#god of soccer prediction

[bulldog-butch]

so proud of the players who don’t put their hands on their chests for the national anthem 🥲🫶

[ramu-ego]

mind sharing your other fandom favs then? you have me sort of curious if ego is tots ur type LMFAOA .. omg aftwr u-20 win ego was such a proud dad the face he made was honestly sort of emotional ..!!

NEVVER APOLOGIZE 4 WRITING ANOTHER FIC IDEA HEL i think with my pussy half the time and i read ANYTHINGGG as long as it’s dom!reader (can you tell i’m desperate ORR WHATT?) ngl your “pussy dragging on the keyboard” comment made my ass giggle for a full minute LMFOAO i’ll be using that as well thanks!

personally 4 me i never was really into nikko ASSS MUCHH.. but i can see the hype .. cant stop thinking how sweaty and greasy his forehead must be after those thick ass bangs though.!.!?!

WOAH our timezones r so different HELLPP.. by the time you said it was 6:40 am, it was at least night for me, polar opposites in a way sorta! godd you’re a chronic coffee drinker?? i’m more of a tea person myself but coffee does power through most things with ur day anyways, don’t overdose on it or something!! (unless u alrdy do LOL)

i’ve been doing great as ever, taking my time to relax before i’ve got to get back to that tiring education life again.. 🥲 your blogs has been a good way to pass the time though so a win win for me!! for the blue lock anime last week, episode 10 was surprisingly good considering i was scared shitless of animation budgeting and if they would butcher it, sometimes the cgi makes me giggle but hell i’m such a blue lock supporter that i just move on from all of the questionable moments with the animation!

i’m a sub watcher for all animes (which, i haven’t touched a lot of animes .. if you’re an avid anime watcher, any recs?)

for me, u-20 match was an INSANE ride for me, def my fav and i always reread it in a way, i think everything leading up to it like the 3v3 or 4v4 matches were great too, but u-20 match was hype like no other !! whiichhh brings me to my next point, i need to see more of hiori as his design was just too cute for me to pass up, just the hair and the eyes were so ?!? eye catching imo..

oh jeez and there was this one panel with this blue lock player with the most nicest hair but he just. NEVER APPEARED LMFAOO? i haven’t seen him ever since — don’t even think we got a name

ah jeez i’m SOOOO SORRY if my messages get a bit too long, I HATE JUST RESPONDING INSTEAD OF. CONTINUING A CONVERSATION (if this makes sense?) .. so i tend to ramble ^^’ don’t feel pressured to mirror the length though!! i’d be heading off to bed as i send this message in, so this is sort of my goodnight :P - 💌

OH GOD THE OTHERS-

-this will be a dead give a way to some of my very very old followers who've accidentally re found me after I achieved my last blog and took a long hiatus. I have very specific...qualities...to a lot of them that overlap...

in order from top left to right; Kurono Yuichiro (Fire Force absolute love of my life and a near 1:1 character match to Ego honestly), Hanma Shuji (TokyoRev), Sir Nighteye (MHA), Asagiri Gen (Dr Stone), Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Ginoza Nobuchika (Psycho Pass) ...three out of the six are played by the same English VA so you could say I have a type 😂

To be fair my other categories for favs are literally all copy and print similar too. My "These are my babies I'm breastfeeding them and enabling them" favs are near identical copies in every anime I watch 😂 then the third less talked about group...the dreaded libra group 😒

SOMETIMES YOU JUST WRITE WITH YOUR PUSSY AND NOT YOUR BRAIN AND THAT'S WHAT'S HAPPENING WITH THIS STUPID NIKO FIC THAT'S GOING WELL OVER SIX PAGES FOR NO STUPID REASON BESIDES THE PUSSY DESERVES IT UGH

ok but to gush a moment before forgetting the Ego during the U-20 match...that panel!!! Oh god that panel!!! Of him telling Isagi that what happened to him and his career didn't matter, that he was fine to be blacklisted from the sport he loved bc he assured all 22 of them had a career in soccer after this game, win or loose, OH GOD THAT PART. I will literally fist fight anyone at this point who wants to shit talk Ego and say he "doesn't care" bc that man was ready to throw away his livelihood for them to succeed on a world stage in the sport they love. Man's got protective dilf energy and I'm giving him a child this uterus is open for business rn

Niko is....Ok I'm blaming it on his VA actually (sorry I watch dubbed I just literally can't focus on subbed) and his English VA is a well known one but did a creepy high pitched voice with it and I mean I'm willingly fucking Ego like I'm advertising I'll kiss that weird man's ankles but Niko- Niko is just too fucking weird for me. But apparently the pussy wants to challenge that bc fuck me with a six plus page story over god damn nipples! Niko is still....too ugly for me RIP

My time zone is fucked at the butt end of everything so I am WAY use to being the last one up and last one to go to bed in every fandom I've ever been in 🤣 Learned that as a teen when literally no one was ever awake when I was RIP. But yes I'm a chronic coffee drinker I've always have been the bean it calls to me I must have it (given I don't drink enough to like NEED it or get a headache I just enjoy the taste but love tea too) Drank it thru my pregnancy and drank it breastfeeding no one's pulling the beautiful bean from my mouth. Love me a good tea though I won't deny good green, black and other teas hit different. Just no herbal shit stuff makes me wretch istg

Glad to hear I started this blog in good timing then! Ain't nothing like relaxing with some good pegging when you're trying to forget that book bullshit 💅 And honestly even though I picked up the manga right after like episode two (needed Ego I wasn't waiting lololol) I've been very happy with the animation cuz like the manga is illegally beautiful. Holy shit is the manga just so well done and the drawings are top tier throughout the entire thing (coming from tokyorev and jujutsu god I miss manga artists that don't just scribble on things like a coke addict) Questionable animation or not they keep slut drawing Ego's hands so damn fine and that man's watch I'll forgive any animation doozie long as my weird looking stick man looks fine as hell

I don't watch sub (I just can't take in the actual show and read plus I got a mad voice kink so....dubbed it is for me) But I've watch a fair share of anime. Don't really watch it for like...the sake of just watching anime (prefer western cartoons a little more) but I've watched some really good ones though. First on the list, Fire Force. I've single handedly convinced like two dozen people to watch this. It's my favorite of all time and will be tattooing the weird looking man in the collage on my body at some point bc of how much I love that series. Mob Psycho 100 is amazing as always for so many reasons and it has a bit of everything for everyone. The Case Study of Vanitas was better than it was aloud to be and I hate vampires. Dr. Stone fucking nerdy funny and entertaining. Psycho Pass is a good like murder mystery book. Sonny Boy and Space Dandy done by the same studio and will make you question your existence. Kekkaishi is old but still one of my favorites ever. And Blue Exoricst I wrote a 60+ chapter fan fic on it for a reason and its still going strong and written by a woman! Don't know about any of their sub versions but their stories and characters are so good they're worth it.

