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#The Shot heard around the world in 2021
dreamauri · 4 months
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hii!! i love your writing and i have an idea. toto wolff’s daughter used to date max but they broke up (bc yk mercedes and redbull rivalry) and she starts dating a footballer (it can be anyone that you want but i was thinking mason mount), but out of nowhere they break up and he shares in a podcast idk that shes still in love with her ex, max. id love to see how this would end 🫶🏻
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┊𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗦 ┇︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦˚₊   ┇ . 🌿 :: pairing — ( max verstappen x fem! wolff! reader ) ┇ . 🫧 :: ⁠genre — ( angst )  ┇ . 🌿 :: ⁠word count — ( 2, 104 )  ╰ 🫧  :: ⁠ content warning — ( X )
★ ☆ This was from like august, im so sorry its so late. ik the annon said anson mount, but i dont really know his personality that well, so you can just imagine any person you want ig ━━━━━
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( main master list | more of max verstappen ) ( requests )
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2021
Everything was so blurry. You could see the illumination coming from your phone, little blurry grey and blue texts. You couldn't feel your body, ragged, unsteady breaths falling to and from your lungs.
"Block him. And delete his number. I don't want you to go out with him or be seen with him ever again." Your father's strong voice was the only sound in the room. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, but he wouldn't even look at you, rubbing his eyes as he sat on the bed of your hotel room.
Too many things were happening at once. This wasn't fair. This was wrong. "Aber papa." [but dad] "My words are final, Y/N." He spoke with such authority and strictness, you hated it when he was like that with you. Looking back down at you phone, you saw the 'seen' under the last bubble of text you sent.
Panic shot through you like a sharp arrow, hurt climbing through you. Scrambling quickly, you block the number and delete the contact. You couldn't bare to see the reaction or the reply. And you stood like that for a few minutes, the world falling apart as Toto talked. But you weren't listening. And you didn't want to listen. You didn't want to hear his voice.
And before you were to even realize it, you'd smashed the phone against the wall.
You tore the Mercedes shirt off your body, replaced it with a random sweater, stomping around the room, collecting your things. "What are you doing?" Toto stood up, watching you stuff you belongings in your bag. He held your wrist to stop you but you only yanked your arm back, shouting something at him, anything at him.
Toto was defiantly taken aback. He's never seen his little girl like this. Eyes red with tears, yet so angry. He never even thought he'd hear such hurtful words from you either. No father ever wants to hear 'i hate you' from their daughter, and it hurt right in his chest. You shoved the Mercedes shirt in chest, zipping up your bag and headed straight for the door.
"My love—" "Ich bin keine tochter von dir." [I'm no daughter of yours] Was the last thing he heard from you before the door was slammed shut.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
2023
The Las Vegas GP had truly ruined the city. Max couldn't even have a nice drive from his hotel to the circuit in peace. The traffic was heavy and the honking was loud. At this point if max could, he'd just dump the car in any corner and walk the few kilometres himself. But he couldn't. And this added another reason as to why he hated this Grand Prix so much.
Try something else, he told himself. Disconnect. Max turned on the radio flipping through the channels every two seconds when his ear caught something. His stomach was flipped upside down and he was pretty sure he felt like his lungs would explode.
"You broke up with Y/N L/N recently." "Yeah, I have." "But she was such a nice girl." "She is. She really is. She wasn't clingy or needy. Like the perfect amount." "And beautiful as well." "Very beautiful, if you get what i mean." The men on the podcast laughed. Max felt him self frown. How dare they talk about you like this was some sort of goldy locks story.
"Yeah, She's perfect and all. But she's really hung up on her ex. You didn't even have to ask her, you could just look at her and tell that she wanted something else. I'm not going to say names, but the guy really fucked her up."
fucked her up? Max felt his heart skip a beat, or even more likely, it stopped beating at all. He turned the radio off quickly, gripping the steering wheel till his knuckles bled white. Of course he had fucked you up, no wonder things went the way they did. They shouldn't have went that way. He should've never gotten his rival team's boss' daughter to fall for him.
No! What was Max thinking? The months he spent with you were the best things that have ever happened to him. It wasn't his fault. How would he know the Mercedes and Red Bull relationship would grow so bitter. How would he knew you'd be caught in the cross fire. He spends one winter break with you and then it all rips to shreds.
Was that why you changed your Last name? So he wouldn't find you? Must've been since it did work in your favour.
Y/N L/N.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Y/N L/N, Max thought as he typed the name into google. Your face was the first thing to pop up and Max had to hold down a gulp.
You definitely grew up. The playful and bubbly aura to the girl had almost completely dissipated, leaving a quiet and mature woman who looked very serious and uninterested, with a defiantly much more womanly body, enough to get you on the cover of vogue.
"You okay, mate?" Max looked up seeing Checo. They were gonna do the opening ceremony at any moment and the world champion did not look like he was in his head. Max quickly swiped off the tab and shrugged. "Nothing, just some drama." The blond waved it off, tucking the phone in his pocket.
The teams were being announced, starting with HAAS all the way up in the constructor ranking. "I never took you for a person to be interested in drama and stuff." Well, Checo was correct: Max wasn't into that kind of thing. He just happened to stalk his ex by accident since he couldn't get the thought of her out of his head.
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"You lied to me." You huffed, stuffing your hands in your pockets, refusing to take a step further. "I didn't lie to you, technically. I just didn't tell you." Your friend shrugged, hooking her arm with yours and forcefully pulling you along while you tried to resist. "I don't want to be here, you tricked me." "I did."
It was certainly a sight. Lady gaga dragging Y/N L/N at the paddock of the Las Vegas GP. "The cars dont bite, N/N." "Yeah! That's because I'll be the one biting you!" The woman quickly let go of you at the threat. You went to walk out only to find people looking at you with exited and confused eyes. The exit was now too far.
With a dissatisfied sigh, you held out your hand and Lady Gaga took it, continuing to pull you along. "Today's just the race. So we'll watch. We'll wave the flag and then we'll leave." "I'm not waving the flag." "I'll do it."
You folded your arms, watching from the bottom of the grid on the side as the drivers arrived on the grid. The cars were lined up with car #16 and #1 on the top row, thankfully far away from you. Thankfully, the Mercedes were also far enough as well. You definitely wouldn't stand out in some non-flashy hoodie and shorts. You would've dressed better if you knew you were going to end up being forced into this.
People didn't really notice you at all, more concentrated on the drivers and celebrities. But they soon did notice you, a celebrity being pointed at by a driver. 'No way' Danny ric mouthed, face bright with surprise, a wide smile and arched eyebrows. He waved you over, and waved even harder when you shook your head in decline. You didn't want to appear rude. So you stood to his side, side hugging him as he rambled on about how much you missed. And you listened. You couldn't hate danny. he was like a big brother since f1 was practically your life.
"You should've told me you were coming, ya know." "I didn't even know I was coming." You chuckled, looking around.
FUCK! you looked away quickly, cutting the eye contact with Max short. Bad idea. Very bad idea. You thought, heart hammering in your chest.
"He still loves you." "Huh?" You looked up at Daniel confused. "Max." "no no." you shook your head. "He does." "he doesn't." "He was searching you up." You paused. "I saw it, your name on google." "That's called stalking—" "But he still thinks of you." "good point . . ." "You should think about it, considering how things ended. I think you should at least be on the same page." ". . . thank you danny."
★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
"Oh shit." You looked at gaga confused. "Hold this for a second, something's in my eye." She handed you the chequered flag, more like shoved it into your chest while she went to fix her eyelash.
"A little faster." Your hurried, hearing the cars come around turn 17. But gaga took a step back continuing to try and fix her issue. With a huff, you stepped forward, leaning your body on the railing, waving the flag just in time for Max who crossed first.
When all the cars finished the last lap you finally took a step back, flexing your wrist tiredly from doing all these Xs. You turned to see Gaga smiling at you, her eyelashes long forgotten because there wasn't an issue all along.
"You suck." You grumbled, and she laughed taking the flag from you. And just like that, finally you were able to get out of there. The crowds were too busy watching the podium ceremony to see you exit and leave through the parking lot.
You plopped in your car, turning on the engine. You couldn't bring yourself to drive out though. The excuse would be that the engine was still not warm enough. But really, you didn't want to leave behind those blue eyes again. they deserve an explanation for what they read that night two and a half years ago. But it's not like max would know you're waiting for him, or find you if that's the case. How would he know you're waiting for him in your car?
Well however he knew, he knew. The passenger door was opened and the Dutch man sat in the seat next you. You didn't even realize he had been looking for you throughout the whole parking lot, hoping to see you again. You've been looking down at your hands for goodness knows how long. You only looked up one you heard him cup his hands together and blow into them.
You cleared your throat, turning the seat warmer on for him. He must've gotten used to the warm Monaco weather for a cold city like this. The two of you sat in silence for a couple minutes. You didn't dare to look back at him, because you knew he was looking at you. And if you looked at him, who knows what would happen next because for sure you're still fucking dying to kiss him.
"Max, I'm sorry." / "Y/N, I'm sorry."
The two of you froze, looking at each other. "You go first." Max nodded.
You took in a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. "I didn't mean to end things that way." and i didn't want it to end, you wanted to add but opted to leave that out. "Torger barged in my room and told me to end it right then and there. I didn't really have a say in anything." You sighed deeply, scratching the back of your neck. A moment of silence dawned in the car until Max spoke again.
"That explains the spelling mistakes." he chuckled lightly, opening his phone and scrolling through until he found your message chat. You could see the 'ts pver' and 'domt tezt or tqlj to me wver afqin' messages at the bottom. an un received message holding the words 'wait what?' 'baby whats going on' you never saw these messages, you'd blocked him by then.
"We should've talked." You admitted. "In person- discussed things. This wasn't fair to you . . . I really am sorry. I should've never let someone take control of me like that. I ended up hurting you."
". . . I always thought you hated me." You sprung up eyes wide as you turned to him. "No no. Never." You shook your head. You weren't even over him. "I don't hate you, I never did, Max. You're too amazing and important to me for that." You didn't even realize the words coming out of your mouth.
The words that led the blond to cup the back of your neck and pull you into a kiss. A kiss he'd been waiting almost 3 years for.
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sillylotrpolls · 7 months
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Sansûkh, a 577k-word fic retelling Lord of the Rings from the point of view of Thorin and the Dead Dwarf Peanut Gallery, has the most hits, kudos, comments, and bookmarks of any LotR fanfic on Archive of our Own. (It also has the most hits, comments, and bookmarks for the Hobbit, but not kudos; that honor goes to A Shot in the Dark if you want to ruin your sleep cycle for a couple days.)
Author determamfidd began writing the fic in June of 2013, and finally wrapped up the main story almost exactly eight years later in 2021. So if you ever dipped your toes in the world of Hobbit/LotR fanfic (and weren't against the fic's main pairings of Thorin/Bilbo and Legolas/Gimli), odds are pretty good you read at least a chapter or two.
So now I'm curious. Have you read Sansûkh? Would you like an excuse to talk about it? Did you barely sleep until you'd finally read every word? Did Thorin realizing why he was adding pretty flower patterns to Hobbit-sized pans make you need to stop and take a minute? Then this poll's for you!
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elixrr · 1 year
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Simpy Xiao One-Shot
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Semi-ooc Xiao x GN!Reader
Synopsis... Xiao confesses his love to you. A brainrot that's been rotting my brain, but it's just Xiao trying his best with you to confess, but fails and succeeds in the same time.
Author's note... Xiao has been occupying my brain since 2021. This is not okay, but I'm not complaining bc I love Xiao from the bottom of my idiot heart <3
Warnings... None, really. Just tooth-rotting fluff from stupidly cute brainrots I've had of him (mwahahahahhaa) oh, but also angst if you squint just hard enough that your eyes are quite literally closed. Oh, and a mini argument :')
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“Xiao,” he heard you. He heard you— your voice, it rings within his head, from side to side to kiss on both his ears. Your voice was always meaningful to him. He could almost get lost in it, the way the syllables would be spelled out so greatly from you like a—
“Xiao?” You spoke once more, louder and clearer than before. Ah. He got lost in the thought of you again. Swiftly, with a flashy smoke of teal and black, he arrived right by your side, where he wanted to stay.
“You called?” Despite his words, he already knew why you called. It's always for the same reasons. To spend time with him. To do things with him. To be with him.
“Of course I did. What days do I not?”
Xiao tried to recount the days in which you've never even uttered his name. How many years ago was that? It's almost astounding how many years you've been friends with him at this point.
But it's almost as astonishing that he hasn't even confessed his love for you yet.
But never mind that, Xiao cleared his hazy mind full of fond memories with you, who replaces every other memory of his karmic debt, the agonizing presence of death that continues to pry at his sanity each passing day.
But you replenish all of that. His lost dreams, his lost hopes, and his lost world. You returned all of that to him, replenished and renewed. You, it's always you. You, who—
“Xiao, is something the matter?” You tangled his hair around your finger. The closeness had his face flushed with the pink of a peony. “You've been quite out of it lately.”
“I– I'm..?” Fine. Fine is what he wanted to say. But the words died down in his throat. All he could focus on was your features up close. You've been his friend for so long, but it's rare for you to get close to him, let alone come into contact with him. He's nervous, not just because physical contact with him is outright dangerous, but because you're just– just to close to him, and you don't even pay an ounce of attention to that. You're toying with his hair so naturally, as if it's nothing special, like it's nothing out of the ordinary— like you two were dating.
Oh, what a fantasy that would be. Xiao's hand intertwined with yours, laying in a field of grass and blooming flowers, you blabbering on about anything and everything, just like you always do. But this time, maybe you'd hug him. Run a finger or a few through his hair. Maybe you'd even kiss him. Or even do that thing that humans would do on the occasion out in the open, that thing called “cuddling”. Xiao blushes at the thought. You're already so close to him, but if you were even closer, arms wrapped around him, snuggled oh-so close? He could hardly take the thought without feeling weak to the knees.
“You're...? Okay, so, you're clearly not fine, if you were going to say that. So, here. Sit down with me, you can tell me what's happening in that restless life you've got there.” You, with a soft and low voice, whispered into his ear.
“O– Okay.” Xiao sat himself down right next to you, albeit a little closer than he intended, but still close nonetheless. Damnit, he hopes deep down and past his adeptal bones that you don't suspect a thing about him liking you.
“Alright, so something is up. If you're comfortable, you can tell me. I'm all ears.”
“Your invitation is tempting,” Xiao weens with an internal scoff, all while slipping his gaze elsewhere. “But I can't tell you anything.”
“You shouldn't need to know that I...” Ah. He let that part slip out. Albeit in a blushful whisper, but he could only pray to Rex Lapis that you didn't actually hear that.
Oh, but of course you did.
“Well, we've been friends for, like, forever! Or, uh, my forever, but you get the gist of it. Xiao, if something's wrong, you know you could tell me, I—”
“BUT WHAT IF I JUST CAN'T TELL YOU?!”
Xiao bellowed at you, having you flinch at the sudden response. That was unintentional, as told by the way he covered his mouth with his hand and the way his golden wide eyes would stare at you, heavy with guilt.
“Oh. Well, if you can't tell me, then I shouldn't pry on it. Sorry about that.”
“I– no, I should apologize. I didn't... mean to..”
Woah, wait. What's going on?
Xiao got quiet. The words, once more, were killed down his throat. He needed to get out of there quickly. But he couldn't teleport— he couldn't think of where to go at that moment, he envisioned a scornful look on your face when you stared at him. Do you hate him now? Will you suddenly give up on him? He just can't accept that, not after he found out that he was in love. He can't go back now, he realizes. He can't be used to the cold loneliness anymore, you've become a part of his life, a major part, he can't let go now! Why, oh why?! Why did he–
“Hey. Shh. Xiao, hey. I'm not mad, I'm not upset.”
Xiao opened his eyes. Everything was glassy and blurred. He rubbed his eyes— tears stained his gloves. Was he crying? In front of you? He tried to turn away, but then he felt your arms wrap around him delicately, like he was as fragile as glass. How could he escape now? You enveloped him in your arms, and he knows it's obvious that he's calmed down after that.
“Please... Don't go. Don't leave yet, I— I love you too much to let you go.”
He didn't mean for that last part to slip out, but even so, he nearly fell unconscious under your arms, feeling them squeeze around him as he confessed. Still. Of all times, why now? Why, when he's most vulnerable in your arms?
“It's okay, it's okay. You know, I love you too. I always have, but I never guessed those feelings were returned.” You took his hand in yours and smiled, looking into his soft, loving, yet teary eyes.
“Of course they were returned. I loved you for so long, I... didn't even know it.” Xiao's eyes stared back into yours, your tender eyes full of honesty. His hand squeezing yours slightly, a gesture to show that all his words were true. He watched your other hand wipe his remaining tears away, and he smiled.
Xiao smiled for you.
“Then... May I?” Xiao's face flushed a bright rosey red, seeing you inch closer and closer to him, filling in the gap of air that lay between you two.
Xiao stuttered, his heart screamed yes, but his head was going into overdrive and he didn't know what to say. Even if he did, there's no way he could form a sentence now.
But you waited. Your lips, slightly parted, were only centimeters from his own, awaiting his consent.
“P– please. Do so.”
And you crashed your lips into his, and as if roses bloomed beneath you both in place of the Inn's roof, he was dropped into eternal bliss.
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Likes, reblogs, and shares are appreciated! <3
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jv · 1 year
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So, the The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, IPCC, the group of international experts that the UN has set up to study Climate Change, launched their last report a few days ago. And things are increasingly grim. You can read the summary of the summary here. These are the key points:
The planet already warmed 1.1ºC from the pre-industrial (1850-1900) average as a direct consecuence of human activities.
At the current point, it's impossible to avoid getting to 1.5ºC raise already. That's already unavoidable.
It's going to be very hard to not surpass 2ºC.
The policies being adopted worldwide are inconsistent and insuficient.
To limit the heating to 1.5ºC (which, I must say, 15 years ago was considered "the worst scenario we could shot for") we need the WORLDWIDE CO2 emissions to be cut down by 43% ... by 2030. And 85% by 2050.
And now is where I need to give you some context. Even with the climate policies that have been implemented around the world in the last few years, the global CO2 emission have NEVER gone down consistently. We are just slowing down the rate at which they grow. Even in 2020, with the ... you know, global economy coming to a halt for months, the emissions only got down by 5% from 2019 levels. And in 2021, they went up to the same level again:
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To avoid going overshooting a 1.5ºC raise by the end of the century, we need to cut down emissions to ... 1971 levels. In 6 years and a half. That's stepping on the brake pedal HARD, and NOW. Fuck.
FUCK.
Now, a still hard but more feasible scenario is "we don't manage to reduce emissions, but manage to stop them from keep growing and keep the current levels" (again, we are FAR from even achieving that, emissions keep growing every year, at a quick pace). That's what the IPCC calls the SSP2-4.5 scenario. And ... that would mean about a 3ºC raise by the end of the century:
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I'm not exagerating when saying that a 3ºC scenario may not put at risk the human existence, but it seriously put at risk the survival of literal billions of people and would mean the end of our global civilization as we know it. Why? because of this, also from the report:
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The first bit is scary AS hell. If you haven't heard about the wet-bulb effect, it's one of the most scary thing I've ever read about. Long story short, when our bodies overheat, they use sweat to cool down. The sweat on our skin evaporates, and by doing it, it cools our skin and cool our overall body temperature. Now, the sweat takes more time to evaporate when the external humidity is high, to a point where if the humidity is too high, it doesn't evaporate at all. So if the ambiental humidity is high, our bodies can't cool down effectively.
And this is the scary part: If the external temperature is too high, and the humidity is too high, your body gets heated by the ambiental heat, but can't cool itself down by sweating. So at a certain point... your body just shut down and you die. It doesn't matter how young or healthy you are: That only change how long of exposure to extreme conditions takes to bring you down, but you die anyway.
Now take a look at this:
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The number up there is the projections of how many days per year where the combination of external temperature and humidity would make human life impossible. Even at 1.7ºC warming, some of the most populated areas of the planet (coastal India, south Asia, Phillipines, Java, etc) will be uncompatible with human life for half the year. That's a couple of billion people that either relocate or die. And that's with the absurdly optimistic expectation that we can go back to 1971 emission levels in ten years or so.
And then it's the second part, the food production impacts. At 1.7ºC, the corn production of US and China will be down by about 15%.
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At 3ºC? by 30-35%. Any other crop you can think about is in the same situation. This means famines. Famines as they have never been seen in recorded human history (as they are not caused by puntual events like pests, weather or mismanagement: They will be structural, permanent).
And folks, this is not politics, this is not being paranoid. This is a group of scientists doing peer-reviewed science. This is not "we think this may happen", this is "Given X then there's a 95% of probabily for Y to happen". And let's remember, this reports have been going on since the 90s, and for the last 30 years their forecast of temperature changes HAVE BEEN FUCKING ON POINT.
And not, it's not being alarmist or pesimist to talk about the 3ºC increase and its effects. At this point? it's BEING FUCKING OPTIMIST. Because we are not even on track to limit the warming to the level that would mean several billion humans death by the end of the century. We are not even in track to that.
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Ok Here's my Big Long Rant About Chloe Gong's Books
So I discovered These Violent Delights towards the end of 2021, just before Our Violent Ends came out. My ex-girlfriend recommended it (funny enough she also got me into Taylor Swift. She was super toxic and later cheated on me but she had pretty good taste all around) and I had heard of it before so I decided to give it a shot. I settled into bed that night, planning to read a chapter or two, and three hours later, I had finished the book and probably almost screeched at the cliffhanger, and then began the agonizing wait (it probably wasn't more than a month, but still) for OVE.
The entire time, I could not stop thinking about how much I loved these characters. The relationships seemed authentic and fleshed-out and every character was so unique, and it was just so well-written. I especially remember being completely obsessed with Juliette (hence the username) and loving Benedikt and Marshall, although I was so so worried it was going to be queerbait.
