#conveniently leaves out the rest to put him on blast
Text
raid lead approved party finder tips
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
☆ SEVENTEEN COMFORTING YOU AFTER A BAD DAY (vocal unit)
click here for the hhu version!
— JOSHUA
• all it takes is one text about how much your day sucks. one text and joshua comes to pick you up from work himself
• and you’re so surprised to find him waiting in front of the building (with a small bouquet of flowers in hand) that you instantly tear up
• “day’s finally over, beautiful. let it all out”, he tells you as you hug him tight. and no he won’t let you apologize for being so emotional (he never does)
• once you’re back home, he gets to properly cuddle your bad mood away, which obviously makes you feel better in a matter of seconds
• there’s something about the way he strokes your cheek and interlaces his fingers with yours that makes you completely relax to his touch
• he just wants you to feel safe with him; safe from every single worry that this day has brought you. and you absolutely do, knowing that at the end of the day, he’ll always be there for you to rely on
— JEONGHAN
• lots and lots of communication: if you’re facing a problem, he’ll take some time to figure out a solution with you
• but also lots and lots of affection because he knows that’s what you crave
• i feel like he would offer to take you to your favorite restaurant, so that you can enjoy your favorite food without worrying about cooking or cleaning the dishes
• he’s also big on compliments. no matter what you do or say, jeonghan will have something nice to say to you. and he always makes sure not to only compliment your looks, because that’s not what makes him so smitten about you
• i also think he’d be the type to run you a nice bath when you get home, which may or may not include a shoulder rub because he knows (too well) that stress is never easy on your back
— SEUNGKWAN
• your problems are his problems.
• “she said what?!! ugh, i can not stand her, you’re such an angel for putting up with her bullshit everyday”
• so yes, he’ll be angry with you if you’re angry. but it’s a whole other story if you’re feeling sad (cue cuddles)
• he’d do this thing where he leaves so many tiny kisses on your temples that his lips practically never break contact with your skin
• would definitely hum a slow song to help you relax, and hearing the vibrations of his voice in his chest greatly contributes to the relief of any tension
• i think at some point he’d offer to tell you about his day, not to make the conversation about him but because he wants you to try and think about something else
• he’d pull out his phone while still keeping you close to him to show you the pictures he’s taken during the day; but you’d end up scrolling back to some old pictures of the two of you, which is probably the best remedy to any kind of sadness
— DK
• definitely an entertainer. making you feel better is a good start, but making you smile and laugh is the real goal here
• that being said, he’ll never dismiss your feelings. this man will dry your tears and kiss your salty cheeks before even attempting to take your mind off of what’s bothering you
• but once you start to feel better, he’ll make it its priority to entertain you for the rest of the evening
• so yes, he’ll blast your favorite songs in the kitchen and invite you to dance with him, in a way that’s way too formal for you to take him seriously
• he’ll grab your hand and spin you around until you’re so dizzy he needs to wrap his arms around your waist to keep you from falling (how convenient right?)
• and just the sound of him giggling as he kisses the tip of your nose is enough to make you forget every upsetting thing about your day
— WOOZI
• jihoon usually comes homes pretty late. and sure, he might not be able to immediately come home after you tell him about your awful day, but he’ll definitely tell you to join him in his studio
• there’s something inherently comforting about being in his studio. everything’s calm, organized and just so woozi-like, it’s automatically working its magic on you
• “wanna keep me company?” he asks with a smile, and you know this is just him asking if you want to sit on his lap while he works (and YES YOU DO)
• he’ll probably do some basic things on his to-do list while you’re here, that way he can focus on you too, listening to whatever it is you have to say and leaving a couple of kisses on your shoulders and cheeks if he feels you tensing up again
• i feel like he’d come up with some sort of date activity that you guys could do together on the weekend, like a day trip to the beach or dinner at a fancy restaurant
• you know he prefers to stay in during the weekends but as long as you’re with him, he’s home <3
#seventeen x reader#seventeen fluff#seventeen headcanons#seventeen imagines#joshua x reader#joshua fluff#joshua imagines#jeonghan x reader#jeonghan fluff#jeonghan imagines#dk imagines#dk fluff#dk x reader#dokyeom x reader#seungkwan x reader#seungkwan fluff#seungkwan imagines#woozi x reader#woozi fluff#woozi imagines
401 notes
·
View notes
Text
@jilymicrofics January Prompt 10: Bedraggled || 493 words || Read on Ao3
MICROFIC MASTERLIST
James pokes at the eggs on his plate, head cradled in his other hand as his elbow rests atop the table. The throbbing behind his eyes won't stop, assisted in their torture by every outburst of laughter, every scrape of a fork, and every slide of a bench in the Great Hall.
Perhaps, James reflects, it's time to ease up on the Quidditch after-parties.
Around him, Sirius, Peter, and even Remus are hunched over in a similar manner—not to mention the occasional sixth-and-seventh year Gryffindors who had made it down to breakfast—and he can practically feel the pointed stare of Professor McGonagall from the teacher's table as he focuses intently on the running yolk of the egg (it makes his stomach turn a little).
Peter snickers. "Get a load of Evans."
Dreadfully predictable, James heeds Peter's instructions, heavy eyes looking towards the doors of the Great Hall and spotting Lily—looking better than the bedraggled lot of them, though still a bit peaky from imbibing. She looks normal (which is to say, beautiful), with the exception of—
"Oi! Four Eyes, over here!"
James winces at the shout and slaps Sirius upside the head, earning himself a shove in return. The other boy chuckles as Lily approaches them, arms crossed as her eyes narrow behind a pair of round glasses.
"Go on then," she sighs.
"I thought you knew better than to take fashion cues from this bloke, Evans," Sirius prods, grabbing James by the shoulders and shaking him. "When did this happen?"
"I've actually had them for a few years now," she shrugs. "Normally wear my contacts but my eyes are a bit irritated after I fell asleep in them."
"Contacts?"
James' question draws her attention, and the raise of her brow kicks his brain into overtime. Contacts?
"Contact lenses. It's like putting the frames directly on your eyeball," she explains with a quick gesture to her face. "They're dead convenient, but haven't caught on in the wizarding world yet, apparently. The first time Melanie saw me put one in she screamed."
Remus shudders at the thought, and James merely blinks as his brain continues to process this information. Lily Evans needed glasses. How had he never noticed?
Also…contact lenses. All the perks of vision without the hassle of glasses? He'd be unstoppable at Quidditch if he didn't have to worry about the blasted things falling off his face.
"These contacts…" James starts, leaning forward with interest. "Where would one get a hold of some?"
"Afraid you'd need to see a Muggle Optometrist for that, Potter, so you might be out of luck." She pours a glass of pumpkin juice and takes a contemplative sip. "Count yourself lucky, though. At least your glasses add to your appeal." Leaning over, she takes a rasher of untouched bacon from his plate with a smile and turns on her heel as Dorcas and Mary drag themselves through the doors, leaving a stunned James Potter in her wake.
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
Just Checking!
Joe leaned against his sleek, maple-wood kitchen counter, fingers tapping along the edges as he scrolled through his phone. The coffee machine behind him sputtered every few seconds, while the wonderful, rich aroma of his dark chocolate coffee roast filled the air. The perfect drink to start his day.
He was quite certain he had already made a cup for himself earlier, but he had no idea where he put it, so he was making another.
As he waited in the kitchen, he tried to lean back and get comfortable. His black socks slid across the beige tiled floor, but they stopped when they hit one of the wheels of his butcher block.
He frowned.
That blasted butcher block.
If it didn’t pair so nicely with the rest of his kitchen—having a top the same color as his counters, and a lower half the same shade of ginger brown like his cabinets—he would’ve moved it elsewhere by now.
His kitchen was already cramped enough, and having this bulky block in the middle wasn’t helping in the slightest, but he liked it. It had some small shelves below that were able to hold a couple of his pots, pans, and even some of his smaller house plants.
Honestly, even if he did decide to remove the butcher block, his kitchen still wouldn’t have enough space for him to stretch his legs out.
Joe swears he’s seen apartments with bigger kitchens than his.
It didn’t even feel like a proper kitchen, more like a small portion of a hallway that had been boxed in with counters and cabinets.
On his left was his sink with a little window above it for him to place a few more plants by, and below that was his dishwasher. Pressed against his dishwasher was a lovely wooden spice rack that went up to his hips. There was a silver oven that was pushed against his back, white wall, along with a fridge about his height.
To his right was his pantry. Whoever designed this house didn’t give him a built in pantry, no, that would’ve given him extra space and storage, and that would have been too convenient, so he had to buy his own.
His pantry was taller than him by a good foot, and it was the same color as the rest of his cabinets in the kitchen. It’s doors were covered in thin, white netting that allowed him to take a peek at all the cooking supplies he had.
