, you just lean back in your seat, eyes half-lidded as you listen to Cartman besmirch you. Everyone in the car had accepted this to be a regular occurrence. At first, when everyone in your grade greeted you by calling you Junkie, Crackhead or something along that line you wanted to hug your mom and cry but you quickly grew desensitized to it after two weeks, it just felt like another nickname.

Stan cranks his stereo up to drown out Cartman's incoherent complaints. It's some metal band that you had never heard before playing faintly while Kenny shows you pictures of his roster on his cheap phone that he had spent two paycheques purchasing. "So where were you guys headed before you picked me up?" You ask, purely to try and make polite conversation, feeling immensely out of place with the four of them all together.

"We were going to Stans for game night," Kenny says, still scrolling through his stickers on Snapchat "You wanna come?" Truthfully you hadn't been hanging out with Kenny as much as you used to, you still smoked pot every now and then but it was rare for the two of you to sit down and actually do something together or go out somewhere. You were too preoccupied with track and soccer and all of your friend's drama, their secrets piling on you like fines.

Cartman whips his head around to look at Kenny with fury in his eyes. "Nah," You draw out, scrambling for an excuse "I should probably just go home and repent for my crimes against the state."

"Kinda hot," Kenny nods absentmindedly.

Conversation faltered as you struggled to find common ground, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy between you. Every attempt at small talk fell flat, each joke met with forced laughter that only served to highlight the awkwardness of the situation. You could've sworn you were more socialized than you were acting. “Man, I love track and field, what an incredible sport to have on a college application,” This time you aren’t as discreet with your subliminal messaging to Kyle, turning your head to look at him completely. He doesn’t say anything.

With each passing mile, the silence grew more suffocating, pressing in on them like a heavy blanket. You fidgeted nervously, your eyes darting from one face to another as you searched for an escape from the uncomfortable tension.

Stan sped over a speed bump, you reached your hands out to grab something on instinct, hand gracing Kyle's leg for the briefest moment, still you retract it and look at him in horror. 

Clasping your hands together in your lap you anticipate each passing second as Stan neared your street you felt relief wash over you like a baptism. "Right here," You say and Stan slows the car by your front yard, the lights are on in your home casting a warm glow into the velvety black night. 

Before the car even comes to a full stop, Kyle opens the door, wanting this to be over as bad as you do. With haste, he unbuckled his seatbelt and took a step out with his lanky legs. His green eyes watch your every move while you shimmy out of the middle seat, taking in a deep breath of clean air that didn't smell like car freshener and body spray. "Thanks for the ride," You give Stan a tight-lipped smile, ready to walk away until Kyle opens his mouth.

"When's the next track practice?"

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows "You're joining?"

"Yeah, Tolkien asked me to," He says and the space between you fills with silence.

The soft expression on your face quickly morphs into something a little more vicious "So Tolkien asks you to join and you jump at the chance?" You say, snarky.

Kyle seems unphased "I actually like Tolkien."

"Yeah, I know, You probably explore each other's bodies." You brush past him fighting the urge to just walk into your house, maybe it was because someone had replaced your calcium with mercury or you were just tired but today someone had messed with your internal chemistry "Uh, thanks though, it's on Tuesday." Finally, you had gotten that win you were chasing all day.

A/N: oml sorry this took so long, I had no idea where the plot was going but we’re good now so the other chapters won’t take so long.

[birdkatze]

"But werewolves aren't real?" || werewolf! 141 x werewolf! reader Part 5

Future pairings = poly 141 x reader

Chapter pairings = everyone but Ghost/reader

Words = 1.3k

[Chapter 4] --- [Chapter 6]

Summery: After moving out of the big city and into the forest, you meet some men that might have some awners about whats been causing your pain.

Explicit under the cut

The creaking door causes Gaz and Soap to rouse slightly. You were still dead to the world and remained asleep in their arms. Both of the boys sandwiched you, keeping you warm and content as you slept, your arms wrapped around Soap as his head rested against your chest. Gaz was wrapped around your back, kola’d onto you with his face nestled against your neck.

Gaz tilted his head to the door and glared before closing his eyes again, already knowing from footsteps alone that Ghost and Price were here. Gaz didn’t get up, he was too comfortable and content to greet the two men. Ghost and Price were already on Gaz’s bad side and he didn’t feel very keen on forgiveness after last night.

The lingering scent of pain and sadness certainly didn’t help Price and Ghost’s case. The two men looked in, staring at Gaz, Soap, and you. They quietly walked down the stairs leaving the room the smell of guilt rolling off them. Closing his eyes, Gaz dozed back off happily.

Late in the morning, Soap started to wake up. His eyes looked around blearily, quietly grumbling  as he tried to fall back asleep. Then he caught the scent of Price and Ghost and sat up gently pulling away from the bed and quietly walking out of the room but before he could Gaz whisper shouted “Get some food goin’ and send Price and Ghost shopping..” before tucking his face against your shoulder again.

About 30 minutes later you started to rouse, yawning as you curled up against Gaz grumbling as the sun shined on your face.

“Duuuuuck” Gaz says in a soft sing-song voice “S’ time to get up..”

“Don’t wanna…” Whining you turn over to look at Gaz, unfortunately you felt too hot and didn’t have an ice pack in the bed. Pouting you mumble “fineee.” 

You and Gaz climb out of bed, “How do you want your eggs love?”

“I’m not a fan of eggs, um but I kinda like the kind with the runny center?” You look at Gaz unsure, you probably needed the protein but eggs just tasted bad in your opinion.

“What do you like for breakfasts?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes.” You admit feeling a bit embarrassed your favorite food was still chocolate chip pancakes.

 Nodding Gaz kissed your temple gently before walking out of the room in front of you and damn that ass. An odd anxiety passes over you as you stand alone in your room, the fact that Soap and Gaz weren’t in your sight was making you feel terrified.

As you went to the bathroom you tried to hurry through your skincare and peeing. You felt sick with fear as you finished up. Quickly putting on a robe you walk down stairs feeling drained and exhausted from last night and yesterday. You could have never predicted the events of yesterday. Jesus, werewolves being real? Four terribly attractive men waltzing into your life and all of them having the fattest asses known to mankind? The situation felt like a horrific fever dream.

Down stairs you find the other three, Price and Ghost sat at the table looking guilty. Soap was only covered by an apron, it was black had red ruffles and bows along the edges and straps. When Soap turned around to face you the apron read Don’t kiss the cook…Bend me over. Soap’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw you. If he had a tail it would have been wagging.

“Duck!” Smiling excitedly, Soap looked like he wanted to be right next to you and given the events of last night you also felt the same. “Your food is done!”

Sitting down at the table you smile at Soap preening under his care. It soothed the anxiety you had felt upstairs. He placed your food in front of you and it was chocolate chip pancakes! You look at it surprised, where had they gotten the stuff to make pancakes you hadn't had time to go to the store with how yesterday went.

“We got your groceries, Love” Price spoke up gently. He looked like a sad guilty puppy. It was shocking how Price and Ghost could look that way, both giant men who came off as unremorseful at first glance but now they looked like guilty puppies.

The glare Gaz kept shooting them was scathing. He looked so angry with them and was not afraid to make it clear. Gaz sat next to you and looked at you softly “Made them get ya the food on your list.”

You nod digging into your pancakes. Soap finishes up making breakfast for everyone fairly quickly, plating up the food and distributing it amongst the pack. Gaz’s plate looked scrumptious, everything looked perfect. Soap’s looked the same, the eggs were fluffy and the bacon was his and Gaz’s preferred crispness. Price and Ghost’s plates looked less than good, with the eggs looking flat and a bit burnt and the same with their bacon it was badly burnt. 

Breakfast was a quiet affair as everyone dug into their food. Surprisingly Ghost and Price cleared their plates, wolfing down the food quickly, so they didnt let it stay in their mouths long. 

After breakfast everyone went to the living room with Price and Ghost sitting on the floor and you, Gaz, and Soap sitting on the couch. Both of the men bracketed you, leaving you nestled between them. Gaz had slipped on some boxers at some point but Soap stayed naked looking fairly comfortable where he was.

 “What happened last night?” You ask confused looking at all of the men.

Gaz answered quickly “You dropped, happens when a pack or an alpha comes in and takes care of you and then leaves” Gaz glared at Price angrily, huffing “It’s rough and I’m sorry that you had to go through that, Duck, it wasn’t good of us to do that to you..” kissing you temple Gaz slowly mellows out a bit.

Looking at you sadly Soap rested his head on your shoulder, “It was a bad Duck, I’m glad we got there when we did…” 

Bristling Ghost and Price were starting to get frustrated. Ghost huffing angrily “Enough, we get it we should have stayed but fuckssake how were we supposed to know. We shouldn’t have had to take care of a stranger because contrary to either of your beliefs we don't owe Duck anything, you both disobeyed your head-alpha and now you are climbing all over this mingin’ slag! This is ridiculous!” Ghost looked at you with so much rage you shrunk into yourself, he said the nickname that Gaz had given you in a mocking voice, his teeth were bared and looked angry. Looming over you and the other two on the couch he growled “Th-”

Before he could start Gaz was on his feet and pushed Ghost back snarling at the alpha, “Step the fuck back Simon. You don’t understand and you won’t fucking listen, Duck is an omega can you get that through your thick fucking skull? Hmm? Do you not remember how I was when I joined you and Price? Fuck can you think before you speak, god you have no empathy or sympathy. Duck was in a dangerous sport-” Gaz frowned looking at Ghost betrayed and frustrated “God you are a shit alpha, go back to the den and figure your shit out because this is unreasonable and horrifying you freak” Gaz was shaking with anger “Look at Duck, their shaking! Can’t you smell the scent of fear, the smell of agony and sadness? No, no you can’t because you don’t actually want to listen! I can see why nobody wanted you as pack for so long. Get out!” Gaz pointed to the door enraged. 

Ghost chuffed “You three better ‘Give your 'ead a wobble and get back to the den tonight. I’ll be at the shop.” and stomped out, Slamming the sliding glass door. 

You were curled up shaking and looking terrified, Soap had pulled you onto his lap and had his arms wrapped around you. He reassured you softly, gently rocking you in an attempt to calm you down. 

Gaz sat back down and turned to Price “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I'm sorry.”

[trash-king18]

M pt. 2

warning y’all now this is gonna have a lot of parts and they’re all long, sorry. but i put more time and effort into this than i care to admit so i might as well see if it’s enjoyed by others. 

cw: 18+ minors dni, talk of injections/needles, angst, arguing, both reader and miguel have attitude for days, hints of family trauma, oral f receiving, m masturbation

4004 words

————

you had planned on staying to work overnight just to spite him but about 20 minutes into the prep work the adrenaline wore off and your eyelids started drooping. so you put the venom vials in the fridge and headed back to your apartment. 

the other reason you two had an odd connection is because unlike all the spider people; who went back to their own universes between jobs, you lived in Nueva York pretty much full time. besides the occasional vacation to explore other earths and some weekends spent with your sister and her kids, it was just you, lyla, and Miguel. 

Gwen Hobie and Pavitr always asked why you chose to stay here with “the grump”. they were good kids, and even though you weren’t a doctor they frequented your lab for “checkups.” you always told them the same thing, “better tech here,” it was easier than explaining the real reason. 

you enjoyed seeing your sister and your beloved little nephews when you could, but there wasn’t much keeping you back on your earth.

your spider man wasn’t able to protect your earth anymore, so you felt it was your personal mission to help however you could. miguel didn’t know it, but your spider man had been your brother. he ended up marrying a girl from your neighborhood who you quickly came to admire as a sister and they had two boys before.. the incident. when another spider-man showed up with a watch and the sweetest AI you’d ever met asking for your help for her boss, you jumped at the opportunity. anything to get you out of there. 

—

you hadn’t seen Miguel at all that day. from what you overheard in the food courts there was some important mission, that as per usual he divulged to no one. you asked Lyla to notify you as soon as he returned, sometimes you felt you and her were the ones really holding the multiverse together. Miguel may have done the heavy lifting, but Lyla kept him organized and you kept him from breaking everything in the building when he got mad. 

Lyla popped up on your watch at about 8:30 that night to let you know when he arrived. an inconvenience considering you were comfortably on your couch in an oversized hoodie. 

“he’s back, but I’m not sure you want to talk to him right now. 

“that usually means i definitely have to “talk” to him. i’ll head over with his injection now. Is he at HQ? 

“uhm… I’m not- 

“he’s either on a mission, or in his office.. brooding. he’s really quite predictable. 

“he’s not at HQ he went straight home this time. 

Oh great, now you’ll have to go over to his apartment 

“ugh of course he did” 

“maybe it’d be best if you just wait until tomorrow morning.” 

“no no he needs an infusion, it’s been almost two  weeks now and his symptoms are already worse than we’ve seen in a while.” 

“just be careful, you know how he gets.” 

“believe me Lyla I know, but I specialize in calming down the infamous grump, literally it’s what you hired me for” 

“let me know how it goes?” 

“of course” 

you pull on your jordan’s and head up to the lab quickly to grab his treatment before heading to his apartment. you’d never been there, you didn’t even know where it was, but Lyla sent you the address. you were expecting a lifeless bachelor pad downtown so you were confused when you found yourself outside the door of a top floor penthouse suite. you knew he had a house… somewhere from a long time ago but you weren’t surprised he didn’t want to live there. besides this was much closer. 

you take a deep breath fully expecting him to not even answer or slam the door in your face but you knock anyway. 

you wait, and of course there’s so answer, you start to turn around to leave when you hear the lock click. 

when he opens the door you do not expect what comes next. the self serious super hero, who you’ve never seen out of his suit, is wearing loose gray sweats a skin tight black tee and his hair is wet and slicked back clearly fresh from the shower. you swallow hard. 

the confusion on his face quickly turns to anger. 