That entire block from the five round selection to the U-20 game was just- Fucking illegally good for a sports anime?? A sports anime for crying out loud?? Even the way they introduce so many new characters is so smooth and not even clunky and you genuinely take an interest in everyone even if you only see them for one game?? Hiori is cute...a little more feral than I expected when we first saw him being cute with Isagi and Nanase. But Hiori, Otoya, Karasu and Kurona haven't like wowed me yet. I'm invested but I'm still going real fucking soft on Yukimiya right now like. God. The eye thing. LET ME BABY YOU AND HAVE THAT SAD MAN. God he's gonna be so fucking pretty when he's animated I'm screaming already

Was that the panel of the dude with Gagamaru and Raichi? The one that's shown on the blue lock screen but we never have an actual manga cap of him?

PLS DON'T APOLOGIZE I TALK TOO MUCH I WAS A HAIRDRESSER FOR FIVE YEARS I TALK WAY TOO MUCH PLS NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR TALKING TO MUCH AS YOU CAN SEE I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL I'M SORRY I'M THE ONE RAMBLE. PLS HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY SINCE WE'RE OPPOSITE ENDS OF THE SUNNY TIME. RAMBLE ALL YOU WANT I ADORE IT <3

[loveinhawkins]

During the tail end of November 1984, the stars align in cruel and unusual ways: Eddie ends up sharing a compulsory Phys Ed. class with both Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove.

Eddie groans when he find out, slams his forehead against his locker when no-one’s looking.

And the thing is, Steve isn’t the problem, not really. In fact, if he had been sharing the class with Steve alone, Eddie might’ve even considered it proof of some benevolent God existing. He’d probably have a few stressful occasions of trying not to make a complete fool out of himself—team sports are truly the worst, although he’s secretly not that bad of a soccer player—but at least he’d have a… nice view.

But no. Instead, the almighty schedulers of the Hawkins High timetable have decided to light the proverbial fuse.

Because sure, Steve’s known for being competitive, even borderline pissy if things don’t go his way on the basketball court. One would probably be subject to his baleful eyes for, like, five minutes at most before he got over it.

Hargrove, on the other hand, is another kettle of fish. In fact, he’s in a completely different fucking ocean.

He stalks through the school like a bloodthirsty gladiator, treats the gym like it’s his personal Coliseum.

Eddie honestly doesn’t know what the deal is, but he only has to witness Hargrove stare at Steve once from across the cafeteria to know that he loathes him. And from the quietly venomous look Steve gave in return, the feeling is definitely mutual.

So now he’s got to suffer through an entire period of playing baseball outside with the pair of them glaring daggers at each other. In a hilariously misguided attempt at easing the obvious tension, the teacher’s put Steve and Hargrove on the same team: Hargrove’s a center fielder and Steve’s the pitcher.

It’s neck and neck. Eddie is the last up to bat.

He steps forward with sweaty palms.

He’s got absolutely zero interest in being witness to the Hargrove v Harrington dick-measuring contest for any longer than he has to.

Please just let the ball be caught immediately, Eddie silently prays. Make my execution swift and painless.

“Hey, batter, batter,” Hargrove calls with his usual menacing sleaze.

Fucking juvenile.

Annoyingly, when Hargrove predictably yells, “Swing!”, it still makes Eddie jolt, swinging the bat on impulse.

But Steve’s not thrown the ball yet; he’s still tossing it up into the air, like he’s got all the time in the world.

Okay, I know you’re pissed, but quit the mind games, Harrington.

Steve catches Eddie’s eye, gaze lingering too long for it to be a coincidence. Then he drops the ball.

Billy chuckles. “Still clumsy, huh, King Steve?”

Steve rolls his eyes. He bends down to pick up the ball.

Even from this distance, the fading bruise on his cheekbone is easy to spot.

Eddie doesn’t like to think about it too often, especially when paired with the nasty gleam in Hargrove’s eyes. It makes his stomach sink.

Steve picks up the ball with one hand, but he stays low, one knee to the ground.

And then…

When he speaks, his lips barely move. “Hey, Munson. Left-handed, right?”

Bewildered, Eddie nods.

Steve stands up.

Eddie’s expecting to be caught off guard, for the ball to suddenly spin towards him.

Steve shrugs one shoulder back, looks Eddie right in the eye.

He mouths, Ready?

… What the fuck?

Eddie nods again.

Steve throws the ball, and it feels as if it’s being drawn, like an irresistible magnet, right to Eddie’s bat.

Eddie swings.

Crack.

The ball soars.

Eddie sees Hargrove’s jaw drop, hears him swear as he dives for the ball. He misses, sprints after it as it speeds through the grass—

Steve laughs. “Dude, what are you waiting for? Run!”

Eddie does.

He hits a home run before Hargrove can even attempt to throw the ball near him.

Breathless and grinning, Eddie lies down with his back on the ground, as his teammates cheer.

But someone else is by far the loudest.

Eddie sits up to see Steve yelling in triumph, hands cupped around his mouth.

Then he winks.

And Eddie thinks he’s never seen Steve Harrington look more delighted to lose.

[octuscle]

From tutor to rookie of the year

Hi, my name is Jake. My company has hired me to tutor a few students with poor grades. That's not necessarily the reason why I started working at the auditing company. But first of all, I'm new here and I'm not going to refuse right at the beginning of my career. And secondly, becoming a teacher had actually been an option for me. Maybe it's fate now or something.

The first lesson gets off to a very promising start. I almost have to tear myself apart to leave your office and get to school on time. But when I arrive, there is a yawning emptiness in the classroom. Only after fifteen minutes I hear noise in the corridor and a couple of football jocks barge in the door. A few still in football gear. And all obviously unshowered after training. Phew, it stinks. And as I look into the handsome, square-cut faces of the boys spraying with testosterone, I'm suddenly back at school. The small, clever but shy boy who, at best, the stars of the football team overlook and, at worst, stuff into the toilet. I clear my throat and say that I'm not here for fun either and that I'm asking for some attention. The boys barely react. Damn it, it's not my problem. I explain a few linear algebra problems on the blackboard and ignore the paper airplanes. I have my school-leaving certificate. I have my master's degree. And my bonus doesn't depend on the grades of these idiots. At least I hope so.

After the debacle of the first tutoring session, my appetite for the second is very dampened. But it was already hard enough to get this internship. The firm is one of the most prestigious accountancy firms in the city. And if my pro bono job as an intern is tutoring the idiots on the football team twice a week, I'll survive. Apart from the 60 hours a week in which I have to pore over balance sheets, that doesn't matter any more.

These days, the musclemen are even on time. And somehow nicer than last time. They even ask me reasonably sensible questions like whether you can predict the trajectories of footballs. I take this as an opportunity to tell them something about vector calculus. They collapse with laughter. "Bro, I was joking. And football isn't math. Football is strength and speed." I'm about to take a breath and say something about Newton and the relationship between force and speed. But instead of listening to me, the jocks start bragging to each other about their heroic stories on the field. And I can't help but listen to them spellbound. When the lesson is over, I look after them with fascination. I wish I could have been more like them at school.

Shit, because I'm the only nerd on the senior team who isn't a complete failure at sports, Coach made me give math tutoring to the football team. He thinks the Meatheads might have a little bit of respect for me. Shit! Them for me? I for them might be more correct! The thought of explaining math to my secret crush forms a wet spot in my Calvin Klein shorts.