Parts of it’s exterior was chipped, and the carvings of leaves and flowers that aligned it’s bottom were faded, but they looked elegant nonetheless.
“It looks old.” Sandman’s voice rang through his head. That’s what he told Joe when he had first seen his pantry.
“It’s antique!” Joe had exclaimed
“That’s fancy people talk for ‘old’.” Sandman snickered, “It looks nice, though. Yeah.”
Speaking of Sandman…
Joe quickly scrolled through his contacts and clicked on Sandman’s name.
“Good morning! I will be going to a cafe today, do you want me to pick up anything for you?” Joe had texted his friend earlier this morning. He thought Sandman wouldn’t respond for a while, especially since he tends to oversleep, but to Joe’s surprise, he actually got a reply not even an hour later.
“maybe a cool leaf”
Joe chuckled as he reread the message.
“I’ll keep an eye out. Anything else?”
Sandman never responded back.
Joe could only assume he had dozed off. He did text Sandman quite late, didn’t he?
Joe quickly checked what time he had messaged--
His eyes snapped open.
‘5 in the morning?!’
Oh dear, he hopes he didn’t wake Sandman up with his first message.
Joe let out a yawn as he thought to himself.
5 AM…
That must’ve been the time he woke up.
And he didn’t fall asleep last night until… Gosh, Joe couldn’t even remember.
What he did remember was the fact he had spent most of his evening texting Disco Kid, and his body absolutely loathed him for it.
It didn’t matter how tired he was, though. He couldn’t risk going back to bed to try and squeeze in a few extra minutes of sleep. He had breakfast with the rest of the Minor Circuit this morning, and he’d hate to miss it.
The exhaustion was well worth it, however. The things Disco told him, all those juicy snippets of what he went through last night, the anticipation alone was enough of a payoff for Joe.
He clicked out of his texts from Sandman, and went to the texts he got from Disco Kid. He scrolled to the very top and started to reread them.
“joe”
“joe”
“jo”
“je im in the barwiht aran right??????”
“Yes?” Joe had sent back. He had been laying in bed reading a book when he received these.
“guess wh o shwoed up”
Joe didn’t even have the chance to respond before Disco sent his next text.
“octave!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Joe remembered how he shot out of his bed, accidentally sending his book flying across the room, and stared at his phone with wide eyes.
“What?” Was all Joe could text back.
“i know rihght??? I didnt k now he was comignaran said he wasnt”
Joe was completely glued to his screen. He was as captivated as he was frustrated.
“Keep me updated, please.” He had told Disco.
“was already plannign on it”
“Don’t take any of Aran or Octave’s mistreatment. Leave whenever you need to.” Joe pressed his lips together when he reread that message. That sounded like such a ‘parent’ thing to say, didn’t it? But Joe was genuinely worried.
It’s bad enough to be stuck in a bar with Aran, but for Octave to suddenly come in unannounced? Joe couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of nightmare Disco went through.
Joe’s grip on his phone tightened.
What was with Overload and attending events he wasn’t invited to? What—was ruining the Major Circuit’s dinner not enough? He had to go for a second round? He had to bother Disco again, as if he doesn’t do that enough? Was it in his blood to make everyone in this stadium miserable? Or could he not stand the fact that everyone else could have fun with their friends except him?
Joe brought his coffee cup to his lips, ready to take a sip--
He stopped.
He looked at the white cup in his hands.
How long has he had this cup?
Has he been holding it this entire time?
He blinked.
Well, looks like he’ll be having two cups of coffee this morning. He probably needs it.
Joe took a sip and scrolled through his phone some more.
“he and aran are arugign now” Disco texted.
“Are they saying anything to you? They aren’t bothering you too much?”
“im good its just real akwwarrd”
Joe’s eyes flickered over to the top of his phone and checked the time. It was almost 9:30 AM, he has to meet his friends around 10:15. The cafe wasn’t too far from here, but still, he didn’t want to be late.
Joe glanced over to his coffee machine before he pushed himself off the counter, placed his cup down, and made his way out of the kitchen.
He kept his eyes on his phone as he entered a narrow hallway. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, he’ll probably end up running into a wall or hitting his hip, but he found himself too engaged with last night’s events to care.
He placed one hand on the white wall beside him and lightly dragged it across its cold surface. He felt the occasional small bump or two as his fingers carefully maneuvered around the framed photos and pressed plants he had hung on the walls, all while his other hand kept scrolling through his phone.
“think im gonna try and talk to octave” Disco’s next message read.
A small wince escaped Joe’s lips.
“I’ll be honest, I don’t think you should.”
“i know but”
Joe remembered waiting in anticipation for Disco to finish that sentence, to elaborate—even just a little—but he never did.
Joe’s fingers hovered over his keypad--
He hit a corner.
Joe quickly grabbed his hip and hissed to himself. He’s definitely going to get a bruise there, and he had no one but himself to blame.
Joe entered the room to his left, his bedroom.
He turned to his ivory-colored desk by the door. Also an antique piece of furniture he owned, with drawers that had novelty knobs attached to them, and once sharp edges that were now worn corners. Some of its paint had chipped off as well, but Joe thought that gave it all the more charm. Though he will admit, he’s been meaning to clean off the top for some time.
It was mostly covered in bills, fancy notepads that he’s only filled a couple pages of, fan letters, and in the very back corner of the table, small mason jars with water in them for his plant clippings.
He’ll clean it another time, though.
When he’s less tired.
He set his phone in the middle of the table, right next to his black glasses case, and then walked over to the tall, slender mirror that was propped against the corner of his room.
He struck a pose, straightening his posture and combing his fingers through his hair before putting a hand on his hip. He raised his chin ever so slightly and felt a wave of confidence push through his exhaustion.
His attire this morning was a bit different compared to what he’s been wearing these last couple of days. He’s noticed he’s been wearing much more black, white, and grays than he usually does, and while those certainly weren’t bad colors, it never hurts to change things up. So today, he decided to wear a much needed varied palette.
His shirt was covered in thin, white and pine-green stripes, and he had its ends tucked into his pants, which were a deep cadmium green. They almost looked black at a glance, but they weren’t. Joe thought such shades complimented his hair, but he wouldn’t be wearing just this, oh no.
He spun around and faced his neatly made bed. Right in front of it was a swivel oak chair for his desk, which had his coat draped atop of it.
He plucked the coat off and slipped it on.
It stopped just above his knees, it’s sleeves were a little too large for him, it was a bit on the thinner side—not that Joe minded, it was supposed to be a bit warmer today anyways—and it was a gentle hue of pink that reminded him of blush. Its color paired wonderfully with his top.
He fiddled with the coat’s collar, smoothed out any wrinkles he could see, and struck another pose.
He put both hands on his hips, bent a leg ever so slightly, and flashed a smile. It was stilted, crooked, and it was perfect. He couldn’t have asked for a better smile.
Now his eyes, on the other hand…
He definitely needed to do something about them. He had some very heavy bags.
Joe reached over to his desk and popped open the glasses case. He slid his small, round-framed sunglasses on, looked in the mirror again, and let out a satisfied sigh.
There. Now he’s set for the day.
Joe grabbed his phone and stared at the screen for a moment.
Slowly, he found himself starting to scroll through Disco’s texts again.
Texts he got when he was a blink away from sleep.
“well that went great”
“Is everything alright?” Joe had asked.
“got insulted”
“shouldve seen that coming. feel like an idiot”
Joe lowered his brows, a twinge of guilt shot through him. He wished he could’ve done more for Disco. He wished he could’ve been there to help. Who knows what Overload and Aran had said to himt.
“Don’t say that about yourself.” Joe texted him. Disco didn’t respond again for another several minutes.
The loud beeps of the coffee machine snapped Joe out of his thoughts.
He nearly forgot about that!
Joe hurried out of his room and back into the kitchen.
He swung open one of his cabinets and dug through his cups until he managed to get his hands on one of his travel mugs.
He quickly poured the coffee into the mug, hissing to himself whenever some splattered onto his hand, and put a lid on.
He rushed to the door, slipped his dark brown shoes on, and just before he put his phone in his pocket, he looked at the very last messages he and Disco exchanged.
“finally going home. tonight kinda sucked”
“I’m sorry. Please be careful.” Joe told him.
Disco never replied.
Joe could only hope he had gotten home safely.
He also hoped last night’s events didn’t drag Disco’s spirits down too much.
Joe closed his phone, slipped it away, and finally left his house.
~ ~ ~ ~
Tiger slept soundly in one of the many hammocks that hung from his ceiling.
The hammock rocked ever so slightly, making his slumber all the more relaxing, as did the rays of sunshine that filled his living room.