When OVE came out, I got it out of the library and once again read it one night. This time, I was in tears by the end. To this day, only 2 books have made me cry (the other being They Both Die at the End) and OVE is the only one that has made me cry every time. They became my new obsession almost instantaneously, and when Foul Lady Fortune was announced, I was completely ecstatic.
When FLF was released, I went to the book tour and actually got to meet Chloe Gong. I was fangirling out of my entire mind and was probably super embarassing, but she was super funny and down-to-earth. I cried (again) in the parking lot as soon as I stepped outside. A few months later, she announced Last Violent Call, and when I found out that Roma and Juliette were alive, I actually fell on the floor. I went to the Immortal Longings book tour, although I sadly couldn't go to the FHH one, and I'm currently scheming up ways to get tickets for Vilest Things (Miss Chloe, please come to Philly again, I don't know if I can drag my mom to New York twice).
There are so many reasons why this series is so unebelievably important to me. First of all, the queer representation is honestly unlike anything I've ever seen. The queer characters are fully fleshed out and have personalities and arcs outside of their queer identities, but their queerness is also not a footnote or shoved in for "diversity points." When Benmars became canon and got their "Because I love you!" moment I was in complete shock--I honestly hadn't allowed myself to hope for it to happen. As the queer representation carried over into FLF, I just grew more and more overjoyed with this series. These books also came to me right when I needed them. LVC particularly came out during a very difficult and stressful time in my life, where my mental health was very bad. I remember thinking to myself all week, "Just hold on until LVC comes out," and it really helped me push through that period of time.
Chloe Gong was also pretty much a realization of my dreams. I knew I wanted to be an author for a while, but I really had no idea how to get there. I always thought, "Go to college for something you don't entirely hate, get a real job for about 10 years, then you can start publishing books." Seeing someone only a few years older than me with the same dreams as mine succeed in bringing them to life has been almost a lifeline over the years. I'm no longer as scared of what my future holds, or whether or not I'll be happy with my life. I honestly read her blog posts about her publishing journey probably once a month, just to keep myself motivated, because if she can do it, so will I.
So thank you so much @chloegong for this amazing world you have created. These books really mean the world to me and have brought so many amazing people into my life, and I can't imagine who I would be without them. This is way too long and way too personal, but I just reread FHH and was deep in the SS feels, so I had to get it all out there.
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val-made-a-mistake · 1 year
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❝the garrison rat❞ CHP 14
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THE FINAL CHAPTER
previous
summary: torn apart by an unexpected loss, you find yourself unable to leave birmingham. you’re aware that people notice you drinking in the garrison every other night, you’re aware they call you nicknames, but you don’t care about any of it— at least, not until you start speaking to john shelby. he’s looking for a wife and you vowed to never love again, which makes things a bit complicated.
warnings: smut, cocaine usage, infidelity, angst, brief mention of prostitution...if you’ve made it this far you’re probably not going to be surprised by anything in this chapter
word count: 5.6k
tag list: @datewithgianni @1950schick @clementinesjourney @cbouvier23@smailaway @cedricscoffin @buckysjuicyplums @belledawnidk @wandering-poetess @bobafett-tea​ @esposadomd​ 
a/n: holy shit, where do i even start??? it’s hard to believe that a one-shot turned fic series i only wrote as a distraction because i was mad that my movie date got cancelled got here today. thank you all for the support since september 2021, because the amount of people who have enjoyed this series and keysmashed over it and dmed me to say that they stayed up all night reading it is crazy, you guys blew me tf away. i’m kissing you all five times and doing the Hand Squeeze™ with everyone who has supported me over the past five hundred something days TGR has existed. i would gladly make plans to run away to paris with you. :)
//////
“Are you running away? Because it really looks like you’re running away.”
Your suitcase shut with a sharp SNAP. “It’s only temporary. And you keep your mouth shut about this, you hear me?”
Esme held up her hands like you were pointing a gun at her. “Okay, okay, I just really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It’s only temporary,” you muttered to yourself, preoccupied again as you shoved another cigarette into your mouth, your fifth of the evening. You were refusing to voice your thoughts aloud: you were already thinking about finding a new place to be from. “London’s not that far away from here, is it?”
“You have no family in London, and no friends,” Esme replied. “Y/N, just stop packing the goddamn suitcase.”
You snorted as you lit your cigarette. “It’s funny how no one around here gets that there’s a whole world outside of Small Heath.”
“Yeah, and there’s a whole world of rock bottoms outside of Small Heath,” Esme shot back, flat and unconvinced. “You gravitate towards shitholes, y’know. You’re only just gonna make life worse for yourself all over again.”
“I need to get out of here,” you repeated stubbornly, exhaling a thin plume of smoke. “For just a week.”
“Jesus Christ, Y/N, this is going to go terribly,” Esme muttered under her breath, absently pouring a miniscule amount of the powdery white substance she had in a tiny vial onto her knuckle. “How are you not thinkin’ of the kids? Fuckin’ four of them and John still doesn’t know how to take care of them.”
You barely heard her; you were staring at the vial of cocaine.
You almost hesitated, but pointed at the table. “Bring it over here.”
Esme gave you a weird look, and there was a tense beat that made you think she wasn’t going to do it, but she pressed her knuckle to her nostril and sniffed with barely a flinch, then poured out a jagged line for you on the table behind her.
“Y/N, I…”
“It’s fine.”
You were already searching your back pockets for a bill, or some kind of thin object that could be rolled into a cylinder.
It didn’t feel good to do it, but one last time couldn’t hurt, right? You were a changed woman now, and you could control yourself - no matter how badly you wanted just another line, like you already knew you would.
Your freshly lit cigarette still burning between your two fingers, you rolled up the bill into a tight cylinder with the precision of someone who had done it hundreds of times before, leaned over the desk, and sniffed up a thin line of cocaine.
Like always, it hit you all at once, like a bolt of lightning. Oh, God.
And then everything became clear.
If there was one think you knew, it was that you were getting out of Small Heath tonight.
“Barely hit,” you muttered, looking up at Esme with dilated eyes. “Can I see the vial, please?”
//////
John was deep in the forest again, his bare feet caked in mud and moss and leaves, and he was going out of his mind with want.
“I miss you,” Martha purred like some long-lost, ethereal creature, and her cold, dainty hand glided around his shoulder. She had been circling him for the past ten minutes and yet her footsteps made no noise - she was pure magic, that woman was, and she smelled something sweet, like pound cake. Dizzy in her presence, John blinked hard as something in the depths of his mind purred happily, something primal and hidden blossoming to life, making him feel everything.
She was in her dress that she had worn to her wedding, the brilliant purple-pink wildflowers were braided into her hair like not a day had gone by, and John forgot that those flowers were actually dried and pressed into some obsolete book in the betting shop in the Parlour.
“Do you miss me?” she whispered, her cold hand on his other shoulder now, and John felt the skin there erupt into gooseflesh.
Martha sidestepped quickly, mystically as ever, and suddenly she was in front of him again. She had asked him a question, and he hadn’t answered.
Her hazel eyes glowed so brilliantly and ethereally that he was sure she made his blue Shelby eyes look hazel too, and he had to pause for a moment to take in her glittering beauty, her fair and freckled skin, her thin lips that had somehow been an insecurity of hers when she’d been alive, like they somehow hadn’t fit perfectly on her face and John hadn’t wanted to kiss them whenever he stared at them for too long.
John knew that he had opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t quite sure what had happened: either the words had come out as though he was underwater, a distorted, gibberish mess, or he had simply opened his mouth and not said anything at all.
He was suddenly aware of his heart pounding harder in his chest, and he tried to say, I do, I do, I do, but for some reason, the words couldn’t force their way past his lips.
“Clearly not, since you’re with that rat bitch,” Martha snarled, and it suddenly dawned on him that this wasn’t reality at all, not a lovely dream but a nightmare, and he started breathing hard until he was nearly hyperventilating, something like a panic attack settling in.
“No,” John tried to say, but his throat had closed off and he felt like he was screaming underwater. No. No. No.
This wasn’t the first time he’d felt something like this because he suffered from the soldier’s disease, but just because it was the hundredth time he’d experienced it didn’t mean it got any less terrifying. There was a whirlwind in his brain, a headrush so powerful like everything was incoherent, unreal, and he couldn’t– fucking– breathe—
“Kitchen towels!” Polly shouted from somewhere afar, scaring him awake. “For fuck’s sake, John, where are the bloody kitchen towels?”
John launched himself out of his chair and looked around: Polly wasn’t in his office, where he’d been sleeping for the past several weeks, but she was still shouting loud enough to be heard in the betting shop, so he straightened his cap and smoothed his rumpled suit like he hadn’t been asleep at all and hurried out of the door.
It’s too bloody early for this, he thought angrily.
When John got to the kitchen with the roll of kitchen towels from the betting shop, the first thing he noticed wasn’t Polly hurrying around with a broom, clearly agitated, or a cup of tea overturned everywhere on the kitchen’s pristine tile, but Esme standing in the open doorway of the Parlour, breathing hard, looking pale and panicked. He checked his watch. 6 AM. It was the middle of February; the sun hadn’t even risen yet. What the hell was going on?
He took another look at Polly, the cup of tea shattered on the floor, and Esme, his head swiveling back and forth between them like he was watching a ping-pong match. “Fucking hell, you lot, what’s the matter?”
His voice was groggy and dehydrated, but he blinked hard and tried to ignore it.
You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake.
“Y/N is fuckin’ missing, that’s the matter,” Polly snapped, venom seeping through her voice as she snatched the kitchen roll from his hands to clean up the mess of liquid and ceramic shards on the floor, “Esme here storms in at six o’clock in the bloody morning, tellin’ me all fuckin’ panicked that she woke up at the Lee house down the street and Y/N wasn’t there when she was spendin’ the night, and she was goin’ on about how she wanted to leave Small Heath before she fell asleep…”
A fresh round of cold, unsettling panic doused John, and seeing the darkening look on his face, Esme grimaced sympathetically at him. “A part of me thought she was joking, I tried to talk her out of it. I’m sorry, John.”
“Well, what’s done is done,” Polly snapped with the air that she was only becoming more pissed with every word Esme spoke, and straightening, she slammed the roll of towels on the counter and chucked the shards of ceramic into the garbage. “Gather Arthur and Tommy, we need to have the Blinders looking for her. The earlier we can find her, the better.”
He nodded.
“Arthur!” he bellowed down the hallway, without a care in the world for his kids or anyone else. “Get the fuck up!”
//////
Understandably, there were no trains running at three in the morning, the time you’d left a sleeping Esme at the Lee house on Watery Lane, so you simply shifted your bag higher on your shoulder and decided to find another place in Small Heath to camp out until the sunrise.
Still on your cocaine high, you refused to look at your reflection in the windows of the shopfronts you passed. You already felt disheveled and bloodshot, you didn’t need to see it.
Eventually, you settled on an alleyway some three blocks away from the station. You pressed your back against the wall and slid down it until you were sitting on the damp stretch of dirt, dead grass, and litter.
You moved your bag from your shoulder to your lap and inhaled sharply: if you were aware of your body for too long, the cocaine pain in your ribs made you feel like your entire body was on fire. You had a small bottle of vodka in your suitcase to ration, and you’d feel even better after a few burning gulps from the bottle, but you resolved not to start drinking at least until you got on the train.
The cocaine high would have to be enough for now, you decided.
You sighed as your head suddenly spun, and the hazy feeling of unreality settled deep into your chest, making your heart pound harder and harder until sweat was dampening the back of your neck. Your brain was throbbing hard, but euphoria pulsed through your entire body, and for that feeling alone, it was worth it.
God, cocaine was terrible, but simultaneously beautiful. You’d almost missed it.
Sure, you definitely hadn’t missed always feeling like you were on the verge of fainting, nor the aching and the itchiness and the cold liquid that seemed to bubble in your veins after you came down from your high, indicating that you were sober again, but whatever, it was three in the morning in a shitty corner of England, you were alone and staring up at the glinting stars in the sky, inhaling the ever-present scent of manure and cigarette smoke, and your cocaine-fucked brain promptly decided that nothing else mattered but this moment.
The year is 1920, you thought dumbly, in that same blearily existential way only someone who was extremely high could. Will people still appreciate the Earth’s beauty a hundred years from now?
You probably wouldn’t be around to see it, but you hoped they did, and you squinted up at the sky to scope out any possible constellations. You’d never had a chance to notice it before, but this was a Nevada kind of view, which made you think of a moment five years earlier where you were lying in the great expanse of desert beneath the stars, watching Sam’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept, swiping at the mosquitos whenever they got too close.
You weren’t all that aware of it, but your entire face stretched into a tired smile, making your cheeks ache. Goddamn, I love cocaine.
The next moments passed in a blink: suddenly the sun was rising, and you were at the station again, and you couldn’t remember how you’d gotten a ticket in your hands but you were already carrying your things onto the train, and vaguely acting sober, you stumbled into the first empty carriage you saw, all while your body didn’t feel like your own and you were simply a spectator to your own activities.
Which, honestly, you preferred. You had no fucking time to regret any of this.
//////
“Y/N?” John shouted, shining a flashlight down the long, empty hallway of the old Lee house. He’d stomped in there the minute the car had rolled into the field, so fast and panicked that he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights, meaning the house was shrouded in darkness. “Y/N!”
“Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see her at the train station?” he heard Esme snap at some Blinder waiting outside.
“Why would I lie for the fuckin’ Garrison rat?” John heard him reply before he stepped out of range, and scowling, he burst into the bedroom Esme had said you’d slept in days ago.
It was stripped bare, not even your scent had been left behind, like you’d never been inside the room in the first place, which only made the dread crawling down his back worse.
You’re a fucking knobhead, John scolded himself, pivoting on his heel to exit the room. A fucking knobhead, you know that? What kind of husband has their wife walk out on them?
Regretting his excessive drinking and smoking, sleeping in his office, booking his favourite whore at Zhang’s, and avoiding his wife like the plague, John ran back onto the field with his knuckles aching to kill something.
He took his cap off to smooth his hair back. “She’s not there.”
“‘Course she’s not,” Esme said resignedly.
“Where the fuck would she had gone?” John shouted at her, resisting the urge to grab her and violently shake her, purely to keep the peace between the families. “Esme, did she tell you any place that she was wanting to go?”
Esme opened her mouth and closed it.
“London,” she whispered back, her eyes wide. “She told me she wanted to go to London.”
“London!” he yelled in disbelief, whipping around. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“The trains start early in the morning,” she bit out, twisting her hands together. The Blinder beside her was staring at her, wide-eyed, as though trying to find a way to insert himself into the conversation, but both she and John ignored him. “John, if we can’t find her, that means she already went.”
Unadulterated rage swept through him, bitter and blinding, but John choked it down. “Fuck.”
Ducking out of the way so they wouldn’t see his glossy eyes, he started to stomp away. “Get back in the fucking car.”
//////
London was sprawling and gleaming when the train noisily rolled into the station, and in your threadbare, dirt-stained skirt and cardigan, you felt like you weren’t expensive-looking enough to fit in.
No matter, you told yourself, but the voice in your head was much too pleasant and lacking the predisposed anxiety and misery to truly sound like yourself. You can simply buy new clothes.
Plus, you already knew you weren’t planning on staying in London for long anyway.
You hummed a quiet but hopeful folk song you’d first heard at the Garrison to yourself as you retrieved your things from the compartment, your heart already pounding hard with excitement at the thought of leaving the train. As you hummed out what little lyrics you could remember, a pang of sadness hit your gut for the first time since you’d snorted cocaine: you’d miss Grace, but you were happy her beautiful voice had become engraved in your memory.
Her voice was yours to keep forever.
Smiling, you carried your bags through the narrow hallway and descended the train.
And sweet Jesus, the air of London smelled like the most refreshing summer breeze simply because of the absence of manure and furnace smoke. The station was still overcrowded with people, which normally would have alarmed you had you been sober, but this time you didn’t even care, it almost felt like you had snorted another few lines of cocaine as you waded through the onslaught of people, a dumb grin plastered on your face.
Girl, you are high as balls.
You caught sight of a husband waiting at the gate with a bouquet of flowers for his approaching wife, and quickly glanced away. You didn’t need anything like that to bother you right now.
“Airport?” you asked aimlessly to the people around you. “Does anyone know how to get to the airport from here?”
After a minute or two of wandering around and shouting among the onslaught of people, a man not much older than Tommy Shelby finally turned around.
“Airport?” he asked, squinting down at you. “You’ll need to go to Croydon.”
“Where is that?” you asked sweetly, layering on the Americana glitter in your charming Garrison rat voice, batting your eyelids at him. “It’s my first time in London, you see.”
The man smiled and extended his hand. “I can take you there, miss, for a fee. I’ll carry your things for you.”
“How much quid?” you asked absent-mindedly, peering down into your bag to find your change. “I can give you, uh, maybe twenty-”
“I’m not talking about money,” he cut in, and your head snapped up like a deer in headlights. How dare he, knowing that you had a very expensive wedding ring glistening on your fing–
You stopped yourself.
You weren’t wearing your wedding ring.
It was rolling around somewhere in the depths of your bag.
Time seemed to slow down and your heart pounded even faster, cocaine influence or not, but what shocked you the most was the odd sense of relief, making the ugly scar stretching across the length of your abdomen tingle.
Men still desired you.
With your head slightly spinning and the residue feeling of your body not being your own anymore, it was the most chilling reminder that you weren’t sober: you suspected that in any other state of mind, you would feel differently about this, but right now you didn’t care.
Wasn’t the whole point of coming to London that you didn’t want to feel chained by the Shelbys anymore?
“Take me there,” you heard yourself say after what felt like a century, and the man’s grin widened. “Of course, ma’am.”
Please protect me, God, a voice whispered in the depths of your mind, and accepting his outstretched hand, you let him guide you out of your train station.
//////
Tommy Shelby pushed the heavy mahogany doors of the Garrison open with a flourish, stepped into the pub, and promptly bellowed at the top of his lungs, “Everybody out!”
It had been bad enough losing his own love to a mind-boggingly similar situation two months ago, but Christ, how likely was it for John boy to go through the same goddamned thing? He wasn’t sure if he was impressed or annoyed. What had gotten into the women of today? Was this something he seriously had to be worried about?
The few number of patrons at 11 AM on a Wednesday morning quickly made themselves scarce with a frightened look on their faces, and for the first time that morning, Tommy had a chance to sigh before he approached the confused and frightened barmaids behind the bar.
After Grace, he felt a deep inner hatred more intensely than he had before her, and this morning was no exception.
“Have you seen Y/N Lee around these parts in the past few weeks, ladies? Y/N Shelby? The Garrison rat?”
The two barmaids looked at each other, puzzled, and one opened her mouth but promptly closed it.
“You,” Tommy said, pouncing on her. “Did you see the Garrison rat at all?”
“I…uh….” she stuttered, and Tommy cocked his head in anticipation for her words. Where was the easy grace that all of the barmaids seemed to have whenever a Blinder visited? “I…”
The barmaid gulped and stared at the floor. “She came in here once, lookin’ like a mess, and said she was getting out of here that night.”
“What kind of mess was she?” he pressed, leaning forward. “Drunk? Sniffing snow?”
“She - she was covered in blood,” the barmaid choked out, and he recognized the telltale signs of an anxiety attack as she started shaking. “Covered in blood. And vomit. And dirt. And twigs. And she had this…crazed look in her eyes. None of the drunks have it, so I knew she wasn’t drunk. She meant what she was saying with a burning passion. She wanted somebody dead.”
Tommy thought back to the night that pathetic boy was killed, the way he’d wailed and screamed and cried as John pummelled him. It had been a real mess when you’d ran off like that, and there was no signs that you’d even been bothered until before then.
He eyed the other barmaid, who was pale as a ghost.
“Go make a drink for your friend,” he told her. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”
“Edith,” the sniffling barmaid replied, staring at the floor.
“Edith,” Tommy repeated. “Well, Edith, thank you for your time, but I’m afraid that the Garrison rat has fulfilled her promise as of this morning.”
With a haunting sort of finality, he replaced his cap and turned on his heel to exit the Garrison.
//////
“Fuck!”
Before John could stop it, a long, frustrated, angry scream ripped out of his throat, and it was so loud within the confined space of his office that it made his own ears ring. He was the only one here now, and it had been that way for an hour: the rest of the family had gone out looking for his wife.
His vision suddenly blurry with tears, he punched his desk over and over again, screaming at the top of his lungs, his hands stinging, his heart pounding, everything spiralling out of control at once. All of his emotions had been pushed as far as they could possibly go ever since he woke up, and at 4 PM in the afternoon, this was the only opportunity he’d had to let them out.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
John felt blood trickling down his knuckles and he finally stopped, cursing, hating himself. Why did he have to be like this? He would feel nothing but indifference for weeks on end until it all came rushing out of him like an avalanche.
Well, some part of him knew this explosion was warranted. It was forever frustrating being back to square one: without a wife, without a stepmother to take care of his kids, without love and painfully aware that he was without Martha. 
It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was the first time the feeling seared through his chest like a volcano erupting: he’d wished he’d never had kids.
“Why am I so stupid?” John shouted at himself in the thick silence. “Fucking hell, why am I so fucking stupid?”
Get it out, some type of comforting voice told him in the back of his head. Get it all fucking out.
His knuckles were pouring blood now, screaming for bandages, but John leapt from his chair and shoved everything off his desk in a giant sweep.
He picked up an empty vase behind him and threw it as hard as he could at the wall, where it exploded in a shower of glass.
He ripped open all the cabinets of his desk and yanked out all of the files, lobbing them at the wall, throwing them on the ground, tearing them in half, and when that wasn’t enough, he lifted his office chair and pounded it into the ground as violently as he could.
“Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”
He couldn’t even remember when he’d started screaming anymore, but his throat was raw as he lobbed the splintered, broken pieces of the chair at the wall.
His hands were covered in blood, and he had a sobering feeling that maybe he should stop now, but no matter how self-destructive he was being, the rage was addicting, and he was throwing various detritus from the wreckage as hard as he could at the wall. The rush of pain flooding to his knuckles was almost gratifying— thank God, he could still feel things. Even if he was feeling too much, he was feeling, and that was good.