I expected the boys to keep me waiting. If they were also punctual and disciplined off the pitch, they wouldn't need any help. And I don't want to tutor them any more than they want to be tutored. We reach a compromise. You listen to my math tutoring for half an hour. And then we'll go out onto the pitch for half an hour and play a bit of football. God knows I'm not unsportsmanlike. But soccer has somehow never been my sport. I'm more of a swimming pool or gym kind of guy. Team sports? Not really.

Shit, yeah, I'm no rocket scientist in math. But I have quite good grades in English and history. I'm not going to fail this year. Why the fuck do I have to go to tutoring with the other bros from the football team? I have no idea. But seriously, the tutor is a total loser. A beanpole in a stuffy shirt. The idiot even wears a tie. Seriously, who wears a tie these days? If I had to wear a tie, I'd change jobs. Or if I had to shower after training. Shit, these are just rules that can come from old fat men. Bros like me and my bros smell like test… Testo… Well that hormone stuff. Sweat, musk and Axe. If I didn't have to go straight to detention again, I'd let the loser smell my armpits… But I'm a sophomore on the team right now. Let the juniors and seniors do that.

"Jack, bro!" This is Chuck. The QB on the team. I can tell by his voice. And by his smell. And I'd also know it by the taste of his cheesy boner…. But he stays locked in his jockstrap cage right now. What a damn shame! "Bro, where were you in tutoring? The dean was there. You're in fucking trouble!" Shit, tutoring! I was at the gym. The other guys are all so pumped. I don't want to lag behind any longer. "Shit, dude, we said you were in the bathroom. The loser tutor didn't dare contradict us. But I think you have to let him suck you off so he doesn't tell on you." Hehehehehe, I like that idea. There are still 40 minutes until football practice… And I haven't cum yet today. "Is the loser still in the classroom?" I ask. Chuck nods. I fist bump him and say that I'll sort it out quickly.

If Chuck and Matt go to college next year, I have a good chance to be the QB. But until then I still have to build up a lot of mass. Those two are just in a whole different league. And I'm damn jealous of the hair on Matt's chest. You should see the bush under his arms. Dude, the man is going to be a fucking gorilla! Shit, I'm not half the man those two are. You can tell immediately by the size of the bulge in our compression shorts. Nevertheless, neither of them mind if I fuck them. But they like fucking me even more. Without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

We skipped tutoring again today. Coch covers for us while we're in the gym or doing our laps on the cinder track outside. Nevertheless, it's still up in the air whether Chuck and Matt will be at college next year. And whether I'll be a junior by then. But screw it, NFL pros don't need to know math.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

bad decisions - i. sae, b. meguru & m. reo

summary; let's make some bad decisions.

genre/extra tags; rambling post?/scenarios???, fluff but not really, diet fluff, and diet angst, late night thoughts combined with day light thoughts, might be ooc

a/n; im gonna go out on a limb here and say you dont want yandere obsessive tendencies in the relationship (i dont write yandere bc i hate that trope and i dont understand the appeal). i only did three bc this was all i can think of, im so sorry- hope you enjoy this either way. thank you for requesting and for your patience.

i think we all saw this coming when i say, sae probably gotta have some odd habits and thoughts when it comes to being a relationship. he's precise and serious in his soccer, and that bleeds into his relationships. it has nothing to you, no, not when he's so used to seeing into every detail and every possibility. he keeps trying to predict what you will do, and then you surprise him when it's not what he expected. most of the time, this happens when you're just doing something without much thought. he gets kind of weird about it though, he just blue-screens and had to take a moment before asking what is wrong with you because you didn't do the thing he expected. you have to tell him that this is just how you are, and he refuses to be outsmarted by his partner when he's usually the one with the brain cell between you two.

he feels the need to check on you a lot because he doesn't express it outright. he observes you like he's in a game match. it's cute at first but then you realize, "oh god he's really paying attention a little too well..."

he hates if you ever even try to interact with rin. he is one jealous little shit. if he's in a good mood [which is hard to tell with him], you have like a higher chance of talking to rin. but most days, he's keeping you away from him.

bachira is unpredictable and he's crazy. he loves you a lot. and i mean a lot. he's extremely clingy towards things he cherishes and that probably stems from the lack of friends he had back then and he's just scared to lose you. but sometimes he really impedes on the day-to-day routine. he needs reassurance when you're gone. he texts you a lot. very standard clingy person.

he feels the need to be a guard dog. he's possessive but not in the way sae would be with his jealously. no, bachira is possessive but he's confident that he will keep you protected from others. but also he loves to wreak havoc so he likes being loud about being clingy and protective. it can get overwhelming.

i'm gonna be real, this one is short because bachira's traits could probably be pretty amplified in a relationship and honestly, i would go as far as to think that most of his traits would just be either better or worse in a relationship.

overbearing. that should be enough to explain it.

he's got a weird complex with him. at least that is what i think. he really stuck with nagi a lot, and i think he would do the same in a romantic relationship. he's gotten too used to coddling nagi and he does the same to you. he spoils you. and it's great at first, but it can be a lot at once. and honestly i think he feels the need to compensate for something. what is the thing he's compensating for? i don't know, but he gives me those "compensating for something with money" vibes.

i think it's safe to say that all the boys have a pride to uphold and reo is no different. he hates being inactive. he wants to help you all the time. and i mean all the time. he wants to be useful but he goes at it terribly. he wants to be relied on.

is it crazy to say that i think reo is the worst out of the three here? probably but whatever.

[hexedwinchester]

Early seasons of SPN are superior

so I'm re-watching Supernatural (I'm always re-watching SPN, don't mind me) and I realised why the early seasons are so freakin good whereas the laters ones are a complete mess...

Horror was the core theme of Supernatural (yes, I'm not discarding the brothers' drama, I'll get to it in a minute). These beautiful scare tactics that they employed were amazing: the crib mobile toy rotating, shadows moving out of the corner of the eyes, toys going off, subtle bloody Mary reflections in the mirror, creepy skulls dug from the ground, the ghosts flickering. Hell yea they nailed 'Scary just got sexy' with these.

Don't get me started on the background music. Whimsical music crescendo, building up the anticipation. The rock music blaring through the Impala. What happened to the cool ass music in the later seasons? They just played this weird, sad tune like someone's blowing raspberries to show grief and that's it!

Monster of the week theme and the lores/legends in early seasons were much, much better than S12's Foundry or the later season episode with bizarre tentacle porn thingy (you know which one I'm talking about). It just didn't feel the same. The stories were poorly written and even more poorly executed.

Early seasons used to be purely about Sam and Dean (as it should have been throughout) Them against the world, heaven and hell. No dumbass angel lurking in the background like a pathetic third wheel. No king of hell bitching about his sad childhood for two whole seasons. No Soccer mom half assing their way into hunting.

Foreshadowing was done so beautifully! Everytime I re-watch the early seasons I find a few bits that connects to something that happened initially in say S1-2. The parallels are done beautifully and writing is good, and I mean 'I wanna use this quote as a wallpaper' good.

The struggle for the boys was real. They had to do their own research, save their own asses, stitch their wounds, pop their dislocated shoulders back in the place. Later seasons? Bunker has answer to everything, angel healing wounds with a flash of light, Lucifer bringing Sam back from the dead without asking for anything (and no, taking him to Jack is not a good enough bargain), Jack healing wounds or whatever. Where is the damn struggle?! Where is the hero's journey?!