Tiger shifted around, trying to get comfortable. The fabric creaked as he moved, he felt his long hair get wrapped around one of his legs, and he nearly kicked his thin, orange blanket out of the hammock, but once he brought his knees to his bare chest, feeling the soft fabric of his dark gray, silk pants press against his skin, he let out a content sigh.
He then grabbed the purple pillow he was resting on and buried his face into it, not caring for how messy his mustache and beard would get. No, all he cared for was this moment of pure, blissful peace.
He let an arm hang outside the hammock. There was a subtle smell of cinnamon that filled the air, most likely coming from the spice rack in his kitchen. And the quietness of his house? It was splendid. How he wished this heavenly sleep could last forever--
A loud ‘THUD’ suddenly made Tiger shoot up.
He clutched at his chest and whipped his head over to his apricot-orange door.
He narrowed his eyes at the tall, thin, stained glass window right next to it and watched a silhouette rush by.
‘Who dared?’ Tiger thought to himself
Who dared to disturb him?
Who dared to ruin his slumber?
Was it a fan? Or one of those fancily dressed men who always loved to waste his time trying to sell him something? Or perhaps it was the mailman?
Tiger tipped his purple hammock over and leaned forward, the front half of his body spilling off the side and into another hammock below. This one a bit smaller, and a rich, royal blue with yellow swirls stitched across it.
As he landed into the hammock, the frustration within him started to boil.
It better not have been that blasted mailman.
How many times has he told them to stop leaving letters at his door? He has a mailbox for a reason.
Tiger leaned forward again, dropping from the blue hammock into a larger, looser, magenta one.
Had he slept in his bedroom, he simply would’ve gotten out of bed, walked over to the door, and see what was outside, but his bedroom was nowhere near as comfortable as the hammocks, nor did it look as fascinating.
Tiger has gotten plenty of comments about his living room before. Both friends and strangers who happened to get a glimpse inside his house always made a comment about how ‘strange’ it looked, and while he won’t deny it was certainly a bizarre sight for newcomers, he also couldn’t deny that he loved its layout so much.
Besides having typical ‘living room’ furniture—couches, a coffee table, a TV stand—all arranged in a typical living room fashion, the room also had an unusually high ceiling.
He had no idea what was going through the builders’ minds when they were working on this house. Perhaps it was supposed to be a chimney, or maybe it was some botched attempt at a second floor, or perhaps it was supposed to be some sort of tower… Tiger will never know. They made the width of the ceiling the same as the living room’s, while it’s length seemed to stretch on for a good several feet, making it the perfect place for Tiger to decorate and fly through.
It was also the main reason Tiger got this house at such a low price.
He believed he did quite an excellent job at covering those tall, barren, honeyed-orange walls with all sorts of things he loved. From colorful, patterned sheets that stretched from corner to corner, to ropes that criss-crossed over each other and had bells, beads, and ripped cloths tied to them, giving them that extra bit of ‘flare’, to the black-cherry wooden shelves that were tethered to the ceiling and carried some of his favorite items. Some of those items being his magic books, photographs of him and his friends, little trinkets that reminded him of his home country, and now, one of the paper rats he had made with Overload.
It was the best room in his entire house, and it was his favorite place to nap at.
Before he got the hammocks, he used to fall asleep while hovering in the air, and he had a tendency to… Drift around. Sometimes he’d bump into a wall, sometimes he’d wake up in a completely different room, and there were the very rare instances when he’d wake up and find himself outside.
The hammocks were a much nicer alternative, plus, whenever he’d wake up in them, he’d be greeted with the wonderful scenery of his living room.
A wonderful scenery he could’ve been enjoying right now had it not been for some heathen knocking at his door.
Tiger tipped over the magenta hammock and carefully extended a leg out. Once he felt his foot touch the silk carpet below—which was a much duller shade of magenta with a pinkish hue, and had intricate flower patterns embroidered into it—he hopped out and trudged over to the door.
He swung it open and looked around.
No one.
He then looked down and saw a rolled up newspaper. He sneered.
The mailman.
Of course.
Who else would have the gall to ruin his slumber?
Tiger grabbed that horrid paper and slammed the door.
He then tossed it onto his earthy-orange, camelback couch that was pressed against the back wall of the living room, which had a couple of pink and purple pillows sitting on it.
Tiger arched his back and stretched his arms high into the air, feeling the frustration drain away as rays of sun graced his skin.
He let out a yawn, satisfied, and relaxed his body.
He walked over to the couch, stepping over his brown slip-on shoes, some rolled up socks, a book that must’ve fallen from one of his hanging shelves, and his shirt from last night that he tossed out from his hammock.
He sat down and sunk into the cushions. His eyes slowly drifted to the right where his small, burnt umber end table was. To the left of the table, sitting diagonally from Tiger, was another camel-back couch, which had a pastel-blue blanket carelessly thrown on it. Atop the end table was a half drunken cup of black tea that sat on a little plate, and next to that was his light purple, metallic flip phone.
It was certainly a bit of a mess in here. He usually liked to clean up before he went to sleep, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up to a mess, but he must’ve been too tired to do so last night.
Tiger rested his head against the cushion. He wasn’t fretting too much, he’ll simply poof all of this away as soon as his magic wakes up.
He looked back to the end table.
He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, eyebrows raising slightly when he saw he had a voicemail from Bear… And no messages from Hondo.
He lowered his brows.
He had texted Hondo yesterday, and the fact he hasn’t heard back from him yet did send a twinge of anger through Tiger.
It wasn’t like he texted Hondo at an absurdly late hour. No, he did it in the afternoon while he was making dinner.
And it wasn’t like Tiger’s message was rude, or threatening, or anything of the sort. It was formal and straight to the point.
‘Hondo, whenever you’re available, I’d like to talk with you.’
What—was Hondo still too upset with him over what happened at their dinner night to respond? Or was he too busy training to answer him? Tiger knew training was the closest thing Hondo had to a hobby, but would it kill him to send a single word back? Or did he think he was too good for that?
Tiger’s thumbs hovered over the keypad, tempted to send Hondo another message, but he closed the phone.
He’ll text Hondo again later. He was in no mood to ruin his day this early.
Tiger stared at the cover of his phone before his eyes lazily drifted to the nearby newspaper. He skimmed its title--
His eyes widened.
‘BALD BULL THREATENS FANS.’
Tiger shot out of his seat and shoved the paper into his face. He frantically read the article, picking up whatever bits of the story he could.
Someone tried to break into Bull’s house.
‘I just wanted a chance to interview him.’ The person claimed, ‘He wouldn’t come out, and we’ve been waiting for so long.’ Oh, Tiger could practically hear their whiny voice through the page.
Of course that’s what those deranged people love to tell journalists, of course they love to paint themselves as innocent, curious fans who just want to hear one word from their favorite boxer as if they were owed it.
And the words used to describe Bull? It made Tiger’s blood boil.
‘Cruel’, ‘Careless,’ ‘Irrational’, those were only a small handful of what Tiger could spot, and he was certain if he found anymore, he’d tear the paper into shreds.
Tiger threw the paper down and dialed Bull’s number.
Why didn’t Bull tell him about this?
Was he planning to?
When did this even happen?
Was Bull hurt?
As his phone rang, Tiger flicked his wrist in an attempt to summon whatever clean clothes he could.
He didn’t care how ‘tired’ his magic was, he needed to check on Bull now.
The phone rang again. Tiger’s worries worsened.
He let go of the phone and used a little bit of his magic to keep it in the air as he started putting on his shoes.
The phone kept ringing. Tiger flicked his wrist again, patience wearing thin.
He suddenly felt a shirt land on his shoulder, followed by his unraveled turban.
He hurriedly put the dark purple shirt on before putting his hair into a messy bun.
The phone kept ringing.
Tiger used his magic to wrap his turban around his head.
The phone finally clicked.
Tiger grabbed it and opened his mouth—but his face dropped when he heard Bull’s voicemail play instead.
“Bull—Bull, I’m sorry, but I have to come over. I saw what happened and—and I’ll be there in a minute!” Tiger snapped his phone shut, and it disappeared to who knows where.
His magic finished tying his turban.
It was sloppy, crooked, and he had several strands of hair poking out, but it was done.
Tiger’s gem flashed, and he teleported away.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Joe took a sip of his coffee as he strolled through the neighborhood.
It was a perfect morning. The sun was shining, there was a pleasant breeze that carried the smell of dew-ridden grass and pollen, and there were plenty of people out and about.
Some were watering their gardens that were filled to the brim with bright, colorful, flowers, while some were setting up sprinklers for their lawn and for children to run through, while others were sitting on their porch and talking with their neighbors.
A smile spread on Joe’s face.