Tears were streaming down his face, and when he tried to inhale through his nose, his nostrils were blocked with snot, but he couldn’t stop. His entire face was red from overexertion and his hands were bleeding and he couldn’t stop shaking and he couldntfuckingbreathe, like he was a little kid throwing a tantrum, and—
If his throat was raw when he’d had the energy to destroy things, it was nothing like how it felt now. “Fuck!”
Maybe this is how Y/N felt when she saw me kill that monarchist fucker, John thought dumbly, and he sank to his knees in his demolished mess of an office, a tide of regret crashing through him unlike anything before.
This feeling hit him like it was trying to kill him.
//////
The car was parked in the parking lot of the airport, and it hadn’t moved for the past ten minutes.
It was cramped, uncomfortable, and questionably damp, but the man who’d driven you there-- Billy, you’d since learned his name was--  wouldn’t buy the plane ticket for you until you gave him your payment, and you had nothing left to lose. With Paris being a hefty cheque away, a daring trip that you could just barely afford, you had weighed your options and promptly decided fuck it, just get it over with.
Without breaking eye contact with him, you licked a thick stripe up the underside of his length before pulling back to suck the tip, darting your tongue around it, producing the filthiest slurping sounds he’d ever heard as you bobbed around him. He wasn’t longer than John, but a little thicker, and it was an interesting change to feel how his cock felt in your mouth.
“Fuck,” Billy murmured, weaving a hand through your hair as you swiped his cock over your wet lips, teasing it over your warm mouth, smearing your red lipstick further down your chin. “Fuck, just like that - gonna - fuck-”
He came fast with barely a warning, warm droplets of come spilling onto your tongue. Knowing you were almost done, you wrapped a hand around his length to jerk him off, gulping him down as best you could while he kept his hand tight in your hair, ensuring that you swallowed every last bit.
Saltier, you noted. Well, that’s a bit disgusting.
//////
He had her on her back so he wouldn’t have to look at her, but it was still so hard to pretend that she was someone else: the dark curly hair spilling over her shoulders that looked nothing like her hair, the breathy little moans that fell from her lips that sounded nothing like hers, even the way her pussy squeezed his cock, they were all dead giveaways that she wasn’t who John desperately wanted her to be. And no matter how hard he tried, she wouldn’t be.
“Oh, God,” Esme moaned, grabbing the headboard to keep herself from falling over as John fucked into her just a little bit harder, and his hand was wrapped around her neck before he even registered it being there.
“Shut up.”
She wasn’t listening.
“Fuck, John, I’m gonna-” –With one hand on the headboard, she was furiously rubbing her clit now– “I think I’m gonna - oh fuck -”
She collapsed from underneath him as her orgasm rushed through her body, but in a split-second he’d yanked her upright by her hair, back to her original position, except her arms were pinned behind her back.
This was about control.
Fucking her even harder now, his voice was furious in her ear as he whispered:
“Next time you come, you’re gonna ask for my permission, yeah?”
//////
Paris was golden.
Golden and full of pickpockets, that was for sure. The one drawback of such a fashionable, progressive city, you had to keep a tight hold on your purse as you made your way to the closest bar, or the bar à cocktails, as you frequently heard the locals call it.
Three months into living in Paris, you fit right in with the people born and raised here: they tended to go all out in comparison to Birmingham, their wardrobes were fashionable, flashy, and fancy to the point where a floor-length dress, your most expensive pearl necklace, and a glittery headband had become your drinking attire. You couldn’t imagine the stares had you worn the Garrison rat’s usual outfit of trousers and a blouse anywhere in Paris. 
So, when it came down to it, you didn’t mind being bold, not at all. It was the années folles, after all, and life was good.
The same way British slang had slowly seeped into your vocabulary when you were an American trapped in Birmingham, your accent was starting to change the longer you stayed in Paris. Words like “quid” and “fucking hell” were slowly starting to disappear in your internal monologue, instead being replaced with “franc” and “merde”. Eventually, your American accent wrapped around the French words you spoke with a kind of ease, your thoughts came to you in French more than they did in English, and it dawned on you one day that you couldn’t have imitated the sweetness of the Garrison rat’s voice if you tried.
Honestly, you couldn’t care less. Maybe it was for the better.
You gently pushed open the glass door to the bar and, smoothing your dress, walked inside.
Lilting jazz, warm golden light, quiet conversation, respectful barmaids, a wide array of bottles at the bar, and best of all, sparsely populated. You loved coming to this place— you were already a couple of shots in, of course, but you enjoyed the French stuff.
You carefully sat down on your usual barstool to the left of the barmaid and calmly told her, “Comme d’habitude.”
She nodded without looking at you, emotionless. “Pas de problème.”
You settled back onto the stool, content to think about nothing for a moment as your drink was being made, but you sensed him approaching you before you saw him. Even though you had to tell yourself that you weren’t the Garrison rat anymore, that mysterious charm hadn’t been lost on the men of Paris, clearly.
The new man— dark hair, gray eyes, nothing remarkable — sat on the stool to your direct left, with the kind of forced confidence that immediately told you he had to practice it before coming over to sit with you, and you refused to look at him.
The barmaid slid a shot over to you, and the mysterious new man held up his hand, as though to intercept you from paying. “Je vais le payer.”
Looking anywhere but his face, you didn’t stop him as he handed over a fistful of coins to the barmaid.
Why should you? It was free drinks. That was welcomed in Las Vegas, New York City, Small Heath, and Paris.
As the barmaid walked away to attend to a new customer, his attention was on you now.
“Vous venez souvent dans ce bar.”
It was a statement, not a question. You looked at him, your face completely blank, and said nothing.
He smirked at you. “Vous aimez cette musique, oui? Le jazz est toujours beau. Bon pour danser.”
When you still said nothing, growing slightly frustrated now, he asked, “Quelle est votre histoire?”
You scoffed, and finally decided to speak.
“C’est une longue histoire. Une trop longue histoire. La seule chose que je sais, c’est que je ne tomberai plus jamais en amour, donc si vous pensez m’inviter à danser, n’essaie pas.”
The man looked at you for a long moment, before getting up from the stool and walking away— wordless, the kind of complicated look on his face that you didn’t understand. And it pissed you off, really, not understanding why he had the audacity to look hurt.
With the drunken blurriness of your vision, as the man retreated into the distance, his silhouette seemed to be absorbed by the gleaming, golden light, and you let out a low sigh of relief as you were left alone again. Alone with your thoughts.
You turned back to the bar and found yourself lost in the murky depths of your drink that he’d paid for. Through the haze, you blearily noticed that you’d started thinking in English again. Blunt and short sentences, but still: English.
I’m never going to love again.
//////
AUGUST 1920 - SMALL HEATH, BIRMINGHAM
I’m never going to love again, thought John as he stared moodily across the length of the merry Garrison. Grace may not have been there anymore, but the roaring folk songs every night had remained in her memory, and someone had clearly written a new one for the drunks to sing.
The only person there that wasn’t singing, John couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to act as though there weren’t any horribly-concealed glances in his direction every few minutes. Though, as time went on, they were becoming lesser and lesser, the Garrison rat was disappearing into a mythical woman that belonged to the folklore of Small Heath. Honestly, in the months without her, sometimes it was hard to believe that she had ever truly lived.
The song roared on.
“Oh, the Garrison rat, the Garrison rat, she left at twilight and we haven’t seen her since that…”
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NME: Arctic Monkeys: “We know more tricks now, but we’re still rolling on that same instinct”
By Sophie Williams, 21/10/2022
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From the outside of Suffolk’s Butley Priory, it sounds as though the ancient building is collapsing in on itself. Located within a secluded and rural pocket of southern England, it is the sanctuary of this converted 14th Century monastery that Arctic Monkeys have chosen to call home for a fortnight. Behind the stained glass windows, guitarist Jamie Cook is conjuring up a rousing squall, jiggling on the spot. His bandmates look on, eyes ablaze with excitement at the wall of noise unfolding before them.
It’s the middle of July 2021, and this is the Sheffield band’s final week at Butley Priory, where they’ve been working on ‘The Car’, their masterful seventh album. Prior to recording, the building had been part of the four-piece’s legend for some time: it’s where longtime producer James Ford – recognised amongst fans as ‘the fifth Arctic Monkey’ – celebrated his 40th birthday. Before they reunited here for the first time since lockdown, however, the band’s initial intention for the record was “to write louder songs than we had for some time,” says frontman Alex Turner, but quickly realised that this collection was evolving beyond a bedrock of heavy riffs. “I think what I found myself wanting to play when the band were around was actually very surprising to me,” he adds.
Every performance was recorded, with the results influencing what the band preserved, honed, and ultimately ditched. And for two weeks, the world outside of Arctic Monkeys’ temporary studio was well and truly banished. When the band – comprising Turner, Cook, bassist Nick O’Malley and Matt Helders on drums – were not walking around the wilds of the Suffolk countryside together, they shared pints and watched on as England’s journey at the pandemic-delayed Euro 2020 tournament played out. For a fortnight, time almost seemed meaningless. The gang were finally back together.
As Turner relays this story to NME, he’s about as far from that memory as you can get. We meet the frontman in an east London pub on a deceptively warm October afternoon a little over a year later, just as ‘The Car’’s release week is starting to kick off. Almost unbelievably, the band’s 2009 hit ‘Crying Lightning’ is playing quietly from the stereo downstairs, as if on cue. Considering that Turner is about to settle down for a drink – or, er, an English Breakfast tea – on the floor above, whoever is in charge of the playlist this lunchtime is blissfully unaware that they’ve managed to tempt fate. Turner looks too busy attending to his little china teapot to notice, anyway.
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The group’s highly-anticipated reunion comes along with ‘The Car’, a 10-track collection that, in a five-star review, NME described as “a summary of the band’s story so far: sharp songwriting, relentless innovation and unbreakable teamwork.” Under the supervision of ensemble director Bridget Samuels [Midsommar, The Green Knight] at London’s RAK Studios, it’s the first album on which the band have worked with a full orchestra, allowing Turner’s voice – which sounds more brooding and malleable than it’s ever been – to pierce through a cinematic landscape of strings, piano motifs and low-slung bass rumbles.
Elegiac opener ‘There’d Better Be A Mirrorball’ immediately raises the stakes. A breakup tune that quietly anguishes over vanishing sensations of violin and harpsichord, the album’s lead single was the first to be demoed at Butley Priory. “And picture this: while recording, I’m running around with a 16mm camera that kind of kept me out of the way of everybody a little bit,” says Turner. He ultimately saved some of the footage for himself, and the rest was interspersed throughout the track’s understatedly retro video, making for a touching time capsule of that particular recording session.
Crucially, the new album – with the cover artwork shot by Helders – presents both a more cohesive and collaborative band than the one we heard on 2018’s divisive ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’. That record riffed on consumerism and technology with a burnished depth, but traded it’s wildly successful predecessor’s tsunami of bravado, riffs and hairgel – 2013’s multiple BRIT-winning ‘AM’ – for searching lounge-pop. Its writing credits reveal that most of the band were perhaps under-utilised as performers, given that O’Malley only appears on seven tracks, and Helders’ drumming is largely restrained.
‘The Car’’s daring centrepiece, ‘Body Paint’ flips the script entirely: you can practically hear Turner wink as he sings, “and if you’re thinking of me / I’m probably thinking of you”, before swirling atmospherics and O’Malley’s tumbling bass make way for a gale-force guitar solo from Cook. It’s the full-bodied sound of the Butley Priory trip, which was solely about having fun and bringing that feeling into the new record.
“We weren’t mentally ready to play stadiums up until now” – Alex Turner
By throwing themselves into new, more daring sounds, Arctic Monkeys have emerged fearless, Turner says decisively. “The records we’re making now are definitely different now to the ones we probably thought we would be making when we started out – actually, we didn’t think we’d be even making records anymore,” Turner says. “20 years ago, I didn’t envision ourselves going beyond…” He looks deep into his cup of tea as if searching for the rest of his answer, while taking an enormous pause from which you fear he may never return. “Well, the fact we gave ourselves the name ‘Arctic Monkeys’ alludes to the extent of ambitions we had.” He stops again. “Clearly hardly any.”
Yet Arctic Monkeys’ friendship has endured, in part, because the band have always known when to say no. They built a fanbase on the basis of a few early demos shared by fans through MySpace, and before the four-piece signed with the independent Domino Records – also home to Wet Leg and Hot Chip – they’d already made a pact to never agree to their music being used in advertising. They even turned down a then-coveted offer to appear on Top Of The Pops. Weeks later, their monstrous debut single ‘I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor’ stormed to the top of the UK Singles Chart instantly – no mean feat for a band without major record label cash or mountains of press on their side. They’d set a precedent to follow their own rules, and it had worked.
Stardom would soon prove to be inescapable, however: the band looked perpetually shellshocked when they broke out as unassuming teenagers with their enduring and now-seminal debut album, 2006’s ‘Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not’. “Somebody call 999, Richard Hawley’s been robbed!,” Turner famously joked, as the band, looking somewhere between a haze of drunkenness and feeling flustered, collected the Mercury Prize later that year. The following decade would see them evolve into the UK’s biggest, most culturally important band: they have gone on to headline Glastonbury twice, perform at the London 2012 Olympics opening ceremony and, perhaps most importantly, have remained consistent, while their peers in sound have failed to keep similar longevity.
“When I think back to earlier times, I feel like we were just running on instinct, creative decisions included,” says Turner, with a gentle laugh. “I mean, like, first and foremost, we didn’t really know how to play our instruments at the start. But beyond that, I don’t really think that much within the band has changed a great deal; we might know a few more tricks, but we’re still rolling on that very same instinct.”
Dressed in a royal blue Lacoste jumper, Turner entertains NME for an hour with a boyish and mischievous charm; his few concessions to age include a formal, paisley-patterned silk scarf and some stubble. A gold link chain lays around his neck – a present from his grandfather that he’s worn everywhere since 2006 – and glints against the autumn sun. As he answers questions, Turner often leans back in his chair and starts re-enacting scenes, giving it some real gusto. No man this effortlessly funny is an accident – behind it all lies a bright, astute and often humorous songwriter.
Trying to discuss his lyrics – which, on ‘The Car’, are often uncharacteristically reflective – in the pub with Turner is a different matter, however, met mostly with some hesitant, yet endearing musings on personal growth. We briefly broach ‘Hello You’, which plays with high drama, and references Turner’s youth spent in north Sheffield – but like a big Hollywood production, what’s pizazz on camera is often pain behind the scenes. “I could pass for 17 if I just get a shave / And catch some Zzzs”, he sings at one point, only half-jokingly. “So much of this new music is scratching at the past and how much of it I should hang on to,” he says. “I think that song is pretty on the nose… as uncomfortable as that may be.”
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It’s when describing ‘The Car’’s lushly arranged instrumental sections, however, that you can sense the cogs in Turner’s brain are starting to turn a little quicker. “Around the last album, the big story was like, ‘Wow, he’s got a piano’, which was true to an extent, but I wonder now looking at it, that it was this thing that I now do – recording ideas as you go – that got me going,” he says. His sudden excitement moves him to clench a trademark pair of black Ray Ban sunglasses so tightly in his hand, you fear there’s every chance they could suddenly snap.
Working on the album led to Arctic Monkeys scrapping their old rule that everything they recorded had to be playable live, opening up unseen possibilities. Turner experimented with the wah-wah guitar for both ‘Jet Skis On The Moat’ and the ridiculously funky ‘I Ain’t Quite Where I Think I Am’ – think ‘Station To Station’-era Bowie meets ELO – the latter being the moment “where everything clicked,” he affirms. Where a younger Arctic Monkeys would have raced through punky verses with lethal precision, ‘The Car’ marinates in the textures of upward sweeps and subtle, honeyed soul.
“I’m pretty happy with how ‘Tranquility Base..’ went down” – Alex Turner
As Turner speaks, it’s easy to picture the studio and imagine the Monkeys, once again, as teenagers in a garage: Turner the leader, Helders and O’Malley the jokers, Cook the near-silent but cunning sage – or, in Turner’s words: “Jamie remains the gatekeeper of the band, as it were.” These days, Cook is the brilliantly straight-faced foil – usually wearing a suit and sunglasses onstage, rocking gently from side to side as he churns out weighty riffs – to Turner’s loose, playful showman.
“I think that’s the key difference maybe with [‘The Car’] and the last record… perhaps we didn’t quite have a grasp of the dynamics of the bigger, newer sounds we were exploring,” he says. “But playing together live again certainly helped us to get there, and we developed a better awareness of each other. You find yourself in a different place when you take the songs to a new setting beyond where they were recorded.”
Even if ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’’s complete stylistic overhaul was curious enough to unsettle fans of the band’s louder, scrappier early days, Turner remains adamant that it was the right move for the group at the time. “I’m actually pretty happy with how it went down,” he says today. “We achieved something that we may not have been able to in the past. I think it definitely gave us the confidence to go to a different place on a record.”‘ The Car’’s ‘Sculptures Of Anything Goes’ – the band’s darkest song yet, a beast of distortion and weighty electronics – even nods to the public’s mixed response to ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’: “Puncturing your bubble of relatability with your horrible new sound”.
He alludes to how, despite ‘AM’ being the band’s most commercially popular album – having gone platinum in the US – with its West Coast rap-inspired cadences and bass-heavy melodies, it also felt like a bold revamp for Arctic Monkeys at the time of its release. “‘Do I Wanna Know?’ felt like a departure from everything that we had done before – and this was similar,” he says. “We had to almost acknowledge that our sound still had a little grease in its hair, and a bit of aggressiveness.”
“I don’t think much has changed within the band since the start” – Alex Turner
Turner says, however, that when Arctic Monkeys played the 26,000-capacity Foro Sol venue in Mexico City in March 2019 as one of the final shows on that tour, it felt like a “brilliant send-off” to what had been their most artistically challenging period. Backstage at that same show, Turner began to “sketch out” demos for ‘The Car’, with the idea that they “could close our shows.” He continues: “I found this footage of me playing a song backstage at that gig, and I thought, ‘I’m going to bottle the energy for the new record.’ It was raw, and full of downstrokes guitar.”
The songs from Foro Sol were eventually scrapped, but if anything, that night proved that the ‘Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino’ era had certainly unlocked a more lighthearted side to the band than we had seen in several years. Clips of Turner pretending to lose his train of thought as the twinkling keys of ‘One Point Perspective’ fade out – in tandem with the song’s final lyric – have since been memed into oblivion. It’s a simple, yet persistently effective act: each time, he looks suddenly blank, scratches his chin, and points absently in the air as though trying to remember something. “I don’t think it’s even a choice at this point. When that spotlight centres itself on me, I just can’t help myself,” he says.
Why did the routine start in the first place? Turner’s face curls into a convincing knot of embarrassment. “You know what? I ask myself the same question every 24 hours,” he responds.
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In August, Arctic Monkeys formally introduced their new era by headlining Reading & Leeds for the third time in their career, and drew in one of the festival’s biggest crowds in the process. Capping off a remarkable summer of huge outdoor shows across Europe, the weekend proved that a new, young, wildly committed generation of Monkeys fans had come to the fore, many of whom arrived via TikTok or streaming services, partly due to the recent stratospheric success of ‘505’ – the first Monkeys track to fully showcase their emotional depth as performers.
Lifted from 2007’s ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’ album, the surging indie-rock track has recently surpassed hits from Eminem and Coldplay, clocking in an average of 1.7 million plays a month on Spotify alone. The stats are even more impressive when you consider that the band have actively chosen to shun social media throughout their career – it’s almost as though they can’t help gaining worldwide attention.
For Turner, seeing audiences continue to react passionately to encore closer ‘505’ has been “genuinely moving”, but he’s bemused by the revival that has come around in the first place. “Without having ‘505’ at the end of our shows for a few years around 2008, I’m not sure if it would have found the new life it has now,” he says. “I hope that doesn’t sound like I’m taking credit [for the revival] – even if it wasn’t totally unexpected, the attention around [‘505’] is really quite special.”
“The renewed attention around ‘505’ is really quite special” – Alex Turner
Arctic Monkeys’ recent live performances have also seen them bring out rarities from their back catalogue, including a moodier rendition of ‘Humbug’ standout ‘Potion Approaching’, and ‘That’s Where You’re Wrong’, a fuzzed-out singalong from the unfairly overlooked ‘Suck It And See’ era. Switching up the setlist has made the band appreciate what they’ve achieved up to this point, Turner explains: “There’s quite a lot of room now for us to unlock songs and these other little things from the past,” he says. “I have almost, like, a PDF in my mind of what we could work on.” His eyebrow arches in confusion. “Wait, it wouldn’t be a PDF, would it? I think I meant to say a spreadsheet…”
It’s this endearing playfulness and intimacy to Turner that makes his disbelief at Arctic Monkeys’ current stature, 20 years into their career, seem genuine. Next summer, they’ll play a full stadium tour across the UK for the first time ever in their career, including two huge hometown shows in Sheffield at Hillsborough Park. Better still, there’s a Glasto-shaped hole in the touring schedule, too.
The scale of these shows is already toying with Turner: “It wouldn’t have made sense for us to play stadiums before this album, and I don’t think we were mentally ready for it up until now,” he says. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself and say that some of our songs ‘belong’ in a stadium, but they could definitely hang out in a stadium.”
He says that they won’t be taking a string section on the forthcoming tour; instead, the band will be assisted by extra keys and synth. Turner is confident that the new album will translate live, and goes on to liken the rich emotional depth across ‘The Car’ to the searing, heart-raising two-minute guitar breakdown that wraps up ‘A Certain Romance’, the crowning achievement from their debut album. “I remember when we were recording ‘A Certain Romance’ and having a conversation with the producer about the final guitar solo,” he says. “There’s something that happens at the end of that track where we break some rules in a single moment. We focused on the [emotional] effect of the instrumentals over the words – and I feel like we’ve been trying to do that again and again since then.”
Are you still proud of that song?