I miss the beautiful, colourful motel rooms that had its own personality. I HATE the bunker (yes I know a lot of people love it because Dean has a good shower, they have a home etc, etc) but no! Bunker is lame and boring and monotonous. There isn't a single thing I like about it. Gimme back my motel rooms with the sunburst mirror!

Story arc or lack thereof from S12 onwards. The main plot just got duller and duller from S12 onward and it felt like the writers got lazy and stopped putting efforts. There was no build up and the plot felt forced. The main arcs didn't feel exciting enough. BMoL and Kelly's pregnancy: the who and why? Jack: predictable. Other Micheal and Micheal Dean: meh, next! God as the big bad: interesting but I don't think they have it in them to execute this correctly.

Irrelevant/Unnecessary characters and their mini plots. S1-5 focuses purely on the brothers and that's what I'm here. I don't care how and why an idiot angel opened purgatory. It sounded more like a dull spin off plot than main story arc. I don't care about prophets and their lives (yeah Kevin is in Advance Placement, what am I to do with that?). I don't care about the different angel garrisons at war (again a plot for a lame spin off). I don't care about Crowley, his son or his relationship with Rowena. Tell me how this affects the boys. If it doesn't, please let's move on. Whatever was going on with Cole Trenton was pointless. I don't care about Mary and her hunting escapades with BMoL. I don't care about Kelly's pregnancy. The multi-universe and all characters they vomited back in the show with this. Not needed! Let Charlie, Gabriel and Bobby's memory rest in peace. Nick's killer storyline and wayward sisters. Enough said. Empty and the deal with Cas and Meg 2.0? Boring! Billy playing the bad cop, the whole death's library? Poorly executed and it turned into a bowl of cold spaghetti. In the end, the focus moved from the boys to useless characters and mini plots. Fuck that! Supernatural is about Sam and Dean and that's about it.

The direction. Later seasons lack the beauty of scenic shots of the landscape, close on up the boys' faces, the lights hitting their faces to show their beauty. Camera angles and slow panning shots. I miss the beauty that were the early seasons.

[hunnysnoops]

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Two: Favour

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

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

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

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.

Warnings: 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.

[riririnnnn]

I'm definitely not the first person to point it out, but look at this:

Guess what Ego replied?

*in Peter Nguyen's voice* EXACTLY!

LMFAO BL SUPREME LEADER

This isn't what surprised me though. Considering the speech he gave in that JFU building, he is definitely a person with a high IQ. But what surprised me was..

...the way he spoke about it with so much clarity. I mean, details are too much specific to NOT be something he DIDN'T experience/see first-hand.

Which makes me think of two theories.

ONE:

Ego himself went through something like this. To be a rival of someone like Noel Noa, he definitely had to be some kind of genius himself. Further, they both are of different nationalities, so either Ego went abroad or Noa came into Japan; the chances of the latter being true is VERY slim.

Edit: I just realised that Ego was his TEAMMATE too, so I think that Ego definitely was out of Japan.

SECOND:

Someone close to Ego went through something like this. It could be that Ego had a partner or something like Snuffy and his best friend, and just like that, Ego lost someone dear to him which changed him completely to the man he is right now.

HOWEVER.

Both of these theories are way too.. simple/generic/predictable. I mean, look at the backstories of other characters: Yukimiya, Kuon, Naruhaya, Chigiri, etc. Do you really think that Kaneshiro-san and Nomura-san will give us something so basic after keeping this man a mystery for so long? Like, what did we think about Ness? Yes, that he had some kind of attachment issues, but what did we get?

HELL YEAH!

Perfectly written God's work which wasn't overcomplicated, but greatly satisfied the readers (at least, it did to me). Imagine we would've gotten a cliché background where Ness got abandoned by a soccer partner or something, then Kaiser picked him up— I would've been disappointed.

*Again in Peter Nguyen's voice* EXACTLY!

So, Ego definitely got to have something with more depth.

But, look at this:

This caught me off guard for some reason. I mean, "..I'm gambling my future on," isn't a bit too intense? Does he have like some chronic illness or something? I hope not though.

On a side note, whatever Ego said could also be applied on Sae, but again, considering everyone's backstories till now, I do think that two of the most anticipated characters will have a lore that goes deeper and is more complex.

.

.

.

Look at him though.

Just look how he is sitting. He'll never beat the babygirl allegations from me.

[angelcakestarlet]

gold rush

van palmer x reader : the yellowjackets catch onto van's crush on their one of their teams cheerleaders

"van!", the whistle catches vans attention across the moist green field. "did you not see the ball coming straight for your god damn head?" coach martinez questions the dazed ginger. "focus come on!" coach blows the whistle to reset before she even gets the chance to get up. van might not be the tallest girl on the team, but she was the perfect pick for goalie. when the ball came towards that net she was a fiery cannon launching to protect the box. after their last game, 0-3, and an undefeated season, people started saying the game was rigged due to the yellowjackets goalie being psychic. while van was no psychic, she had a knack for predicting what her opponent would do next. according to her she "just goes with her gut". however, lately her 'gut' seems a little distracted.

each second van's eyes were not on the girls pursuing the net, they were on the girl's soccer team cheerleaders. particularly, you. van couldn't help simply 'observing' the way your skirt hiked up your soft thighs as you demonstrated your moves to the squad. or the way your ponytail sat high on your head and the sweat slipped down your neck... and that's how she ended up on the floor, soccer ball to the head with a sorry laura lee cowering over her. coach martinez yelling had caught your attention as you peered across the field to spot the redhead laying exasperated in her goalie box. you would be lying if you said you hadn't noticed her initially when you first began cheering for the team. her quick hands and strong calves from all the laps coach made them run around the field before practice. you were always the confident type, not shy when it came to boys, your team mates, and getting what you want. but van had a struck a different chord in you, one you were all too familiar with after watching bound with jennifer tilly and gina gershon in theaters that october. while your van halen and backstreet boys posters covered the fore front of your pink room, corky posters were plastered all over your closet. but corky was a character in a movie, you'd never gotten that feeling at the pit of your stomach from a girl in real life, right? well there was that time in eight grade when you and your friend practiced kissing for the winter formal. but that was one time; until now. that feeling in your stomach kicked in every time you got a look at the goalie and it ticked you off. the one time you wanted to put your cherry lip gloss adorned smile to work your nerves got the best of you. it was nearly winter break now and you had only spoken to van in passing during practice and games. your cheeks stung red recalling the night they won states, "maybe you're our lucky charm out there" she had rushed towards you still pumping adrenaline from the win, you cracked a smile in response before she corrected herself, "you and the rest of the girls of course".