“what the hell are you doing here?”

“Lyla uhm.. sent me the address. you were gone all day so I didn’t get a chance to do you your treatment today.” 

he huffs as he shakes his head causing some of his hair to fall into his face

“fine just give it to me I’ll do it” 

“not a chance, i don’t trust that you actually will 

he stands, taking up the whole doorway. 

“nice hoodie” 

you had completely forgotten you were still wearing your spider-man hoodie. It was some corny spider merch you had snagged from a gift shop right before moving to this earth. It was stupid but it reminded you of your brother and you always wore it when you were upset. Suddenly self conscious you felt even smaller than normal standing in front of him. 

“oh I uh-“ 

He smiles evilly at your apparent embarrassment, you were usually so put together and would never let him make fun of you. So he decided to relish in this moment. 

“you should wear that to work, then you can be just like the rest of us” 

you scowl at him

“will you just let me do this so I can go home” 

he stops smiling 

“we’ll do it tomorrow” 

he starts to close the door in your face but you’re tired, you’ve had a long week and most importantly you know he can’t go much longer without the infusion before something bad happens. 

so before he can close it you push your way past him ducking under his arm into his apartment. his guard is either down or he was too surprised youd even dare to do so because it would’ve been too easy to stop you if he wanted to. 

“no, no, he tenido suficiente de ti, estamos haciendo esto ahora.”

no no i’m tired of you we’re doing this now

“H- Hey! you can’t just—“

you pause in shock as you look around and see a tediously organized apartment filled with plants, that smelled of home cooked meals, and surprisingly zero holes punched in the walls. 

he grabs your arm to start pulling you out but you move before he can. no spidey sense meant you actually could catch him by surprise if you were quick enough. 

“ay carajo o’hará this place is nice i’m shocked. are you making tamales? i wouldn’t have taken you for a chef.”

he just stares at you incredulously and watches you walk over and pick one up and start eating

“and a good cook too, your mother would be proud” 

“you’re.. in my apartment” 

“yes? clearly. sit down let’s get this over with” 

“so you barge into my apartment uninvited and now you’re telling me what to do?” 

“i mean really, you’re just stating the obvious, now can you please hurry up? i’m not putting up with your nonsense again today.” 

you put the case on the counter and take the IV out and start getting it ready. you can tell he doesn’t like this at all and you’re not necessarily a fan either. it’s weird seeing him like this… human, almost. 

“sit.” 

finally he gives in, figures the sooner it’s done the sooner he can get you out of his apartment. unfortunately you’re not in the lab which means you have to set up a portable pole but getting it high enough for him even when he’s sitting is difficult. 

“can you.. uhm” 

“seriously? ay dios mío” 

he adjusts the height and then hangs the bag before sitting back down. you pull your gloves on before you start trying to find the vain. he leans back against the counter, your eyes dart up every so often as you insert the needle and start the drip. He watches you work, fascinated by how you manage to boss him around. 

once the infusion starts it usually takes at least an hour or two to finish, but in no world do you want to wait in Miguel’s apartment with him for hours. 

you clear your throat uncomfortably and start to head for the door 

“I trust you can handle the rest, do NOT take it out until it’s done o’hara i’m serious” 

he only grunts in response. you turn before you open the door he’s leaning over the counter rubbing his temple. you’re about to leave, you know you should. you curse yourself internally for what you’re about to do. 

“o’hara?”

“hmm?” he doesn’t open his eyes 

“are you ok?” 

he opens his eyes and looks at you caught off guard by the genuine concern in your voice. 

“estoy bien” 

im fine

“ok” you start to open the door but stop yourself again “it’s just— you haven’t gone this long without  a treatment and last night..” 

you trail off and he peers at you with that animal curiosity like he’s scanning every inch of your body for any movement, any sign of weakness

“last night you just seemed a little uh” 

“a little ~what~” 

you don’t feel like pushing the subject with him and you’re tired.

“nothing, forget i asked” 

his eyes are closed again but he sighs and asks suddenly ,

“tienes hambre?”

are you hungry 

“are you ~inviting~ me to eat.. in your apartment?” 

he shoots you a look that says not to push your luck, but all he says is “plates are left of the sink.” before closing his eyes again. you can’t lie the first one you had was good, you wouldn’t mind another. you notice that he has the ingredients out for fresh guacamole including a molcajete. he doesnt seem much in the mood for cooking so you start chopping up the ingredients yourself. 

“don’t do that” 

“why you’re clearly not in any shape to be cooking” 

“i made the tamales just fine didn’t i?” 

“whatever” 

“seriously don’t mess with my recipe” 

“relax my mamá taught me how to make the best guacamole in brooklyn heights” 

he gets up, “well my abuelitas recipe was the best in all of mexico, so i think i’ll do the cooking” 

“are you disrespecting my mamas cooking?” 

“oh no no no, no empieces, you started this” 

don’t start

he grabs you essentially picking you up and moves you over. you’d never seen him like this, not necessarily no guard but more relaxed, less of a grump just tired and overworked. he was only a few years older than you but you always forgot. 

he finished chopping and starts putting it together. his knife skills are impressive. 

“do you do this every night” 

“ahh no, much to busy for that but i try to do it as often as i can” 

“can’t blame you, must be better than the food court at HQ” 

“don’t tell me that’s all you eat” 

“god no, but between working with Lyla, your treatments, and my family it can get difficult to find time for myself.”

he’s quite for a moment “family?” 

“oh uhm yeah i uh try to see my sister in law and her kids as often as possible, she’s raising them on her own now so I help out when i can” 

“their father? your brother?” 

now it was your turn to be quiet. you don’t know why you started talking about it, you never do, even with your sister. this was your first time even bringing it up to someone else in years. you didn’t realize your eyes were wet. when you don’t answer he turns. 

he puts the knife down when he notices you’re upset 

“sorry i didn’t mean to-“ 

“no it’s fine, i uh- i should go, thanks for the food” 

“y/n” 

“make sure you leave that in, i’ll see you at work tomorrow” 

“y/n” he shoots a web onto the door handle before you can open it

he walks over to you, not as stealthy as normal with the iv pole dragging behind him

“o’hara i’m not in the mood for this right now”

he reaches past you to lock the door behind you. 

“i’m serious”

“you’re upset.”

“hadn’t noticed.”

“ya know when i’m trying to be nice it would help greatly if you didn’t have to have such an attitude.” 

you look at him unimpressed

“im latina, what do you want” 

“the truth”

“about what?”

“why you’ve been extra grouchy this week”

“i am not-“

“yes. you are”

“i don’t owe you any explanation.”

he does that things were he growls just slightly except from him it actually does sound more like a growl. you two have been stepping closer and closer as the argument gets more heated. his accent comes out even more when he’s angry 

“ay coño must you be so infuriating all the fucking time”

“excuse me?”

you’re face to face now… well more face to chest. 

“you heard me cariño”

honey

“don’t call me that”

“why.. would you prefer bonita, princesa” 

he’s teasing you, pressing your buttons, but it was pissing you off extra right now

you shove him back, or at least try 

knock it off miguel 

there it was. they way you said his name. he catches your hand and holds it in place on his chest 

“say it again”

“what?”

“my name, dilo otra vez”

say it again.

his grip on your wrist is firm, he towers over you. 

“what is wrong with you”

his voice is low now, it comes out coated in venom and something else 

“don’t make me repeat myself again cariño”

he leans down into you his hand hovers over your hip, waiting. you know this behavior is most likely because of him going so long without treatment. and even though he’s bigger and stronger you can’t help feel like you’re taking advantage of him. 

“miguel”

after hearing his name he slides his hand onto you and starts pulling you in

“no. stop this isn’t you i can’t let you do this.”

but he doesn’t let go he just dips his head down toward your ear, his breathing is heavy and he’s hot, physically more so than usual. 

“do you want me to(stop)”

you hesitate, but he’s so close and you feel like he’s been teasing you since last night pulling you in then pulling away. 

“yes.”

“you’re lying.”

“..yes.” 

his control is slipping he can feel it, even with the iv slowly working its way through his blood. but you’re here in front of him and you can’t even tell him you don’t want it. 

he pulls away again and right before you can tell him off you realize why. 

he’s carefully pulling the needle from his arm. 

“o’hara no.”

but he takes it out anyway and then turns back to you as the needle drops to the ground. he walks you back into the door and places his hand on your hip again as the other works it’s way to your face. 

“Miguel you need th-“

he shushes you. every time you say his name like that, so soft and quiet, it goes straight down to his core. he tries to ignore it usually, the way that it ignites the urge to hear you whine and moan as you say it. the injections make it easier, so did convincing himself that he only felt that way because of the spider dna. but the human in him wanted you just as much if not more. 

his thumb drags gently over your bottom lip. his scarlet eyes drag over you slowly. 

he feels every twitch and pulse as your body responds to him. 

neither of you speak as he leans in. you pray despite yourself he doesn’t pull away this time. his lips hover over yours for a moment before he gently tugs your lips with his teeth. his fangs don’t cut you but you can feel them pressing into your skin. 

you’re impatient, you’ve done this dance twice now. so you lean in to kiss him but he doesn’t let you. he wants to take his time. for both your sakes. 

he brushes your lips again with his torturing your skin with light touches. his hand holds your face to his while the other keeps you pressed up against him. 

and finally 

finally he kisses you. it’s gentle. he breathes you in as he does it knowing that he won’t be able to remain restrained much longer. 

he pulls back a half an inch your eyes both still closed just breathing in sync before he moves back in capturing your lips in another kiss. this one starts gentle but slowly he increased the pressure. trying to get closer to you somehow. you kiss back, your tongue darting out slightly to feel his fangs. a risky move but you couldn’t help it, although clearly it affects him because as you do he reaches around you and effortlessly picks you up caging you against him as your legs wrap around his waist. 

his kisses start to grow more rushed, his hands grab for flesh where he holds you. he walks you to the counter like you weigh nothing and sets you down keeping himself between your legs. you feel him begin to strain against his sweatpants. you reach down and rub against it with your palm making him hiss. his breathing grows ragged. 

when he speaks his voice is husky 

“ay fuck”

he drops his head into your shoulder but his claws start to dig into the counter top. you have no idea how much this affects him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you so he holds back but you’re making that increasingly hard. 

he grabs your hands and places them both on his shoulders and tries to catch his breath while he gently sucks the flesh on your neck and below your ear, but he doesn’t leave a mark. his hands move to hold your waist under the sweatshirt and his warm hands on your skin feel fantastic 

“Migue.. 

(fuck)

Miguel”

(fuck)

he answers between kisses 

“qué es cariño”

what is it honey

“stop holding back”

“no puedo, i won’t risk it”

i can’t 

“por qué”

why

“i could hurt you”

“you won’t” 

you can feel how badly he wants to let go and you’re determined to get him to. you lean back on the counter pulling him with you. he pulls against you but you hold him tightly and he can’t resist you. you start to pull your sweatshirt up slightly hoping he’ll get the message. he pulls up to kiss you again clearly struggling with the decision for a second but ultimately his lust wins out. he pushes it up further kissing down your stomach. you feel his fangs pushing against his lips but he does his best to keep them from cutting you. your hands still rest on his shoulders as he works his way down. but the closer he gets the harder it is for him to control himself. he looks up at you with heavily lidded eyes as he reaches the band of your shorts. you just nod. 

he takes a deep breath trying to steel his nerves but he knows if he continues there’s no way back. but he wants it he wants you consequences be damned. 

his claws rake against your skin gently as he begins to pull them off causing you to shiver and your back to arch into his touch. it just eggs him on. 

he stares at your open legs in awe before pressing his nose to you. you wait for him to start but he just grabs your hips pressing you deeper into him. he holds you there like a fiend breathing you in and he finally looks up at you and his eyes are different now. there’s a different depth to the hunger within them. he’s never looked more serious. he’s drunk on you and he knows you know it. he lowers his head again swipes all the way from your folds to the bud collecting all the slick and swirling it around before moving back down. his tongue pushes in trying to get as much of you as possible. his bare fangs press into your skin and the feeling sends waves of adrenaline through you. his hands grip you harder nails digging into your skin as your hand tangled into his damp hair. your breath came out in ragged moans and soft curses as he pressed his nose to your clit. he mumbled muffled praises into your skin that you couldn’t understand. he worked you up to the edge multiple times before pulling back just to hear you whine for him. 

now your legs were trembling and you were praying for relief. his eyes were blood red and full of greed. 

“ruegame”

beg me

“miguel miguel please” 

“oh cariño, no te preocupes i’ll take care of it” 

your nails dig into his shoulders as he slowly and torturously works you to finish. he doesn’t pull back when he’s done either he stays and relishes in the mess he’s made. he eats until he’s full and then presses a nice red mark into your inner thigh with his fangs for good measure. he stands and pulls you up so you’re sitting again. your breathing is both quick and ragged. you looked down and noticed that he must have been using his other hand to relieve himself. 

a shame 

when your breathing slows you realize hes leaning into you with his arms on either side. but something seems off,

“miguel..”

his eyes are closed and he seems to be swaying slightly

“miguel hey look at me”

he blinks hard trying to hold his balance before slumping into you

“shit o’hará don’t do this to me now”

you push him up and rush to pull both your clothes back into place before hastily ushering him to couch. he practically collapses. 

you run to grab the iv and a clean needle and bring it over to him. he doesn’t open his eyes or respond when you place it in. you’d seen this before, when he’d missed infusion treatments for too long and then overextended himself. he’d be fine but it definitely wasn’t ideal. 

mostly he just needed to sleep it off, so that’s what you let him do. it was almost 11 now, he was out cold. you couldn’t move him to bed and you were just waiting for the drip to finish. so there was nothing left for you to do unless you wanted to spend the night on his living room chair.

so you left him a note on the coffee table. 