“Yeah,” he replies immediately. “If anything, for the fact that [‘A Certain Romance’] showed that we did actually have these ambitions beyond what we once thought we were capable of. Back then, we would struggle with the idea of adding anything more to the songs; but here, there’s some guitar that goes high, and then comes back in.”
“‘A Certain Romance’ showed ambition beyond what we thought we were capable of” – Alex Turner
Across the table, he begins to play the air guitar, gleefully wriggling around in his seat. For a moment, it’s as though Turner appears spookily untouched by time: eyes bright, wide, and inquisitive; a flash of youthful, riotous joy writ large across his face. He continues: “When we recorded [‘A Certain Romance’] we were all like, ‘Woah, woah, woah…” He raises his hands above his head once more. “‘What have we done here?’ Pushing the music that far out from what we’d done before initially felt contentious, to say the least.’”
Turner looks happy, calm and content, and he should be – he’s still goofing around on the world’s biggest stages, still making music with his childhood best friends, and caring less about critical reception and more about enjoying himself. ‘The Car’ may see Arctic Monkeys traverse a far greater distance from their zippy indie beginnings than ever before, but there are no regrets, Turner says, before trailing off into another warm anecdote from the time the band spent at Butley Priory.
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“The excitement and energy of everybody being together, sharing ideas in the same room, was quite powerful,” Turner says, briefly moving his gaze to the table below. “I noticed that, for instance, when I think about how it felt saying goodbye at the end of that session…” He catches himself, and looks faintly misty-eyed – though he’d never let us see that properly.
Turner turns to face us once more. “It’s just… you know, the air totally changes when the rest of the band leave. I don’t quite know what to call it, but I do know that being around them is how to get that magic – and I haven’t ever found it anywhere else,” he says, with a knowing smile.
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kamenotaku · 7 months
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In 2012, Cm Punk attracted me to pro wrestling for the first time since I was a child. I came in right around the Punk/Daniel Bryan feud over AJ Lee. I stuck with it for a few years, largely culminating with Wrestlemania 30 and Daniel Bryan’s incredible double win. After that, my interest petered out, but I kept an eye on the scene via Botchamania.
In 2021 I was brought back into wrestling via my now fiancé expressing interest in the whole scene. I had heard of AEW as it spun up, but I paid little attention until August of that year. Rumors abound of CM Punk returning to wrestling as AEW visited Chicago just ahead of All Out. Then it happened, everybody kinda knew it would, but it was still intense, one of the loudest pops in the history of pro wrestling. Seeing Phil Brooks walk out to an arena full of folks cheering his name, it felt like a person returning home. It really grabbed me, and when my partner asked what’s this pro wrestling thing about, I knew AEW was gonna be the shows we followed.
Since then I watch AEW programming three times a week, keeping an eye on certain WWE talent and storyline here and there. I’ve gained a dozen new favorite wrestlers, with folks like Orange Cassidy, Hangman Adam Page, and Jon Moxley topping that list. The 2022 All Out incident, “Brawl Out,” soured my opinion of Punk for a while. I still liked the guy, but just the way things went down in that press conference and beyond knocked him down my roster a few rungs. Mox put the company on his back for a few months, proving how indispensable he is. (Like for real, if Jon Moxley isn’t getting a seven figure salary from good old Tony Khan, what the fuck are we doing?)
Eventually, Punk is back, with his own show even. A soft roster split occurs as AEW Collision gets off the ground as a way to both separate Punk from the people he got into a physical altercation with months prior and to feature more of the top talent in AEW. Things seem to be going well, Punk introduces his so-called “Real” World Championship by pulling it out of bag and spray painting a large straight-edge X across the center. Ok, now there’s two World Champs in AEW, makes some sense if there’s a brand/roster split, gotta have two top titles like the other guys right?
Punk rides the line between babyface and heel every episode of Collision, largely dependent on the crowd reaction it seems. The show feels different, not necessarily in a bad way, slightly different pacing, but still good, if just a little off? He keeps a few people known to affiliate with The Elite, the group he had an actual fist fight with, out of his shows, including the company’s head of talent relations. Not a good sign. He makes an after-show shot at Hangman Page, again someone he’d had real beef with just 6 months prior. It felt weird and half-hearted, like why even comment? He apologizes reportedly. An argument with Jungle Boy Jack Perry about use of real glass in spot happens and then leaked out weeks later. Weirder and weirder.
2023, at the biggest pro wrestling show ever, All In Wembley, CM Punk gets into a physical fight with Jack Perry just before Punk is to have the biggest match of his career against longtime rival Samoa Joe. Things are BAD. Joe and Punk do their match, it’s pretty damn good. An investigation into the fight happens. Just under a week later, on September 2, CM Punk is released from AEW, right before All Out 2023. Almost a year to the day from when Punk got into a fight with the executive vice presidents of AEW, he gets into another physical fight over a comment from Jack Perry about real glass. Tony Khan does the right thing and lets Phil Brooks go on his way. And you know what? I think I’ve typed all of this up, at like 2am, to do the same. As much as I like CM Punk from a decade ago now, I’ve moved on. He’s still an incredible talent, and certainly one of the better folks in the wrestling business from politics side of things, but his temper, his inability to just let little things go has got me looking elsewhere.
So goodbye Phil Brooks. Goodbye CM Punk. I hope you just take some time off. Spend it with your wife and dog. Chill in Chicago and maybe just work on comics or movies and shows once the strikes are over. I really do wish you the best, and I guess I want to thank you for reigniting my interest in wrestling. It’s something that my soon-to-be wife and I have bonded over, so thank you and goodbye.
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maxverstepponme · 1 year
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Kelly list of events | Part eight
(idk what else to call this 😭)
Anon: Anon please!
02. October: Race day. And Kelly was ready for a big entrance since Netflix was following RB this weekend because Max could have been crowned champion in theory. She war a long shirt as dress but it was windy and Kym the creep got the perfect shot of her underwear. That's how short the shirt was. Let's ignore the fact Singapore is a Muslim country; is that how you show up to a race when your boyfriends GRANDMOTHER  and aunt is around? They obviously didn't approve as she was sitting (on her bare ass) on another table apart from the Verstappens. Is thatthe reason they returned home and didn't go to Japan even though Jos said in dutch tv he will be around to every race until he wins the 2nd WDC. Also note that this could have been the win. She surely would have jumped in his arms  which would have definitely revealed her panties during victory pictures
03. October: Kelly posts very revealing and uncomfortable pictures of Max
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04. October: Kelly posts a picture "early morning". First of all 9:30am is not early morning as most people are at work for 1.5h already. But secondly this picture is ooold y'all.   It's a repost from Russian GP 2021! All the gossip accounts posting it got mass reported and went down. Typical
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04. October: After getting mass reported Just Another managed to get her account back. And she is back with a bang.
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05. October: Kelly army or Kelly herself? You decide. I do find the "If Kvyat cheated on me" part interesting. Because every single rumor said she cheated on him multiple times.
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08. October: supposedly fans overheard an argument of them in the paddock
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09. October: Max wins the Japan GP and after some confusion gets declared 2 time WDC! Kelly really really wanted to celebrate with him. Him not only much. He even blocked the camera shot of them kissing with his hat
10. October: the photoshoot she teased a long time ago finally goes public. Of course just in time to milk Max winning his 2nd world championship. They even tagged him in the post. Not sure what's more funny. The ridiculous pictures or the blatant lies she told in the interview or the fact nobody (dutch) has ever heard of this magazine to begin with
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12. October: mirror.mirror unfollowed both Max and Kelly and restricted their comments. In a couple of days the account is gone deleted by IG. Kelly couldn't even write the name correctly in her first big job this year. It's October
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peonierose · 2 years
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Once (1/5)
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Book: The Nanny Affair & Open Heart Crossover / AU
**This story takes place before it was revealed that Addison would come back/is alive **
Part I of IV / Miniseries
Pairing: Sam Dalton (M!MC) x Addison Dalton (F!MC)
Words: 1,400+
TW: Illness, cancer, mental health
Rating: Angst
Summary: Addison has stage four ovarian cancer. So Sam and Addi seek a consultation with Dr. Ethan Ramsey at Edenbrook. Will they make it in time?
A/N: I wrote this story in October 2021 and I haven’t even realized my anger, grief and all my sad emotions made it into this mini series. This is for a good friend of mine her name was Mira. She was a bright star that unfortunately lost her fight against ovarian cancer on Dec, 19th. 2019. She was a true fighter, a genuinely nice person. We love you Mira. And you will always stay with us. No matter what happens. Mira this is for you. Because you deserve everything good in this world. Because you went away too soon. In honor and in memory for our dear friend Mira 💚
Sidenote: @txemrn Thank you for being a badass cheerleader from the start for this project 💚💎 and of course to @annieruok94 for proofreading and telling me its a good story 💚😽
P.S. Here’s a list of songs I was inspired by give it a listen it you want 😊
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”Don‘t forget that you loved me once.“ -Maren Morris - Once
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Part I
It was a normal day, or as normal as it can be. What counts as normal anymore?
I sighed, while absent-mindedly checking some e-mails, and drinking my second cup of coffee. I took a sip noticing that the coffee turned cold and tasted stale. I cringed putting the mug aside.
I wasn’t really focused on anything. The e-mails all blurring together turning into one giant blue mess. My mind occupied with thoughts about our fight from last night, and how to fucking help someone who doesn’t want it. I drag a hand over my face and release a deep breath.
I was in the middle of replying to an e-mail to Dr. Ramsey, regarding our consultation set for today, when I heard the soft padding of footsteps coming from the direction of the bedroom.
Rubbing my hand over my face, I look up with tired eyes, only to see Addison, my wife, enter the kitchen and pour herself a cup of coffee.
Taking in her grey nightshirt (one of my old college shirts) that was hanging loosely from her tall frame. She stood with her back to me. Shoulders ramrod straight holding on to the kitchen counter with her right hand for support, as if she was readying herself for another confrontation.
With me.
A white hot jolt of pain shot through me. This distance between us. This giant insurmountable wall. It pains me.
Every conversation ended in an argument or like most recently in shouting matches, that left both of us wounded.
I sighed again and put my phone down on the table with a loud thud.
“I can whip us up some pancakes if you want?“
My words laced with concern for her. Following her every movement and holding my breath, anxiously waiting for her reply.
She turned around, and I noticed the bags under her eyes. She looked thinner and more frail.
Her long blonde hair gone, replaced by a wig. Her usually tan skin paler, then I remembered. Wanting to reach out and caress her cheek, just to feel the warmth and soft skin beneath my fingers. But I curled my fingers together, stopping myself.
I could see the toll that the cancer was taking on her. She refuses to change her habits. She’s a workaholic just like me, overworks herself when she should rest.
“Thanks. But I’m not hungry,“ she’s about to walk away.
But I can’t let her leave like this. I just can’t.
“Addi, please. You have to…“
She whips around, holding on to the mug so tightly her knuckles turn white. Clinging to it as if it was a life-line.
“I have to what? Be perfect, so that the mighty Sam Dalton isn’t embarrassed by his sick wife? Because that’s inconvenient for you?“ She retorts bitterly, huffing out a breath.
I inhale a sharp breath, my jaw clenching, trying to regain some sort of control over myself. She’s looking for a fight. I know her. But I don’t want to give in. Biting down hard on my bottom lip.
Counting down to five and let out a breath I was holding in.
“What do you mean? Where is that coming from? I love you Addi, what makes you think I’d be embarrassed? I’m trying to shield you from nasty comments people would make. I don’t want you to have to endure that. Please be reasonable, Addi. It’s not about me. I worry about you. You don’t eat well, you can’t sleep. The doctors said you should cut down your hours. You’re overworking your body, when it’s clear that you’re tired. You��“
She makes a wide gesture dismissing me, spreads her hands and counts on her fingers.
“You have to do this, you have to do that. Are you listening to yourself, Sam? I’m dying.“ I can see tears welling in her eyes. Ready to spill forward. Her green eyes pleading with me.
I get up from the chair I’ve been sitting on and walk towards her, to embrace her, but she takes a step back and my arms fall limply to my sides, my fists clenching. My lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Don’t say that Addi. We can still find a solution. Nothing’s written in stone…“
“Please I just…I’m tired Sam,“ she whispers. She swallows visibly and continues. Shaking her head
“I’m tired of all the probing, testing and all the hospital visits,“ her voice breaks and her whole body shakes with her sobs. I turn my head, not wanting her to see my tearstained face.
This time when I take her in my arms, she doesn’t say anything.
“Shh. It’s going to be okay.“
I don’t know who it is I’m trying to convince more.
Her or me.
She buries her face in my shirt, leaving wet spots everywhere. Clenching and unclenching her hands in my shirt.
I gently brush my fingers through her hair, not caring that it’s a wig. I just want to feel her.
Just us and nobody else. Even though she lost weight, she’s still the most beautiful woman to me. Moving my hands up and down of the small of her back trying to show her I’m here, and that I’m not going anywhere.
It feels like hours have passed rather than minutes. She steps back and wipes away some remaining tears. Her gaze unfocused. Glazed over.
“All I’m asking for Sam is time. To just think,“ she closes her eyes, her lashes casting crescent like shadows on her pale skin.
She continues on absently. Hands slightly shaking as she brushes a strand of hair behind her left ear.
“I promise I’ll take care of me. Don’t worry too much. Then I’ll be back for the appointment so we can receive more bad news, from Dr. Rodney,“ she said with a finality that scared me.
“Actually his name is Dr. Ramsey…“ I start but she stops me with her words.
“I don’t fucking care what his name is,“ she all but shouts at me.
“What makes you think, the opinion of that doctor at Edenbrook will be any different, from the dozen others we’ve sought out in New York, Sam? Let’s face it. I have stage four ovarian cancer, and I’m going to die. I tried chemotherapy, but the cancer has already spread to my lungs. It’s too aggressive,“ she shakes her head violently as if she was trying to shake off the memories. Her strands of hair flinging wildly around her face.
“Maybe there’s something else we can try. A different treatment plan or maybe radiotherapy?
What about surgery?“ I suggest. The ideas taking root in my mind. Giving me some hope.
“I also read there are new case studies that have shown some promise…“
She shudders like she can’t stomach the thought.
“I don’t want to be their lab rat. I made my peace with this Sam. You should do the same.“
The finality in her voice ringing in my ear like a constant echo.
I rake my hands through my hair, feeling myself getting more frustrated by the minute
“So that’s it? You’re ready to just give up? That’s not the Addison I know. The Addison that I know and love would fight this with everything she has.“
Her eyes flash with anger
“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I don’t want to have this conversation with you over and over again. We’re constantly fighting. This is leading nowhere,“ her voice wobbles.
“I’m sorry, Addie. I just want to help you, and I’m feeling at a loss here, because I don’t know how. You’re shutting me out. And I don’t know what to do,“ I mutter sadly.
She looks at me with her tear stained face.
My heart breaking in two. For both of us. Because she’s right, every doctor we saw, said the same thing: “It’s terminal“. But I can’t give up. Not just because of Addi, but also because of the twins. Who will never get the chance to know their mom properly.
With those words she leaves the kitchen and gets dressed. I stand there not able to move or say anything. With a final thud the front door closes and I’m alone.
Out of sheer anger and frustration I throw the mug against the wall and let out a cry of frustration.
The mug shatters into a million of pieces. Coffee spilling on the white wall. Dripping in slow rivulets down the floor. Creating a black puddle. I slide down the wall burying my head in my hands. The only thing that can be heard is me breathing and the tears that I don’t want anyone else to see.
Where did we go wrong?
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I posted 181 times in 2022
That's 29 more posts than 2021!
181 posts created (100%)
0 posts reblogged (0%)
I tagged 181 of my posts in 2022
#imagine - 99 posts
#imagines - 99 posts
#one chicago - 47 posts
#one shot - 40 posts
#chicago pd - 27 posts
#chicago pd imagine - 27 posts
#chicago pd imagines - 26 posts
#jay halstead imagine - 25 posts
#jay halstead imagines - 25 posts
#jay halstead - 25 posts
Longest Tag: 37 characters
#star trek strange new worlds one shot
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Roommates
Fandom: Chicago Fire
Series: One Shot
Pairing/s: Kelly Severide x Reader
Warning/s: none
Word Count: 575
Request: request: roommates to lovers trope with kelly severide
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It started off innocent enough, you'd needed somewhere to live, Kelly had needed a roommate to make rent, it made sense.
But, slowly, it developed into more. So slowly you hadn't realised until you were in too deep, with glances at one another in a towel, or in gym clothes, or late nights spent having dinner, curling up closer than necessary for wine and a move, with conversation so natural you may as well have been together for years.
It was there, in the air whenever you were alone, but neither of you had put it into words yet, so much so that you were starting to feel that it was one sided, or all in your head, or both.
So when Sylvie told you she had someone in mind to set you up with, you figured, why not, you couldn't wait around to see what might happen with Kelly forever, right?
Kelly was coming out of his room as you were slipping on your heels, pausing in his tracks when he saw you, jaw clenching. "Little dressed up for Molly's aren't you?" He asked, tone deeper than he intended.
You smile at him, "I have a date actually, I won't be able to make it tonight," you explain as casually as possible.
"You, er, didn't mention you had a date," he tried to play it off, but he was definitely jealous.
"I didn't?" You said as you rose, "sorry, I thought I had." Now that definitely gets a rise out of him, but he heads to the cupboards in the kitchen so you don't see it show on his face, not that he was looking for anything in particular in there.
"Who is this guy anyway?" He asked, levelling his tone.
"Friend of Sylvie's," you replied, slipping in your earrings as Kelly turned back to face you and take in the full extent of your outfit, his eyes wandering unsubtly.
"That's what you're wearing for a first date?" He asked, equal parts annoyed and protective.
"What's wrong with it?" You asked, defensiveness creeping into his voice. What right did he have to ask that? You'd waited long enough for him to make a move and he hadn't, could he really blame you for moving on with your life?
"It's... a little much," he answered, though you new full well he had no problem with the outfit, or how it looked on you, and that was in fact the problem.
You rolled your eyes as he stopped there, not saying anything more, not saying what you want him to.
"I should head to Molly's," he said finally, heading for the door.
"Yeah you should," you snapped back a little harsher than intended and he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.
With a frustrated sigh you gave up on the second earring, letting it scatter across the counter as you rested your hands on the edges and close your eyes.
You only opened them when you heard the door open again, with Kelly standing at the entrance, a look in his face you can't place.
"I don't want you to go on the date," he told you with conviction as you sagged with relief, tension you didn't even realise you were holding releasing.
"I don't want to go on the date," you admitted.
Without another word you both closed the gap, meeting in the middle and kissing like you were finally coming up for air.
322 notes - Posted May 21, 2022
#4
Jealousy
Fandom: Chicago Fire / Chicago PD
Series: One Shot
Pairing/s: Jay Halstead x Reader, Kelly Severide x Reader
Warning/s: none
Word Count: 629
Request: request : dating jay halstead but severide is your ex and jay gets jealous
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Some people think it's weird to be friends with your ex, but you disagreed. Some exes, such, but people like Kelly Severide? Nah, you didn't see it.
You and Kelly had dated years ago and separated amicably, and you'd been good friends ever since. He talked to you about Stella, you talked to him about Jay, to you it was normal. It sometimes bothered Jay though, when you and Kelly would have in jokes or conversations about your history and past, not that he'd tell you that.
It's not like you could forget everything about each other when you split, and Jat knew it was irrational, he trusted you, so he tried not to let it show, but it did bug him.
Like in Molly's after a very long shift, you were both sat with Kelly and Cruz as Cruz discussed the tattoo he was thinking of getting in memory of Otis, his friend, and his son.
"I think it's a great idea," you told him with a sincere smile, putting your hand on the arm he had resting on the table as Jay nodded his agreement.
"You have something similar, for your old college friend that passed," Kelly mentioned casually, gesturing with his beer to where you were sat. You nodded and the conversation carried on, with Cruz asking how you settled on the image, but Jay wasn't really paying attention.
It was so little, it shouldn't have bothered him, but he'd had a long day, so he excused himself from the booth at Molly's about getting an early one before next shift and headed out.
Kelly and Cruz didn't give it a second thought after they bid goodnight, but you couldn't help watch Jay as he left, a troubled look on your face before you excused yourself too and went after him.
"Jay!" You called after him when you exited the bar, noticing him from behind instantly. He stopped in his tracks, not turning but letting you catch up with him.
"Hey, what's up?" You asked, a hand on his forearm as you walked around him so that you were face to face.
"Nothing," he tried unconvincingly, knowing you weren't buying it either.
You tilted your head at him, a look on your face that told him as much without uttering a word. You faced off for a few seconds before he relented and sighed, eyes moving from yours.
"I just..." he tried to find the right words to explain without coming off douchey, "sometimes it just gets to me a little, seeing you and Kelly together," he admitted.
You laughed at the absurdity but he winced, looking a little hurt. Shaking your head you stopped.
"Baby, there's nothing between me and Kelly anymore," you told him, "we realised we were better off as friends, and we have been ever since, there's nothing for you to be jealous of."
"I know, I know, I do," Jay insisted, "it's just, I didn't know that, what he said about your tattoo, and I guess it just stung a little that he did."
You nodded but didn't say anything, so he continued. "I'm not trying to be one of those guys who tells you who you should be friends with and gets super jealous..." He explained, feeling like an idiot for even bringing it up, it's why he never had before.
"You can't control your feelings Jay, and I'd rather you tell me than let it fester," you said, putting a hand to his cheek, "but there really is nothing to worry about."
"I know," he told you genuinely, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.
"I love you," you told him forcefully, making sure he knew it.
"I know," he chuckled, kissing you softly, "I love you too."
375 notes - Posted May 24, 2022
#3
Close Call
Fandom: Chicago Med
Series: One Shot
Pairing/s: Connor Rhodes x Reader
Warning/s: stabbing
Word Count: 656
Summary: Losing a patient during surgery and Connor taking care of you after you get stabbed by a grieving family member
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You hadn’t seen it coming, turning away to give a grieving family some space after you’d just delivered the news of their son’s passing as you felt a hand grip your shoulder and something suddenly pinch your side.