now, you lightly jogged (not wanting to look too concerned) towards her and laura lee. "hey, are you ok? i could hear the ball thump against your head from all the way over there." she leaned up, making eye contact with you and chuckling, "are you calling me a hard head?" her teammates looked back at you two as they reset to their positions. "it was me, i really didn't mean to vanessa honestly!" laura lee apologized frantically. "it's alright laura lee, just go back before coach kicks both our asses". you offer van a hand to help her up, "thanks" she huffs out. at the first attempt of standing she wobbles and makes her way back to the ground, "shit i'm dizzy". "alright look l/n, take her to the nurse please. jackie pose as goalie for now." coach directs his attention to two of you as he notices van's state. you widen your eyes at his request as that feeling kicks in again causing your stomach to churn. you hesitantly agree and help van up once more with her arm propped up on your shoulder. "fuck i hate the nurse, misty quigley is always in there with her." you giggle, "i'm guessing misty is the last thing you want to see right now." "when does anyone want to see misty quigley?" you nod in agreement, every encounter with misty is never something you look forward to. "i can take you to the locker room, i have some pain medicine and water in there if you just want to lay down for a second. without the presence of misty quigley of course." "why thank you, that sounds lovely" she says drowsily accompanied by that silly accent she puts on.

you practically drag van to the locker room and sit her down on the bench by your locker. "i think staring at your locker will only make my headache worse" van snickers referring to your locker decorated in bright pink paint and a big hair bow front and center. "hey, don't make fun of my locker. remember who just saved your life!" you pout at her. "sorry, sorry how could i forget. after all you are the teams lucky charm." she proclaims dramatically. "well is my squad the lucky charm or is it just me, cause if i remember correctly..." van lays down against the bench chuckling, "well you're the only one i pay any attention to at least". you pause while rummaging through your locker for some ibuprofen, turning to face the girl. she looks back at you, "what? hey, are you blushing or did you just get a little heavy handed with the powder today?" you bring your hands to your cheeks and feel the warmth against your skin. "i think you have a concussion van." you dismiss her flirty comments and hand her two ibuprofen and an unopened water bottle. "what makes you say that?" her fingers brushing against yours as she takes the pills, you roll your eyes at her sudden boldness. "you rarely speak to me and now you're saying that you pay attention to me?" the silence in the locker room stiff as you hear her swallow. "what can i say, i find it hard to talk to pretty girls." you stifle a giggle "woah you're totally blushing now, you can't deny it man". you turn to face her a smile plastered on your seemingly flushed face. "this is how you thank me for nursing you back to health?" you raise your eyebrows, "well what do you have in mind miss cheer captain?" she sits up leaning on her arms settled behind her. "stop getting hit in the head so that we make it to nationals." "it's kind of hard not to when you're out there in this little skirt," she takes the end of your pleated skirt between her fingers "what else am i supposed to look at?". if your stomach was churning before, it's like a battalion of butterflies at war in there now. "are you hitting on me, palmer?" you look up at her through your lashes. "would that be so terrible?" her face suddenly (nearly) serious. before you can answer, the door to the locker room swings open, all the girls piling in, sweaty and with dirt covered knees. "so what's the diagnosis, y/n, is she doomed?" nat's voice comes creeping around the corner. you get up quickly, shutting your locker and flattening your skirt. "definitely." van's eyes follow you as you leave. when the door shuts behind you, nat and lottie erupt in laughter. "does she know she is the reason for your little concussion?" they come up behind van, teasing her. "i'm injured, leave me alone!" the goalie rests her head against your pink locker and groans as her team mates share a round of "ooo''s amongst themselves.

thank u for reading :> i think van is super underrated and needs more fics, i love her!!! hope u enjoyed!

[slasherfantasy]

I love hybrid and shifter au's, but whenever I think too long about them, I start thinking about my own pets and the kind of things I say to them.

"[Dog] STOP following the cat! The cat would be happy to be friends but the cat does not want you to sniff her butt!"

"[Dog1], stop sniffing her genitals! [Dog2]'s already displaying all the behaviors of a submissive pup, you don't need to sniff her genitals too!"

"[Dog2] for god's sake, stop barking at the cat! The cat is hiding under a table! You don't need to bark at her! She's not doing anything to you!"

"[Dog1], NO! I gave that stick to [Dog2]! You cannot take that stick from her just because you're jealous that I gave her a stick! *gives stick back to dog2* Here, [Dog1], here's a new stick, this one is all yours *both dogs happily destroying sticks*"

"You better stop getting in her face, [Dog2]. She's gonna bap-bap-bap you! You better leave her alone! *dog2 predictably gets smacked in the face by the cat and begins crying despite having harassed the cat for an hour*"

*endless hours kicking the soccer/football ball for one dog while simultaneously playing tug-of-war with a stuffed alligator for the other dog*

*hears the cat hiss from another room and rushes in in time to see dog2 get absolutely wrecked by a smack-smack-smack to the face*

In short, Price is exhausted and is considering telling Gaz that he's not allowed to keep the cat hybrid. (But he can't stand the combined sad faces from his team and the kitty... no matter how many times the kitty smacks particular team members... daily...)

[bluelocksource]

Oliver Aiku’s trivia (source: twt & Egoist Bible 2)

"I'm the final barrier for Japanese soccer to be reborn!!"

☆ Character colors: Navy, fluorescent yellow.

☆ Weapons: Strong physical abilities, highly developed 'eyes' for spatial awareness, a 'body' skilled in dashing and jumping, and covering.

☆ Birthday: 30th June.

☆ Current age: 19.

☆ Zodiac: Cancer.

☆ Birthplace: Stockholm, Sweden.

☆ Family structure: Father (dual heritage: Swedish & German). Mother (Japanese). Older Sister. Himself, Younger Sister.

☆ Current height: 190 cm.

☆ Dominant foot: Right foot.

☆ Blood type: B.

☆ Motto: "Live according to your means."

☆ Starts playing football: At age 3.

☆ Hobbies: Mahjong, horse racing, pachinko "Not saying I bet money."

☆ Favorite food: Mouko (Mongolian) Tanmen Nakamoto's spicy ramen. "I generally like spicy foods." + Shin ramyeon (EB2).

☆ Disliked food: Corn. "Those things always gets stuck between my teeth."

☆ What goes best with rice: Squid salted with salt (ikano shio-kara). "It’d be perfect with some alcohol. Ah… wait, I’m still 19."

☆ Favorite animal: Chicks. "Watching a lot of chicks soothes me."

☆ Favorite season: Summer. "You can see swimsuits."

☆ Favorite football player: Virgil van Dijk.

☆ Favorite manga: Chi: Chikyuu no Undou ni Tsuite (Orb: On the Movements of the Earth). "Currently into it."

☆ Magazine he frequently read: Da Vinci. "I just casually flip through it, but it’s interesting."

☆ Favorite TV show: Live camera of night views. "I like watching it alone, zoning out."

☆ Favorite movie: Jurassic Park. "The first movie in the series is amazing."

☆ Favorite song: "CALL ME" by YOSHII LOVINSON.

☆ Favorite celebrity: "The comedian I'm into right now, New York." ( New York (ニューヨーク) is a Japanese comedy duo.)

☆ What makes him happy: Anything that feels good (self-censorship).

☆ What makes him upset: Painful things (self-censorship).

☆ What he thinks his strength is: Calm, rational, realistic.

☆ What he thinks his weakness is: He likes to gamble and looking for a relationship that is difficult to predict. "I like gambling and tend to seek relationships that can't be predicted."

☆ What made him cry recently: “I haven’t cried in a while.”

☆ Favorite/best subject: P.E.