He found himself enjoying every little thing around him.
From the squirrels that ran along the tree branches, to the little nuts and berries sprinkled across the sidewalk, to the distant chatter of friends, there were plenty of small joys that made this morning all the better.
Joe went to take another sip of coffee--
When a sudden car horn made him jump.
He fumbled with his cup, catching it at the last second and holding onto it with his dear life.
Oh, he’s going to give that driver a piece of his mind--
“Joe! Is that you?!”
Joe whipped his head around, face immediately lighting up when he saw Disco Kid sitting in his fancy-looking yellow car with its roof down. He beamed and waved at Joe.
Joe hurried over, hand over the lid of his mug so it wouldn’t spill, “Good morning! Fancy running into you so soon, how are you?”
Disco rested his arm against the side of his car, the sleeves of his loose, white satin shirt had been rolled up to his elbows, “Not too shabby, you?”
“Oh, fine, fine.” Joe hummed, then he leaned closer to Disco, “Now I love you to bits, but you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Disco shrunk back, “Awh, shoot, sorry Joe. Just got excited. Hey--!” He perked back up, “Wanna ride?”
“Absolutely.” Joe went over to the passenger seat.
Disco fiddled with the radio while Joe got comfortable. He then watched Joe slip his coffee into the cup holder. He smirked.
“Dang Joe, we aren’t even at th’cafe yet and you already got yourself a cup of joe?” He slapped his knee and wheezed, as if that was the funniest thing he’s ever said.
Disco kept laughing, but when he glanced over and saw Joe’s tired, deadpanned expression, he immediately stopped.
He fixed his composure and cleared his throat.
“Anyways, so, uh…” Disco tapped his fingers along the wheel, trying to ignore the disappointed look Joe was giving him. He put his car into drive, “Cafe time!”
He hit the gas and off they went.
Cheesy 70’s music filled the awkward silence between them. Disco stayed quiet, lips pressed together and eyes staring straight ahead, clearly still embarrassed over that little joke of his. Joe on the other hand, despite how much that joke drove him crazy, couldn’t stay mad at him. In all honesty, hearing that joke actually brightened his mood.
Not because it was funny, but because that meant Disco was feeling happy enough to actually tell a joke despite what happened last night.
Joe looked at himself in the side view mirror and brushed his fingers through his hair. His eyes flickered over to Disco.
“Did you sleep well last night?” He asked.
Disco shrugged, “I guess. Got home kinda late, wasn’t feeling all that tired. Probably got like a couple hours at best, but it’s whatever.”
“You could always get some coffee at the cafe.” Joe suggested.
Disco gave a nod and tilted his head towards his friend, “Maybe, but I’m thinkin’ of trying something different. Don’t they make teas over there? Might try one of ‘em.” He slowly pressed on the brakes and they lingered at a stop sign for a moment. He drummed his fingers against his dark violet shorts and bobbed his head, enjoying whatever outdated tune was playing.
He started to drive again, “How bout you?”
“Oh, I hardly got any sleep.” Joe chuckled, “I am looking forward to seeing Kaiser and Hippo, though.”
Disco nodded, eyes glued to the road.
Joe’s happy expression started to falter.
His head drifted to the side, and he watched the neighborhood pass by. The road ahead wasn’t all that interesting, just a straight line with tall trees and streetlights on both sides, but the houses around it? The residents? The little stores and restaurants? Now those were quite pleasant to look at.
Joe took it all in. The people walking their dogs, groups of friends sitting outside small shops and chatting about their plans for the day, and the wonderful decor that surrounded the buildings. Colorful banners, strips of ribbon tied to the outside of windows, flags, pinwheels, and of course, Joe’s favorite, the plants.
From large, terracotta pots filled with vibrant flowers, to the hanging plants that were strung to awnings, even the ‘unintentional’ decor had a sort of beauty to him. The vines that crawled up walls, the dandelions that sprouted from pavement cracks, even the small bits of moss that clung onto the corners of buildings had a sort of charm to them.
Joe couldn’t fully enjoy this moment, however. Not when his mind was plagued with one thing.
“Speaking of friends…”
Joe noticed the corner of Disco’s mouth twitch.
“How did your night with Aran and Overload go?”
“Right, my ‘friends’. My besties.” Disco sung that last word on a cynical note.
“Alright, ‘friends’ is certainly a bit of a stretch. I just wanted to know how—I mean, I know last night went badly, but I wanted to make sure you’re doing alright and--”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re good, Joe.” Disco cut him off, “Appreciate it, but uh--” His mouth lingered open as he kept his eyes on the road, “Yeah, no, it sucked.”
“Well, I can imagine!” Joe exclaimed, “You were stuck in a bar with Aran! Heavens knows that man hardly showers. I can only imagine what breathing in his fumes can do to you.” Joe slid his sunglasses down, trying to see if he had managed to lighten Disco’s mood up a little, but all Disco did was let out a dry chuckle.
“Yup, that’s Aran for you.”
Joe took off his glasses and held them close, “And Overload—I’m guessing he was the one insulting you?”
Disco gave a shrug, “Yeah, I mean, not like I wasn’t expectin’ it or something. I tried to talk to him and it went… Okay-ish, but ya know what? He wasn’t half as bad as Aran was.” His grip on the wheel tightened, “Like, oh my gosh, I could go on forever about Aran, but it’s like—I give th’guy a ride, I went with him to the bar—and I don’t even like bars—but I still went cause I didn’t want him to be alone, cause he told me he hated that--”
“You’re too kind to him, do you know that?” Joe cut in.
“Yeah, well, we’re fr—we talk a lot. Sometimes I like to hang around him, right?” Disco said, “And I don’t mind helping th’guy out. Like, if somebody I knew from the stadium needed a hand, I’ll give it to ‘em! But he didn’t even thank me! I know that’s a stupid reason to get mad, but c’mon.”
“No, no, I’d be mad too!” Joe piped up, “What, you go out of your way to drive him to some random bar—free of charge—and stick around, and he can’t even cough up a ‘Thanks’?” Joe folded his glasses, slid them into his jacket’s pocket before he muttered to himself, “It’s common courtesy.”
Disco started to slow the car down as he eyed an open spot by a curb.
Joe eyed it as well.
His face scrunched.
Parallel parking.
A true nightmare.
He then looked back to Disco, “Did Aran do anything to show you a bit of appreciation? Or did Mr. World-Circuit feel too high and mighty for that?”
“He paid for whatever food I got.” Disco said as he carefully pulled into the spot, “Wasn’t good food, but at least I didn’t have to pay for it.”
“Didn’t even text a ‘Thank you’?” Joe asked.
Disco laughed. It was bitter. “Nah, just threats cause I didn't want to drive him home.”
Joe didn’t bother to hide his repulsion, “What did he say?”
“Typical Aran stuff.” Disco said with a click of his tongue as he parked the car, “Told me he was gonna beat me, tear my head off, went off on this whole thing bout how he was soooo much stronger than me ‘n that he’d ruin my life, which--” Disco laughed, “He’s already ruinin’ my life just by being around me.”
His laughter died down, and his smile fell, “That’s Aran for you.”
Disco took the keys out of the ignition and shoved them into the pocket of his shorts. He swung open the door and looked at the path ahead.
“Cafe’s a small walk from here, that work for ya?” He asked.
“I don’t mind.” Joe responded as he got out of the car, “Thank you for the ride.”
Disco nodded as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He patted himself down, exhaled, and put a smile back on his face. It looked forced, but Joe decided not to comment.
“Sorry.” Disco said as Joe joined his side.
“What for?”
“Well I was—was kinda soundin’ like a jerk back there, wasn’t I?”
“Oh, stop.” Joe put his hand up, “You were upset, anyone would be after the night you’ve had. If anything, I think you were being too nice.”
That didn’t seem to ease Disco’s worries. Joe put a hand on his shoulder.
“I promise you, you were just fine. If you ever need to let these sort of things off your chest, I’m more than happy to listen.”
Disco relaxed some, “Thanks Joe.” He looked over to the end of the path, “If it’s all good with you, I can tell ya more at the cafe? Don’t wanna leave Kaiser ‘n Hippo outta this.”
“Oh, of course!” Joe clasped his hands together, “Besides, I have my own little stories I want to share with all of you. You won’t believe what I’ve seen these last several days.”
“Oh yeah?” Disco raised his brows as he leaned closer to Joe, hoping to hear a little more.
Joe was about to tell him to be patient, but then his phone rang.
He dug it out of his pocket, hoping it was Sandman finally responding, but confusion flashed across his face when he saw Hondo’s number.
He answered the call and pressed the phone against his ear, “Hello?”