There was a scream as you turned, the brother of your patient behind you as his mother yelled for help, the father leaping up as he stepped away, a bloody knife in his hand.
You looked at your side, your white shirt and coat already pooling with blood.
“What did you do!?” His mother screamed as the father rushed to the door, calling for anyone to help.
“That’s for my brother,” he told you, hand already shaking, clearly unsure of the weight of what he had just done.
You wanted to say something, to apologise maybe, but you collapsed, doctors and nurses rushing in as security pulled your assailant away and on to the ground.
Then... nothing.
-
“Y/N?” You heard the voice, gentle and full of concern, but it was far away, like you were underwater trying to break to the surface. “Y/N, oh Y/N, please wake up."
Eventually, the voice got a little clearer, forcing your heavy eye lids open to face the blinding light of the room, the left side of your body aching in a way you’d never experienced before.
You felt pressure on your hand as you woke up, a blurry figure leaning over you as you blinked, trying to focus on him. “There you are...” He breathed, relief washing over him. Connor.
He looked like he hadn’t slept, his clothes creased and his hair stuck down on one side, probably from where he’d been resting his head, you realised, eyes flicking to the coffee cups and blanket around the chair to the side of your bed.
"Connor-" you tried to talk but your throat was like sandpaper. He noticed and grabbed the cup from the bedside table, gently putting the straw to your lips as you shifted into the best sitting position you were able.
"Easy does it," Connor said, helping you sit and pulling the drink back when you coughed.
"Better?" He asked, rubbing your leg.
"Define better," you managed, throat still sore but your voice returning. He looked worried as your hand went to your side, remembering what had happened just before you lost consciousness.
Trying to push the thought away, you asked: "how long have I been out?"
"A few days," Connor said, a shadow crossing his face, "there were complications in surgery, you had to go back in twice, the last 24 hours have been crucial..." his voice caught in his throat and you took his hand.
"Don't tell me you counted me out?" You tried to joke, but he could hear the fear in your voice as you took in what he had said.
"Never," he promised, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze.
"So, what now?" You asked, looking to where your chart hung at the end of the bed, desperate to check your condition.
"Now, you rest and recover," he told you, following your eyes, "and you let your doctors do what they do best, you're off the clock on this one."
"But-" you began but the look on Connor's face made you pause. "It was bad, wasn't it?"
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400 notes - Posted February 7, 2022
#2
We'll Make It Down The Aisle
Fandom: Chicago PD
Series: Adding it to THIS series because I can
Part 1 // Part 2
Pairing/s: Jay Halstead x Reader
Warning/s:
Word Count: 967
Summary: After 10 years of being friends and more, Jay and the reader are finally tying the knot, but a medical emergency throws a spanner in the works
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Looking at yourself in the mirror one last time before heading to the limo, you could barely believe this was happening. Smoothing down your dress lightly, taking it all in, you couldn't help but smile.
When you'd met Jay he'd been uncover, working for a shady mobster named Arthur and shaking down Molly's for cash, you couldn't quite believe that you were about to walk down the aisle to him.
After years of friendship, consulting on a number of cases with Intelligence as a psychiatrist, a few new death experiences, and wasted time denying your feelings for each other, you were finally doing it.
The wedding was no expenses spared, especially thanks to Voight's donation - you'd been smart enough not to ask where that money had come from.
So there you were, climbing carefully into your carriage, well, limo, with your Maid of Honour, Sylvie, and bridesmaids: Stella, Kim and Maggie. It was perfect.
"Ready?" Sylvie asked, looking at you with the biggest grin you'd ever seen as Stella pulled the door shut.
You nodded, "without a doubt." She knocked on the separating window and the limo began to move, taking you to the only place you wanted to be, with Jay.
"Oh I bet he's going to look good," Stella nudged you playfully.
"Of course he will, he's a Halstead," Maggie added and you all laughed.
You conversation didn't last long, however, your laughter being cut short by a loud crash from outside and the breaks of the limo were slammed on, throwing you all forward into each other as you screeched to a halt.
"What was that?" Kim asked, rolling down the closest tinted window as you all leaned forward to see what looked like the aftermath of a traffic collision.
A truck had hit... "Is that a school bus?" Sylvie asked, eyes wide and you swallowed hard, commotion already starting to form around the accident.
You all exchanged a knowing look and sprang into action, pulling open the door as you all ran to the scene, hoisting up your skirt as you did.
"Y/N, what about the wedding?" Stella asked as you reached the crash, the crowd already doing a double take at the 5 glamorously dressed women racing towards them, your heels clicking on the concrete.
"It'll have to wait," you replied, surveying the scene. The others did the same, each having their own specialty in the field.
"I'll take triage, tell Med we have a mass-casualty situation," Maggie declared, noticing the walking wounded and a number of injured pedestrians spread along the street.
"I'm with you," Sylvie added and you all nodded.
"I'm on crowd control, I'll call it in," Kim said, already working to direct some of the crowd away so you could work.
You and Stella glanced at one another, "I guess that means we're going in."
You nodded, face grim but focused. Psychiatrist or not, you worked in the E.D, and you'd had plenty of extra field training; you were as good as any paramedic.
You both made your way to the bus. The truck was on its side but the bus was still upright, a dangerously tilted lamppost stopping it in its tracks, a giant dent in the side where the impact occurred.
People were trapped, and injured, so you and Stella got to work trying to pry the doors open.
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430 notes - Posted February 10, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Undercover
Fandom: Chicago PD
Series: One Shot
Pairing/s: Jay Halstead x Reader
Warning/s: none
Word Count: 898
Summary: Imagine... meeting Jay when your Unit teams up with Intelligence for an undercover assignment
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You'd been undercover for just four months as a barmaid. Your narcotics unit had been gathering intel on a new gang moving into the area who were lacing their product with fentanyl and working out of this seedy dive bar in Canaryville.
Being new players meant going under had been easier than usual - they needed actual staff the run the front of this place while they did business in the back, so you'd applied for the position and basically been hired on the spot.
About a month ago the Intelligence Unit had joined the operation. Their new drug had landed a few DOA's at their feet in the form of turf disputes, and your Sergeant had known Voight for years, so you'd teamed up to take these guys down.
You'd never met Detective Halstead, but when Jay had walked into the bar and used your Unit's code phrase in conversation, you'd known he was your new contact. Jay had set himself up as player interested in helped your new 'boss', who went by Murdock, get his product on the street faster.
He'd come to the bar a few times, getting flirty with you behind the counter to pass information with code. It was how you'd been able to tell him about a party coming up at Murdock's new pad to celebrate a recent influx of sales, and Jay had been able to score and invite.
So there you were, half playing lookout, half serving the fanciest hors d'oeurvres a drug dealing gangster could come up with in a cocktail dress they felt more like a second skin as Jay attempted to plant a bug in Murdock's study.
Out the corner of your eye you spotted Murdock rounding the corner, your eyes widening in panic. The study was a radio dead zone, you had no way of warning Jay in advance.
"We have a problem," you whispered into your earpiece, your partner Callie and Adam Ruzek on the other end in an unmarked van down the road.
"How bad?" Adam's voice crackled over the comms.
"Jay's cover is about to be blown," you informed them, eyeing Murdock as casually as you could.
Adam swore over the other end of the line.
"Should we move in?" Callie asked.
"Not yet," you advised.
Think Y/N, Murdock hadn't spotted you as you slipped around the corner. You could make it to the study before him... but then what? He'd see you and Jay in the corridor and it would be over for both of you.
Unless... "Give me 5, if you don't hear from me, move in then," you told them, not giving them a chance to reply as you made your move.
You placed your tray on the nearest surface and made your way to the study, slipping in just as Murdock rounded the corridor, he hadn't seen you.
"Y/N?" Jay whispered, surprised to see you as he knelt by Murdock's desk, just finishing planting the bug. "You can't be in here."
"Murdock will be in here any second," you told him, looking around the room for anywhere to escape, or hide. You hadn't thought there would be, all intelligence told you the room was impenetrable. But that hadn't been your plan anyway.
"Even more reason for you not to have come in here," Jay said, worry lacing his voice as he stood fast, wishing he'd had a weapon. Everyone had been searched upon entry, you were defenceless, and you had no way to defend yourselves.
"Follow my lead," you told him hurriedly as a shadow darked the doorway behind you.
Jay looked confused, glancing between you and the door as the handle began to turn. He had no choice but to nod slightly.
Here goes everything, you thought, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for a kiss, pivoting yourselves so that you were backed up again the desk.
Jay's eyes widened, not quite processing what was happening as the door opened and Murdock walked in.
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573 notes - Posted March 17, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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kit-williams · 3 months
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Kinda shameless self insert? With my ADHD ass it makes it hard to try to do reader/yn fics so here's a shameless self insert and yeah anything I write is gonna be ADHD coded. First time writing for this fandom OH BOY and first time writing in awhile.
Some idea backstory its the year 2020-2021 but "Goblin" is from 2023 and suddenly a bunch of fictional men are real. This short is set after all the fun plot set up of "why they believe you" and dealing with your clearance having ass that can just open up lovely bits of information for them. (yes I wanted to skip the hard part of setting up plot) Oh and her phone still seems to be connected to back home so there was a fun moment of accidentally showing Soap his Wiki page "Why am I K.I.A?"
Goblin is Female, is 30, is American, was married, and has ADHD I guess you could say unreliable narrator too?
This is super unbeta read so I guess enjoy my insane ramblings
They really shouldn't make obstacle courses so much fun. I think as I just swing back and forth on one of the ropes over the mud pit, something I would worry about later. I couldn't stop this one impulse it just looked too fun and nobody was using it. I've seen soldiers just do a casual run through of it so why not just have a little bit of fun. I sigh as I continue to swing back and forth and spin slightly. There wasn't much for me to do today but Price was adamant on making sure I was earning some wage, but hard to keep a coding Goblin happy.
Was weird to find out that there was a version of myself here so no sense in going to try and woo my alternate husband... I've accepted the fact that this is not a dream... but hey I get to try and see if the lotto numbers from back home work here and I can give myself a nice stack of cash, Nikolai is such a wonderful man and knowing my dumbass I won't notice a damn thing. That's been the hardest thing... going from sleeping in a bed with another person to being alone... no warm body next to yours with an arm wrapped tightly around you. Muttering for you to not go to work and just stay home... god and living on my own for literally the first time in my life is going as awful as I dreaded. My nuro ass can't thrive alone only survive... momma raised a survivor but I was so use to not being in survival mode with my husband that it stung to go back.
At least Soap or Johnny was nice enough to stop on by occasionally of course he'd make it worse at times... triggering me and making me all antsy. Thank Jesus for Simon or Ghost... I couldn't tell if he was still mad at me calling him Simon when I first saw him but now he just helps. I think he was the first person to pick up the fact that I could hardly live alone.
I had to be thankful that Gaz and Price were married and that I didn't have the four of them mother henning no I only got two though. I continued to swing back and forth without a care in the world. Though I started to get a care... I looked down at the mud in the pit. It was a good drop compared to the side of the mud hole. Just a swing to the side. I gripped the rope tightly as I would move my foot out and get unbalanced but I was so focused that when I heard Johnny say if I needed help it made me discombobulated.
Ghost rushed over after hearing a distinctive shriek and Soap howling with laughter. He rushed over in time to see Johnny's face get covered in mud as their tech Goblin crawled her way out of the mud. How she just smiled at him as he walked over and she just simply shrugged. "Yeah not my smartest lack of impulse as I'm now muddy for the rest of the day. But! I did figure out my coding issue! 'Scuse me gentlemen!" His hand shot out before she could get too far.
"Yer not going to get the computer room muddy." Ghost said as if it was obvious.
"But I don't have a change of clothes and I have an inspired moment." Goblin said but let out her screech as she was just picked up and taken over to the women's barracks.
"You need to shower hen. I'll get you something while your clothes are tossed into the wash."
"Fine. But I'm blaming you when I forget my eureka moment."
"Yeah I can live with that." Ghost said pushing her inside to the showers.
-----------
Goblin was the best way to describe her. She was small, loud, and weird. Not given the fact she was from a few years in the future and the fact that they all existed as video game characters but her quirks, her knowledge, and just the way she carried herself. Soap and her could feed off of each other till she crashed and that is when Ghost would have to intervene. She spoke less and less about her life back home... the lads she left behind as it seems that life continued on and she was still there.
She was giving up on the fact that this was a dream as well... and for the two of them she was opening up how painfully lonely she was. She could see her old life right there being lived by another version of herself. For Simon he knew for her it was akin to the trauma he went through... all of her nets and family and friends basically gone. Ghost could help her keep grounded and well Price offering her a job to have some cash for her to spend on hobbies helped. But more often than not she was at the base unwilling to go home alone where there was no one to soothe her mind.
Soap was eager to fill that void for her, perhaps it was misguided in the sense of he was thankful to her, but Ghost enjoyed the way they would just sit in silence and a few times she thanked him for just sitting in the same room as she played a game, drew, or whatever she did to stave off the pending breakdown. Though she joked that she was like that song Tubthumping she always got back up again. But Ghost was worried when she wouldn't bounce back.
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fyeahxambassadors · 23 days
Text
Alt-rock band X Ambassadors returns home to Ithaca, honors local educator in new album
WSKG | By Aurora Berry
Published March 3, 2024 at 8:50 PM EST
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Sacks And Co./Provided
The X Ambassadors pictured from the left, Adam Levin, Casey Harris and Sam Nelson Harris
The alt-rock group  X Ambassadors dedicated their latest music video to Ithaca educator, Todd Peterson, who passed away in 2021.
Two members of the band are from Ithaca and shot the video in their hometown. 
Sam Nelson Harris is lead vocalist for the band, which found international success with songs like “Unsteady”, “Home” and “Renegades”.
Harris told WSKG’s Aurora Berry the band is returning to upstate New York with new music, reflecting on the people and places in Ithaca that shaped them artistically and personally.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
youtube
Aurora Berry: I want to talk a little bit about Todd Peterson. Who was he to you? What part did he play in your life as a performer?
Sam Nelson Harris: Todd was my teacher. He was kind of like a mentor to me growing up. He worked at the elementary school I went to growing up, Belle Sherman Elementary School.
He was always with us kids, everywhere. If we got in trouble, you were going to see Todd, but he was also on the playground with us hanging out.
He really was an incredible, incredible person.
He found out that I could sing. He convinced me to sing at this fifth grade play that we did about women's suffrage. I sang the song “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child,” while these two kids danced ballet on stage.
I was so nervous. I couldn't actually be on stage. I stood by the side of the stage with my microphone, and no one could see my face.
He was the first person who was like, “You're doing this.” There was no question. He was like, “You're gonna do this, and you're gonna be great. You're gonna sound great. You're gonna do it.”
And then I did it. And he was like, “See, what did I tell you?”
He was a very, very monumental figure in my life. He taught me so much about what I know about performing and gave me so much confidence as a young person to do that.
My story is not unique, he had such a huge impact on so many other kids.
It sounds like he was really supportive and proud of you. How did he feel once X Ambassadors started taking off?
He was so proud.
We came back to visit him around the time when we put on this festival called Cayuga Sound at Stewart Park.
We went back to visit him at Belle Sherman and he had pictures of us all in his office. He was so proud and still he had that same kind of Todd attitude. Like, you know, “Don't get too big for your britches, Sam.”
He would give me that attitude and it was very sweet.
There was definitely a part of me as the years went on, I don’t know… I’d get annoyed when he would say, “Don't forget about us little people. Don't forget about us. Why don't you call me back?”
It’s so shameful for me to admit this but I started kind of just avoiding his calls and his texts. I actively kind of avoided him towards the end.
When I heard that he had passed, I was just so distraught and so torn up. I just wished that I could have thanked him for everything that he did for me and for being the incredible human being that he was.
That's kind of what I was trying to grapple with in the song “Your Town”, that I wrote for him. It’s me struggling with my own sense of guilt for leaving him behind and trying to celebrate this incredible person that I knew.
What do you think people outside of Ithaca should know about Todd?
Todd was a queer, black man from upstate New York who was so unabashedly himself. He just walked through the world with so much confidence and poise and light and humor, and also was not afraid to remind you how serious and heartbreaking life can be.
He believed in you for you, until you finally got it, until you finally believed in yourself. That's just the type of person that he was.
I hope that anyone who didn’t know him and listens to this song is reminded of someone in their lives who had a similar impact on them.
So many people won't ever know the huge impact that teachers, mentors, community members, family members and friends like Todd have had on so many people's lives.
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Aurora Berry/WSKG News
The X Ambassadors are returning to Ithaca for a show at the State Theater on June 1
It seems like you’ve been reflecting on your life in Ithaca a lot recently. What have you been thinking about as you’ve been making art about it? 
It's so funny how, when I grew up there, I just wanted so badly to leave. I wanted so badly to not be defined as a person from upstate New York, because I felt like we had no identity up there.
I felt like this was kind of a place in between places. It was already such a transient town because of the universities that both existed there. It felt faceless, it felt nameless, and I desperately didn't want that to be me.
I moved to New York and I started a band in New York. We were a Brooklyn band even though it was me and my brother and my best friend and we all were from Ithaca.
Now, I just am so aware of the fact that so much of who I am is where I'm from, and the people who I left behind and the people I've carried with me and that place, upstate New York.
At the beginning of this record I was like, I want people to know what upstate New York is really its own unique place. It’s not faceless. It's not this kind of place between places. In trying to identify this place where I'm from, I have come I think the closest I've ever been to finding myself, as corny as that may sound.
I feel such a connection to this place that I've fought so hard against for so long, and embracing it has felt just like absolute freedom.
You shot all of your newest video in Ithaca. How did you decide which locations you wanted to feature?
I wanted to get a director on board who knew upstate New York and specifically knew Ithaca as intimately as I did.
My friend Dan Pfeffer is a brilliant filmmaker. We made so many short films together in high school. It was really nice to come back together and make something as grownups and especially to do it in our hometown.
There's stuff shot at Ithaca High School, where I went to high school and stuff shot at Belle Sherman Elementary, where we went to elementary school. The Shortstop Deli, which is a great sandwich place.
A lot of gas stations. I kind of romanticized this gas station as this place where we could fill up on a tank of gas and drive out of town and never come back.
Most of the time we were just stopping by to fill up on gas and drive out to somebody's house out in the country and party. You know, drink and smoke and do whatever you did as kids. You’d fill up on whatever supplies you needed for the night and meet up there, loiter in the gas station parking lot for as long as you could before they’d kick you out.
I think there are places all around the world like that. You'll pass through and it's just a place you pass through, but to somebody else, that's their entire world, that's their home. And it's good to be reminded of that.
Can you think of any other memories that you feel have influenced your upcoming album?
There's a little interlude on the record called “First Dam”. There's the first and second and third dam in Ithaca. I wrote this about an experience I had there when I was 13 years old. I was with some friends and one of them threw a rock and didn't see me behind him, and he actually accidentally broke my nose.
I was pouring blood out of my nose. We found somebody's house nearby and called an ambulance. I had this crazy memory of getting in the back of that ambulance, waving to them like a queen or a king. They're waving to me. I'm being carried out on this thing, going past my friends.
I described it on the record as being a moment where I felt finally wasn't this secret boy. I was kind of royalty for a second. I wasn't invisible anymore.
I think that I struggled a lot with that, with the dynamic in my house, too, with my brother being blind. My mom and my dad and I all paid so much attention to his needs. We were always preoccupied with him. I think, maybe buried deep down inside, I sometimes felt a little overlooked.
It was mostly mom and me and Casey. She had her hands full with him. I don't blame her at all, for me feeling like that.
I think I often felt like I didn't matter or that my problems weren't, you know, worth worrying about.
I've finally come around to thinking, I felt seen in that moment. And that's pretty, pretty powerful.
There's a song on the album that I wrote for my brother, Casey. That song is the first time I've ever really been able to explicitly kind of talk about our relationship dynamic and being the sibling of someone with a disability and how that's been for me.
It's very vulnerable and very scary to put it out into the world. But I'm not so scared, really, because I think it's great. I love him a lot and I love the song. That's one that I'm excited for people to hear.
The X-Ambassadors’ upcoming album “Townie” will be out on April 5.
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amberjazmyn · 5 months
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dr spencer reid one-shot
𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓮 - the world ain't all sunshines and rainbows 
𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 - screaming, low-grade swearing, a little sadness, maybe some crying
𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 - marianna is explaining to spencer reid, her best friend, that the world isn't all sunshine and rainbows anymore after he told her the same thing two years prior. not like they thought it was when they were younger when they first started working at the bau. 
𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 - this is once again, an old recycled imagine that i wrote like 2020 or 2021 so, i'm so sorry. i'm just out of ideas and i am in desperate need of new ones. 
masterlist
- - - 
marianna's pov | two years ago 
"somewhere along the line, you changed. You stopped being you."
my face softened, my best friend spencer confronting me about the way i had recently stopped being myself. stabbing me in the heart, i slowly started lowering my defences, i always did around spencer considering we've been friends our entire life and both joined the fbi academy when we were both twenty-two. hearing spencer tell me these words hurt, of course, they did because i knew that he was right; that is usually always the case. i will admit that the last two years of being with the bau has changed me because of how much trauma, loss and change we've gone through as a team. however, i knew i had to let spencer continue his ramble so he could let out all of his thoughts so, i decided to stay quiet, refusing my usual itch to assert myself into his ramble, allowing him to continue freely. 
"you let people stick a finger in your face and tell you you're no good. and when things got hard, you started looking for something to blame."
subconsciously, i removed my hand that was resting on my gun holster, not to shoot him or anyone, for we were in the conference room in the fbi headquarters, it was just something i did subconsciously that made me feel safe and less anxious. moving it from my holster, i moved it over to timidly link my fingers into spencer's, who immediately reciprocates, making me relax as he also relaxes alongside me. allowing both of us to open ourselves up to each other and relax. 