☆ Weak/least favorite subject: Math. "I don't get it at all."

☆ Ideal type:  Someone who doesn't seem to be bothered by a breakup. "Someone who doesn't seem like they'd be a hassle to break up with."

☆ Number of chocolates received from previous Valentine: 13. "I'm not that fond of chocolate."

☆ At what age he experiences first love: 7 years old. "I liked every girl in my class."

☆ The first time he got confessed to: “Generally, even if someone confesses to me, I don’t date them. I prefer being the one to confess. I like the challenge of making them fall for me.”

☆ Fixation: Waist, butt, lips, eyes. "Anything er*tic works."

☆ Average sleeping time: 7 hours.

☆ How he spend his holiday: “Look for someone to hang out with (either guys or girls) and just have fun.”

☆ When taking a bath, which part he washes first: Hair roots. "Because they're smelly from sweat."

☆ What he usually buy from the convenience store: Shin Ramyeon or Mongolian Tanmen Nakamoto cup noodles.

☆ What will he do if he received 100 million yen: "Live it up. Party until I run out of money."

☆ At what age he stops receiving presents from Santa: "Probably around 10 years old."

☆ What was his last wish from Santa: New soccer cleats.

☆ What will he do during his last day on Earth: "No plan, just spend the day randomly."

☆ Favorite historical figure: Uesegi Kenshin. "The war god who lived by honor, I really like him."

☆ If he hadn’t encountered soccer, what will he be doing: “I’d be a teacher. My class would be fun. It’d be super laid-back!”

☆ If he could only take one thing to a deserted island, what would it be: Acohol. “I’ll drink it when I turn 20! I’ll drink when I turn 20, okay!”

☆ If he had a time machine, would he go to the past or the future: The future. I want to see how Japanese soccer has evolved!”

* The crossed words are the changes made from twitter’s answer to the answer from Egoist Bible.

His original tagline:

日本サッカーが生まれ変わるための 愛空(おれ) は最後の壁だ!! "Aiku is (I'm) the final barrier for Japanese soccer to be reborn!!"

Last updated: 13/11/2024

note: i want to apologize in advance for any mistake made in the translation!

[popodoki]

Hey, teacher! Part. 7 (Catwin motorcycle au)

Warning: Esther Finch :'')

Getting dressed for a church picnic he does not want to attend, is easily the most depressing thing Edwin's done in a while. It feels like he's preparing for some sort of public execution. 

20 minutes into feeling sorry for himself, he resolves to snap out of it. There's nothing to say he even has to stay that long. He's a grown man, he can come up with an excuse to leave if he so chooses. Yes, he’s a grown man, so he needs to stop nodding at himself in the bathroom mirror. 

His nerves are getting the best of him, as they so often do, he massages his temples to expel the stress headache that's forming. He can feel his mood darkening with each passing moment, if he doesn't get it under control, he'll be miserable company for the entire day.   

The weather’s predicted to stay a bit chilly, so he dresses in charcoal slacks, paired with a deep navy dress shirt. No (bow)tie today, 5 days a week for school is enough. He matches a black pair of shoes with a grey overcoat, inspects the outfit in the mirror. Dark, yes. More suited for winter.  But he really only owns muted colors. Oranges, bright reds and light browns don't really make an appearance in his wardrobe, which probably contributes to his reputation as a cranky recluse.  Besides being reclusive and cranky, of course.  

He splashes a bit of hair treatment around to shape his hair, running a comb through it until he looks presentable. Well, he thinks, with a final nod. Now, or never.   

The Port Townsend Church is only two miles from his house, so Edwin opts for the method of getting there that will take the longest; walking. He barely remembers at the last second, to give a wave goodbye to Thomas in the driveway, the short motion of his hand as absent as the stray thought of how near domestic the quick action was. Edwin strides just a bit more briskly until he rounds the corner of the street. He walks more leisurely after, until he sees the church looming in the distance, tall, traditional, cold. It was built when the town was first settled all those years ago,  has remained a major landmark ever since. With every excuse they can feasibly come up with, the social and political elite file in and around, to see and more importantly be seen by others.  Esther Finch is very much recognized as holding a seat at the top of the hierarchy, though she has no official title to speak of.  

The church sits right in the center of town, in front of it a sprawling, meticulously maintained lawn, big enough to fit two whole soccer fields, or one extravagant picnic. Esther wasn't lying, the whole town has turned out for this event, en masse. The streets are lined with parked cars, the sidewalks crowded with those still arriving, the air smells of barbecued food, grease, and sugar from the cotton candy machine. 

Immediately, Edwin spots a few of his students, their parents. They greet him with warm smiles, some of them are even genuine.  

The picnic is quite loud and crowded, Edwin can feel a general unease settling in his gut. He was never extremely fond of crowds, in a town like this, a crowd tends to mean no escape: you just have to grin and bear it.  

In his peripheral vision, he spots a large, immaculate picnic table, clearly the one Esther has claimed for herself, surrounded by her group of disciples. They're all there, with cocktails, no food in sight, expensive handbags laid out on the table, in sight. They are all wearing the latest fashions, perfectly tailored, made up to an exquisite degree. Wax statues couldn’t peer with their skin. Esther perches in the middle of the nest, her blonde hair done up high, her makeup startling, violent. They all look to her with adoration, laughing when she laughs, leaning in close when she speaks, casting wary, judging eyes on all other attendants at the picnic.   

Oh God, she's spotted him. Edwin sees her faux-whisper to the table, and they all grin, eyeing him like a piece of meat, taking a synchronized sip from their respective drinks.   

“Edwin, darling!" Esther approaches, arms out, and he's forced into a half-hug, while she plants a kiss on each of his cheeks. "I'm so glad you could come, you really must join me at my table, the girls are just dying to talk to you." She insinuates an arm around his elbow, and begins to escort him across the green. 

"Mr. Payne, sir!"   

Oh thank God. 

Edwin stops in his tracks, probably too forcefully, because Esther stumbles a bit, though she manages to turn her sharp anger into a mildly perturbed look, all in a disturbing dangerously quick flash. Dashing across the field towards them, is none other than her own son, Monty Finch, so Edwin figures she’s hard pressed to show any real emotion, other than the perfectly palatable mix of proud and doting mother, beset by her beloved child, imploring her attention. 

"Mr. Payne, hello!" Monty practically chirps, a smile on his face. Edwin notes he barely glances at his mother. As such, the young man misses his mother’s exaggerated eye-roll, while he pulls out a familiar tome, but Edwin doesn’t need to be watching her face to know she’s displeased, with the way her nails dig into his elbow like talons. Undeterred, or simply used to surviving under extreme atmospheric pressure, Monty chatters on, his enthusiasm a very welcome distraction. Edwin leans over the boy’s shoulders, engages him, the most open interest he’s ever shown, as the teen asks him if he’s had a good day yesterday, while flipping through the pages of charts and notes, and did he notice any positive effect from Saturn’s position? When Edwin asks if Monty’d been so kind as to look up his horoscope, for the day, as he’s quite curious, the young man beams at him over his shoulder, nails prick deeper in Esther’s clenching grip, and Edwin ignores her prim tutting, waits for Monty to flip through to the prepared page with an encouraging smile. 