My lab, first thing tomorrow. I need to do a physical and run a blood test to make sure the infusion wasn’t messed up. 

you weren’t sure if you should write anything else so you decided to leave it short and simple and figured you could talk about everything tomorrow. 

when you got to work Lyla popped up next to you. 

“so? How’d last night go?” 

Huh?… oh uhm fine yeah he was being… difficult as always so I’m gonna do a quick check up. can you make sure he comes to my lab as soon as he gets here. 

“oh.. he’s not gonna be in for a while he left for a solo mission early this morning.”

“ugh of course he did. well do you know when he’ll be back. 

“not sure sweets, he went dark but i’ll let you know as soon as i get in touch with him ok?”

“yeah yeah that’d be great”

“you sure everything’s alright hon?” 

“yeah lyla i’m good thanks, i’m gonna get to work.” 

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

[CN] Victor’s Luolan Date (Eng Translation)

“It appears I’ve already found the rose from the legend, one that will never wither.”

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 楼兰之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Subbed Video】    

[Anika's Notes]: tbh ig the VAs were told to soften their voice 10x than usual for this event LOL. The amount of nonverbal sounds—— 😩 also, since Tumblr wants to reduce my workload LOL and won’t allow more than 30 pics, PLS DO WATCH the video for the god-tier voice acting, new bgs, the bgms and sprite alterations too~💕

───────

【Transcript Version】

【Chapter 1】

Victor: If you keep crying for any longer, your eyes might become swollen.

MC: [sobbing]  The ending was simply too unfair. Who can resist crying…

Through the hazy veil of tears, I see the lights in the living room flicker on.

The time-traveling drama I’ve been following all summer aired its series finale tonight. Victor even joined me in watching the web series together after getting off work.

We were chatting about the storyline just fine, until the final scene when my tears began streaming down uncontrollably––

Upon returning to the present day, the heroine enters Luolan once again, only to discover that the once prosperous city has eroded into the long river of time.

But the rose that the Prince of Luolan had carved outside the palace walls still blossoms on the crumbling ruins, quietly awaiting her for a thousand years.

Victor places a towel, radiating warm steam, over my eyes, gradually soothing my emotions.

MC: Don’t you find it beautiful?

Victor: Carving a rose into a stone is quite romantic. I can understand why you like it.

MC: I see absolutely no hint of being moved on your face…

He slightly furrows his brows in response to what sounded like an odd statement to him.

Victor: You’re not expecting us both to cuddle up and cry our eyes off, are you?

A rather peculiar image flashes through my mind, and I can’t help but burst into laughter.

Victor: Crying one moment and laughing the next. Your emotions are truly fickle.

MC: Precisely. Compared with my vivid and overt emotional display, this audience member’s emotions are too composed.

Victor: The selling point of all time-travel dramas mostly revolves around the theme that love can transcend time and space, with endings that can either be joyful or sorrowful.

Victor: This ending was predictable.

MC: But this series is adapted from the legend of the last prince of Loulan!

MC: Additionally, in the last century, a foreign explorer claimed to have seen flower-shaped carved patterns on the stone tiles at the Luolan ruins.

Victor listens quietly, then turns his gaze to me after a brief pause.

Victor: So, is this why you want to visit the Loulan ruins?

MC: Well, it’s not the sole reason. The legend of Luolan’s overnight disappearance has been widely known as a mystical tale. I was originally–– hang on, how did you know I wanted to go there?

The answer to my question is a document he hands to me. Upon closer look, I realize it’s actually the official permit granting access to enter the Luolan ruins.

MC: Why do you have this document too?

Victor: …dummy, it’s yours. Could they have sent it to the wrong person?

I flip through a few pages, and sure enough, find my full name written in the applicant’s box.

MC: I had just woken up when I filled in the address… I guess I subconsciously thought it would be safer to have it sent to you?

Victor: Sweet talker.

He raps my head.

Victor: But I heard that it’s no longer open for public visits.

MC: Yes, indeed~ Currently, only teams on scientific expeditions or those with permits are allowed in.

MC: The conditions for obtaining the permit are so incredibly stringent. I even tried leveraging all my connections, but still couldn’t succeed!

Hearing my words, he gives me a sidelong glance but doesn’t interrupt my unceasing torrent of complacent monologue.

MC: Luckily, I was able to negotiate a documentary collaboration with the local government and received an invitation for sightseeing~ I even signed multiple agreements to protect cultural relics.

Victor: No wonder a certain dummy’s tail is raised high into the sky; it indeed was no easy feat. However––

Victor: [sulking] You just said you had leveraged all your connections. How come I don’t remember myself being among those connections you leveraged?

MC: Because this was meant to be my Qixi Festival surprise for you…

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

Victor: Is this abrupt emergency break also a part of the surprise?

He pinches up the coffee-spattered shirt clinging to his body and stares at me sitting in the driver’s seat, lost for words.

MC: That pit just now was really too tricky…!

Just a few short hours ago, we landed at Luolan Airport. However, upon arrival, we were informed by the airline that our checked luggage had been delayed in the transit city and wouldn’t be delivered until two days later.

To avoid delaying our itinerary, we agreed to deal with the matter of collecting them on our way back. With that settled, I confidently got into the driver’s seat of the RV, and alongside Victor, embarked on a self-driven journey into the desert.

Yet, as expected, things aren’t as uncomplicated as I initially thought.

Looking at his shirt– practically soaked through and with coffee still dripping from it– I promptly grab some tissues and wipe it off for him.

The next second, my gaze suddenly falls upon the carry-on suitcase on the luggage rack. My eyes light up, leading me to pause in my actions.

MC: Why not take it off and wash it immediately? Although, while waiting for the clothes to dry, it seems like you’ll have to either be completely naked––

Unsurprisingly, as I deliberately prolong the final note, his reaction of furrowing his brows is true to my expectations.

MC: Or you could wear the couple’s outfit I packed inside the carry-on luggage for taking photos~

Victor: It seems like occasionally; one can still count on––

However, as soon as I take out two sets of lavish Western Region attire, his voice ceases to be heard.

The gold-plated ornaments chime with a delicate tinkling sound, aggravating the crease between his brows.

Victor: What are these?

MC: Compared to my dancer’s attire, yours is actually a collaboration with the museum, an exact 1:1 replica of the half-sleeved garment worn by the Prince of Loulan back in the day~

Victor: So?

Seeing that he is unmoved, I extend my hand and point to the sign denoting the “uninhabited area” by the roadside.

MC: There’s no place to purchase clothes around here. If you don’t change soon, that coffee stain won’t come off. And then, regardless of what outfit you wear on the return trip, it’ll end up on the news––

MC: 《The CEO of LFG’s Grand Cosplay Elevates Airport Fashion》 or 《The CEO of LFG Spotted in Stained Shirt - Speculations of Bankruptcy》. Your choice?

After quite a while, he compromises with a sigh, taking the clothes from me and walking towards the bathroom at the back of the RV.

Not long after, the sound of water seems to quiet down. In anticipation, I turn my head––

The soft crimson robe barely conceals the glimpses of sculpted and muscular contours underneath, complemented by intricate gold ornaments that adorn him with an air of regal nobility and grace.

Faced with my unblinking gaze fixated on him, he displays a somewhat unnatural expression, which is rarely seen on his face.

Victor: Why aren’t you changing?

MC: [still busy gaping]  What?

Victor: Why am I the only one wearing the couple’s outfit?

MC: Okay, okay, I’ll “accompany” you.

Watching the awkward expression on his face, I can’t contain my laughter and let out a chuckle. Just before his gaze can shoot my way, I hurriedly grab my attire and head to the bathroom.

The desert weather is always fluctuating and unpredictable. Right after I finish changing my clothes, I notice a sudden sandstorm brewing outside the window.

Seemingly catching a sound, his gaze lingers on me for a brief moment, and an almost imperceptible tenderness crests on the arches of his brows.

With the scope visibility diminished, Victor assumes control of the steering wheel, deftly maintaining a steady distance from the swirling sand and wind.

After who knows how long, we finally spot a single-story house coming into view at the end of the yellow sand. Brimming with excitement, I tap the navigation icon to zoom in and get a closer look.

MC: It’s the cultural relics preservation station!

—

Initially, our intention was only to charge the RV. But with the yellow sand swirling around, we find ourselves invited by the stationed personnel, Maizi, to come inside and rest for a bit.

Just as we step inside, a dense mass of sand and stones outside the window surges forward, closing in rapidly.

The sandstorm has begun.

Thoughts of how an entire kingdom was once buried under this very sand spring to mind, and an instinctive fear begins to loom large within me.

The delicate brick house trembles subtly amidst the raging wind, and at this moment, a crisp sound resounds in my ears.

Several pairs of shimmering gold-plated earrings illuminate my dusky field of view. Taking note of my reaction, Maizi places them in front of me.

Maizi: Don’t be scared. Here, we’ve been wearing these kinds of earrings since childhood. They’re like protective charms for children in the desert.

As Maizi speaks, she turns slightly and shows me her earrings. The luster has dimmed a touch, suggesting she’s been wearing them for a long time.

Maizi: These are the ones I made for my kids. If you don’t mind, would you guys like to choose two pairs?

MC: Thank you, but it’s alright.

With a hint of bashfulness, I gesture with my hand and point at Victor’s ears.

MC: Besides, my boyfriend doesn’t have ear piercings.

Maizi: It’s no problem. My eldest son doesn’t have ear piercings either.

With a smile, Maizi offers me a pair of clip-on earrings.

Maizi: Consider them as a wish for your safety and well-being. Take them.

—

As the sandstorm eases up, not wanting to impose any longer, we say our goodbyes and ultimately accept the two pairs of earrings before returning to the RV.

Perhaps due to how terrifyingly unnerving the sandstorm was, Victor doesn’t refuse when I offer to help him wear the clip-on earrings after he’s put the earrings on me.

I take up the clip-on earring and carefully trace my finger over his earlobe to figure out its placement. However, after spending a good amount of time, I still don’t find the ideal position I’m entirely satisfied with.

Victor: Still not done?

MC: Have a little patience. I don’t seem to recall rushing you when you gifted me earrings for the first time~

–

[Tidbits]: AHHH YESSS the call back to their first “kiss” kiss date– “Dazzling Date” 🥺

–

At long last, I find the right spot and fasten the clip. Following this, I can’t help myself and imitate the past actions in my memories, gently cradling his face and leaning in to take a closer look.

The glistening golden pieces dance softly. However, in the next second, a subtle blush at the corner of his eyes captures my attention.

Seeing this, I mischievously continue leaning closer and closer to him. As I catch a momentary hitch in his steady breathing, I deliberately reach out to stroke his earlobe.

MC: Oh gosh, could you be allergic to metal? The corners of your eyes have turned red. Maybe I should take them off…

Before the words fully leave my mouth, I find myself abruptly pulled into his arms.

Victor: They’re on just fine, don’t mess with them.

His arms tighten around me a little more, and I obediently nestle into his embrace, letting the cocoon of safety enfold me.

The swirling underlying tension caused by the dreadful weather finally dissipates, akin to feathers drifting in the air. As drowsiness slowly sweeps over me, I register the sound of my last question being put into words.

MC: Victor, what if we can’t find the remains? What should we do then?

Victor: If we don’t find them this time, we will come back next time.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

[Anika’s Notes]: While I’ll talk about this later, just wanted to say— that the way we get a mere glimpse into how extreme level of PTSD this man has given MC from the main story like— I’m counting fingers for the number of times she got nightmares when he isn’t next to her— (⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠)

—

A man sits in solitude beneath the palace walls, gazing towards the east for a long, long time.

He has probably repeated the act of carving a million times before. It seems as if the carving knife in his hand has a soul of its own now, each stroke finding its mark with precision, etching deep scars.

Fresh blood trickles down along the blade’s edge, staining the rose with a blood-red hue. Yet, he appears unresponsive to the pain, persistently carving stroke after stroke.

Only when the red headscarf is lifted by the wind does a familiar face emerge before my eyes.

MC: Victor!

I reach out in a panic to touch him, but a sudden onslaught of sand and wind surges forth, engulfing him in the blink of an eye.

–

Startled awake from the nightmare, I instinctively reach my hand to my side, only to find nothing but an empty space.

Victor is not in the car.

Amidst the boundless silence, a distant chime of camel bells suddenly reaches me. Compelled by the sound, I push open the car door––

The sandstorm has ceased at some point, revealing a sky that’s now crystal clear and brilliantly bright.

The curtain of dusk hangs low, but the luminous moon has already ascended in the vault of the heavens, radiating its brilliance alongside the sun.

Among the endless sand dunes, Victor, attired in exquisite garments, guides a pure white camel through the terrain, advancing his way through the light.

Stretching behind him, across the infinite expanse of Lop Desert, stands several silent, solitary, and enigmatic remnants of ancient civilizations.