"let me tell you something you already know. the world ain't all sunshine and rainbows."
i giggled softly, not because i was making fun of spencer, that was one of the activities i passed on involving myself within the group. i laughed because spencer sounded exactly like rossi, who we call our bau team mom when spencer had said that. however, it wasn't long before i nodded my head in agreement and a serious, composed expression fixed on my face within seconds as i came to realise he was telling the truth, just like he always did. spencer was right because, even before the both of us joined the fbi, the world was still anything but sunshine and rainbows, most especially ours due to how broken our childhood was. 
"thanks for telling me something i already know and have since i was a child, spence," i snigger, squeezing spencer's hand tighter as we then heard the small whispers from the rest of our team, making spencer and i groan to ourselves due to the awaiting teasing we were both gonna get alongside the fact that we've most likely got another case
why can't serial killers just take a fucking holiday? 
"fuck you, serial killer! why can't you just take a goddamn holiday for once? looks like we're taking down another unsub today, spencearoo!" i groan as spencer helps me up from the couch we were sitting on together with little to no space inbetween us as he chuckles at my comment, our hands still connected even though we knew that we were about to get teased 
"spencearoo? where'd you get that nickname from, pretty girl?" derek morgan, spencer and i's main teaser when it came to the two of us being in close proximity to each other as i roll my eyes, still holding spencer's hands
"it's his--" "--it was her childhood nickname for me. i haven't heard that in years..." spencer trailed off, his cheeks a soft pink colour as i smiled at the floor
"...very cute, now, come on lovebirdies, we have a case and it seems as if this serial killer is not messing or waiting around any longer!" morgan spoke up, a small wink and click of the tongue in the middle of it as he then walked away, not before nudging me in the direction of spencer, making me smack him as he laughs his way into the bullpen 
despite the fact that the rest of our team was in the bullpen, spencer and i stayed back. he didn't do anything to separate our hands from each other. whilst i was utterly confused because spencer would never be this late to a case meeting without a valid reason, i cannot lie and say i didn't like this moment of connection we were having. yes, sure, spencer and i have been friends since childhood but, ever since i could remember, i was in love with him but always too scared to admit it. of course, there were several where i nearly did, like when he was abducted by tobias hankel and was drugged but, i never ran with it because i am always scared of the potential outcome. what if this ruins our friendship with each other which then forces me to either resign from the fbi altogether or transfer into a completely different unit? 
"spen...spence, we...we have a case, what are we doing just waiting here? more people are going to die if we don't join the rest of the team!" i stammer out as i tried to pull the both of us closer to the conference room so it didn't seem too suspicious as to why we were taking so long 
"oh...oh yeah...yeah, you're right. we...we should probably join them!" spencer stammered out in a flustered babble of a sentence that i only managed to decipher 
"it's a very mean and nasty place, and i don't care how tough you are; it will beat you to your knees, and keep you there permanently if you let it. you, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life."
one day, five hours and thirty minutes were how long it took for us to catch our murderously schizophrenic unsub and save the three kids that he had tried to murder because he thought they were the girls that bullied him. when really, the three girls were just high school girls that didn't even know the nineteen-year-old boy and didn't even go to the same high school that he graduated from. the only thing that connected the three girls to the unsub was their hair, eye colours and the fact that they were all sisters. just like the three girls that bullied the unsub those few years ago that became the stressor for his crimes. 
the team was on the flight back to quantico where spencer and I were still carrying on with our conversation that we started that day, five hours and thirty minutes ago. of course, it looked and kind of sounded strange that spencer and i could continue a conversation for this long without forgetting anything but, that's just what we did. we've done it since we were young kids and, it sort of became our little language with each other that no one else could replicate. And, of course, with spencer and i's conversations, comes the winks, the suggestive eyebrow wiggles, and the gesticulations to tell spencer that i love him in more of a best friend way. 
"but it ain't about how hard you can hit. it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. how much you can take and keep moving forward."
i smiled as spencer's speech slowed down but didn't falter as he continued talking. every single time, on the flight back from every case we have, i always forget how young spencer and i are. we're both only twenty-four, having only joined together at twenty-two, we're still yet to get to the physical stage as the rest of our agents but, we were still treated (somewhat) with the same respect that the rest of our team did. however, it did sometimes become a bother when we weren't even given the time of day by our own peers because of how young and "inexperienced" we are. the best thing, however, is when we outsmart the elder agents, seeing their reactions always make spencer and i smile and boost both of our egos just a little bit higher as it then forces the elder agent to stop doubting us and actually allows us to show them that anything they can do, we can do it just as better despite how young we are. 
"whatcha thinking about, spencaroo, invite me into your wacky and wonderful brain? i wanna hear more!" i smile, ruffling spencer's hair in an awkward position due to the fact that spencer and i were cuddled up together, facing each other with my arm poking out from where our chests and my boobs met up in the middle 
"is it weird to say you?" spencer whispered back but, apparently, derek's ears were turned on very well because what followed was a wolf whistle, making me flail my head into spencer's chest as he smiles, his hand moving to the back of my head to support it, making me smile into his chest 
"not at all..." i mutter back just as quietly, making sure the rest of the team didn't hear it so they couldn't continue teasing us
"that's how winning is done."
whispering the last part of his speech that he was ever so proud of, spencer smiled as he lifted up my chin from his chest. however, it seemed as if he still wasn't finished and i could tell by the way his mouth twitched like it always did when he was thinking about what he was going to say next. i could only smile at him back, in a loving way, as he could preach or ramble to me all day every single day and i'd still get butterflies in my tummy and fall in love with him even more. because, no one else likes it when he rambles on and, i can tell how hurtful that is for him when no one wants to hear what he has to say. so, i always let him talk before i even think of what to say next because, spencer always has something important to say, whether it's relevance. anything spencer says is something worth hearing. 
"now, if you know what you're worth, then go out and get what you're worth. but, you gotta be willing to take the hits. and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody. cowards do that, and that ain't you. you're better than that marianna."
we had finally landed back down in quantico and the rest of the team, rossi, prentiss, jj, garcia, morgan and hotch had all decided they were going to go out for drinks. they of course extended the invitation out to spencer and me but, we declined, we were absolutely shattered by the case, for we had been pretty much crying the entire flight home and we just needed to relax and comprehend everything. they agreed but of course, they couldn't forget the little tease, yet it seemed as if morgan noticed that it was the wrong place and he shut it down quickly when he noticed that we were going to be staying together, spencer and i, he knew the reason why and it wasn't for the reason that everyone else thought it was for. morgan knew the pain cases like this one, with schizophrenic unsubs, puts spencer through and that if he was home alone, it wouldn't be the best idea. for he'd have an emotional breakdown and tear down his apartment from top to bottom wondering why he couldn't help the poor boy before the unsub died due to a gunshot wound by his own hand. this is why, after cases that hit too close for spencer, i would stay with him, whether in his own apartment or mine, i'd never leave him alone and it was the same for me when a case hit too close to home for me. and it was something both of us always appreciated and it was something we had done since we first started together. 
this was when, on our drive back home to spencer's apartment, he decided to end his little inspirational spiel of the entire day. and, in all honesty, i loved it, every single word of it. it rang absolutely true to the life we're living now and, if anything, this was something that needed to be told to everyone. 
"that was really inspirational spence, i really mean that! you should tell the rest of the team this tomorrow morning, you'd get a very good reception i think, otherwise i'll make sure to all smack them and make sure hotch grounds them," i smile, a small giggle leaving my mouth from my joke as I moved down to spencer's face, my hand on his cheek as i kissed the opposite, running over to the couch so i could rest my legs
"th...thanks, marianna, tha...that was very sweet of you..." i faintly hear spencer whisper as he then stumbles over to his room to get changed as he hears me giggle to myself, that's when i understand why spencer was being so dramatic and what had happened
flashback over | marianna's pov
"...spence, spencaroo, you okay there buddy?" i whisper, sliding myself over to my best friend, he was cowering over himself and he looked sad, his eyes glassed over as we sat outside the house where our unsub had just killed our missing girl out of fear of morgan and the presence of the swat team 
it wasn't until after i asked him if he was okay that i actually took a proper look at his face and he looked scared, upset, guilty, regretful at the scene that sat behind us as my shoulders fall sadly. holding his hand, in silent comfort, i just hoped that he would open up to me, whether it was soon or later. 
it had been two years since spence, the team and i had faced a case with such intensity. but, even then, we were just walking out of the house, spencer and i, when we heard the gunshot that killed the little five-year-old girl. that scream that followed after the gunshot as the girl then fell to the floor i think was forever going to haunt spencer and me both for days, weeks, months and maybe even years to come because of how loud it was. i could tell it frightened spencer a lot more than it scared me, especially when i seemed to notice the tears which had welled up in his eyes falling down his cheeks. i clenched my jaw and tried to eliminate my emotions so i could let spencer articulate his as i pulled him closer to me whilst we sat down on the steps of the white picket, all-american family house. 
"mar...marianna, is...is it normal that this is the most scared i've ever felt on a case?" spencer sniffles out as his shaky breath tells me that he was still crying, i gulp as i bite my lip, my heart breaking at the same time as i held spencer closer to my side as he cuddled in further 
"oh, spence, of...of course it's normal to be scared, a five-year-old girl wasn't able to be saved from her psychosomatic father because he got frightened by the fbi and swat team. of course, it was going to be scary, this wasn't normal, that wasn't what we planned to happen." i reassured him softly as spencer let out a sob which broke my heart again, grabbing his head i pulled him into my lap so he could continue crying without drawing any attention to himself 
"i...i, anna...still, i...i've never...never been this scared, what...what's going on?" spencer sobbed out quietly as i tried my hardest to comfort my best friend when i suddenly remembered the exact words from two years ago when we were twenty-four
"the world ain't all sunshine and rainbows, spence *spencer smiles as he lifts his head up, you had remembered what he told you* it's a very mean and nasty place and, i don't care how tough you are; it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. you, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life but, it ain't about hard you can hit. it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward. how much you can take and keep moving forward, that's how winning is done *spencer wasn't crying as much for he knew he was safe with you* now if you know what you're worth, then go out and get what you're worth. but, you gotta be willing to take the hits." 
"and not pointing fingers saying you ain't where you wanna be because of him, or her, or anybody. cowards do that, and that ain't you. you're better and smarter than that spence," i spoke with a smile on my face but with a stern voice so he knew that what he said to me when we were twenty-four, also applies to the both of us at twenty-six
"you...you remembered that, anna?" spencer sniffled once more as we held hands tightly as he gave me a small look of confusion and shock which made me giggle as I nodded my head 
"how could I forget, spence? you are seriously an intelligent, inspirational human being, now, come on, we need to interrogate our unsub, we can't keep on crying over that little girl and we need to help the rest of our team, now can we?" i smile softly, standing up before helping pull spencer up from where we sat down on the steps as we moved over to our suv for our drive back to headquarters - an exact coda of two years ago happening again except, the other way around
that's how winning is done..."
- - - 
this was a little crappy but, once again, your girl is running out of ideas and i'm sick and tired of relying on and recycling my old imagines. 
ok ily bye xx
word count: 3125
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august-anon · 2 years
Text
On a Scale From One to Ten
This has been finished in my backlog since November of 2021 it's time for it to be free lol. Also, I barely edited this. I edited certain sections of it, but it is SO long and i am tired lol, so it is going out into the world as-is.
----
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Ship(s): Malec
Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Magnus/Ler!Alec
Word Count: 6880 words
Summary: Magnus can't recall where he's ticklish, or if he even is at all. Alec is more than happy to help him rediscover.
[ao3 link]
--------------------------------------------
Alec was left panting for breath on the training room floor, grin still plastered in place. Tear tracks were streaming down his cheeks, but he made no effort to wipe them away just yet, instead basking in the loose-limbed, forced-relaxation of a tickle fight well-lost.
Not that he would’ve lost, if his siblings had played fair. Izzy and Jace would be on the floor in his place right now if they hadn’t planned a surprise attack, cheating by activating their runes. He was absolutely getting them back for that, but revenge could wait for now. If Alec remembered correctly—
“Well well, I see you’re all working very hard.”
—Magnus was picking him up from the Institute that night, to ensure he actually left on time for once. Alec’s workaholic tendencies may or may not have been getting the better of him lately. Maybe that was why his siblings had planned such a seemingly-random attack. It certainly got him to relax, after all. He didn’t feel like trying to go back to work, at least.
He heard Izzy and Jace’s laughter as they greeted Magnus and fled the training room, probably fearing revenge. And while Alec’s revenge would certainly be unforgiving, it could wait until he got to spend an uninterrupted evening with his boyfriend.
Alec finally sat up and brushed away the lingering tear tracks as he heard Magnus approaching. Once his feet entered Alec’s line of sight, he glanced up and gave Magnus a tired grin. Magnus smiled back, offering him a hand up.
“I see your siblings are keeping you in your proper place.”
Alec snorted, pulling himself to his feet with Magnus’s help. “Please, they’ll be sleeping with one eye open until I put them out of their misery and get them back.”
Magnus smiled again, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I was going to ask if you wanted to walk home, but after that display I think I’ll take pity.”
Before Alec could protest that he was fine, Magnus had already created a portal right there in the training room. Alec rolled his eyes, but shot a fond look at Magnus nonetheless. He allowed Magnus to lead him through the portal, suddenly finding himself in the living area of the loft, and pulled Magnus close. He leaned down and pressed a much less innocent kiss to Magnus’s lips now that they were alone.
“I have to say,” Magnus said when they pulled back, a mischievous tilt to his lips, “I never would’ve guessed that the great Alexander Lightwood is ticklish.” He tweaked Alec’s side for emphasis.
Alec jerked away with a small yelp, a smile fighting onto his lips once more. He held up his hands, prepared to defend himself, but Magnus made no move to attack again. Alec eyed him warily.
“Don’t worry,” Magnus said, even as he eyed Alec predatorily. “I wouldn’t attack you so soon after your last defeat. You’d tire out far too quickly for my taste.”
He patted Alec on the cheek before starting to make his way toward the kitchen. Alec snorted and followed behind.
“How kind of you.”
Alec wrapped his arms around Magnus’s waist, nuzzling his nose behind Magnus’s ear. Magnus hummed and leaned back into him, and Alec saw his eyelashes flutter shut.
“What about you?” Alec asked.
Magnus tilted his head just enough for Alec to catch his expression: a bemused frown. “What about me?”
Alec grinned and tightened his grip on Magnus’s waist. “Is the great High Warlock of Brooklyn ticklish?”
Alec expected bravado. He expected a scoff, good natured teasing, and a coy invitation for Alec to find out for himself. He expected a quick laugh before a swift and magical revenge.
What he didn’t expect was for Magnus’s frown to deepen as he laced his fingers with Alec’s own, still resting on his stomach. Magnus’s eyes flitted around the kitchen, searching for something he couldn’t quite seem to grasp, though their gaze was far too distant to be looking for anything actually in the loft.
“I… can’t actually recall,” Magnus said eventually, his brows furrowing. “I suppose it’s been a long time since anyone’s tried.”
Alec frowned. “I guess immortality would lead to some memories being lost to time.”
They were quiet for a few moments more, until Magnus spoke up again, his voice soft. “I wouldn’t mind rediscovering that,” he said. “So long as it’s with you.”
Alec pressed a lingering kiss to Magnus’s temple, pulling away despite how much he wished he could remain wrapped around Magnus for the rest of their lives. Magnus pressed a kiss to the back of his hand before Alec could move away completely.
“Maybe after dinner?” Alec offered. He smirked and added, “You’ll need your energy to make it through one of my attacks.”
“Ah, yes, the famed Older Brother Tickle Attacks. I’ve heard many rumors about such a thing.”
Magnus grinned, but there was definitely an edge of embarrassment to his smile. Alec kissed the corner of that grin and moved further into the kitchen, starting to pull ingredients out of the fridge. It took a few moments before Magnus followed behind and started helping with dinner.
There was an odd tension in the air the rest of the night. It wasn’t necessarily a bad sort of tension, but the two of them certainly felt the threats and promises just made looming over them. Alec couldn’t help but rake his eyes over Magnus’s figure multiple times over the course of the night, which he usually did anyway, but now with completely different intentions. Magnus clearly sensed it, because he was fidgeting and fumbling all night.
It was kind of cute. And definitely a nice change of pace, considering Alec was the one used to being flustered and fumbling in their relationship.
They both hesitated once their plates were cleared. Though Alec usually cleaned up himself, finding the actions of cleaning soothing and calming (well, so long as it wasn’t a huge mess), Magnus snapped the plates clean and back into the cupboard. Magnus twisted the rings on his fingers.
“So,” Alec said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Do you still wanna do this? Or was it just… playful joking around, earlier.”
It was certainly a new experience for Alec. He had never planned to tickle someone before. It had always just happened in the heat of the moment. Whether it was Jace being obnoxious and needing to be taken down a peg, or Izzy being too nosy for her own good and needing a warning, or Max just being annoying and needing to be kept busy, he had never negotiated the situation beforehand.
“We can still do this,” Magnus said, spinning his rings a little faster. “If you want to.”
“Yeah! Uh, yeah. How do we do this?”
Magnus shrugged. “Bedroom?”
Alec shrugged back and nodded. “Bedroom.”
As they walked there, Magnus habitually snapped them into lounge clothes. Alec suddenly found himself in a comfortably worn t-shirt and sweatpants. Glancing at Magnus, he saw that he was in a pair of loose lounge pants and one of his ornate robes. Based off Magnus’s usual habits, Alec was betting he wasn’t wearing a shirt under it.
Alec swallowed, taking a deep breath.
Magnus spread his arms as they walked into the room. “Where do you want me?”
Alec gestured awkwardly with his hand. “On--on the bed? Just, lay down?”
Magnus started toward the bed, but Alec caught him by the arm before he could get very far. He pulled Magnus back in and picked at the knot in the robe’s belt around Magnus’s waist, smirking when their eyes met. Magnus still had a smirk on his own face, but Alec could see his throat bob as he swallowed. Alec’s smirk widened into a teasing grin as he finished untying the robe, pushing it off Magnus’s shoulders. Magnus magicked it away into the closet before it hit the ground.
“Now get on the bed,” Alec murmured, skimming a hand up Magnus’s stomach and chest.
Magnus didn’t break eye contact as he sat on the edge of the bed, slowly crawling backwards until he could rest against the pillows. Alec raised an eyebrow and stalked toward the bed, cracking his knuckles.
“What do you say?” He asked Magnus. “Should we go from the top down? Or start at the bottom?”
Magnus toyed with the cuff on his ear, watching Alec’s every move like a hawk. “You’re the one in charge, darling. You tell me.”
Alec brushed his fingers across the top of Magnus’s foot. “Well, since I’m already down here.”
“Efficient as always, Alexander.”
Alec cocked his head. “How ticklish do you think your feet are gonna be?”
Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to rate how ticklish you think I am?”
“Yeah. How ticklish do you think your feet are?”
Magnus scoffed. “I don’t know, a three? How ticklish can feet be?”
Alec chuckled a little under his breath. “I didn’t tell you this, but touch Jace’s feet and he’ll scream.”
“Noted.”
Alec didn’t waste anymore time, touching his fingertips down to the arches of Magnus’s feet. Magnus jumped, his feet jerking away a little before he quickly moved them back into place. A small grin tugged at his lips.
“Better stay still,” Alec teased, bringing his dull nails into the equation. “You don’t want me to have to pin you.”
Magnus hummed, though the noise was a bit wobbly. “Careful,” he said. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Alec rolled his eyes, but kept his fingers moving. Moving down toward Magnus’s heels made his twitching almost-squirms stop nearly completely, while moving up to the balls of his feet got both his toes and his nose to go all scrunchy. Alec knew better than to say so out loud, but it was incredibly adorable.
Magnus still wasn’t laughing, however. There were little huffs of breath, and sometimes a poorly-hidden gasp, and while his squirming clearly showed that it tickled somewhat, it didn’t seem to tickle enough to make him laugh. Maybe Magnus was right when he guessed that his feet would only be a three. 
But then Alec peeled back his scrunching toes and tickled the skin under them. Magnus gasped loudly and jerked forward into a sitting position, one hand flying up over his mouth and the other gripping his thigh tightly. His feet jumped again, but Magnus couldn’t pull them away while Alec had such a strong grip on his toes.
Alec grinned. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Magnus reached a hand out toward Alec, nervousness and excitement warring on his face. “Now, Alexander, let’s talk about this--”
Alec raised an eyebrow. “We did talk about this.”
Magnus opened his mouth, probably to try and bargain with Alec again, but all that came tumbling out were frantic giggles as Alec scratched at the stems of his toes. Magnus tilted his head back and thrashed on the bed, fighting to get his feet out of Alec’s grip without success.
“It tickles!” Magnus cried through his giggling.
“Well I would hope so,” Alec said. “That is the whole point of this.”
A sound that could nearly be described as a squeal escaped Magnus’s mouth when Alec managed to wiggle a finger into the space between two of his toes. Alec made sure to do it again and again and again, just to hear that adorable sound over and over. Eventually, though, Magnus managed to free one of his feet from Alec’s grip, flailing it wildly in Alec’s direction as he kept tickling at the toes of the other foot. Alec had mercy on Magnus then, if only for his own safety. Magnus immediately drew both his feet back and bent his legs to place his soles safely against the bed.
“How would you rank them now?” Alec asked cheekily, reaching up to skitter his fingers briefly over the tops of Magnus’s feet before grabbing his ankles and stretching his legs back out again.
“A fifteen,” Magnus grumbled, throwing an arm over his face.
Alec laughed. “If you think that’s as ticklish as you’re gonna get, you’re in for a rude surprise.”
“Fine. My feet were about a three, I was right. But my toes,” Magnus paused and hummed in thought. “From what I’ve heard described about the sensation, I’d say perhaps a four or five.”
Alec nodded climbing onto the bed to settle next to Magnus’s legs. He toyed with the cuff of Magnus’s lounge pants, fingers just barely brushing Magnus’s ankles and calves in the process.
“Rate your calves,” Alec said.