Things should go extremely well for you today, Capricorn, so don't shy away from anything. In fact, take this opportunity to shine as brightly as you can! Crank up your battery and project yourself into the world. You'll find that your smile is contagious, so feel free to use it often. There's a great deal of power behind your self-confidence, enabling you to tackle just about every job with energy. 

“Well, that’s a rather good one, isn’t it? Thank you, Monty, I appreciate it.” Edwin offers, bringing his free hand down on the teen’s shoulders in a gentle squeeze. "You’re welcome, sir! Oh! Have you heard? Jenny got a C+ on her last lit test, she showed me her flash cards, the ones you proposed she make, and it was just so clever, I even learned a little myself!" 

"Imagine that." Esther coos, patience obviously run out, with a barely veiled tone of condescension. She has never approved of Ms. Green, probably because of the rumored divorce she slapped her husband with. It was a well-known fact that Esther did not approve of divorce; it personally offended her on some deep, emotional level, no matter the cause. "I pity that girl, growing up without a real fatherly influence." She turns as she speaks, none too gently tugging on Edwin’s arm. “At least she doesn’t have any brothers, imagine.” 

"They seem to be doing well enough," Edwin offers, struggling to keep the disgust out of his voice. He directs a parting smile and wave to Monty as Esther drags his feet over the grass.  

"Oh yes, they seem fine now, but when they grow up… Again, for the best it’s a girl, at least. Well, you know what happens to boys raised without a strong, masculine influence."  She raises her eyebrows. "It's just a natural fact, they grow up funny. You know." She pats his arm, sighs. 

The queasy feeling in his stomach has increased ten-fold by now. This is far worse than he thought it would be. By God, this woman is like a cartoon: how can one person be so wrong about so many things, so quickly? She makes it look effortless, to be filled with this much casual contempt for good people. And Edwin's about to sit with her, at her table, pretend to be satisfied by her company. He's a coward. He hates himself.   

At first, he thinks he's imagining the drone of an engine. But as it gets louder, Edwin realizes with a jerk that he recognizes the particular pitch, and isn’t that a revelation. Yes, it's Thomas's motorcycle, over there in the road. Pulling up to the curb, parking.   

His cheek-wide smile is barely roped back into a more appropriate expression of mild amusement.   

He can't believe Thomas is here.  

[struck-by-the-rain]

was inspired by a few other ppl on here to drop some of the kind of cringy tropey lore I made up about these 2,,, mostly how they met n stuff and how I personally see emm.... im v normal about them I prommy

maintagging this perhaps but it's under the read more so if u dgaf u can just look at the silly picture

ok sooo

they meet completely by accident because This Space Kicker In Particular (who I'm calling SK) gets a try again in space soccer and crash lands outside the karate family residence. he's fine though, probably because he's subject to cartoon physics or something (might rewrite this bit of the lore bc it's kinda goofy but it's the first thing I thought of).

v predictably they start out playing soccer together, like they take a ball to the park or whatever n just having a kick around. but they move on to hanging out in a non-soccer context pretty quickly. i imagine sk's really curious to see what earth is like (it's probably his first time there), like he's filled w whimsy and joy just to go to the cafe n stuff :) joe is meeting him behind seniors back!

sk isn't joes only friend - hes friends w yuka n the wandering samurai n a few others, but i don't know if he's actually close with them? partially because he's busy training, partially because he's quite a reserved person, n to me at least I think he struggles a lot with self-doubt/feeling inadequate for anyone around him (partially as a result of the way he was raised). not to get Angsty on main but I think he ascribes wayyy too much of his self worth on his training... I think he has a tendency to try and isolate himself from others, both physically and emotionally

sk is the opposite (tropey ik lmao) - he's v outgoing, silly n carefree almost to the point where he gets on people's nerves sometimes (he's cowboy sk's "annoying little brother" to me). I don't think he fully gets/realises exactly why joe is v reserved but I think he manages to grow close w him in spite of that... idk how to word it. but I think he's such a ray of sunshine he's able to break through whatever exterior joe has put up for himself (ik how cheesy that sounds but yeah)

ive made a post about this before but joe is v v v affection starved (because Basement) and does a terrible job at hiding it to the point where he just melts over the smallest things. sk meanwhile is suuuuuper physically affectionate so yeah

I haven't worked out exactly when this happens but I think they just kinda fall for each other over time, it takes a while for both of them to realise its mutual tho....

joe alsooo gets flustered veryyyy easily (source: karate man 2 ds superb screen). sk probs picks up on this right away lmao

im thinking sk is out here dropping the most obvious hints... but joe refuses to believe that sk would see him in that way. idk he probs does the wildest mental gymnastics assuming that sk is just being nice or it's like,,, a social norm up on his planet lmfao.

but yeah he eventually works it out too in the end... probably partially because he begins to learn to be a bit more confident in himself over time. i think they get to a point where they both v much know it's mutual but r too awkward to do anything about it/don't wanna mess up their close friendship/are too worried about the logistics/implications of living on other planets n senior. so they don't like acc Say anything or whatever for a while. but it's obvious n only gets worse over time lmfao. see the pic above the cut

blehhh silly thought but I hc sk to be besties with 6switcher who I think gets fed up of his shittt... like hes just like "Oh My God Please Just Tell Him. Like Please".

in my mind palace they end up going to the battle of the bands (joes a huge fan of the rockers but he's never been able to see them live before). and ummm after the concert they end up sitting outside live house ogu watching the stars together,,,, and u kno,,,, they kith.... woaw,,,,, but yeah I think because botb is the 1 time in game they "meet" (if u can even call it that) I thought it would be cute if it's where they end up getting together as a couple :)

hmmm like inconsequential shit unrelated to the main story but they find remix 9 cat as a stray kitten at some point during all of this n joe takes it in... i think I could do a follow up post about what happens next in the lore after botb because this is already mega long but they eventually end up living together on sk's planet and the cat comes w them :)

oh adding this on acc after I posted it, but I think when joe meets sk it's like,,, the first time in his life where he hasn't felt lonely...

[giggly-squiggily]

i just got into bluelock and im already in love with bachisagi

that one official art with bachira pinning down isagi with the massage gun is driving me INSANE omg, bachira is such a meanie to him but it's okay, isagi loves it

i bet bachira teases him about not being able to predict when he's gonna be attacked with tickles, "how could you not see what path i was going to take to tickle you? oo oo!!! what spot will i go to next isagi?"

i bet isagi is more romantic when it comes to tickling bachira tho, like he gives him so many tickly kisses to his jaw, neck, collarbone while spidering his hand up bachira's back,,,

ok im done,, sorry for rambling hdhshfj i just had Thoughts 😭

Anon you are FEEDING ME! 😭😭😭 (don’t apologize- keep on sharing your thoughts I love!)