The breeze dances by, causing his knuckles to gently clasp the upper garment brushing against his grave and stern visage, setting the accessories on his splendid attire to chime with delicate, tinkling sounds.

Perhaps dazzled by the light, he squints his slender eyes and immediately spots my presence. He appears slightly taken aback, but then quickens his stride as he approaches my direction.

In the boundless landscape, with each step he takes toward me, I feel as if he is crossing through a thousand years to reach me.

The scene from the dream resurfaces in my mind once again, and before I can even fully comprehend it, I’m already sprinting toward him with large strides.

I practically crash into his arms.

Victor: [breathes sharply]  Running so fast––

Seeing that I’m breathless and staring fixedly at him without even blinking my eyes, he freezes for a moment. Then, as if realizing something, he envelops me in his arms.

Victor: The Luolan ruins we are heading to are in that direction. We can’t drive there, so I borrowed a camel from Maizi for transportation. 

Victor: It was released to wander in the desert, and I needed to go and guide it back myself. You seemed to be sleeping so soundly, so I didn’t wake you up.

His words are extremely slowed, spoken one at a time. Listening to him, rather than an explanation, it sounds more like he is comforting me.

MC: You weren’t here just now and… I had this strange dream.

With his questioning eyes upon me, I feel compelled to respond honestly.

MC: I dreamt that you turned into the Prince of Loulan and were swept away by the sand...

Victor: [sighs with infinite indulgence and helplessness]  …

MC: You find this amusing?

Hearing my grumbling, he finally can’t hold back a muffled chuckle, drawing his arms around me a little tighter.

Victor: Have you confirmed it now?  – that I haven’t been swept away by the sand?

MC: Who knows, maybe you had gotten swept away! And it was this camel that rescued you and brought you back.

I huff angrily and bicker with him, effectively dispelling the uneasiness that the nightmare had triggered.

However, the camel seems to have caught on something, suddenly swaying its head and coming closer to me.

Momentarily taken aback, I then laugh in spite of myself and reach out to pat it. This gesture seems to act as a signal of some sort, prompting it to obediently lower itself to the ground.

MC: Huh, could it be that I have a natural talent for taming camels?

Victor: It’s more likely a stroke of luck.

As he speaks, he nimbly mounts the camel’s saddle and reaches out to hug me, lifting me up onto it alongside him.

The camel stands up in due course and suddenly leaps into the air, prompting me to let out a subconscious cry of exclamation.

MC: Whoa!

Victor: Hold onto me firmly and sit tight.

After he tugs on the reins, the camel pivots to change its direction and heads toward the ruins.

Probably due to Victor’s presence, I swiftly adapt to the bumpy ride. I even begin swaying my ornaments to create a pleasant sound, echoing in harmony with the camel’s bells.

MC: I feel like I’m a dancer being offered to the Prince of Luolan~

Victor: How come I’m not aware of any dynasty where a prince would rush out of the palace to welcome a dancer?

His teasing leaves me momentarily dumbfounded. It takes me quite a while before I open my mouth to speak, unwilling to resign myself.

MC: I never said the Prince of Luolan is you.

For an instant, Victor seems to stiffen up. When he speaks again, his tone takes on a slight rigidity.

Victor: [sulking] Who is he, then?

MC: …that’s not the important point!

MC: The important point is that you’re the Mr. Husband of my dreams– whom I’ve long set my heart on, and now you’re stealing me away to elope.

Victor: Childish.

A gentle tap lands on my head, and as I tilt my head up, I find myself ensnared by the light of his tender eyes.

MC: You clearly look really happy~

He doesn’t banter any further and only gives a tug on the reins, prompting the camel’s steps to become a bit brisker.

Receding into the distance amid the boundless expanse swept by the northern breeze, the glory and decline, the prosperity and withering of ancient Luolan have long frozen into eternal slumber.

MC: How wonderful!

Victor: What’s got you so moved again?

MC: The weather has cleared, which is wonderful. We’re heading to the ruins without any hiccups, which is also wonderful. But the most wonderful thing is having you by my side, chatting about all sorts of nonsense.

MC: No matter what, everything is wonderful as long as Victor is around.

The jingling tinkle of camel bells accompanies his gentle laughter close to my ears.

Victor: It’s only possible with a certain dummy around.

As the outlines of the ruins become distinct, I turn my head back in exhilaration.

MC: Even if I have to turn this place upside down, I’ll find that stone-carved rose!

His gaze lingers briefly on my arms waving around in excitement, and then he arches an eyebrow.

Victor: It appears crucial for me to remind you that you signed agreements for the preservation of cultural relics. If you do turn this place upside down––

Victor: I won’t be able to save you, even if I were to sell LFG.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

MC: …it’s all completely weathered away.

As I look at the historical ruins of the ancient kingdom before my eyes, which have gradually been devoured into nothingness by the endless expanse of yellow sand, I can’t resist pouting my lips.

MC: Locating the ruins of the imperial palace itself is akin to a far-fetched tale, let alone finding the stone-carved rose.

Victor: Why are you so hung up on that legend?

MC: Just a bit of anticipation, you know. After all, you see, If I were in that position, I’d surely leave behind some traces for you.

MC: The speculation is that the woman in the tales possessed an Evol similar to yours, which led her to go there. But, due to certain factors, she had no choice but to leave.

Victor: It won’t be the same.

He softly counters my statement, his gaze filled with seriousness.

MC: Hm?

Victor: With me, those factors you mentioned won’t come into existence.

A warm and fuzzy feeling suddenly envelopes my heart. I grin, drawing closer to him.

MC: Guess there’s no way around it. It seems I have no choice but to concede that the legend is, indeed, bogus.

He pauses for a moment, and his lips twitch. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything. Soon, a glimmer of a smile sparkles in his eyes, and immediately after, he tightly clasps my hand.

—

While I’m still in the midst of my puzzlement, a sudden glaring sunlight makes me reflexively squint my eyes. And then, a hot and humid breeze, carrying an exotic fragrance, hits me in the next moment.

After struggling to open my eyes, I curiously peer in the direction of the light, only to find myself frozen right where I’m standing––

Before my eyes lay a quaint-style courtyard adorned with fragrant blossoms. A flowing river winds its way through, its glistening waves reflecting in the sunlight with water that is clear and pristine, hosting schools of fish swimming within.

Compared to me who is filled with utter incredulity, Victor’s expression remains unchanged as if the current sight before us holds no element of astonishment for him.

Could this be a mirage? Puzzled, I gingerly brush the river’s water with the tips of my toes. The cool sensation of the flowing stream leaves me bewildered, prompting me to lift my gaze to the person next to me.

MC: Victor, am I dreaming again?

Victor: Just earlier, didn’t a certain someone say that she wanted me to take her away to elope?

He smiles as he looks at me, and in his eyes, the magnificent beauty and grand scenery of an ancient landscape are reflected.

The lofty dome of the circular palace hall is embellished with ceramic glazed tiles on its overhanging eaves, each detail unmistakably declaring the opulent and prestigious nature of this place.

Atop the roof stands a wooden pagoda reminiscent of those unique to ancient Luolan, and a lush canopy of greenery veils the gray-red palace walls I’ve seen in the drama.

A somewhat daring conjecture surfaces in my mind.

MC: This wouldn’t be the Imperial Palace of Luolan, is it?

Seeing the originator of all this noncommittally raise an eyebrow, I feel my heart tighten and rush to examine him thoroughly, circling around him.

MC: [anxiously, PTSD x2]  A-are you feeling any discomfort?

Victor: [?? laughs helplessly. *screams* DO YOU SEE HOW BADLY YOU GAVE HER AND US MAIN STORY PTSD––] Dummy. I’m not that fragile.

Victor: As long as we manage to sidestep the butterfly effect and avoid impacting the course of history––

Probably noticing that I’m tensely staring into his eyes again, he slips my restless hand into his palm and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Victor: Don’t be so anxious. There won’t be anyone else here for the time being.

Hearing him say this, I poke my head out and gaze at the rare and magnificent view that lay before me.

MC: So, can we take photos?

Victor: Ask your phone.

But I soon realize that my phone is entirely frozen on the lock screen interface and is refusing to respond whatsoever, leaving me with no choice but to resentfully lower my hand.

MC: The phone says it’s not possible…

Victor: That being the case, simply keep your eyes wide open and commit it to your memory.

I let him lead me toward the depths of the courtyard, and along the way, we see the flowers bloom all the more luxuriantly. Unwittingly, I find myself mesmerized by the vista.

It’s not until a glazed table adorned with delicacies and fine wines appears amidst the blossoms that I stop in my tracks in astonishment.

–– Everything unfolding before my eyes is gradually starting to align with the scenes from the time-travel drama in my memories.

MC: It turns out that the drama is actually so detailed. It seems that I, who diligently watched every episode without exception, am about to become a walking encyclopedia of Luolan––

From the garden on the other side of the wall, there suddenly comes voices of conversation. I hastily hush and excitedly prick up my ears to listen to their dispute.

However, all that reaches my ears are unfamiliar and garbled sounds, and soon I start feeling my head beginning to spin a little. Once the women have walked farther away, I find I’m already frowning without even realizing it.

Victor: Looks like a certain encyclopedia trained through time-travel dramas is really just a half-filled bucket of water sloshing around.

MC: Says who!

–

[Anika’s tidbits]: HAHA as you guys know, I’ve long stopped explaining the thousands of idioms and intricate phrases Li Zeyan writers use unless they’re absolutely necessary/ crucial– or else my translation notes would be bigger than the content itself LOL– and this is one of those and it’s one of my favs 😂 the full idiom phrase is “一桶水不响， 半桶水晃荡” – it literally means while a full bucket of water doesn’t make noise as it is heavy and stable, a half-filled bucket sloshes around– i.e. those wisest among us prefer being quiet and are self-confident, while those who are in the less wise/ smarter group often try to compensate their lack of knowledge/ understanding by asserting that they do~ 💀

–

Displeased with his jest, I swiftly focus my gaze on a copper utensil.

MC: Believe it or not, this was designed for storing spices, and it’s a very rare and expensive item.

I open the lid as I speak, and sure enough, a strong and fragrant aroma assails my nostrils. I can’t help but lift my chin complacently.

Victor: [laughs indulgently]  Alright, I underestimated a certain dummy.

I vaguely feel that the aroma is somewhat familiar, so I lean in to take a whiff, and a powerful fragrance of mugwort instantly invades the tip of my nose.

MC: [sneezes]  Ah-choo!

I rub my nose and look up, only to find that I have blown most of the scented powder onto Victor’s body, causing his figure to be coated with a drizzle of white.

The next second, he narrows his eyes and swiftly scoops me behind him. The smell of bone-chilling danger subtly spreads through the air.

MC: You’re not angry––?

Victor: Hush.

Looking in the direction of his gaze, I instantly become dumbstruck where I’m standing.

A massive leopard is peering at us from beneath the poplar tree, its face obscured by the shade of the tree, its pupils gleaming with an eerie and chilly light.

MC: L-Leopard…

Victor: [smiling]  I’m familiar with it.

Despite being faced with a ferocious beast, this man actually still has the mood to crack jokes!

MC: But according to historical accounts, this should be one of those leopards raised in captivity by the royals and aristocrats. It’s probably quite docile… it wouldn’t eat us, right?

Victor: [still smiling]  Being raised in captivity doesn’t mean it has lost its ability to hunt.

Seeing the leopard arch its back, fear grips me so hard that I cling tightly to his arm.

MC: Do we still have a chance to slip away secretly?

Victor: [still smiling]  We’ve already made direct eye contact within its territory. Stay calm for now.

Pressing my hand against my wildly thudding heart, I raise my gaze to see it take a whiff of the air and then proceed to saunter leisurely in our direction.

After a while, it approaches Victor and sniffs gently. My heart leaps to my throat, but leaving me stupefied, it actually lays down, its shape reminiscent of a fluffy cushion. It even nuzzles him affectionately with its head.

What follows is a fuzzy ticklish sensation, and I stare in startled shock as the leopard’s tail merrily swishes against my lower leg.

MC: …didn’t we just make eye contact with it? Yet you’ve actually managed to tame it?

I cast an incredulous glance at Victor, while he is staring at the incense burner with furrowed brows.

Victor: This scented powder probably isn’t intended for human application.

The enormous creature rolls over, laying bare its soft belly, exceedingly similar to the way Pudding behaves coquettishly after sucking on catnip.

Victor: It might not necessarily be us who drew it here. This fragrance is not just on me.

It’s only now that I realize a subtle aroma of mugwort is also lingering in the air. Following the fragrance, my eyes land on one side of the path lined with densely grown nepeta herbs. I immediately heave a sigh of relief.

At this moment, the leopard flexes its limbs in an inviting gesture, signaling for Victor to pet it. As I watch his rare expression of being at a loss for what to do, I can’t help but break into laughter.

Victor: [laughs helplessly]  …look at what good deed you’ve done!

MC: Being approached by an imperial leopard is a rare blessing that can never be obtained even if one beseeched it.

–

[Anika’s tidbits]: ANOTHER ONE OF MY MOST FAV PHRASES EVER! The term MC uses here is 求都求不来 (qiu dui qui bu lai), which is a play on this phrase: 可遇不可求 (ke yu bu ke qui), which means “can only be obtained (serendipitously) but not be sought after” – which paints the perfect imagery for “destiny, sth/sb being destined for someone”~ and a very important thing to note, which I’ll come back to later. 🥺 

–

Likely attributed to my overly bright gloating, Victor curls his fingers as he pinches up a small amount of the scented powder, which he then dabs on my face.