“Good morning.” Hondo greeted, his voice stiff, “I apologize if this is sudden--”
“No, no, don’t be! I always enjoy hearing from you. Is--” Joe’s voice trailed off as he kept walking, “Is everything alright?”
It was silent for a moment.
Despite Disco’s head being turned the other way, Joe could see him trying to watch out of the corner of his eye.
“I…” Hondo finally began, “I had the strangest dream a few nights ago, but now I’m—I’m not so certain it was a dream.”
Joe lowered his brows, “What do mean?”
“Over the weekend, I was training. It was getting late, and I didn’t want to rest yet, so I made myself some tea...” Hondo said, “...And while I was waiting for it to cool, Tiger appeared in front of me. He shouted at me, and I—I don’t even recall what he said. It happened so suddenly, and then he disappeared.”
Joe let out a barely audibly ‘What?’
“It was so bizarre that I—truthfully, I thought I was losing my mind. I thought I had gotten so tired that I was finally starting to see things, so I went to bed.”
“So what makes you think it wasn’t a dream?” Joe asked. He could feel Disco’s eyes on him, but he paid him no mind.
“I received a text from Tiger yesterday. I can't help but feel that and his sudden outburst are connected.” Hondo muttered, “He wants to talk with me. I’m not sure about what, but if he’s going to act so irrational, I don’t know if I want to talk to him.”
“Well, you’re going to have to eventually. You go to the same stadium.”
“I know.”
It felt like Hondo wanted to say more, but after another stretch of silence, Hondo sighed.
“I apologize for this again. I know it was sudden, it’s just—“
“No, please, don’t worry about it. If that happened to me, I know I’d want to tell somebody.” Joe tried to reassure him.
“Thank you. I suppose I didn’t—I--” Hondo fumbled with his words, “I couldn’t bring this up to Bear. As much as I appreciate him, he’d try to get Tiger and I to ‘make up’ over what happened at the dinner. He even tried to convince me of that very thing last night.” There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, “He told me his hand was feeling better, that he’d like to try and spar again, and then he suggested we bring everyone else along. Tiger, Don, even Overload. He said it would be great to ‘have everyone back together’, but I just—I can’t. Not now.”
Joe finally looked over and caught Disco staring. Disco jumped and whipped his head the other way. Joe put his attention back on the phone as they walked on.
“That definitely sounds like something Bear would say.” Joe chuckled, “He means well, but like you said, you’re not all that thrilled at having another get-together, are you?”
“Not for a long time.” Hondo said.
Joe looked up ahead. He could see the cafe waiting for him and Disco. It’s aged, seashell-white bricks were decorated with splashes of light, dusty red hues that faded into a gentle pink the closer they got to the ground, and they helped make the snow-white frame around the rectangular window pop out.
The left side of the small, one story building had been covered with tons of tiny, twisted vines, and resting in the alleyway next to that wall were tens of pots that varied in shapes and sizes, and filled with what looked like hundreds of different flowers, bushes, and even a few little fruit plants. They all mingled together, making an otherwise dull alley into something quite beautiful. They also did an excellent job at blocking off the side door to the cafe.
The mahogany-red front door had been propped open with a rock, letting the heavenly aroma of coffee and fresh pastries out into the world… A heavenly aroma that made Joe and Disco pick up the pace.
“Just let Bear know how you feel, hm? I’m sure he’d understand.” Joe said.
“I will. In due time. I just needed someone else to talk.”
Joe nodded as he stared at the round, gray patio tables that sat outside the cafe. Each of them had a black umbrella in the center, while their aluminum seats had light green, checkered cushions on top of them. Most of the tables had already been taken, and when Joe glanced at the window and saw how crowded it was inside, he started to worry that they might not be able to find a seat--
But as soon as his eyes landed on Kaiser sitting at one of the outdoor tables, with a large tree towering over it, creating the perfect shade for them, he felt a wave of relief hit him.
“Alright,” Joe exhaled, “I hope you’re feeling a little better now.”
“I am. Thank you, once again. Could I…” Hondo hesitated, “Would it be alright if we kept in touch about this? I don’t want to bring Bear’s spirits down, or cause any trouble with--”
“Please, you’re fine!” Joe swatted at the air, “I don’t mind at all.”
“Thank you.” Hondo said, “Have a good day.”
Finally, Joe hung up.
A mix of satisfaction and concern filled him. Not the most comforting feeling to have—and not the most soothing conversation he’s had—but at least he could help Hondo in someway.
Joe felt Disco staring at him again.
Before he could turn around and apologize for the long call, Disco started talking.
“Soooo, what was that bout? Everything all good with Hondo ‘n Bear?”
“Yes, yes, they’re just fine. I’ll tell you in a few, but for now--” Joe slipped his phone into his coat’s pocket and waved his hand, “Hello Kaiser!”
Disco looked straight ahead and spotted Kaiser, who was giving a smaller, slower wave back.
Joe pulled out one of the chairs and flashed his friend a smile.
Kaiser had enough energy to force a grin on his face before he brought his attention back to a stack of papers in front of him. He kept a strong grip on a worn down pen and scribbled away as if his life depended on it. Joe was admittedly impressed to see that despite how fast he was going, Kaiser’s handwriting looked so neat.
“Paperwork? At a cafe?” Disco asked as he rested against a chair.
“Well, it’s the perfect place to get work done, isn’t it? It’s nice, quiet, and there’s some good food.” Joe said with the raise of his head.
“Yeah, but like—we’re supposed to be having a chill morning. Shouldn’t have to be doin’ homework on a day like this.” Disco said.
Joe opened his mouth—but Kaiser spoke instead.
“I will put it away soon.” He said, still writing, “I came here early. Wanted to see how many forums I could complete before you two came. I do not want to ruin our morning.” He sounded exhausted.
He looked exhausted.
Joe held his tongue, refraining from sharing any comments about Kaiser’s attire.
He wore a plain beige shirt with three buttons at the top, but only one of the three was actually buttoned up. Over that, he wore a trench coat about the same length as Joe’s, and it’s color was a rather gross, swampy green—not that Kaiser’s coat was gross, goodness no, it’s what the color reminded him of that was gross.
Joe also couldn’t help but notice how… Worn down the coat seemed. Torn ends, wrinkles, small stains and holes, he wondered how long Kaiser has held onto it.
Kaiser’s khakis had their bottoms half-heartedly tucked into his dark brown, leather combat boots, which it seemed he didn’t even have the time to tie the laces of.
Joe watched Kaiser set the pen down and grabbed a cup of black coffee that had been sitting by his papers.
“The forums are for my students.” Kaiser added unprompted.
Joe and Disco looked at him.
“Safety forums, parental permission, some for removing students because the boxing classes were ‘too violent’.” Kaiser scoffed at that last part, “I understand that it is a harsh sport, but violent? I always make sure my students are safe as they learn. I would never push them to such extremes.”
“The kids are complaining bout that?” Disco asked.
“The parents.” Kaiser answered, “Children love the class, they love giving hits. Parents, however, think it is too much.”
“Jeez.” Disco rolled his eyes before he leaned even closer to Kaiser, “Why don’t ya take a break from those lousy forums and eat some breakfast, huh?”
Joe was about to tell Disco that Kaiser’s work wasn’t ‘lousy’, but Kaiser nodded and slipped his papers into a dark green, beaten-up messenger bag he had hung around the back of his chair.
“Breakfast sounds nice. I will save the seats, and you two will grab the meals?” Kaiser asked.
“Yes, that sounds good. What would you like?” Joe asked as he took off his coat and placed it over his chair.
“The porridge, please.”
“Right,” Disco nodded before he looked around, “and uh, where’s Hippo?”
“He could not make it.” Kaiser said.
Disco jumped, “What?!”
“Visiting his island. 'Royal duties' is what he told me.”
Disco put his hands on his hips, “Awh man, that sucks. We can’t just leave a guy hangin’ like that! We could pick somethin’ up for him while we’re here? Maybe like uh, a cookie or somethin’?”
“I’m sure they have something inside fit for a king.” Joe said with a chuckle, proud of himself for such a quip, “But yes, I’m starving! Let’s get something to eat.”
Disco started to bounce, “Yeah, and then you’re gonna tell us bout Bear Hugger, right?”
Kaiser raised a brow, “Something happened to Bear?”
Joe flicked his wrist, “Oh, just you wait. You two won’t believe the things I’ve seen.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Tiger teleported above Bull’s house.
He didn’t want to be here.
He needed to be inside.
He shook his head.
He wasn’t going to try and teleport again. He might end up somewhere even farther.
He started to fly towards Bull’s backyard.
Wind rushed past his face, and he swore his turban was just seconds away from unraveling--
His body suddenly jerked to the left.
He cursed.