Magnus shot Alec a bewildered look. “My calves? Alexander, I know I couldn’t recall if I was ticklish, but my calves certainly aren’t.”
Alec raised his eyebrows. “I used to think that too, and then I found out that Clary has ticklish elbows. Now I’m pretty convinced that you can be ticklish anywhere.”
Magnus grinned. “Well well, you’re just giving away all sorts of information today, aren’t you?”
Alec pointed a finger at him. “If anyone asks, it wasn’t me. Now rate your calves.”
Magnus rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling. “A zero.”
Alec then pushed up Magnus’s lounge pants until they were bunched up just above his knees. He carefully dragged his fingers back down Magnus’s shins, watching his face carefully for any reactions. Magnus just closed his eyes. When he lifted Magnus’s legs up slightly to try and tickle at the backs of his calves, Magnus only sighed, relaxing deeper into the bed. A smile was twitching at his lips, but there wasn’t much more of that.
“Probably a one, if even that,” Magnus said when Alec pulled his hands away. “It was more relaxing than anything.”
Alec hummed. “Knees?”
Magnus stretched, then snapped his fingers. His lounge pants were suddenly gone, replaced by a pair of very short, very tight shorts. Alec swallowed.
“Those pants were going to get uncomfortable if you kept shoving them up my thighs,” Magnus said with a wink. “As for my knees, my guess is maybe a four?”
Alec wasted no time, latching his hands onto the pressure points above each kneecap and squeezing. Magnus immediately burst into wild giggles, tugging his legs up. It was probably instinctual, but Alec gave him a warning tut before pulling Magnus’s legs back down and settling over his calves, not even pausing before latching his fingers back onto that spot.
“Alexander!” Magnus shrieked.
“What?” Alec asked, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “You were getting in the way of the experiment.”
Alec kept squeezing away for a few moments longer, listening to Magnus’s hiccuping giggles with a bright smile, before placing all his fingers together in the center of Magnus’s kneecap, blossoming them outward and inward. Magnus squealed again, wordlessly this time, and darted forward, reaching for Alec’s hands. Alec tossed Magnus’s hands off his wrists and gave his kneecaps a warning squeeze, grinning when Magnus jolted.
“Hands to yourself,” Alec said in warning.
“Alexa--ah!”
Magnus cut his own protest off with a gasp as Alec’s fingers found their way behind his knees. His bright giggles finally started bordering on real, loud laughter and his legs frantically bounced under Alec’s weight as best they could. Alec chuckled and skittered his nails on the thin skin behind Magnus’s knees. Magnus clutched the golden sheets desperately in his fists as he tossed his head back against the pillows.
“What would you rate it, now?” Alec asked, not stopping his tickling this time.
“Alexander!”
“How ticklish are your knees, Magnus?”
“A-Alec!”
“Hm? How ticklish are they, Magnus? More than you thought?”
“I don’t know!”
Alec laughed and had mercy, pulling his hands away from Magnus’s knees and running them comfortingly up and down Magnus’s thighs. Magnus watched his hands warily, clearly waiting for the next attack. This was a lot more fun than Alec had been expecting, and he was already expecting it to be fun.
“Rating?” Alec asked, the very picture of innocence.
Magnus tried to glare at him, but it was rather ineffective with how he was panting for breath and still smiling slightly. “Six.”
Alec dug his thumbs into Magnus’s thighs, trying to massage more than tickle, but Magnus still jolted. Alec grinned, leaning forward.
“Tiring out on me already?”
Magnus narrowed his eyes. “Bring your worst, Lightwood.”
Alec raised his eyebrows. “You’re gonna regret that.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Big talk. Rate your thighs.”
Magnus squirmed under his gaze. “Five?”
Alec nodded and began his attack. He started with soft little pinches on the outside of Magnus’s thighs, watching intently as Magnus’s nose scrunched up with giggles. He was barely even squirming, so Alec swiftly moved onto the tops of his thighs, dragging his nails and wiggling his fingers against the skin. Magnus giggled a little louder, his legs starting to bounce a little under Alec’s weight again, so Alec stayed there a little longer than he had on the outsides.
And then Alec moved onto the insides of Magnus’s thighs, digging his fingers in to search out the ticklish spots. Magnus’s eyes went wide as he burst into cackles, suddenly sitting bolt upright. His hands flailed, moving to stop Alec’s devious fingers before he remembered Alec’s warning and twisted his fingers back into the sheets.
“I think this might be a little more than five,” Alec said.
“Alec, please!”
Alec raised his eyebrows. “Damn, I just got ‘Alec’d for the second time, this must tickle pretty bad.”
“No!”
Alec squeezed Magnus’s thighs, grinning as they bounced frantically under his fingers. “No? It doesn’t? Then why can’t you say my name?”
“Al--”
“Tell you what,” Alec said, switching between scratching, squeezing, and digging his fingers into the sensitive skin, “if you can say my name, I’ll stop.”
Magnus clearly wanted to protest his perceived unfairness, but wisely chose to save his breath. “Alexan--ah, no!”
Magnus cut himself off with a squeal. Alec had managed to find an especially sweet spot high up on Magnus’s inner thigh, digging into the little patch of skin with fervor. His hands flew up and attached themselves to Alec’s wrists, but Alec decided to let it slide. This time.
“Ooh, so close!” Alec said. “You wanna try again?”
“Al-Ale--”
“Come on,” Alec said, probably getting far too much joy out of this. “You can do it, Magnus.”
“Alexander!”
The word was practically a wail, and Alec decided to have mercy. Magnus collapsed back into the bed, going boneless as he panted for breath. Residual giggles bubbled out of his lips at random intervals, and Alec just grinned down at him as he watched Magnus recover.
“You,” Magnus said between deep breaths., “are so getting it later.”
Alec smirked. “If you can catch me before I get you.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows and his hand, his fingers twisting in a complicated motion as a blue light weaved them. Before Alec had even processed that, there was an unbearably tingling, tickling feeling spreading up his sides and into his ribs, getting dangerously close to his armpits. Alec wrapped his arms around himself and cackled, doubling over with the force of it. He nearly squirmed himself right off of Magnus’s legs.
“You forget, my darling,” Magnus said, his voice far too smug for someone who was supposed to be getting tickled into oblivion. “I have magic. You only have power over me because I let you.”
“Okay!” Alec cried, trying desperately to block the tickles with his arms (and failing because it felt like they were coming from inside him). “Okay, I’m sorry!”
Another twist of Magnus’s fingers had the tickling buzzes that had filled his body slowly tapering off. Alec rubbed at his ribcage, trying to get rid of the lingering tingles that kept him in light giggles. He glanced up at Magnus’s smirking face.
“Would you like to rank your experience?” He asked. “Actually, no, why don’t you save it? We can have a repeat performance later, with you as the victim.”
Alec squeezed his knee in warning, smiling a little at the squawk it elicited. “Shut up. Rate your thighs.”
Magnus sighed. “That was by far the worst one yet, but I refuse to go about handing out tens willy-nilly.”
“And so the consensus is?”
Magnus hummed. “Probably an eight.” 
“Damn,” Alec said. “All that screaming and you’re saying eight?” A slow grin spread over Alec’s face. “I can’t wait to see what your ten is.”
Magnus raised his hand again. “Shall we see what your ten is?”
Alec held his hands up in a placating motion, but the grin on his face didn’t budge. Magnus rolled his eyes and settled back against the bed, folding his arms comfortably behind his head. Alec scooted up his legs so he was sitting on Magnus’s thighs.
“What’s next?” Magnus asked.
Alec tapped his fingers teasingly against the muscle between Magnus’s hips and thighs. A wobbly smile forced its way onto Magnus’s face as his hips wiggled.
“Guess on your hips.”
“Well, I was outrageously low on my thighs,” Magnus mused, tilting his head back. “I should guess higher this time. Perhaps an eight as well?”
Alec hummed. “It would make sense.” He suddenly dug into the muscle between Magnus’s hips and thighs for a brief moment, making Magnus bark out a quick laugh. “They are rather close together.”
Magnus huffed, waving a hand through the air. “Get on with it already.”
Alec’s hands skittered up to Magnus’s hips. Along with being short and tight, the shorts Magnus had conjured were also low-rise, leaving his hip bones perfectly exposed. He had clearly thought the clothing choice through. Alec was able to scratch all around the bones and Magnus’s pantline without any hindrance. Magnus howled, bucking his hips in an attempt to throw Alec off.
“Well?” Alec asked, watching Magnus squeeze his eyes shut in laughter. “How’s it ranking so far?”
Magnus slapped his hands against the mattress, twisting his fingers into the sheets again. He seemed to be taking Alec’s warnings to not interfere to heart, again, which made Alec grin. He started squeezing at Magnus’s hips instead, and Magnus shot up into a sitting position, grabbing at Alec’s hands.
Or maybe he didn’t take them to heart.
“Better get those hands back, Magnus,” Alec warned with a grin, shaking the hands off his wrists once more. “I don’t think you want to know what’ll happen if you can’t listen.”
Magnus seemed to almost whine through his laughter. Alec pulled his hands back instantly, worried he had gone too far. Magnus looked up, his brow furrowed.
“Are you okay?” Alec was quick to ask.
Magnus smiled and propped himself up on his elbows. “I’m fine, that was just…”
Alec cocked his head to the side. “Just what? Did I go too far?”
Magnus bit his lip. “No. Actually, it was kind of hot.”
Alec couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?”
“Hey, you’ve got your hands all over my hips and then you come in with that take-charge attitude. You expect that not to be hot?”
Alec laughed again, shaking his head. “We’ll come back to that later.”
Magnus wiggled his hips and raised an eyebrow. “You promise?”
“Let’s finish this game and then we’ll see if you still have the energy,” Alec said, grabbing Magnus’s hips to hold them still.
Magnus groaned and rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’d say my hips are about a seven.”
Alec hummed. “What about your stomach? Should we lump stomach and sides together?”
Magnus waved his hand, laying back on the bed. “Keep them separate. Sides I’d guess maybe… five? Stomach maybe a six.”
Alec nodded, touching his fingers down on Magnus’s sides, just below his ribs. He dragged his nails down until he reached the very top of Magnus’s hips, then dragged them back up again. Magnus gasped loudly and did a full-body squirm, his eyes crinkling with how hard he was giggling.
“You’re so cute,” Alec murmured, barely even aware he was speaking aloud.
“Shut up,” Magnus managed through his giggling.
Alec started squeezing his sides in retaliation and Magnus arched his back for a moment before crashing back to the bed. His giggling quickly turned into full-blown laughter as he continued to wiggle back and forth, trying to dislodge Alec’s hands. Alec decided to play with the sensations, squishing Magnus’s flesh with his fingers on one side and scratching and skittering his fingers across the skin on the other. Magnus started snorting in laughter, going so far as to roll back and forth as much as he could with Alec sitting on his thighs.
“Keep still!” Alec laughed, grabbing Magnus’s sides and trying to hold him still.
Instead, it just made Magnus yelp and squirm more as Alec’s grip accidentally squeezed him in a too-ticklish way. Magnus shook his head, burying one hand in his hair while the other gripped at the sheets again. Alec chuckled and pulled back, having mercy.
“You’re so mean,” Magnus panted. “I can’t wait until it’s my turn.”
“Don’t get so cocky,” Alec said, squeezing his sides once in retaliation.
Magnus jumped and yelped, wrapping his arms around his middle. “Alright, alright!”
“Rank your sides, before I decide you need more data to help you decide.”
Magnus threw his head back on the pillow. “Who knew my boyfriend was so evil?”
Alec twitched his fingers against Magnus’s sides in warning.
“Okay!” Magnus said, slapping at Alec’s hands. “I think I was right, about a five. Maybe a six if I’m feeling generous.”
Alec nodded. “And you said you thought your stomach was a six?”
Magnus nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but Alec struck before he could. He started light, skittering his fingernails across the skin. Magnus burst into giggles immediately, bouncy and light and Alec could hear Magnus’s feet bouncing on the bed behind him. He put a little more pressure behind the touch, and even that small change sent Magnus from giggles straight into belly laughter.
“How’s that feel?” Alec asked, a cheeky grin on his face. “Tickle a little bit?”
Magnus shouted something that Alec couldn’t quite make out, his flailing hands landing on Alec’s knees and squeezing intermittently. Alec could tell it wasn’t intentional, just one of Magnus’s reactions to being tickled, but shit if they didn’t tickle like hell. Alec bit his lip and resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and squirm. He didn’t need Magnus picking up on what he was doing, Alec knew the teasing would switch to him unfairly quickly.
Instead, Alec dug into Magnus’s stomach with his fingertips, vibrating and shaking and massaging into the skin. Magnus shrieked and cackled loudly. His hands flew away from Alec’s knees and toward Alec’s hands, and Alec quickly twisted his hands around to grab Magnus’s wrists. He quickly pinned Magnus’s wrists to the bed leaning forward with a raised eyebrow.
“Someone didn’t listen to the rules,” Alec said.
Magnus’s eyes went wide. “No, wait--”
Alec shook his head. “I warned you, Magnus.”
Then, Alec took a deep breath and leaned the rest of the way down. He planted his lips over Magnus’s belly button and blew a long, loud raspberry. Magnus’s laughter went silent as he squirmed under Alec, but being weakened with laughter, he wasn’t able to free his wrists. Alec blew a few more shorter raspberries, over his belly button and dotted around the rest of his stomach, and Magnus reacted the same every time. Eventually, Alec stopped, resting his chin on Magnus’s stomach as he looked up at Magnus’s gorgeous, grinning face. Magnus ran his fingers through Alec’s hair once his wrists were released.
“Well?” Alec asked, making his voice as innocent as possible.
“Let a guy catch his breath first,” Magnus said between his panting and residual giggles.
Alec sat up and tried to run his hands firmly over Magnus’s stomach to help rub away the lingering tingles, but Magnus gasped and grabbed onto his fingers as tightly as she could. Alec chuckled, but took his hands away from Magnus’s skin, instead choosing to lace his fingers with Magnus’s while he came down from his laughter. He pressed a kiss on the back of one of Magnus’s hands, and Magnus gave him a smile.
“A seven again, I think,” Magnus told him. “Though having my hands trapped certainly didn’t help.”
Alec grinned at him. “This is your last warning,” he said. “Keep it up and I’m going to have to do something about these pesky hands.”
Magnus bit his lip, raking his eyes up and down Alec’s form settled atop him. “Such a shame you can’t pin them down and tickle all at once.”
Alec rolled his eyes. “I could kneel on them, but I don’t want to hurt you.” He smirked and leaned forward to pin their laced hands on either side of Magnus’s head. “Plus, then they’d be in the way when we get to some pretty important places.”
Lip still stuck between his teeth, Magnus shot a wary look toward his own underarms. He squirmed a little under Alec, probably thinking of all the dastardly things Alec could do to him, before looking back up to meet Alec’s eyes again. He twisted his hands a little, and Alec let go easily, sitting back to give Magnus his space. Magnus didn’t bother moving himself from the pillows, simply snapping his fingers and, in a flash of blue light, one of their silk rope ties from the box underneath their bed was fastened to the slats in the headboard.
“Just in case I become a hindrance,” Magnus said with a sneaky grin. “Or maybe for after we’re done with our little experiment here. Either way.”
Alec swallowed, but allowed a grin to slip back onto his lips. “Those hands better behave, then.” He leaned in again, so he and Magnus were nose-to-nose. “It gets so much worse when you can’t even pretend you’re trying to stop it.”
Magnus raised an eyebrow at him. “And you’re speaking from experience?”
Alec chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to Magnus’s lips. “Quit digging.”
Magnus hummed. “I’ll find out one way or another eventually, darling.”
Alec kissed him again. “Eventually can wait until later.”
“Are we going to kiss and make good use of these ropes, or are you going to finish your experiment first?”
Alec sat back on Magnus’s hips so they were both breathing their own air once more. “Our experiment, and yes. We only have a few spots left. Ribs?”
Magnus tilted his head, looking down at his own bare torso. “They’re rather close to the sides, aren’t they? Perhaps a five or six as well.”
Alec nodded and cracked his fingers. Then, he reached down and started kneading between the bones of Magnus’s ribs. His lips tilted up in a smile and he squirmed a little, but it certainly wasn’t the reaction Alec was expecting with how ticklish the rest of Magnus’s torso had been. He massaged up and down Magnus’s ribs, looking for any weak points, but Magnus just kept grinning and letting out the occasional giggle like nothing was bothering him. Alec sighed and stopped, curling his fingers so he could tap them impatiently against the bone to ask Magnus his number. Except that’s when Magnus finally jolted, squeaking a little. Alec froze, then a bright grin spread across his face.
“I see,” Alec said.
“You don’t see a damn thing,” Magnus said, giggles already invading his voice.
Instead of responding with his words, Alec started scratching at Magnus’s ribcage. Magnus burst into laughter, squeezing his arms to his sides before suddenly remembering himself and pulling them away again, clutching at the pillow behind his head.
“Good boy,” Alec said, just loud enough to be heard over Magnus’s laughter, grinning at the flush that spread down Magnus’s neck.
Alec only kept up his gentle scratching for a few moments longer before granting Magnus mercy. The second Alec was finished, Magnus slammed his arms down to his sides, trapping the hands that Alec still had pressed against his ribs. Alec decided not to be mean, and left them there instead of trying to wiggle them free and risk tickling Magnus more.
“Six,” Magnus said without prompting.
Alec reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Tiring out?”
Magnus leaned into his touch. “If we want to have a different kind of fun tonight, then yes.”
Alec chuckled. “Lightning round? Unless you want to stop altogether.”
Magnus sighed, but he was smiling. He raised his arms above his head again, twisting his fingers into the pillow again. “No, no. Can’t leave an experiment unfinished.”
“You sure?” Alec asked. “We can stop, have that other fun of yours. Or even just go to bed.”
Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Are you giving up?”
“No!”
“Then get back over here and tickle me.”
“Fine.”
Alec scooted up Magnus’s body so he was sitting along his waist instead, his legs tucked up against Magnus’s ribcage. That way, even if Magnus’s arms came crashing down, he would still have access to his weak spots. Magnus must have realized what he was doing, too, because a nervous grin graced his lips and his arms twitched where they were bent up next to his head.
“Ready?”
Magnus nodded.
“You don’t have to rank the spots beforehand, but you do have to tell me before I move on.”
Magnus chuckled. “You’re really determined to map this all out, aren’t you?”
Alec shrugged. “You wanted to finish this.”
Magnus huffed and readjusted his position to be a little more comfortable, ignoring Alec’s statement. Then, he nodded down at himself, gesturing for Alec to go ahead.
Alec didn’t need to be prodded further. He started his tickling fingers at Magnus’s upper ribs before skittering up into his underarms. Magnus flinched and immediately toppled into giggles. Alec grinned down at him.
“Alright?”
Magnus nodded, but Alec could feel Magnus’s legs kicking out behind him. Alec chuckled, switching tactics to dig a little deeper into Magnus’s skin. Magnus squealed and fell into louder laughter, his arms trembling where he gripped the pillow.
“You know, you do have to tell me a number before we move on.”
“Five,” Magnus said, shrugging his shoulders a little since he couldn’t squirm much.
Alec took a brief detour to Magnu’s neck and ears, fluttering his fingers around. Magnus giggled and scrunched his neck up (and his nose again -- undeniably adorable), but for the most part he just relaxed into the bed. Alec kept it up for only a couple minutes before Magnus answered.
“Three,” he giggled out. “Maybe four around my ears.”
Alec paused his fingers and leaned down to kiss Magnus on the nose, hardly able to do so through his own grin.
“We’re done?”
Alec laughed. “Don’t you remember Clary’s elbows?”
Magnus groaned, but he was still smiling and his arms stayed above his head, so Alec figured he was just being dramatic. He pressed another kiss to the apple of Magnus’s cheek.
“Don’t worry, we’ll just finish with your arms. I’ll spare your back, for now.”
Magnus scoffed. “There is one part of my backside that I wouldn’t mind you tickling.”
Alec threw his head back with a laugh. “Shut up. And like you’ve minded me tickling the rest of you, either.”
Magnus rolled his eyes. “Get it over with so I can get you in these ropes.”
Alec raised his eyebrows. “I’m the one in the ropes?”
Magnus smirked. “Your turn to be at my mercy.” He tilted his head. “Though a much different kind.”
Alec rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
And he started tickling before Magnus could reply. He started his scratching at the tops of Magnus’s armpits before slowly following his arms upward, tickling along his triceps. Magnus near-screamed, cackling the loudest Alec had ever heard, and flinching so hard that he pulled the pillow he was clutching out from under his own head. Alec laughed, pausing long enough for Magnus to get it back behind his head.
“Nine,” Magnus panted.
“See, you telling me that just makes me want to stay there,” Alec said.
Magnus eyed him warily, but lifted his arms back up nonetheless. Instead of gripping the pillow again, he gripped the slats between the headboard, near where the silk ropes were tied as well. The second Magnus had his grip, Alec mustered up the most evil grin he could manage and reached back up to wiggle his fingertips against Magnus’s triceps, right where his underarm ended. Magnus threw his head back with a howl, shaking his head.
“I have to get the whole arm,” Alec said. “And you interrupted!”
“Cheater!” Magnus shouted, and though he seemed like he wanted to say more, he didn’t seem able to get it out.
Alec had mercy and skittered up the rest of Magnus’s arms quicker, tickling around the pits and points of Magnus’s elbow. Clary would’ve been screaming her head off if she was in Magnus’s position, but Magnus just relaxed back into the bed. A stray giggle tumbled out here or there, but Alec wasn’t sure if it was because it actually tickled or because Magnus was still recovering from his triceps.
“One,” Magnus said. “Maybe a two.”
Alec nodded and moved up, stretching over Magnus to reach where his forearms rested above his head. He trailed his fingers up the skin, watching as Magnus closed his eyes and relaxed even further into the bed with a soft smile. Alec couldn’t help but press their lips together as he leaned over Magnus.
“The same,” Magnus said when Alec pulled his lips away. “One or two.”