Sure enough, the leopard turns around and nuzzles against me. Seeing that I’m not putting up any resistance, it then straightens itself up and buries me completely in its soft fur.

MC: …ngh, Victor! Save me!

Victor: Nope. This “rare blessing that can never be obtained even if one beseeched it” is now being given to you.

Nudged by the leopard, I’m prompted to draw a few steps back, and as I let out a startled cry and tumble backward, I find myself landing in a soft embrace.

Amused, Victor pats the leopard on the head, and it obediently sits back down on the ground, reminiscent of a docile house kitten.

–

Even as he enfolds me in his arms and sits us both down on the grassy lawn, I remain a bit indignant.

MC: Why does it only listen to you! We both clearly have the same scent.

At this moment, I happen to glimpse at the golden silk embroidery on his clothes shimmering in the sunlight. I then contemplatively look at my own dress, which is somewhat plain.

Victor: You don’t think it’s because of the clothes, do you?

MC: …who can say, perhaps its owner has clothes identical to yours.

Victor: Well, a certain someone must be thinking to herself, “Had I known earlier, I would’ve chosen a fancy princess gown for myself.”

Seeing me choked silly by his spot-on guess of my thoughts, he studies me with even more and more interest.

Victor: [IN THE MOST DOTING AND ADORABLE VOICE EVER]  But however you slice it, a certain dummy still looks like a certain dummy.

Disgruntled, I lean closer to the water’s surface to check my reflection. A pouty face suddenly jumps out at me, which indeed is in disharmony with the dancer’s attire.

However, when I turn around and notice the wine cups on the table, an idea immediately strikes me.

I pick up a cup and lean in to bring it to his lips, working hard to make my voice sound soft and enticing as I speak.

MC: Your Highness~

He pauses for a brief moment, almost imperceptibly, before swiftly locking eyes with me.

Victor: There’s no wine in the cup.

MC: …you spoilsport!

Huffing, I sit up straight from his arms and shoot him a glare.

MC: Isn’t it because I’m afraid that if I spill the wine just like I sneezed earlier, it could result in altering the details of the history!

Victor, however, lightly quirks the corners of his lips, pours the glass to the brim with wine, and once again draws me closer to his side.

Victor: What did you want to do to me? Go on.

MC: You…

Before I can fully comprehend why he is being so cooperative at this moment, I feel a gentle force gripping my chin up.

I find myself falling into those serenely deep and unceasingly approaching pupils, and my breathing becomes rapid, beyond my control.

Victor: Weren’t you quite bold just a moment ago?

Victor: Seeing how you’re being so tentative like this, do you want me to teach you how one should drink this wine?

My slightly trembling hand is gently lifted by him with an irresistible force, and the small wine cup is soon raised to the level of my eyebrows and then even higher.

His fingers trace a slow path from my wrist to the palm of my hand, making the wine in the cup ripple, mirroring the swaying of my heart in tandem.

Just as his waywardly mischievous fingers are about to enter between the crevices of mine, he applies a slight pressure. The teetering fine liquid finally spills out, and the cool sensation quietly trickles down my forearm.

Along with the soft sensation, a rush of warmth suddenly washes over me. I stare wide-eyed, completely unguarded, and am rooted to the spot.

That pair of deep eyes, which has been fixed on me all along, makes it clear that he has no intention whatsoever of letting me go.

The scorching tip of his tongue gently licks and sucks on the continuously dripping nectar-like fine liquid, sending a wave of tingling shivers coursing throughout my entire body. 

The incessantly rising, delicate sensation of itchiness makes me a bit restless. I have the urge to escape, yet simultaneously, I can’t help myself from pandering to it.

He looks at me with slightly half-lidded eyes, his lips curling up into a triumphant arc of someone getting their way.

Victor: Have you learned it now, dummy?

MC: !

I suddenly snap back to my senses and hastily pull my hand back, tossing the ceramic glazed cup back onto the table as if I were holding a hot potato.

MC: W-What am I learning this for…

Victor: Clearly, it was a certain someone who started it first––

Before the words even leave his mouth, I notice a skylark swooping down. Seeing this, he swiftly pulls me to the side to dodge.

While I’m still amidst my puzzlement, a black shadow suddenly flashes before my eyes. Much to my astonishment, the leopard has scampered into the air to catch the bird.

“Clang” –– the table is abruptly turned upside down by it, sending fruits and vegetables tumbling and leaving the cups and dishes in a complete disarray.

When I see him calmly looking at the spilled wine, as if he’d already foreseen it, I realize where his confidence in pouring the wine earlier came from.

And also, the uniqueness of this “trip.”

Looking up at this world that doesn’t belong to me, I can’t bear to tear my eyes away from the courtyard blooming with vibrant and luxuriant flowers––

The abounding blossoms of crimson pomegranate adorn the trees, while the light purple clovers form dense clusters, and the red lotus stretches wantonly by the riverbank…

MC: I’m still finding it hard to believe that I’m able to see the ancient Luolan with my own eyes…

Victor: So, have you found what you were searching for?

At his reminder, I belatedly recall the original purpose that I had cast to the back of my mind.

After casting a surveying glance all around, I don’t find that rosy color I was expecting to see and can only gaze at him with a sense of bitterness.

Victor: During this period, roses hadn’t been cultivated yet.

As if he can sense what I’m thinking, he explains in a calm tone.

MC: So that means, the stone-carved rose doesn’t exist either… Since you knew this all along, why did you go through such great pains to bring me here?

Victor: Compared to simply answering you whether the legend is true or false, bringing you here to see for yourself is more just.

Victor: In this boundless universe, there will always be a kind of beauty worthy of a certain dummy’s pure yearning.

Only at this moment do I realize that this voyage across time and space is precisely his answer.

MC: You… don’t you think it was quite naïve of me?

Victor: I do. But it’s also a precious trait of a certain dummy, and I think I can help you maintain it in moderation.

My heart suddenly turns into a mush. I settle my gaze on the edge of his lips before lifting my head and kissing him.

The aroma of wine and fragrance of flowers gradually fade away, and I find myself drenched only in his pleasant scent. Amidst our closely interwoven breaths, time seems to slow to a crawl, stretching ever so slowly.

It’s not until the familiar dryness lingers around the tip of my nose that I slowly open my eyes, slightly gasping for breath. What greets my eyes is the view of the endless sand dunes.

Apt to the occasion, my phone starts vibrating and powers up automatically. Only ten minutes have passed.

I feel as if I have just woken up from a dream. I gaze at Victor in a trance, and the rose-colored kiss mark on his lips enters my field of view, making me unable to help the smile spreading across my face.

MC: It appears I’ve already found the rose from the legend, one that will never wither.

In those eyes, brimming with unending tenderness, I see him lowering himself——

Victor: Then, allow it to bloom for a little while longer.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

[Anika’s Analysis & Ramblings]

twitter thread link: ♡

—

[aziraphales-library]

Hello and thank you so much for your service for all this years! My question can be a little too specific so if fic strike at least some of points it's still cool. I'm looking for human au with heavy accent on Aziraphale and his angelic siblings. It can be something nice and family fluffy, sure, not all in his family is a dicks, but I'm thinking more about something like Aziraphale dealing with years of family abuse and finally relearning how to live without shame and fear; Crowley getting to look at Aziraphale's family close after years of "they are nice we just don't get along" and being utterly terrified; Crowley helping Aziraphale to learn to stand his ground and being all proud when he got it; Crowley and Aziraphale bonding over familial traumas; etc. Also can be with hints of season two, like Aziraphale trying to reconnect with family or saving Muriel (or even "Jim") from same abuse and being all gentle and understanding (and making Crowley proud again). Absolutely no to victim blaming (I mean from Crowley or author pov, from Aziraphale's or family pov sure), preferably without heavy fatshaming, preferably older Aziraphale and Crowley (no to kid and teen aus, meh to college/young adults, yes to 30+ and absolutely YES to 40+). Great if it's longish and kind of plottish fic! Super great if there would be autistic Aziraphale, not cis Aziraphale, in any way disabled Aziraphale, religious trauma, cptsd and did I mentioned supportive Crowley? Btw it can be not Aziraphale-centric fic, if it's just romance or even Crowley-centric but themes are there, I'm interested. Anyway as I said it's probably too specific so anything that "kind of close" will do. Thanks in advance!

Here are some adult human aus in which Aziraphale's family are Not Nice...

The Long Road Home by TawnyOwl95 (E)

Aziraphale Heavensby only knows about love from books. So when he's given a chance to experience romance first hand he grabs it as hard as he can. Even if it can't last. Even if Aziraphale’s father has very definite plans for his future. Plans that certainly don't include Anthony Crowley.

Drink You In by FinnsKeeper (G)

Aziraphale Fell owns a rather popular bar in Soho London. His life is relatively calm and predictable until he meets Anthony Crowley one fateful night. When a first date goes wrong, Aziraphale has to take measures to protect his newest patron. Anthony's gratitude quickly morphs into something deeper, and Aziraphale has to battle his own demons to determine if those feelings are true or just a product of his impromptu rescue.

Someone by Diminua (M)

This was a kinkmeme prompt and as usual I can't do better than to paraphrase the OP : Aziraphale is a frumpy, middle aged man, who's closing in on 50 : he's spent his entire life alone, mistreated by his family, and living like a modern times hermit in his familiar, reassuring bookshop. He thinks it's too late for passion. But he hopes that, maybe, he could find a companion for his latter days. Crowley has spent his entire life having a wild time: parties, sex, rock n roll, all that jazz. He flew through the 80s, the 90s, the new millennium like a car on fire. He thought he had time, thought he'd be young and surrounded by people forever, thought with fling after fling after fling, someone would find him. Someone would look at him and choose him. But no one ever did. To paraphrase (again) - they turn to an arranged marriage company. And they fit..

Dating in the Dark by miraworos (E)

Anthony J. Crowley, owner of a failing joke-shop, and Aziraphale, bookshop proprietor with an overbearing family, meet as contestants on a blind dating show. They form an instant connection as roommates but soon find themselves at odds as they compete to win the top spot, and the favor of the same lady.

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

love like yours (will surely come my way) by CCs_World (T)

Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another. Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

- Mod D

[ganseyenthusiast]

anyways since the theme of post-TRK seems to be that every single character ignores any development they had and gets worse, I'm listing everything out here + with a rating of how likely I, the authority of everything ever, think it was. greywaren spoilers obviously

1. Declan: Decides Dad was good all along, disregards real actual emotional abuse and parentification as "misremembering" how great Niall was. 6/10. CDTHEU Declan is a very different character to TRK Declan, I still think he's been too self aware throughout to suddenly walk it back THIS severely. I predict a severe breakdown for him age 30 since I've never witnessed someone do Denial as their last stage of grief.. it’s gonna be explosive

2. Ronan: Disregards his family for the majority of his arc, is worse to them than in TRC. does not call gansey for months. finds a new FP instead of a therapist. emotionally worse off. does find himself via terrorism I guess? 9/10. pretty on brand for Ronan to go scorched earth and suffer zero consequences. I do wish he was made aware of his birth circumstances and displayed the same love/grief for aurora/niall that he's shown in every book except greywaren. are you telling me he can look at the New Fenian and be OKAY?????

3. Adam: ‘Reinvents’ himself, suffers, lies, suffers again. Does not call gansey. Suffers in the VoidSpace, apparently with no lasting consequences. becomes a narc. 7/10. I was hoping for a more self aware adam post TRK but him choosing to pull a Henry Cheng is also pretty on brand. wish he'd actually broken up with Ronan for at least a week. him becoming a narc is unfortunately pretty accurate to character but government jobs are not famously well paying so it really does feel random? the only thing he’s done that’s close to sleuthing is inventing pedo murder charges for his teacher/keeping with the bryde stuff. plus he's still not utilizing his magic skill so this just feels like a continuation of the Harvard arc for the rest of his life which is REALLY baffling when u compare how many times TRK insists he's a magician and will remain a magician/psychic despite everything. seems he's growing MORE disconnected with himself. i’m all for negative development but it’s really being framed as a happy ending which is baffling ngl

4. Gansey: has a sociology degree + is only associated with blue (and nobody else) in the 4-5 years since TRK. Completely reversed his stance on henrietta being home, on "I'd take all of you anywhere with me", on his dedication to history/archeology. does not seem too concerned about Ronan going insane, still odd despite the time he's had to get used to it. 5/10. horrible representation of gansey but I DO like that he's focusing on himself instead of raising pynch. as i say this i remember the ring thing and grit my teeth. complete ignorance of Henry AFTER his whole "friends forever and ewer" TRK thing gives me a good playground to make things worse so I like it but it's definitely weird. how did being a teenager specifically suck for you king because I think Being Dead trauma is unrelated to age

5. Matthew: nearly found independence + love in the abrasive way that lynches give it, then was disregarded emotionally and still not given an apology for the Everything from declan. 8/10. extremely on brand for the lynches to not hold each other accountable. Matthew seems to have improved somewhat + Declan is less overbearing about him, so I like it, I'll take it

6. Henry: went into Seondeok's black market low level mob business, got divorced?, does not speak to bluesey. 10/10. it’s so bad. absolutely off brand for the entire theme of him rejecting the Orders his mother who Literally Forced him to come to henrietta gave him (did not begin this game looking for a friend etc). refutes the entire "find your own something more" theme, refutes the "three of us" theme, refutes the "im going to make something great" motives. and I love it. TRULY my worst ending for Henry is becoming yet another fairy market nepotism casualty. he will Literally never escape and it’s FANTASTIC it is so much fun. Ha Ha You Have Become Your Mother

7. Fenian/Mor: live at the fucking barns now. 1/10. you are telling me a series whose entire THING is based on growing up/overcoming grief/moving on ends with THE FUCKING LYNCH FAMILY BACK AT THE BARNS?????????? WHAT THE HELL???? WHY IS EVERYONE OKAY WITH ANY OF THIS??????????????????????????????????????????????????