AHH THE TEASING WJDNNWNSNS Isagi knew it was gonna happen but he’s at a point where he’s just: “It’s easier to let him do as he pleases vs try to argue” plus like you said he loves it so there’s that ahznnansns

Oh my god Bachira would try ALL the spots! It really only takes one tickle attack and Bachira knows every tickle spot on his man like the back of his hand whsnnwnsns he acts like he doesn’t sometimes and “rediscovers” a particularly bad spot and Isagi is born over it and also head over heels cause he loves the attention qjnsnwns

OH THAT’S SO- JANANSNWMZMMSMS Isagi is a klutz as a Lee, but as a Ler??? With BACHIRA? That man has the confidence he has when he’s playing the soccer field. All the little puzzle pieces fall into place as he’s kissing his neck and creeping his fingers along Bachira’s spine, taking note of which spots make him laugh more and what really gets his pulse racing. He’s so smooth with it, murmuring sweet nothings in his skin while Bachira’s losing it in laughter wjznwnnwnwnsnnw 😍😍😍😍😍😍

Thank you for sharing- and please continue rambling, I am HERE for it! 🤩🤩🤩🥰🥰🥰🥰💖

[ac-liveblogs]

Manshine City vs Bastard Munchen Part 2 "Oops I stopped Reading For Two Weeks" Edition

Last time: Nagi stood underneath Reo's window with a boombox and asked him to take him back. Reo, who swore he didn't need Nagi and was going to do this for HIMSELF, flings himself out the window.

I do like that Isagi is trying to master-mind the field 'oooh I can predict your every move!', theoretically Kaiser is doing the exact same thing, and they still fail to account for each other and completely fuck up their Pro Strats. I swear, Kaiser is just if the Isagi That Plays Soccer existed off the field as well as on it.

GOD Reo's inner monologue. "We split up once... we followed different paths..." ONE it's been like a month absolute tops TWO I maintain that Reo and Nagi exist in a totally different genre than the rest of the cast.

(Tbh I'm a little disappointed the Reo-Nagi drama seems to have resolved so easily, though there might still be tension outside of the field. I doubt Nagi's going to try and split up with Reo again at this point. Gotta wrap up these character arcs and move on, save the real meat for Episode Nagi in 4 years. Which is a shame, because given how batshit things were back in Blue Lock Reo absolutely Losing It was one of the things I was looking forward to most. What, he can't be too crazy in the insane soccer manga?)

Kaiser and Isagi, you two are my only hope... I need a murder attempt, c'mon...

I don't know enough about soccer to say if a two-stage volley is an 'insane, godly move' but I think a 5-stage anything has got to be pretty impressive. Who knew Nagi could be bothered to count that high. (I know Nagi didn't actually punt Isagi in the face but it sure looked like it, I was taken aback for a second.)

I love the way Nagi's 'ego' manifests on the pitch too, it's great. Gets really hyped up for a little bit of a game, gets super intense, trashtalks like a champ, I am a GOD routine, scores an absolutely insane fucking goal, goes 'yep that's all I wanted' and powers down mid-game. It's not over yet but he did what he came for! He's just like me forreal

"If not for the simple fact that Nagi doesn't know how to play this game, he would be unstoppable!!!" - Reo Mikage, probably

Agi... Reo... guys... chill

Chris' absolute lack of class is the funniest thing about him. This match is being televised, don't go calling your opponent a slut again.

Isagi "I have every tool I need to beat Kaiser except actually being better at this game than him!" Yoichi

Noa's just watching his team burn around him like "hmm. Excellent."

Chigiri throwing his hat into the 'dumb eye power' ring with a truly outstanding entry.

I know Kunigami is in this game, it just really doesn't feel like Kunigami is in this game. The match is losing track of Chigiri as well, I got a little surprised when he popped back up. I know the lack of synergy is on purpose due to the 'every man's either out for himself or the guy he's mentally ill about' aspect/'build your team around the striker' philosophy, but it does make the teams feel really uneven when the only characters that tend to matter are the Strikers + whoever's supporting them at the moment. It wasn't so bad when they were playing with limited teams, but right now half the teams feel like total space filler.

(The whole 'guaranteed shot' thing feels a bit... insulting to the concept of goalies/defense players too. I don't know much about soccer but it does feel like a major dick move LOL. To be fair, Gagamaru is not a goalie. Does Bastard Munchen not have a goalie better at goal-keeping than 'guy with hard head that doesn't play this role normally'.)

But yeah seriously Kunigami went to an ambiguous soccer torture camp to get his whole personality destroyed and for what. This? He doesn't even get to pretend to be the biggest threat on the field for even one game. Give that man a refund. Or at least some free therapy.

"go... the world's most random shot... even i don't know where it's going!!!" that is NOT impressive that's what i do every time I kick a ball. maybe i should be a pro soccer player. i could beat noel noa

Isagi has some nerve being shocked that Yukimiya is sabotaging him because ~they're on the same team~ yeah okay whatever dude and what was your end-goal here again

man, these matches just keep getting longer and longer despite the fact that they're aiming for way less goals...

[bropunzeling]

Matthew/Leon - hands

Leon likes to touch.

It's not something Matthew predicted, but maybe he should have. On the ice, Leon showed no qualms about throwing his weight around; trying to throw Matthew around, too. Got his fist in Matthew's jersey often enough. It tracks that he would want to get his hands on Matthew off the ice, too.

Except --

If it were just during sex, Matthew would get it. That's how sex works. That's how sex with them works: the nails digging into skin, the searing heat of Leon's palm against the side of his ribs, the strength of his grip when he hauls Matthew in. Matthew pushes, and Leon pulls, and somehow they find equilibrium.

But not long after they started this, it started happening outside the bedroom. Touching the back of Matthew's neck in an elevator. Brushing a thumb under the hem of Matthew's t-shirt sleeve before he leans in for a kiss. Rubbing the small of Matthew's back when he gets them both a beer from the fridge.

It's starting to drive Matthew crazy.

Like now, sitting on Leon's couch in January, sipping a post-sex beer that he accepted to be polite and watching -- fuck if he knows. Some soccer game that Leon gives a shit about and he doesn't. The score is tied at nothing. It's deathly boring. He should've left an hour ago.

Would've, too, except for the casual hand barely touching his shoulder, fingertips hot through the cotton of his t-shirt. It's nothing, and yet Matthew's pinned in place.

"Shit," Leon says as something happens. God knows what. The screen is blurring in Matthew's vision. He's not sure what he wants. For Leon to let go of him, so he can finally leave. For Leon to press down, to actually touch him, instead of leaving him here in limbo. It's like a parody of high school, the old yawn and stretch, getting a hand around the shoulders of a girl you like, except Matthew's not a girl Leon likes, he's a guy Leon loves to hate. It's what you'd do if you were dating, except what he and Leon are doing is the furthest thing from that. If Leon keeps him like this any longer, Matthew's going to crawl out of his skin.

"Shit," Leon says again, leaning forward. The press of his arm against Matthew's back burns. His palm flattens against Matthew's shoulder, fingers digging into Matthew's bicep. The new pressure makes Matthew suck in a breath, but Leon doesn't seem to notice.

Something happens -- Matthew couldn't say what if there was a gun pressed against his skull. Good, apparently; Leon sags back into the couch. His hand relaxes, shifting on Matthew's shoulder, closer to his neck. His thumb brushes against the column of Matthew's throat.

Matthew needs to leave. Should have left. Curfew's soon. He doesn't like this beer. He doesn't care about this game. The longer he's here, the more he's going to think about if this means anything.

Matthew sits there, and lets himself be touched.