He tried to put his focus back on his flying, only for a sharp, stabbing pain to shoot inside him, cause him to jerk to the side again.
He stopped and immediately hit his gem with the palm of his hand. A pathetic attempt to get his magic to wake up faster.
Tiger looked at the red, clay tile roof of Bull’s house. He slowly brought himself closer to it.
With each agonizing second that passed, his panic only grew worse.
Each second wasted out here was a second he could’ve used to help Bull.
And the group of people he saw outside of Bull’s gates while he was high in the air?
The large crowd gathered out there—some with their cars parked in the middle of the road, and some with own tents? It made Tiger furious.
The sun shone on Tiger and burned his skin.
Don’t those people have lives? Families? Friends? Anything else they could spend their time on rather than constantly harassing his friend?
If only Tiger’s magic was working properly, oh how he’d love to create a horrifying illusion to scare them off.
When Tiger was finally close enough to the roof, he stopped flying and landed on it with a loud thud.
He turned around and eyed the balcony to Bull’s room.
He started walking towards it, the clay tiles rattling under his weight.
He held his breath.
The rattles grew louder.
He swore he heard one make a snapping sound--
Or was that the sound of a camera?
He couldn’t risk bringing more attention towards Bull.
He whipped his head around.
He didn’t see anyone.
And with how tall Bull’s cement fence was, he was certain the paparazzis couldn’t see him.
Still, he couldn’t stay out here for a second longer.
Tiger reached the edge of the roof and jumped onto the balcony.
He turned towards the purple curtains that covered the door way to the room and poked his head through.
“Bull?!” He hollered, his voice echoing through the large, empty bedroom. He took a step in, “Bull, I’m here to check on you! It’s just me—Tiger!”
No response.
Bull must still be in that spare room downstairs.
At least, Tiger hoped so.
Tiger hurried past the curtains and towards the burnt umber, round framed door that led to the rest of the house. He quickly scanned the room as he ran through it.
A pile of pillows sat on Bull's bed. It looked like they hadn’t been touched in days, nor did the neatly folded blankets beside them.
The rest of the room was perfectly still, and marvelously decorated as always, and the way the sun poured through the large, arched windows and shone onto the colorful fabrics on Bull’s ceiling? It was gorgeous, to the point it almost felt like a mockery to what his friend was going through.
Tiger slipped out of the bedroom and stepped out onto the interior bridge that connected to the staircase. He grabbed onto the wooden railings and leaned over, facing towards the front door. He sharply inhaled.
The two tall, narrow windows that sat on both sides of Bull’s door had been shattered.
What looked like millions of glass shards were scattered across the light, mahogany wooden floor.
Tiger quickly looked to the left where Bull’s living room stood.
There were probably even more shards hidden under the furniture and in between the threads of his rug, and he noticed the window there had several large cracks on it as well.
He hurried down the stairs.
As soon as he hit the last step, he leapt into the air and flew over the glass.
He stared at the mess, wincing at how many jagged pieces there were.
He also noticed multiple large rocks scattered amongst them.
He looked back to the broken windows and noticed ripped pieces of cloth stuck on some of the edges. Someone must’ve been trying to reach for the doorknob.
He peered through the windows and noticed the mosaic lamps Bull had hung outside and been knocked down and shattered.
Sun filled the house and bounced off the shards, decorating Bull’s walls with hundreds of fractured light. Some were tainted in gentle hues of greens from nearby plants, some were vibrant purples and blues due to the pieces of the mosaic lamps they hit, while many others had been tinted a soft orange.
Their warped, sharp shapes reminded Tiger of scattered puzzle pieces, or broken parts of a painting that needed to be mended.
In a horrible way, it was beautiful, but Tiger had to get rid of it.
‘Perhaps…’ He thought to himself, ‘It’d be better to wait a few moments?’
His magic has already been so difficult to work with. He didn’t want to risk trying to teleport the broken glass elsewhere only for something bad to happen. They could end up in a place they shouldn’t be, or land on some innocent bystander, or--
Frantic footsteps shook the house.
Tiger looked ahead to the small hallway that lead to the guestroom.
The steps grew faster and faster, as did the heavy breathing accompanying them.
Tiger’s gem flashed rapidly, “Bull--?!”
A large hand suddenly shot past the tan wall and gripped onto the corner.
A frightened, defensive Bull followed after.
“You will not--!” Bull shouted, but his wild expression dropped when he saw Tiger.
Tiger darted higher into the air and hugged his knees to his chest—which he quickly let go of.
“Bull, I am so sorry for scaring you.” Tiger said as he gradually lowered himself.
“No, I’m–I didn’t know you were…” Bull’s voice dwindled, “...Why are you here?”
“I had to check on you!” Tiger exclaimed, “I saw what happened to you—I saw the paper, and I had to make sure you were doing alright and—oh!” Tiger hissed to himself, “Those blasted paparazzi. What a pathetic excuse of a job.” He glared down at the glass shards below him, catching glimpses of his fractured reflections.
Bull peered past the corner and took a quick glance through a broken window. Despite seeing no one outside, he stayed hidden behind the wall.
Bull tugged at his sideburns, face occasionally scrunching whenever his fingers touched one of his bruises.
Tiger swore he didn’t have nearly as many the last time he saw him.
But he kept quiet.
He also kept quiet about any concerns he had towards Bull’s appearance, as he was quite certain Bull was well aware of how dreadful he looked.
The tear streaks on his face, his messy sideburns, the uncomfortable shifting of his feet… And it looked like Bull has worn that taupe-colored shorts and that drab, beige t-shirt for days. They were horrifically wrinkled, and the shirt had a few stains.
“I wish you had--” Bull began, but his brittle voice dwindled again. He folded his arms and gripped onto the sleeves of his shirt. His uneasiness grew. “I know you mean well. I appreciate you, but I--”
“If this is about my sudden arrival, again, I sincerely apologize.” Tiger cut in, “I left you a voicemail, but I know you’ve probably had your phone off since you—since the fight, but I wanted to let you know in advance because--”
“I wish you had not come.” Bull said.
Tiger stopped.
He waited for a moment. He waited for Bull to take that back, or to apologize, but the longer the silence went on, the worse he felt.
“What?” He finally whispered.
Bull couldn’t look him in the eyes, “I know you mean well, but you should not have come. I didn’t want you to get stuck in the middle of this.”
“In the middle of what?” Tiger asked, “In the middle of some frantic—chaotic mess that you’re stuck in? Do you really think I’d go out of my way to call you—visit you—if I didn’t want to get into this? Why do you think I’ve told you to call me if you needed anything?” He flew closer to his friend, “You’re dealing with your horrible fans--for heavens sake, they tried to break in just to talk to you! You think I wouldn’t--”
“That is one of the reasons why I have not called you for help.” Bull said, his voice stiff.
Tiger was taken aback.
Bull still couldn’t look at him.
“But you--” Tiger mumbled, “I thought you weren’t able to call to me because of how many fans were bothering you?” He felt beads of sweat starting to form where the sun was hitting him.
“That is true. I would not lie to you about that. It has been a lot.” Bull dug his nails deeper into his skin, “But I did not want to call you because this--” He gestured at the broken glass before pointing towards one of the windows, “—Because they are dangerous, and you have dealt with me enough already.”
“Dealt?” Tiger repeated in a hush.
Bull finally looked at him, only for his eyes to quickly flicker away again.
“Dealt? What, like us being friends is just some little hassle I have to go through? An errand? Or do you see me helping you as some sort of babysitting duty?” Tiger shot himself higher into the air, now towering above Bull.
“Tiger, that is not what I said--”
“No, but it certainly felt like it!” Tiger snapped. He took a deep breath and lowered himself a few inches, “Are you referring to the night of your fight? Is that when I ‘dealt’ with you?”
“Yes.” Bull kept his mouth open to say more, but Tiger talked over him.
“Please, you were going through a hard time! You lost a fight, you were hurt, I wanted to help you! That’s not some sort of chore for me, I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He got closer to Bull’s face. Bull inched away.
“Is it so wrong for me to want to do the same now?” Tiger asked, “I don’t want to find out what’s happening to you through the paper. I want to be there as soon as I can, just like the night of your--”
“That night was different.” Bull said. He stepped forward, “There were only the two of us. Nobody else. I am still thankful for your help, but when my fans are around, it--”
“I’ve dealt with fans before!” Tiger exclaimed, “You don’t think I’ve had my fair share of deranged fans?!”
Bull lowered his brows, “You have not dealt with mine.”
“Yes I have!”
“No, you have not.” Bull raised a foot, ready to take another step, but when he saw the glass shards below, he stopped, “You have helped teleport me away from them, yes—and I am grateful for that—but those were all from a distance. You have not dealt with fans surrounding your house, or trying to break in to get close to you. That is very different.”