[crazyyanderefangirlfan]

Cat Tamami

"Your accessories are as tacky as your personality."

---+---

BASIC   

Name: Catrina Pearl Tamami

Nickname(s): Cat (by everyone) Kitty Cat (by close friends), KitKat, My Kitty Cat, Gorgeous, Babe (all by Lev).

Alias(es): Nekoma’s Wildcat, The Wildcat. Chaos Cat (St Trinians)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Straight

Ethnicity: Japanese/British

Blood Type: A

Age: 15-16

Birthday: March 9

---+---

APPEARANCE  

Hair: She has thick black hair that’s is often tussled, tied back in a large, messy bun which flares in every direction.

Eyes:  Sky blue with black eyeliner and dark purple eyeshadow.

Height: 160 cm

Skin:  Porcelain

Body:  Petite

Tattoo(s): A fake tattoo of a cat on her hip.

Piercing(s):  On her ears, she wears silver thorn dangle earrings.

Scar(s):  Deep scars on her sides

Other: She wears an aquamarine pendant 

---+---

SCHOOL  

Occupation: Manager

School: Nekoma High

Year: 1

Class:  3

Club(s):  Boys VBC

Number: None

Role/Position: None

Attendance Record:  Good

Average Grade: B

---+---

STATISTICS (out of 5)

Power: 4/5  

Jumping: 5/5  

Stamina: 5 /5  

Game Sense (ability to 'predict' or 'sense' the opponents next move): 1/5  

Technique: 2/5  

Speed: 5/5  

Overall (total): 22/30

---+---

CHARACTER  

Personality: Cat is often portrayed as a confident, independent, and determined individual. She's a skilled martial artist and jeweler and forger, she takes pride in her skills and considered to be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to jewelry making. Her eye for detail is also what make her an effective manager.

She's prideful of her work, even scolding a friend in one occasion for damaging a necklace she made, however, if the situation calls for it, she does not mind having them damaged and/or destroyed. She's also skilled in forging, able to create weapons disguised as jewelry.

Despite her age, she's an adept business woman, able to balance work and school life as well as handling vexxing customers. She commissions at three pieces a week and prioritizes emergency commissions. Her jewelry is highly popular both in and out of school, even teachers admire them. However if a teacher ever commissions her, she'll make it clear she doesn't want special favors and treats it like a normal transaction.

Cat typically communicates in an honest, direct style that can take some getting accustomed to. Her dispute resolution techniques may be viewed as unconventional because she dislikes wasting time on justifications. She possesses a strong sense of justice and a desire to protect her family and friends. Cat can be quite rebellious, often challenging authority and traditions that she believes are holding her back or harming others.

Cat never takes the conventional route and prefers to explore life from off the beaten track, relying heavily on her instincts and powers of observation to guide her through. She often has an air of indifference and her need for privacy often keeps her from making new friends, but she's deeply loyal to those who break down her walls.

Cat follows punk philosophy, which is promoting freedom of the individual and working against conforming to the cookie-cutter form, often wearing edgy and gothic clothes, wearing bold make-up and getting creative with her school uniform, the last often gets her in trouble but she doesn't care.

Though often the mediator in Nekoma, she is quick to use violence once they struck a nerve. It takes the entire team to hold her back from killing the person, but even they have a hard time holding due to her surprising strength and her sheer anger was terrifying. Inouka even commented she looked like a feral cat when angry.

Her relationship with Lev is odd to most people. Both of them would deny being in a relationship with each other but would act like a couple. There are many examples such as sitting on Lev's lap, cuddling whenever they can, eating each others food or just a bit too affectionate with each other. Another action that supports this that they scare off each other's suitors.

Likes: Family and friends, Lev, Jewelry, her cats Pancake and Waffle, katsudon, skateboarding, video games, music, parkour, naps, fun but dangerous places.

Dislikes: Johnny being overprotective, her food stolen, tacky jewelry , pranks that cause trouble for everybody, entitled people, harm to her friends and family, someone’s taking credit for her work, mustard, pencils with no erasers, her skateboard broken, fakeness.

Hobbies: Jewelry making, parkour, MMA (specifically Muay Thai, Brazilian jiu-jutsu and Krav Maga), singing, playing the guitar, video games, reading, watching movies, cooking, forging, skateboarding, snowboarding, hunting.

Goal(s): To have her own jewelry brand (and marry Lev)

Current concerns: Whether a sapphire or a topaz will look good on a silver chain.

---+---

SOCIAL  

Mother(s):  Mary Tamami

Father(s):  Jun Tamami

Sibling(s): Johnny Tamami (older brother)

Relative(s):  Unknown

Friend(s):  Nekoma VBC, Shoyo Hinata, Alisa Haiba, Akane Yamamoto, Yukie Shirofuku, Kaori Suzumeda, Marjorie Karanakaran.

Best Friend(s): Teresa Diamandis, Bridget Fortuné, Heather O'Cleary, Irene Song, Juliette Chaveleir, Skyla Barretto

Love Interest(s):  Lev Haiba

Rival(s):  None

Pet(s): Her Bombay, Pancake and her mixed breed Waffle.

[mycryptosuite]

Play This Free 3 Odds For Today 23/06/2023

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[punisheddonjuan]

I've been back at my apartment in Toronto for a little over a week now and in that time I've spoken less than fifty words. The single occasion where I've had reason or opportunity to say anything was when the Women's College clinic for chronic illness called, I've been waiting for almost three years to be scheduled for an intake appointment. They offered a last minute appointment at the beginning of May due to a cancellation, and I had to decline because it was scheduled at 09:00 and there was no possible way I could make it there that early. Trying to get there on the subway during rush hour and then having to walk would probably knock me out by the time I got there. I'm also thinking I should drag my mom along to the appointment because she's kept extensive notes dating back to '98 when my health issues started, plus it would be good to have a corroborating account, and she would have to drive from Hamilton. October would be the earliest they would be able to offer me an appointment with a timeslot later in the day. So that's depressing, but it's besides my initial point. As I predicted, V. unilaterally deciding to end our nearly six year relationship has resulted in almost tot social isolation. I chat a bit to people on here in replies, and there are a few people I chat with on Discord, and I have one or two old childhood buddies I text with every other week or so, and I appreciate that a lot, but it's not the same as someone being there face to face, or having an actual social life. This is untenable and intolerable. It's also not easily fixable. It's not exactly easy making new friends in your 30s, let alone when you have to do it from your bed. There's also this odd issue that happens when you're chronically ill like this, where it's like living in a warped state of arrested development where everything proceeds forward around you but you're stuck standing still; you miss so many milestones, starting a career, finishing grad school, getting married etc. that you really don't feel you have much in common with your peers anymore. I feel like I've been stuck in a weird post-university time loop since 2017. I also don't think it would be well received if I just invited new people to hang out in my room (because where else are we going to go). That would probably be read as potentially unsafe by many people. I hate my life, it's not very livable.

[afreakingdork]

Crush Too Much - Part 19

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader

Warnings: Longing, Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Overbearing Siblings, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis:  So you met a customer three times at work and that made a pretty big impression on you? That’s nothing to necessarily get worked up over, but when you’re all prepared to ask for his number the next time you see him and his brother gets involved instead, you might be in for something more than you bargained for.

FIRST 💜 PREVIOUS

Mikey's Merriment

Leaned against a trunk and just tucked into a grouping of trees, Donatello stared across the road. Twilight cast odd shades of orange against the concrete exterior of the American Museum of Natural History.  He told himself he hadn’t meant to arrive so early, but there was also no denying his excitement. In less than a week’s time since the successful boardwalk outing, his text chain with you no longer felt abysmal. In fact, it seemingly rivaled a less encumbered time earlier in your friendship. His lips downturned slightly from their neutral position. He wasn’t sure if 'friendship' was the right word for it. At the time he thought it was, but now having himself in the position you had been at the time complicated the matter. It was an odd spot where the seeds of close platonics begged to be sprouted into the romantic. Though the botany metaphor was something he adored, he was unwilling to maintain that headspace.

Flicking his thumb aggressively over his device, the text chain cycled backwards until an image of your key chains appeared. It had been a running joke between the two of you to put the plushes in increasingly ‘dangerous’ situations. The amusing roleplay you had come up with had been a great icebreaker and excuse to continue texting at near any hour of the day. Smiling to himself, Donatello remembered how he’d even convinced Hypno to pose with it mid-battle. There was something to be said about the banter in a long-term hero-villain association. After several rereads of the thread, he glanced across the street again to find the museum closing up for the day. It meant there were exactly 30 minutes until the scheduled meet-up time. Losing focus, he watched as a continuous stream of people filtered by on the sidewalk.

The late October weather made his hoodie a cozy hideaway. With the nights dipping lower, it was almost time to dig out his winter wardrobe. Letting his head gently rest against the tree, he ruminated over the last year. The technical anniversary sat around a month ago, but there hadn’t been time to consider it. Tapping a finger to his phone’s case, he shifted as a thought took hold. Scrolling back through his meticulous calendar he found the date you officially considered your meeting. He then cycled back through to this year and found the fashion show was only a single day off from 365. It was oddly fortuitous to the point where he wished it were just exact. Giving a satisfied hum to himself, he brought his gaze back to the museum and immediately spotted you walking up.

Flicking his eyes to his phone found you 20 minutes early. It wasn’t as if you were late, but your punctuality was predictable. Curious, he dropped his goggles down to watch you more closely. You walked up, vigilantly scanning all the nooks and crannies of the exterior. He smiled as he presumed he was the cause. Having not located him, you seemed to give a long sigh of relief. You then hopped up to sit on a stone ledge and brought a hand up to your chest. He adjusted the zoom as your lips started to move, but you stopped as soon as he did so. Instead, he got a close up of your furrowed brow. Your lashes descended and your lips came together into an o-shape. He swallowed hard. Your body relaxed as you seemingly blew out a stream of air in a focused exhale. Your eyes then popped open and you gave a single tight nod. Lifting his goggles, Donatello wasn’t sure if that was something he should brood over. A shred of his imagination was already running wild with love-struck implications, but he shook them away. Rather than marinate on it for the next 15 minutes, he instead emerged from the park and crossed the road.

You caught sight of him as he reached the opposite sidewalk. “That’s not the direction I expected you to come from…”

“I seem to remember something…” He tried to suppress his giddy smile to make the comment more convincing. He hid what he could through an extended arm and a digit pressed to his forehead as if it could recall his memory. “’Everything is a surprise with you?’” He then removed his hand and pushed the finger against your forehead in a mock show of transferring the knowledge.

“You’ve got me there.” You reached up and gently pushed his arm away.

He might have imagined it, but it almost seemed like you lingered. “We did not exchange salutations.”

“Of course, my mistake.” Into the motion of rolling your eyes you hopped off the ledge and onto your feet. “Hello, humble protector. We meet today in the shadow of a closed museum.”

He was sent right back to the rooftop. The flighty feelings as you’d offered your hand to him were something that he chalked up to patrol adrenaline. He knew far better now, but the fact you were joking about such a time wasn’t something he knew how to handle. “Well, citizen…” He straightened his posture and put authoritative hands on his hips. “The museum before you has closed for the general public.”

“We’re not breaking in so you can keep the cover of night, right?” You broke character as anxiety flooded your voice.

“What, no.” It frustratingly brought him out of the charade as well. “Tonight’s member’s night.”

“Oh, you’re a member?”

“Of course I am!” He crossed the distance to the steps as he nursed the supposed insult to his dignity.

You gave a light jog to catch up. “Want me to ask for forgiveness? How dare I not know that!?” You hopped a few steps and turned to look at him now eye level.

“It’s an investment.” He retorted flatly. “The thinned crowd and late night hours are just bonuses.”

“I suppose that is pretty cool…” You turned to look at the building. “But how do I fit into this?”

“I’m going to assume I haven’t inflated your ego somehow and instead venture to ask if you mean ‘how does this fit into the expiatory extravaganza?’”

“Since I’m not the one with an ego stroking issue, let’s just say with your alternate phrasing works.”

He made a face. “Using such language in front of this.” He cleared a few steps in a single bound and threw his arms up at the museum. “A hall of learning!” 

“I don’t…” You let out a laugh. “Which word?”

He gestured to the building again with a pointed grimace.

“Ah.” You snapped your fingers. “I thought I could get you.”

“Not with that poor excuse of an attempt.” He looked down his nose at you and stepped up to the building where an elderly couple were granted entry. “If you follow me, I can answer your question.”

“Some kind of experiential learning?” You wondered, following.

“If I answer that it defeats the purpose.”

You snapped again.

“Is this going to be a thing tonight? I just need to know how long to keep my guard up for.”

“If I answer that it defeats the purpose.” You did a little impression of him before taking the door handle.

You opened the door as he approached, but he stopped shy of the threshold to crowd you for a moment. “Cute.” He dropped the phrase simply, eyeing you up before straightening and strolling in with his hands clasped behind his back.