Alec hummed and sat up, holding Magnus’s wrists gently in his hands to bring them down with him. Magnus settled back into the pillows, watching him with a languid, half-lidded expression. It made Alec’s insides feel like they were melting in the best of ways, all warm and oozing. He shifted his grip so he was just holding one of Magnus’s wrists with Magnus’s palm facing up. He had intended to just drag his fingers over Magnus’s hand and be done with it all, ready to spend the rest of the night doing whatever Magnus wished.
Except when he started dragging his fingers along Magnus’s palm, Magnus shot upright and tore his hand out of Alec’s, gasping so loud and hard that it almost sounded like it hurt. Alec sat frozen on Magnus’s thighs, watching as Magnus furiously rubbed his palm against the bedspread.
“Magnus?” He asked hesitantly. “Are you okay?”
“That was the worst,” he said.
Alec frowned, making sure to keep his hands to himself just in case. “Are you okay, did I hurt you?”
Magnus shook his head, finally looking up at Alec. “Alexander, no. It just-- that was the most ticklish thing I have ever felt.”
Alec stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Your hands, Magnus? It tickles and you act like that?”
Magnus glared at him, the most adorable pout on his lips. “Ten, Alexander.”
Alec blinked, staring at Magnus for a moment. Then, his eyes shot toward Magnus’s hands, where they were clenched together over his stomach for protection.
“Don’t you dare, Alexander.”
Alec dared. He launched forward, knocking Magnus over onto his back once more, and did his best to wrestle Magnus’s hands away from his torso. Once he got one hand in his grip, he quickly twisted to lay his torso over Magnus’s arm to prevent him from pulling it away.
“Darling, no!” Magnus cried.
Alec didn’t take him very seriously, both because of the laughter clear in his voice and the fact that he was still using pet names. So instead of stopping, he pried open Magnus’s hand and wiggled his fingertips as lightly as he could over Magnus’s palm. Magnus borderline screamed, rolling over so his chest was flush with Alec’s back and desperately clutching at Alec’s shirt with his free hand, not trying to actually stop him in the slightest. He didn’t last very long though before he was tapping furiously at Alec’s back.
“Please!” He wailed.
Alec immediately stopped, letting Magnus’s hand go. Magnus rubbed it furiously against the sheets again to rid himself of the ticklish feeling. Alec laughed and rolled over again so he could climb atop Magnus’s thighs again, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed at Magnus’s chest as he caught his breath, then gasped in surprise when Magnus suddenly grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him down. Before he could process anything, he was melting into Magnus’s fiery kiss. They broke away only so Magnus could pull off his shirt and toss it aside, then reconnected.
“That was a quick recovery,” Alec said between kisses.
“I was promised some  fun of my own,” Magnus replied, and suddenly rolled them over so Alec was underneath him.
“That you were.”
Alec raised his arms as Magnus reached up to the silk ties still attached to the headboard, letting Magnus take his lips in another kiss. It was going to be a much longer night. He was glad he managed to get out of the office so early to be able to enjoy it.
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Panic
Title: Panic       Day: Febuwhump 2023, Day 8: Panic Fandom:  TMNT 2003, Rise of the TMNT, TMNT 2012, TMNT 1987 Word Count:  3983 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T   Characters: Donatello (2003, 2012, 1987, Rise)   Warning: SAINW flashbacks/mentions.   Summary: Don finds himself suddenly drug through a portal, his disappearance witnessed by no one. And while, normally, a jaunt through a portal wouldn’t be that big of a deal, considering he has no way back home and no one knows what’s happened to him, Don is more that a little on edge.   Notes: This definitely talks about SAINW. Consider everything post-series for all turtles (I’m assuming 87 ended well, I’m still in season 3 of it). I’m also considering the crossovers for 2012 and 2003 canon (that’s why 87 Don calls 03 Don Mr. Wizard). I have never written for any turtles but 2003, so here’s hoping this turned out well! For clarity’s sake: 1987 Don = Donatello; 2003 Don = Don; 2021 Don = Donnie; Rise Don = Donald.  ff.net || AO3
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Panic
The portal had taken him completely by surprise. One moment Don had been walking through the sewers, on his way to April’s, and the next a glowing, circular, purplish portal had opened up and quite literally pulled him into it. Don had been through his fair share of portals before, but this one had been particularly disorienting, feeling like it sent his brain and his mind tumbling.
It wasn’t long before his body followed after. He stumbled out of the portal, tripping and falling over his feet as the world around him swam in his sight. Somewhere, behind him, he heard a dim “Ah ha! I have done it! Welcome, fellow Donatello!” but the world was still spinning too much for him to bother to respond. Nor did he respond to the “Uh—oh no, wait. That’s not—okay. Hello, other Donatello. And—other Donatello!? Oh no, wait, hold on I can fix this, I can fix this!”
There was a commotion behind him, and voices, one somewhat familiar, but Don tuned them out in lieu of his head finally letting him get a look at his surroundings.  He was obviously in a lab of some sort, although not one that was sanctioned by the government if the dominate purple color scheme and decidedly non-standard layout and organization meant anything. It was more like a personal maybe-slightly-mad scientist laboratory. What caught his eye, though, were what looked like metal turtle shells on the wall. It sent alarms through him, and he turned as quickly as he dared towards the voices behind him.
There were three turtles behind him, all staring at a glowing purplish portal. An angular looking one with goggles was desperately working away at what looked like some sort of control device. A tall but rounded one, was looking around, bo staff in hand, as if he was calculating something. The shortest one—wait, wasn’t that…?
As Don struggled to his feet, the tall rounded one suddenly moved, taking his staff and aiming it quite deliberately at a certain spot. It lodged in the housing of the portal and, with a pop as the turtle put pressure on it, something popped out of place and the portal died, taking away the dominate light source in the room. It took just a second for the rest of the lights in the lab to readjust, but they rose just as the angular turtle started yelling.
“What—Why did you do that!” he shouted, gesturing widely.
“Because it was clearly out of control!” the tall rounded turtle shot back.
“It was not!” the angular turtle retorted. “I had everything under control!” There was a haughtiness underlying his voice, and it seemed to set the tall, rounded turtle on edge.
“Oh, clearly!” he said, the sarcasm strong in his voice. “That’s why you were yelling ‘oh no!’ and ‘I can fix this!’ as we fell through the portal!”
“Hey, guys? Maybe we should stop fighting and try to figure out how to fix the portal,” the familiar one said.
“That would be fantastic, because who knows what trouble my brothers are going to get into looking for me. I don’t even know if anyone saw that thing take me!” the tall rounded one said, still focused on yelling at the angular one. “Maybe a heads-up next time would be nice!”
“Scoff! True science doesn’t come with warnings! Its very danger is the lifeblood of the scientist!” the angular said. “And my portal—made with science, and not the use of mystic powers like my dum-dum brothers’ portals—is a marvel of—”
“No one saw me,” Don finally said. It was the first thing he’d said since arriving and now, saying it out loud, after he had just gotten to his feet, he felt like his legs might give out all over again.
“I’m… sorry, other me? What was that?” the angular one said.
“No one saw me,” Don repeated. He looked up, staring first at the other turtle and then where the portal used to be. “Your portal sucked me in, and no one saw. I just… I just disappeared.”
His stomach flopped hard, and he gripped whatever he was using for balance harder. It didn’t really matter though. He was beginning to breath heavily, and he could feel himself shaking as memories came flooding back.
“I just… disappeared one day,” he half-whispered. “No… no, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening, I can’t—if I do, they’ll—”
He fell to his knees, his hands coming up to grasp at his head. No, no, he thought he was safe, that they were safe from that future. He’d been guarding against it for years, was convinced when the tunnler was destroyed after Karai attacked the lair that he had successfully avoided that future. But what if all he had done was delay it, or set it on a slightly different path?
Because he was here. He had disappeared. His brothers would never be able to track him to this dimension or reality or whatever it was. To them he would have disappeared without a trace. And then they’d start pulling apart at the seams, and the in-fighting would begin. And somehow the Shredder would come back and Master Splinter would be die, and Mikey would lose an arm, and Raph would lose and eye and Leo would be blind and Casey would be dead and then—oh stars, and then a younger him would come back and lead them to their deaths and they’d be dead, dead, dead all because some idiot with a trans-dimensional portal wanted to bring him here and his brothers, his poor brothers, they’d be dead, dead, dead, dead, dead—
His brother laying in pools of their own blood, Mikey slashed through, Leo and Raph next to each other, Mikey calling out his name and his voice being cut off before he could finish, Raph reaching for Leo, calling out to a brother who couldn’t answer him, Leo’s last cry of pain, their unfailing trust in him.
“Hey there, Mr. Wizard. It’s just me, Donatello. You know, the one with belt buckle with his initial? Listen, bud, I’m gonna need you to breath with me, alright?”
Don looked up to see the face of his multi-dimensional counterpart smiling at him. He was holding out a hand to him, and Don reached out for it. Donatello smiled at him, and took his hand, placing it on his own chest.
“Alright, Mr. Wizard, just breath with me, okay? I don’t know what’s got you so upset, but I promise we can figure it out. But you’ll need to calm down first, okay?” he said.
“You know him?” the tall rounded one said.
Donatello nodded. “Yeah. We met once before. It was before we met you.”
“Wait—you all know each other?” the angular one said.
“I don’t know him,” the tall rounded one said, gesturing to Don.
“Hey—hey just focus on me, alright?” Donatello said.
Don nodded, and closed his eyes, trying to get himself back under control. There had to be a way out of this. He had to get back to his brothers. He had traveled between dimensions before. There had to be a way back. There had to be. Because if there wasn’t—
“Hey, don’t get yourself all worked up again.”
Don opened his eyes and nodded. He took another couple of deep breaths and closed his eyes, this time trying to center himself. Donatello’s presence, and silence that had descended on the lab helped. He breathed deeply, compartmentalizing and locking away the panic and the memories. Slowly, he stood up.
“We’ve got to get that portal working again,” he said, looking at the tall rounded one, and the angular one, “and soon. If we don’t—my dimension will fall to ruin.”
“Okay, but before you four do that,” a new voice broke in, “I think Donald has some ‘splainin’ to do.”
Don turned around, as did the others, to see three very different turtles in the doorway. A slender one with a blue mask and a sword appeared to have been the one that spoke, leaning casually in the doorway, giving the angular turtle a smarmy kind of look.
“Don, what did you do?” a huge, red masked turtle demanded. “I thought we talked about trying to clone yourself!” he said, sounding like a chastising parent.
“They are not clones!” the angular Donatello said, looking affronted. “These are my dimensional counterparts!”
The small orange-masked one gasped. “Ohmigosh—I have new brothers!” He launched himself at the tall, rounded Donatello and latched on.
Don had a feeling this was going to be a very long day.
It had taken a little doing, but the basics of what had happened were worked out. This was the angular Donatello’s home dimension. He had wanted to talk to “someone of his level of genius” and, apparently, wanted to prove that science could do what his brothers’ mystic abilities could, and had tried to open a portal to bring a Donatello to him. It was only supposed to bring one Donatello—him, it seemed, as he was the first one through the portal—but it had malfunctioned, and that was why the other two Donatellos had come through. It was likely that more would have come through, except the tall, rounded Donatello had put an end to it.
That plan of the angular Donatello, quite frankly, angered Don.
“So, you just decided, out of nowhere, to bring me through a portal! No warning, no thought as to what might happen if you pulled me out of a dangerous situation or what might happen back home because I’m not there! You just decided to pluck me out of whatever I was doing with no regard as to what it was!”
The other Donatello looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected that reaction or considered it. “Well, I—I—”
“Hey!” The Raph stood up. “You can’t talk to Donny that way!” he snapped out.
“He pulled me out of my dimension with no warning to me or my brothers! I think I have the right to be angry about it!” Don said.
“I think he has a point,” the tall, rounded Donatello said, siding with Don. “He can’t just go around yanking people out of nowhere.”
“Oh, come on,” their Leo said. “Look at the way you’re handling this! You can’t tell me that you don’t go on crazy adventures all the time!”
Don bristled. “There’s a difference between that, and being yanked out of time and space and your family not knowing where you are because he wanted to talk to someone!”
“Enough!”
A Splinter’s voice was recognizable any way, even if this Splinter was very odd to Donatello, not embodying any of the calm wisdom his Splinter or Donatello’s Splinter had seemed to carry. It didn’t matter, though, because everyone fell silent at his word.
“You. Upset one. I understand that you are, well, upset. I don’t blame you. But that does not give you leave to talk to my son in that manner,” he said.
Don sucked in a breath, trying to get himself back under control. “I apologize for disrespecting your home, Master,” he said.
Their Splinter had nodded, and then looked over at the tall, rounded Donatello. “And you. Strange-shaped one. Your tongue is sharp as well. You would do best to watch it.”
Don could practically hear his teeth grinding together. “Hai, Sensei.”
“And you, short one—I actually have no problem with you,” he said. “So far you are the most level-headed one here.”
Donatello shrugged. “I’ve been around the dimensions a few times. But speaking of, that does bring up something I’ve been meaning to ask.” He turned towards Don. “Last time we met, you weren’t this upset about dimension hopping. I mean, granted, the end of the multiverse was at stake, but still. What’s up with that?”
“That time was different,” Don said. “My brothers were with me. If anything had happened, they’d have known why.”
“As opposed to now when they wouldn’t?” their April said.
Don was still and quiet for a moment, and then he gave a nod. “Yes.”
“But why does that make a difference?” their Raph asked. “I mean, I get the worry aspect, but why does that make such a big difference?”
“Does this have to do with what you said before?” their Mikey asked. “About what might happen back at your home?”
Don felt like someone had stuck a poker in his chest at their Mikey’s words, and something of it must have shown on his face, because everyone’s face softened to some degree.
“Upset one. Tell us what you are afraid of happening. Tell us what will happen because you aren’t there,” their Splinter said.
Don hesitated. It had taken him a long time to tell his own family the details of what had happened in that future he went to. Could he tell these strangers so easily? Although… they weren’t entirely strangers. They were familiar somehow too. It beat at Don’s resistance, and he sat heavily on a stool.
“If I die, if I disappear, everything will fall apart. Everyone I care about will die. And I’m not being dramatic. I’ve seen it. I—I watched it.”
He saw something in their faces change, and he dropped his eyes to the table in front of him, not wanting to see the emotions in their eyes.
“Please explain,” their Splinter said, and Don found that he couldn’t refuse him.
It took a while, as he had to explain who the Shredder was in his universe, what the Utroms were, how his Karai was different than the Karai of both this world and the tall rounded Donatello’s world, what his Battle Nexus was, and so many more other things. However, by the time he finished his story, telling of how he had failed his brothers, gotten them all killed, he was emotionally overwrought for the day, maybe the week.
A cup of something warm was pressed into his hand, and he looked at their Mikey with as much of a smile as he could muster, taking a breath to finish out his tale.
“So, you see, I… I didn’t mean to snap and yell, but… All I could think was that my brothers wouldn’t have any idea what happened to me, that it would start this chain reaction. And in the end all I could see was them lying there… dead… because of me and my plan…” He ignored the shake in his hands, and focused instead on the tea. “I have to get back home. I can’t let that happen. I can’t.”
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, twin brother from another dimension. We’ll make sure you can.”
Don looked up to see Leo standing there, his hand on his shoulder. Don gave him a thin smile. “Thank you.” He looked over at their Donatello. “And… sorry for lashing out at you earlier.”
Their Donatello merely waved his hand. “All is forgiven, dear counterpart! I, too, may have reacted badly if I had been through a similar experience!” He brought his hand up to his chin. “Although… considering that my portal malfunctioned, it might be a little more difficult to get you back home.”
“Well, with all of us working on it, and with three of the four of us having experience in multi-reality portals, we should be able to come up with something soon, I’d think,” the tall, rounded Donatello said.
“Okay, wait, hang on,” their April interrupted. “Before we go any further, can we establish some, I don’t know, name rules or something? Because all of this double, triple, quadruple naming is getting confusing.”
“Probably a useful thing,” Donatello agreed.
Sorting out names was actually pretty easy. The Donatello that Don already knew took the name Donatello. The tall, rounded Donatello took Donnie. This dimensions’ Donatello became Donald. Don himself took Don as his nickname.
After that, it was a matter of getting down to work. The first thing to do was to break down how this universe worked. That involved a series of long lectures and discussions on both the science of this world and the magic of it. Studies were done, samples were taken, experiments were performed. The hope was that with four Donatellos working overtime, the portal would be repaired soon.
Unfortunately, the magic of this universe made things more complicated, throwing up an unusual interference and complications that made everything more difficult. Don’s anxiety to get back home didn’t help things either. He pushed himself to work until he practically passed out. He forgot to eat or drink until someone pushed food or water in his hand—unless it was coffee. He practically lived off of coffee. And when he did sleep, it was most often filled with nightmares.
On one particularly bad night, he woke from yet another dream of that future, this time with everything amplified, it playing over and over again, by someone shaking him awake. He woke with a gasp, immediately trying to fight off whoever it was.
“Hey, hey, Don, it’s okay. It’s just Raph. Raph ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
Don stilled for a moment, and then let out a breath. He realized that this Raph was sitting on his bed, one arm around Don, propping him up, then other sitting on his shoulder. He was practically in the big guy’s lap. “S-sorry,” he said.
Big Raph shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s okay. You were havin’ another dream about that future, weren’t cha?”
Don sighed, and leaned forward, putting a hand on his head. “It’s all I dream about lately. They were so broken, so apart… and they trusted in me so much. And I just got them all killed.” He closed his eyes, face scrunching up. “I can’t let it happen twice.”
“Hey, I getcha,” Big Raph said. “Look, about a year ago, we had this alien invasion. These things call Krang came through. And from what I understand, they ain’t nothin’ like what Donatello and Donnie have back where they’re from. These guys were gonna bring about the end of the world. It’s a long story, but I ended up possessed by one of them, and being like… I don’t know… transformed? Half-Krang?... whatever you wanna call it. Fought my own brothers. I barely stopped in time. I thought I was gonna die. I thought they were gonna die because of me, maybe even by my own hand. Luckily, my bros managed to break me out of it, but that fear, that possibility… it leaves me with nightmares.”
He paused, running a comforting hand along Don’s shell. “I mean, I was lucky enough I didn’t see anyone die, but… the fact that it was so close and that it was my call that had gotten me in that position in the first place, it still gives me nightmares. I know it’s not exactly the same, but… I get the feeling, I guess. Sorry. I’m not as good at this as Mikey is.”
Don gave Big Raph a thing, tired smile. “I think you’re doing just fine,” he said. He sighed. “…back home, sometimes my Raph would come into my room like this, and just sit with me. Or we’d both go up to the garage and work on something. It was… comforting.”
“Well, I’m not your Raph, but I’m still a Raph. I can sit with you a while, if you want,” Big Raph said.
Don looked up at him. He seemed so eager to do this, like he wanted to be helpful more than anything, and Don didn’t have it in him to turn him away. “Sure,” he said. “That might be nice.”
Big Raph made himself comfortable, and made sure that Don was comfortable too, before he wrapped his arms around him in a big hug. It wasn’t what Don was expecting, but he was so earnest about it, that Don let it be. It was the best sleep Don got while he was there, and he woke up ready to tackle the problem with new eyes.
In the end, it turned out that the key to cracking the portal was a combination of Donatello’s portal stick, Donnie’s understanding of his Krang’s portal technology, the generally agreed upon physics shared between their dimensions, Don’s knowledge of Utrom transmat technology, and the mystic portals in both Donald and Don’s worlds. It took them a week, but they managed to construct a portal that would allow not only for Don and the others to go home, but also for communications and visits, if they wanted.
“You go through first, Don,” Donnie said. “Your world is the one most in danger from your absence.”
“You sure?” Don asked, although he really was anxious to get back home.
“We’re sure,” Donatello said. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll go last. I know my way around a multiverse or two, if something goes wrong.”
“Scoff! As if anything could go wrong when four absolute geniuses like us are busy working on this portal!” Donald said. He stood aside and, with a sweep of his hand, indicated the portal. “Step through, Counterpart! I shall miss your stimulating conversation and dedication to our craft, but I know well the desires to make sure your brothers haven’t ended the world in your absence.”
“Dude, you’re the only one here that makes me worry about world domination. And that’s including the other Donatellos,” Leo said.
“Alright, well… Here goes,” Don said. “See you around the multiverse.”
He stepped through the portal, and another dizzying trip began. Going through these portals was rough, but eventually he found himself deposited back in the same section of sewer that he had disappeared from. Or, at least, he thought it was the same section. It was a little hard to tell when the world was still swirling around him.
“Don? Don!”
That voice he knew well, and within seconds he felt familiar hands on him, Leo’s voice right next to his head. “Easy, Don. Just sit back and relax.”
Don reached and grabbed Leo’s hand. “It’ll pass. Just… give me a minute.”
“Of course, Donnie.”
Don could feel Leo shifting around, and heard him making a call, although, like before, he didn’t focus so much on that as he did trying to get his senses put back together. Within minutes, Don could hear the sound of others approaching in the sewers and blinked two more presences into his awareness.
“Donnie!
“Don!”
Raph and Mikey were at his side in seconds, Mikey squeezing his arm, and Raph pulling him in for a hug like he hadn’t hugged him in, well, thirty years. Don felt himself tearing up a bit at the parallel between that world he had visited and this moment.
Raph must have sensed the change, because he stiffened up a little, holding Don closer. “Donnie? You okay, bro?”
Don laughed, a wet laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m just glad to be home, and glad to find myself back here with all of you.” He pulled back just slightly. “Man, do I have a story to tell. You guys aren’t going to believe it!”
Raph and Leo helped Don to his feet, and the four turtles started making their way toward their lair.
“I’m just glad you’re home, bro,” Mikey said as they started walking.
“Me too, Mikey. Me too,” Don said. “Trust me when I say, I’m glad to be back home with my brothers.”
He leaned into his brothers as they walked, even long past the time where he needed the help. He could feel them, see them, see that nothing had really changed in his absence, and that gave him more reassurance than anything else.
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