Tiger grit his teeth.
“So?” He asked, “So they’re a different kind of deranged, what of it? What makes you think I can’t help you with this?” His voice was filled with desperation and frustration. He leaned even closer to Bull, the front half of his body now in the hall, while the lower half still hovered above the shards.
Bull finally brought his eyes back to Tiger’s, “I do not doubt you can help me, but I do not want you to get hurt trying. I would never forgive myself.”
“Oh, hurt. Hurt!” Tiger scoffed as he threw himself away from Bull. He started to pace around in the air, anger growing inside of him, “What a fantastic point. I could get hurt. A Major Circuit boxer—who’s been punched a million of times—might get scratched up by some people with a camera!”
“It is not only about the physical injuries.” Bull said, but before he could add on, Tiger gave him a furious look.
His gem flashed brightly and a clone appeared between them. Half of it’s face had been fused with it’s turban, their colors bleeding and swirling together, while the other half looked as though it was melting, and slowly merging with his neck.
“What else--?” The clone asked, it’s voice distorted and painful to listen to, making Bull recoil.
Tiger swatted it away and took it’s place, “What else is there? If you tell me, I promise you, I could help you with it!”
“They will follow you!” Bull snapped back, finally raising his voice, “No matter where you go, they will follow you! You will not get a second to yourself. Every moment of your life will be on the paper or on the screen.” Bull got as close as he could to his friend without stepping on the glass, “You will be stuck hiding in your house, and even then, you will not be safe! They will always try to find you, or rip off a piece of you to keep to themselves. Tiger it would be far too much for you too handle. I have been dealing with it for years--”
“And you’re still not used to it!” A clone that appeared between the two men snapped. Tiger sliced it’s head off with one swift motion, making it disappear into a cloud of smoke.
“Then why can’t I use my magic to block out your windows? Or scare them away? I could even let you stay at my place!” Tiger clutched at his chest as his gem flashed rapidly.
Bull turned away and muttered, “I am already the ‘scariest’ boxer, yet they keep coming back. I do not want you wasting your energy on me—on these sort of people, and I will not risk putting you in the middle of this. I can handle it.”
Tiger’s hands curled to tight fists. He pressed his lips together and scowled.
There were a million things he wanted to say.
A million things that could possibly change Bull’s mind, or could do more harm than good.
He felt those words try to pry his mouth open--
Another clone flickered in the middle of the glass shards.
Tiger and Bull watched as the clone crouched down and stared at the pieces. It’s body was jagged, it’s arms jutted out in odd, sharp angles, as did it’s torso, and it’s legs looked a little too long to be normal.
It then turned it’s head over to Bull, showing off how most of it’s face appeared stretched, as if someone had grabbed it’s skin and pulled it away, leaving only a set of teeth visible, “As if you’re handling this well.” It whispered.
Tiger quickly whipped his head back over to Bull and hurt flash across his face.
Before he had the chance to waft the clone away, it disappeared.
It was Tiger’s turn to avoid looking at his friend.
He just stayed floating in the air, head down, looking at his reflections in the broken glass.
He could feel Bull staring at him, and that only made the sour pit in his stomach grow.
Bull finally sighed.
“Tiger,” He said, his voice low, “I appreciate you visiting, but I need you to leave.”
Tiger’s brows lowered.
He raised a hand in the air and curled it into a fist.
The shards of glass started to slowly hover off the ground. Speckles of lights danced around the house.
“I am doing this because—because I care about you. Because I love you.” Bull said.
Tiger then opened his fist, and the shards disappeared, “It certainly doesn’t feel like it.”
Even with the glass gone, he still kept his eyes on the floor.
Tiger opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment before he spoke again, “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m offering to help you because I also care about you?”
The sunlight felt as though it was burning Tiger’s skin off.
“I know I’ve been getting… Upset, but it’s because I also want you to be alright.” He drifted a few inches closer to his friend, his voice weaved with worry, “This is me telling you that I can help you.”
Bull stared back at him, a broken expression on his battered face… And then he took a step back.
“And this is me telling you I do not need it.”
Tiger stayed there, watching as Bull backed further away, until he eventually turned away and disappeared into the hallway.
He listened as his friend’s footsteps grew quieter.
Tiger’s hands trembled.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, “If you ever--!”
The footsteps stopped.
Tiger took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “If you ever change your mind, know that I will still give you my help.”
The silence lingered.
Then he heard the footsteps start again, followed by a door clicking shut.
Tiger waited for a few more moments, hoping Bull would rush out and tell him he does need his help, or to pull him into a hug and apologize, and then they could figure out how to work through this together, but that never happened.
Bull stayed in the guestroom, and Tiger stayed in the entryway.
With nothing more to do, and with no one needing him, his gem flashed, and he teleported away.
~ ~ ~ ~
“What?!” Disco blurted out, “And was there blood? Lotsa blood?”
“Thankfully not too much, but one of his nails nearly came off, and it looked awful.” Joe said as he gestured with his fork. He sat with his legs crossed, leaning back far enough that the chair looked like it was about to tip over, yet he somehow remained balanced.
Disco squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, not too fond of the imagery that popped up, and even though Kaiser looked stoic—his arms folded and posture rigid—Joe noticed the subtle scrunch of disgust on his face.
“What happened after that?! Was Bear alright? Nothing got infected, did it?” Disco asked as he jabbed his fork into one of his waffles and shoved it into his mouth. There was so much whipped cream and fruit piled on top that they were practically hidden.
“The poor man was in agony.” Joe threw his head back, “Thank the stars this happened in the locker room though, because I was able to grab some paper towels and help clean him up.” Joe set his fork down by his salad bowl, “And thankfully Tiger heard the commotion as well and offered to get a first aid kit, but he was also…” Joe rolled his eyes.
Disco and Kaiser exchanged confused glances.
“Did… Tiger help Aran and Overload with the mousetraps?” Kaiser asked, his brows lowering.
Joe jolted, “No! Absolutely not. He was just frustrating to deal with that day.”
That didn’t seem to satisfy Kaiser, “Frustrating how?”
Joe’s cheeks turned a light pink, “I suppose ‘frustrating’ wasn’t the best word to go with, but—actually I need to explain a little more.” He grabbed his cup of mocha and held it close, “So after Tiger left, Bear wanted me to text Hondo about what was going on, so I did. Then before I knew it, Hondo suddenly appeared! I don’t know how he gets around so fast, but anyways--” He took a sip, “He checked up on Bear, asked who had set up those traps, then Tiger reappeared, and that’s when things got frustrating.”
Kaiser and Disco continued eating their breakfast as Joe explained what happened on that dreaded day.
He rambled about how everyone in the locker room realized Aran had been the one to place those traps inside the locker, how Octave most likely helped, how defensive Tiger got at the ‘accusation’, even though it was so obviously true.
Disco listened intensely, wrapped up in every detail of the story, never taking his eyes off of Joe, not even to make sure his fork was actually hitting his waffles.
Kaiser, despite listening attentively to everything Joe was saying, found his eyes occasionally drifting away. He’d glance at families that’d walk by with kids happily holding onto the parents’ hands, or at the occasional leaf or crumpled newspaper that flew with the wind. He ate a spoonful of porridge and put his focus back on Joe.
“Tiger and Overload…” Kaiser mumbled as he pat his mouth with a napkin, “I have never pictured the two of them becoming friends.”
“I’ve heard a bit bout ‘em through Aran.” Disco added as he took a sip of the strawberry-mango tea he ordered. It smelled so sweet to the point Joe was almost certain the baristas had given him a glass of fruit punch instead.
“They must be getting along well if Tiger is willing to defend him.” Joe said with another roll of his eyes.
“Pah, if I was friends with a man who was constantly cruel, I would not hesitate to call out their behavior.” Kaiser frowned as he straightened his posture even more.
“Exactly!” Joe said, “I don’t care how close I am with someone, if they’re being a pain, I won’t tolerate it. I don’t know why Tiger thought we were ‘antagonizing’ him, even though he knows Overload constantly acts this way.” He sunk down further into his seat, “A part of me just worries that he’ll get get wrapped up in Aran and Overload’s messes.”
“Nah, maybe not.” Disco said.
Joe and Kaiser stared at him.
“I think Tiger’s probably only gonna hang round Octave cause like--” Disco took another bite of his waffles and kept talking, “Tiger hates Aran, ‘n Aran? Guy can’t stand him either. He’s told me bout it before, and don’t tell the other guys at the stadium this, but…” His eyes flickered between the men before he leaned in, “I think Octave ‘n Aran hadda big fight.”
Joe’s eyebrows shot up, “Really now?”
Even Kaiser seemed surprised.