The fact that it took you 37 seconds to follow meant the move had its intended effect. He considered it retribution and not flirting. When you’d resumed your place at his side, he checked in at the front desk with reserved tickets before steering you to the Halls of Gems and Minerals.

He stopped just before entering the exhibit and did an about face.

You took careful note of him and then the display above the wing before a little smile played on your lips. “I see now.”

“Yes, well…” He sneered over his shoulder.

“Doing something you hate is a pretty good marker of how sorry you are.” You side stepped him and entered to hall.

He trailed behind. “That is some people’s opinions.”

“It makes me kinda want to guess which brother suggested it.”

“Only partially?” Donnie would latch on to any conversational crumbs that could distract his mind from the rocks.

You approached the first display case on the left and looked over it thoughtfully. “Since I don’t know what the next two events are, it wouldn’t be a good guess.”

He hummed with approval, passing only a glance at the informational placard.

You both moved through three more displays cases and he couldn’t mask his disdain. Unlike the pier, there were no airs to put on. It was just cabinet after cabinet filled with different types of rocks. There was some novelty to their formation and ancient status, but beyond that they were mostly bland, roughly textured hunks. He slouched further and further into himself with the only solace being he was upholding his end of the bargain.

“Psst.” He shifted from the depths of his hoodie to find you looking up at him.

“Yes?” Maybe he’d withdrawn a little too much.

You tilted forward and threw a finger up to your lips. You then pretended to glance around the room as if there were a crowd.

He gave a curious nod.

“You got the stuff?” You whispered, leaning in closer with a hand held up to cover your mouth.

He eyed you carefully and took particular note of how your other hand was jammed into your jacket pocket. He instantly grasped what you were reaching for. “Oh, I got it.” He stuffed his hands into his hoodie.

You mouthed a countdown and at the same time you both pulled out your plushes. You giggled happily as they twisted near each other until the magnets clicked them together. “They had such a hard week apart.”

“The blender debacle was quite the stress on purple.” Donnie gave his head a sympathetic shake. 

“White was caught by a supervillain! That can’t possibly compare.” You released your keychain and Donnie brought the pair close.

“Don’t judge an individual’s struggles.” He clicked his tongue before observing the plushes once more. An idea formed so he laced his drawstring through both key rings and tied it off. The pair happily clung to each other from off his hoodie.

You stopped and bit your lip in an attempt to dampen a huge oncoming grin. “That’s too much. Can I take a pic?”

“But of course.” Donnie struck a pose and you shook your head with amusement as you unearthed your phone. As soon as you lifted the camera, however, he dropped out of the act and put on an aloof expression. 

“Say ‘I’m not having any fun!’”

“Does it need to be said when it’s a simple fact?” He brought up a palm to enforce his point and the shutter went off.

“I must say that while this idea was fine in theory, in practice it’s kinda bumming me out.” You reviewed the photo carefully.

He frowned. He should have considered that fact. It was something his brother’s had grouched to him about on multiple occasions. He adjusted his posture in preparation. “I see, I’ll strive to-”

“Nah.” You held up your phone and took a few more photos of him.

Though his was mostly unprepared, he was able to muster a few different facial expression amongst the series. “You did not let me finish.”

“Because I don’t want you to fake it.” You nodded to your phone, satisfied, and pocketed the device. “How about a game?”

“Color me intrigued.” He agreed as you lead him to the next display.

“Kinda like these cuties.” You poked the plushes. “Let’s find each other’s stone.”

He turned and looked out at the expanse of the hall. “You want me to select a rock that represents you?”

You seemed amused. “There’s also gemstones.”

“Shiny colored rocks.” He brought his gaze lethargically back to you.

“Not even a game can get you into this, hm?”  You tipped your head to one side.

He sighed and reviewed the room again. “Or rather how am I supposed to compare you to some hunk of earth? A flower would do you better justice, something with-” He froze, realizing the connotation of the words spilling out of his mouth. His throat tightened and this time the slow trip his eyes took back to you was done out of fear.

You didn’t seem upset, but instead your were colored with mild surprise in the shape of raised brows and parted lips.

“Are we going to just keep ignoring the absurdly large geodes?” Donnie’s voice was so tightly coiled it almost teetered into laughter. His limbs moved robotically as he waddled over to the closest suspended object. He wasn’t really looking at it as he was through it. Still, he felt you approach.

“Woah…” You breathed.

He didn’t dare glance at you, but instead forced his eyes to focus on the behemoth in front of him. Within the geode was a veritable galaxy of purples bespeckled with reflective stars of white. He felt his blood pressure bottom out as it reminded him of the meteor shower. That night had yet to be fully scrubbed of his transgressions.

“It says it’s a amethyst with purple quartz crystals and it’s 9 feet tall.”

He nodded dumbly.

“There’s a taller one over there, but it’s skinnier.” From the way your jacket rustled you must be pointing. Unfortunately, he was caught in a mix of unable and not wanting to look away.

You stood by him in solemn silence until an exhale was ripped from him. He wasn’t sure when he’d started to hold his breath.

“Guess I don’t need to pick then.” Your voice was warm with understanding.

“What do you mean?” His, on the other hand, sounded far away.

“This one’s you.”

He blinked.

“Funny answer or the deep one?”

He wondered if you looking at him or the geode. “Both.”

“Purple.” You stated flatly.  

Though it didn’t illicit any comedic response, it did give him enough wherewithal to close his eyes.

“But it’s also a kind of sweep you off your feet sort of piece. It has a clarity that means you can see everything, but there’s so much to see that it’d be impossible to catch every little detail in a single lifetime. It’s somehow both uplifting and grounding at the same time…”

The words and their contextual meaning seeped into his brain slowly. As they did, they translated into a rapid pre-heating of his face until his cheeks were fully aflame. When he finally snapped his head to the side to catch a glimpse of you, you were wandering off to the next display. There was no way he could follow something like that up. In desperation, Donatello scoured the space with his eyes as his feet were glued to the ground. He’d already stated his case and point on the stones. You saw something in them, or maybe him, that he certainly didn’t.

Then, as if reading his mind, you spoke. “Guess we’ll have to go to the Botanical Garden sometime.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” He watched as your rounded a slab of teals and greens. “I expect you to tell me which flower I am.”

He had to wrap a hand around his mouth to keep a confession from slipping out.

-

Leo's Levity

“An often overlooked aspect is the tightness of the laces.” Donatello wound the string around his fingers and gave it a tug.

“Mhm.” You listened above him from your perch on a bench.

He slipped a hand behind your skate and gave the laces another tug. “It helps keep your ankle straight, a folly that many first timers fail to take into consideration.” Satisfied, he tied the strings. “It’s much safer when there’s no wiggle room.”

“Huh.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see your fingers curl around the bench and squeeze.

Pausing he glanced up from where he was knelt down in front of you, tying your skates. “Rambling?” He wasn’t sure why he dropped the full sentence structure.

“No.” You lips wrinkled. “Your explanation is enlightening, I just…” You clinked your one skate against the ground. “…usually tie my own shoes?”

He blinked at you and then down to your other, yet to be tied, skate. Stiffening, the last few minutes flooded back to him. He’d been so caught up in the euphoria of exposition that the skate rental process sort of flew by. After getting a pair, you took to a bench where he continued on in his account and rounded you unconsciously. He then paired his verbal instructions to physical ones without even asking you if that was alright.

His mouth opened and closed.

He brought his gaze up to you and hoped it translated enough regret.

You giggled as you seemingly connected the dots. “You might as well finish the other one?”

Rigid, he began to twist the undone laces through the hooks. “I apologize. I’d say I don’t know what came over me, but…”

“Just another Donatello surprise.” There was a soothing quality to your voice.

He shook his head and similarly tugged on your shoestrings. “For the record, I am confident in your ability to do this yourself.”

“I wasn’t worried. It’s honestly fine.” You shifted your foot slightly to kick up his attention. “You hear that Donnie’s brain?”

He flicked his eyes up for just a moment as he finished tying off a knot. “He hears you loud and clear. It’s the application of said concepts that I can’t attest to.” He stood and slipped his own skates from where they were threaded across his shoulders.

“Sure, sure.” You clinked your feet together, testing their new outfitting. “I’m sure you can guess what my brain is thinking.” He rounded you to take his own seat on the bench and watched you gesture to his skates as he passed.

“I am beginning to think you’re just jealous you do not have a signature color.” Through a single finger he held up his still knotted purple skates.

“I will neither confirm nor deny.” You made a show of rolling your eyes and continued to admire your laces. “I’m surprised you have your own pair. Do you skate often?”

“No. In fact…” Between untying his laces, Donnie sorted through his mental files. “I don’t believe I’ve ever properly skated. Though, there have been a few makeshift "work" sessions however.”

“Some kind of ice mutant?” You wondered.

“Not specifically, no. More like forethought into environmental manipulation.” No longer putting on a show, he made quick work of suiting up.

“So you bought them just for this? I hope that’s not a waste.” You leaned forward at the thought to get a better glimpse at his skates.

“Made.” He corrected, taking to his feet.

“You made them?!” You bent forward until your chest touched your legs to better study the footwear.

“When you compare that to the price of custom skates that accommodate these feet, you’ll find I made the wiser choice.” He took a few steps forward and turned with an outstretched hand.

“I should have thought of that.” You shook your head and rose up to take his offer.

“Not at all. There’s a reason we all prefer to go barefoot.” With a little tug he pulled you to your feet.

You bounced up and down a few times, testing the thin blade you were balanced on. “Barefoot in New York…”

“There are some things better left unsaid.” He pretended to give you the queasy cold shoulder as he headed to the shoe locker. He found that you kept tether to his hand on the way. Pleased that you were behind him, he let the mushy expression as a result run over his features before tucking it away. To access the lockers, contact was lost, but he didn’t let it get to him. He focused as you both headed over to the rink.

The little inlet approached and he took to the side of it. “Ready?”

You brought prepared fists to your chest. “Rockefeller is going down!”

“The titular brothers are long dead, but I am always for dismantling wealth inequality.” He waved you to go first and watched as you carefully set out on the ice.

He hovered behind and you awkwardly waded into the rotation of skaters. Keeping close to the wall, you seemed stable enough so he slid up beside you. You passed him a glance from where you’d been focusing on your feet. “You’re so stiff.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He lifted one of his skates and in a twist of momentum, used it to turn himself around so he was gliding backwards.

“Your body.” You flapped a hand at him and it shifted your balance. You snuck the flub under a more aggressive thrust, which put you a little pace ahead of him. “You’re like a plank of wood!”

“Hm?” He looked down and found his posture impeccable. “It’s easier to balance when your core is tight and the weight is properly distributed.” He used a similar turn to right himself as the first curve approached.

“I have… so many questions…” Your sentence clipped as you focused on maneuvering the semi-circle.

“I have an adequate amount of answers.” He languidly replied, taking the same curve on a single skate.

“This is seriously the first time you’ve skated!?” You squawked as soon as the straight away resumed.

“Your sarcasm is duly noted.” He chuckled. He was quite enjoying the chance to show off. So far, Leo’s ascertain had been completely wrong too, which happened to be wonderful little bonus.

“Oh, of course.” You seemed to throw your hands up, but caught them from going higher than your shoulders. “You probably trained for years standing on the tips of bamboo poles!”

“Stereotypes are unbecoming.” He mused and outpaced you a bit.

“Did you though?” You called out after him, shuffling in an attempt to catch up.

“Not bamboo per say…” He trailed off.

“But definitely the balance training?” You huffed, finally joining his side once again.

“Do you want me to go into detail about our regimes or would you rather pay me the envious compliment that is skating on the tip of your tongue?” He slowed a bit and bent at the knees to redistribute his weight. Once he was cleared, he used the change to bend forward and brought his face close to yours awaiting a response.

A moment of shock passed over your features first and then a tepid glare. He watched as your lips started to part when a young voice screamed out.

“Watch the flow of traffic, love birds! Gross!” A pre-teen rocketed by, purposefully wedging himself in the tiny space between you and the wall. It caused an inevitable drive-by and immediately threw you off balance.

You floundered, your arms darting out wildly. In his bent position, he couldn’t correct you or himself in time. Your skates rapidly clicked against the ice in search of traction before finally sliding out from under you. Hurtling forward, you grasped frantically until your fingers found the first object they could get a hold of: the flaps of his trapper hat. With your full weight a counterbalance at his neck, Donnie’s reflexes kicked in. He dropped down under the load, shifting it to his feet. With them skating on a blade, he then pushed off and against the wall to keep from an outright collapse.

With the crisis averted, he took a moment to breath before surveying the result. He pulled back to find you nestled between his chest and the wall. You seemed alright, though you weren’t quite at the processing stage as he was. He had a hand gripping the partition on either side of you and, as you blinked off the adrenaline, the intimacy of the position seeped into his skin. Through his thick jacket, he couldn’t feel your warmth, but that didn’t keep his body from imagining it could. Regaining your bearings, you looked up at him with owlish surprise.

“Kids, right?” You spoke, your gaze dropping down just as quickly as you’d found his.

“Yeah.” He responded curtly, pivoting around to find the culprit and not in a pathetic attempt to give you some distance from his person. He found the boy already off ice and being scolded by someone. Smugly satisfied, Donnie turned back to find you hunkered into yourself. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah… My hearts just still racing…” You mumbled, your voice muffled against your jacket.

“Let’s take a break then.” He pushed off the wall.

“Wait!”

The smooth ice meant he drifted back incrementally from one of your outstretched hands.

“Yes…?” He was thankful for the cold air on his face as it was a quick tempering solution for his overactive imagination. It almost seemed like you didn’t want him to let go of you. That had to another one of cupid’s tricks.

“W-we haven’t even done a full lap yet!” You were practically buzzing. He watched as you scooted into a turn and pushed off into the flow of skaters.

“You sure you’re alright?” It took him a single stride to catch up.

“Yes! It’s just… scary! It WAS scary, I mean!” You made shorter strides as if you were trying to run away, but it only translated to a treading water motion.

“Gliding is easier and takes less effort.” He offered quietly. Your anxious energy paired with your resistant attitude meant he wasn’t quite sure how to react.

“Would you-!” You started and stopped to give him a passing glance.

He recoiled from the strange look on your face. You then seemingly used that hitch by grabbing the wall and propelling yourself forward in one quick slingshot. He stared after your from as you then took his advice and started making longer strides. Confused and with his own nerves starting to fray, he kept his pace steady. He watched as your gritted form then proceeded to circle the rink, lapping him twice. Each time you passed, he couldn’t quite grab your expression. It took until the third pass for you to finally join his side once again.

The silence between you felt deafening amongst the idle background chatter. 

As another lap ticked by, Donnie could only nervously glance at you out of the corner of his eye. Your face was staunchly out of his view. The looming threat of his first make-up failure resonated on the horizon. As far as he could tell it didn’t seem to be a fault of his own at least. It also wasn’t something he’d stand for, however. He closed his eyes for a moment and practiced a re-centering technique. A calm wave swept over him and his leant himself over to his brain’s processor. It quickly conjured up a hundred or so possible actions. Sorting the data into categories of likely and unlikely to help, he paused when Leos’ suggestion came up. He was about to swipe the offending note to "unlikely' when April’s voice reminded him that he was supposed to be putting his trust into them. Frowning, he came back to the rink and stared you down.

“Let’s race.”

For a moment he wasn’t sure you heard him. Then slowly, you turned to look at him. He took note of your otherwise blank expression. “What?”

“A race; we’ll do a lap around the rink and the winner gets full gloating rights; a much needed release if you will.”

You were again slow to process the information, but you shifted to survey a couple who skated by. “What about them?”

“What about them?” Though his heart wasn’t in it, he put on his best smug smile. “One lap won’t harm anyone.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Probably won’t harm anyone. I suppose that will all depend on whether or not you try to take someone else out again.”

Fire immediately lit in your eyes.

A little bit of innocent chiding wasn’t usually his style in this type of scenario, but Donnie had come to find that a little violent outburst could be a great remedy for a brush with mortality.

“Fine.” You ground out. “Starting line is the entrance.”

“Let’s also put hot cocoa on the line. Loser buys.”

“Doubling down before you’ve even won?” You responded coolly.

“You think you have a chance?” Pushing onto one skate, he did a single twirl.

“Keep it up.” Your voice was still smooth, but your shoulders bunched up.

“It’s coming up.” He pointed, steeling himself. He needed to believably throw the race. Mapping out the rink and its attendants into mental blueprints, he located an older man presumably with his grandson and charted their velocity. Then accounting for his own speed, he marked off an intersection point where he could fake getting hung up by the pair. If he estimated your speed accurately, then it would just cause him to lose. It was foolproof. Parting a final glance to you before hitting the starting line. He found your ever neutral expression unnerving somehow. He tried to brush it off as the last few feet quickly disappeared.

You shot off as soon as the inlet was breeched.

For a split second, he stared dumbfounded at your suddenly Olympic form before his mental alarm bells went off. He dropped his center of gravity and took off after you. Your head start and decisive skating meant he struggled to make headway. He’d almost thought you’d been putting on airs the whole time. That was until you suddenly swung wide in order to avoid the earlier logged old man and grandson. Unequipped for the wide arc, your arms flew out and spiraled as you teetered onto one skate in the sharp momentum. He was about to cut across the rink to help, when the half-moon instead carried you through and back into a straight line.

Staring, he’d lost even more distance. He pushed his legs to their limit, but there just wasn’t enough time to make up all the rink he’d lost. Coming around the second curve, Donnie watched as you hopped right out of the rink at the finish line and took a few awkward steps on dry land. Adjusting, you then quickly spun around and pressed yourself up against the wall just before the door to watch his approach. He forgot to keep his speed when he noticed you’d dropped the indifferent veneer. He snapped back to his board-like stance when a bright smug smile burst out between your cheeks. He drew in close to the wall as he rounded the rink towards you.

“What was that?” He remarked with an accusatory finger as he drew in close. He couldn’t waste time being awestruck. Though he’d honestly lost, he still had a role to play. A shred of your usual self returned and he’d assume any character to keep it that way.

“Vengeance!” You shouted and all but threw yourself over the wall to grab his hand.

His head jerked as you caught hold of him and sharply pulled at an angle. The lack of friction underfoot meant he wasvsuddenly hurtling towards the inlet at an uncontrollable speed. With nary a moment to think, his skates hit the metal separation point and all he could do was force his weight up when they inevitably hooked. You released your hold on him and he, on the tips of his skates, made several clumsy jumps before teetering as his momentum finally slowed. He was just about to blow out a relived puff of air when he felt a finger tap to his shell. It had just enough pressure to cause him to collapse over in a heap.

Snapping up and spinning around in an instantaneous recovery, he found you gloating next to him.

“You’re right. I do feel better.”

You were close enough that he could see it in your eyes as well; you were utterly unencumbered. The feeling was infectious and his own features softened before he grasped what was happening. He only realized he’d let one of his enamoured smiles out when surprise began to steep your featurs. He felt his throat constrict as he forced his lips into a tight line. He was sure you caught the fear in his eyes. He waited for disappointment, but instead you took on what he labeled as compassionate smile.

“I believe you owe me a hot cocoa?”

“Yes. I believe I do.” He mentally blessed the reprieve you’d granted him. He was safe, at least for now.

“Were you really going to make me buy cocoa when you’re supposed to be the one making up?” You held out a hand and he took it.

“I was going to throw the race.” You gave a small tug and he stood.

“What?” You recoiled and released his hand. “That’s terrible!”

He dusted himself off. “Your legitimate victory serendipitous then. You inadvertently saved me from myself.” 

You continued to drill him about his plan as you went back to grab your shoes. He made sure to praise your dodge maneuver as you put them on. The realization that you’d beaten a ninja at something sunk in as you returned your skates. Your glowing excitement ended up warming him up more than the cocoa.

NEXT

[pianocat939]

The thoughts of all the shenanigans Future! Yan turtles and Present! Yan turtles could get into is allllll that is in my mind. Platonic Future turtles and platonic/romantic present turtles.

Depending on if future reader died early or late on in the Kraang invasion, this might fuel their protectiveness over reader. Future Donnie putting all of these advanced and complicated trackers on our phone. Future Leo and Raph never leaving readers side or wanting 30 minute updates every single day. Future Mikey learning mystical skills to help teach reader or even bind us if we try to run.

The future turtles going wingman mode with their younger counterparts to help them earn the reader’s attention and/or affection.

Both Donnie’s using their tech to track and predict our every move.

Both Leo’s and Mikey’s slowly manipulating us to agree with all of this odd things happening.

Both Raph’s becoming bodyguards for us.

Not a second to breathe for poor poor reader…

(Thinking of doing drabbles on my own blog. Kinda on the fence about it.)

SCREAMING GRAGH GRAGH-

DEF

FUTURE TURTLES CONSTANTLY REMINDING MC OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM IN THE FUTURE SO THEY CAN GUILT-TRIP

Yes girlie you should def do little drabbles on your blog- should tag me if you ever do any *insert heart*

[tgmsunmontue]

Another Time (Chapter 10/14)

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

Summary: Jake wakes up in Rooster's body ~30 hours post-Mission and they have to deal with it. They're adults. Apparently.

(Posting on Tumblr, chapter a day until it's complete (currently 14 chapters already written), after it's complete I will post it on AO3 once a day until it's completed there as well).

Odd chapter = Jake POV, Even chapter = Bradley POV

TEN

                He wakes up warm, his arm firmly tucked over a torso, and he hums under his breath. He’s still not in his own body. As he’d predicted last night, Nat had commandeered his guest room. Coyote had gotten a lift home from Bob, both promising to return tomorrow. Now today. It had left him with the sofa, the lumpy as fuck one-seater or the floor beside Hangman. He’d considered the option of sliding into the bed beside Hangman, but there’s a big difference between doing it when he’s awake and asking (and okay, a bit loopy because of the drugs), and doing it when he’s fast asleep. He’d wanted to though. Being rudely woken in the middle of the night and being offered, no, told, that got what he wanted, well, that’s something he could get used to.

                He stretches a little, nuzzles his nose into the nape of Hangman’s neck and just breathes for a moment.

                “Mornin’,” Hangman says, voice rough and Bradley misses his accent.

                “Morning…” He replies, hears the accent and it just isn’t the same.

                “So, what’s on the list?”

                “It ended up being quite a… quite a list,” Bradley states, because he’d read it over and felt uncomfortable just reading it, let alone discussing it. Although he knows they’re going to have to. He draws away from Hangman and reaches for the piece of paper and hands it to Hangman silently. Gets up and goes to the bathroom and comes back, sliding back under the blankets without being asked, Hangman having shifted to face him and looking at him isn’t going to make this any easier.

                “Vulnerability. Trust. Communication… this is like intense couples therapy before we’re even a proper couple,” Hangman says and Bradley laughs quietly, because he’s not wrong.

                “Yeah. This feels all backwards.”

                “Hmm. You think we would have managed to figure this out if we’d been doing it the traditional way?”

       ��        “Well, I guess we’ll never know.”

                “Guess so. Backwards it is. Well, at least we can cross off proximity and touch… I mean, we’ve touched plenty,” Hangman states and his lips twitch in a smile and Bradley finds his eyes tracking the movement. Also noting that his moustache really needs a trim. Hmm.

                “And calling each other by our first names…”

                “You got a middle name?”

                “Uh, yeah. Peter.”

                “After Mav?” Hangman asks.

                “Yeah,” Bradley says on a sigh.

                “Hmm. Well, okay then Bradley Peter Bradshaw, my name is Jacob Andrew Seresin.”

                “Nice to meet you Jacob Andrew Seresin…”

                They both go silent, looking around hopefully for a brief second before they both break into huffs of laughter, shaking their heads.

                “God I wish it was that easy.”

                “Guess we can’t catch a break huh? Well, how about… biggest fear?”

                Bradley has to stop and think, because his immediate response is that he’s not afraid of anything. That’s a lie of course, but he can’t put it in words what it is he’s afraid of the most, feels like he’s lived through his worst fears coming true over and over to put a voice to them.

                “Least favorite food?” Hangman asks instead, obviously reading something in his silence or on his face.

                “Fruit.”

                “An entire food group? Really?”

                “Yeah. I’m really picky when it comes to fruit. My apples need to be crunchy, my bananas not too soft, pineapple still firm…”

                Hangman snorts.

                “Picky wee Rooster…”

                “No, I just know what I like.”

                “Do you just…”

                Bradley laughs, wants to shove him, kiss him, straddle him and –

                “Do you ever stop flirting?”

                “Nope. It’s all part of my charm darlin’.”

                “Part of something alright,” Bradley mutters and then Hangman is leaning forward, capturing his lips so soft and Bradley relaxes into it for the briefest of moments.

                “So, the whole physical intimacy. So polite of Bob. I want… it’s the last resort. I want to be in my own body when we do… more.”

                “More. Yeah… Although, if you jerk me off right now, would that count as you getting me off, or me getting off?”

                Bradley groans and pulls away with a laugh, shakes his head as he feels his neck and chest go warm with desire and embarrassment.

                “I have no idea… but I feel like we can put that down as a middle-step…”

                “All part of your plan of attack hmm?

                “Shut up. Like you have any better ideas.”

                “It’s just like another mission. We’ll figure it out. Break it down.”

                “Doubt this one can be fixed with a couple of well-aimed missiles.”

                “No. But I guess I can talk about myself for a bit…”

                “Your favorite subject right?” Bradley says, and he means it as a joke before he realizes that no, Hangman doesn’t talk about himself. He’s a cocky arrogant fighter pilot, confident in his abilities and more than willing to talk himself up… but that’s all surface. It’s not who he is. “Tell me.”

                “Hmm. Well. Vulnerable right?”

                Bradley’s stomach does an unpleasant flip. He’d hoped there wasn’t a tragic backstory or trauma but…

                “It’s not bad. I mean, my parents had me very late in life. My brother and sister are closer to Mav’s age than mine. Still, we’re all pretty close. I’m closer with my nieces and nephews… It’s just…”

                “You don’t have to…”

                “But I do, don’t I? What if it’s this that makes us switch back?”

                Bradley lets out a long breath, because he has a point.

                “We don’t have to do it all now though. Come on. We’ve got to get you ready for your hospital appointment and then we’ve got the debrief. We’ve also got something really important to take care of.”

                “What?”

                “I need to trim that moustache,” Bradley states and grins when Hangman laughs freely, some level of tension dripping away.

                “Do you not trust me?”

                “With my life? Yes. With my ‘stache? Not so much…”

                “Afraid I might shave the whole thing off?”

                “I think I could deal with that, it’s you trimming it crooked that would be world ending.”

                “Well okay honey, take care of me.”

ELEVEN