“Yeah! I texted Aran last night, right? Wanted to make sure he made it home—mostly cause his sister needs him—but when I asked, he started goin’ off about how fed up he was with Octave. Tried to get more outta him, but he stopped responding.” Disco then propped his head up with his hands and batted his eyelashes, “Maybe they were fightin’ over li’l ol’ me.”
That managed to get a chuckle out of Kaiser.
“Well…” Joe brought his coffee to his lips again, “It’s not like they haven’t fought before.”
“Yeah but like—I dunno. Aran gets into fights all the time, but he never complains bout it. Usually he just jokes and brags bout it or whatever, but like, this felt different, you know?” Disco said.
“And what about Tiger?” Kaiser asked.
Joe took a sip, “What about him?”
Kaiser’s expression grew serious, “He is with Overload. If Overload is not afraid to hurt Aran, who is to say he won’t hurt Tiger as well?”
Disco and Joe’s eyes went to anywhere but Kaiser as they pondered that question.
Joe’s mind was already filling with hundreds of horrible things Overload could do to Tiger—or to anyone for that matter. Heaven knows he’s probably furious over his little relationship drama with Aran, and it’s only a matter of time before he lashes out and gets someone severely hurt—
Joe quickly took another sip of coffee to try and drown out his thoughts.
He then cleared his throat, “I’m sure Tiger would be able to deal with it one way or another. He’s got his magic, he has friends to help him--”
“Like us!” Disco added.
“Right. Though he’s not too happy with me at the moment.” Joe muttered, “Either way, he can always ask for help when the time comes.” He then set his cup down and leaned his head against his hand, “Or he could do us all a favor and teleport Overload far away from here.”
Joe heard Disco laugh, and he could practically feel the eyebrow raise he got from Kaiser, but Joe picked up his fork and put his focus back on his salad.
Joe then heard Kaiser mumble to himself. He looked up ever so slightly
“Overload and Aran…” Kaiser grumbled as he stared into his black coffee, “I swear I have taught children with better manners than them.”
Joe hummed, a small grin on his face.
“Please, I don’t think that’s a very high bar for—oh!” Something on the ground caught his attention.
Joe carefully tipped his chair back further and reached towards the sidewalk.
“Dropped something?” Kaiser tilted his head.
“No, no, I found a leaf.” Joe plucked the leaf off the ground and sat right back up, “Sandman wanted me to find a nice one for him. I think this should do, hm?”
He twirled it’s red stem between his fingers, showing off a brilliant green leaf that had been adorned with bright yellow speckles that faded to orange at the bottom.
Kaiser paused, “I suppose, though I am not a leaf expert.”
“I like it!” Disco said with a mouth full of food, “Oh, speakin’ of Sandman, you see that little column bout him in the paper this morning?”
Joe perked up, “No, I haven’t. I think I saw a little bit about something going on with Bull--”
Disco cut him off, excited, “Yeah! It was on the page right after that. He might be havin’ another fight soon! I gotta keep my eyes open for it, I wanna buy my parents tickets to it—they love his fights and I wanna surprise ‘em.”
“Really?” Joe was about to ask ‘With who?’ But he closed his mouth when he remembered that miserable other champion that’s been trash talking his friend for the last couple of weeks. He let a twinge of annoyance show through as he thought about that boxer for a moment.
Did that champion really have nothing better to do than waste journalists’ time with his constant trash talk?
Doesn’t he have training to do?
People to punch?
Joe huffed. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with that champion in the near future, but if it meant seeing Sandman eventually knock his lights out, then he’ll put up with it.
Joe exhaled before he put a smile back on his face, “Well, I’m sure whenever that fight arrives, it’ll be fantastic.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Tiger was back in one his hammocks, arms folded, a leg dangling off the side, and a scowl on his face.
He wished he had never gotten up this morning.
He wished he had ignored that blasted newspaper when it hit his door.
He could’ve slept in and woken up refreshed, but no.
He had to be a good friend and check on Bull.
And look where that’s gotten him.
Tiger’s flip phone orbited his hammock.
Tiger gave a halfhearted snap of his fingers, his gem flashed, and his phone let out a beep.
“Heya Tiger…” Bear’s voicemail played, “I was tryna call ya, but ya must’ve been asleep, hope I didn’t wake ya up on accident or somethin’.”
Tiger sunk deeper into his hammock as he listened on.
“Hope yer doin’ well for starters! My hand’s feelin’ loads better, still gotta be careful of course, but I was wonderin’ if yer gonna be free in a couple’o days? I was thinkin’ of goin’ back to th’stadium to work out, ‘n it’d be great to have ya around! We can practice in that li’l ring together, or ya can just sit ‘n watch, I don’t mind either way...”
Tiger sneered as the recording kept going.
Look at that, a friend that’s actually asking for his help, and he didn’t need to drag himself out of bed and teleport out of his house just to hear it.
It’s nice to know someone likes to have him around.
“...Ya good if Hondo tags along as well? Don might be comin’ too…” That last part was barely audible, but Tiger heard just enough to make his scowl grow.
Hondo still hasn’t responded to his message.
If Hondo refused to acknowledge Tiger’s attempts to reach out, then so be it, Tiger will gladly confront him in the stadium. Hondo couldn’t hide forever.
”...But he said he might be busy with uh—with stuff. He didn’t tell me with what, but hey! Maybe ya can ask Octave to tag along as well!” Even through the recording, Tiger could hear Bear’s smile.
Tiger doubted Overload would want to come after what’s happened, and he could only imagine the fit Hondo would throw if he saw him again.
“...I know that uh… That things have been kinda weird since, ya know, but…” Bear’s voice dwindled.
Tiger took a deep breath.
“...I guess I just want my buds to stay buds, ya know?”
It was quiet for a moment.
Tiger’s eyes lingered at the end of his hammock. For a second, he thought the voicemail had ended, but Bear spoke again.
“Anyways! Just, uh, just lemme know if ya’d like to come! Hope to see ya--”
Tiger’s phone started to ring.
He sat up and quickly flicked his wrist, teleporting the phone into his hand. Perhaps it was Bear checking to see if he’s able to train, or perhaps Hondo finally decided to respond—but Tiger stopped when he saw it was Overload calling instead.
Tiger answered, “Yes--? Hello, good morning!”
“Hey, Tiger.” Octave said, his voice muffled.
“Is everything alright? I’m so used to our little chats in the evening that this feels a little odd.” Tiger chuckled as he brought the phone closer.
“Yeah, yeah, I was uh…” Octave trailed off, “Hey, we’re uh—we’re friends, right?”
Worry and confusion started to fill Tiger's chest as he pressed the phone against his ear, “Why of course.” He let out another chuckle, nervous, “What brought this on? Is everything alright?”
“Nah, yeah, everythin’s fine.” Octave said, “Just checkin’.”
#punch out#punch out!!#punch out wii#punch out glass joe#punch out disco kid#punch out von kaiser#punch out great tiger#punch out bald bull#fic#art#CHAPTER 21 LETS GOOOOO AUUGUHG#ENJOY!
51 notes
·
View notes
Text
better left unsaid // cth
chapter twenty eight
in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.
calum hood x fem!oc
read other chapters
october 1, 2018
san diego, california
orion
I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve seen Calum’s reaction coming. I know him so well that I should have been able to predict how he would react to my confession, but, I guess it was a situation that nobody really knows how they’ll react to until they’re in the moment. The look on his face when I told him… I never want to see that level of anger and disappointment and heartbreak on anyone’s face, ever again.
It felt like a punch to my gut, over and over. It felt like my heart was ripped from my chest when Calum stormed off.
Afterwards, I spend a few minutes sobbing, hyperventilating, and freaking out in my car when he leaves me alone. I know he wants to spend some time on his own, but I feel like I have to at least try to run after him, after I gave him some space to process what I’ve just told him. I collect myself a tiny bit before I run into the venue, finding everyone, except for Calum, in the green room.
They all notice me immediately, and I’m sure the tears running down my face, red cheeks, and ragged breathing made it clear that I’m upset. Luke starts to step toward me, his face full of concern, but Ashton beats him to it, stepping directly in front of Luke to block him.
“O, are you alright?”
I grab his arm and pull him into the corner, away from everyone else as much as possible without going to a different room.
When I try to say something, all that comes out is more crying. I can’t say it. I can’t say that Calum is absolutely livid that I hadn’t told him until now. I can’t say that it felt like he handed me his barely beating heart before he ran away.
Despite the many awful conversations with Ashton telling me I shouldn’t keep my diagnosis a secret, he’s nothing but sympathetic in the wake of my relationship getting absolutely fucked. He wraps his arms around me tightly and rests his head on top of mine, my body shaking as I cry even harder into his shirt.
“You told him, I take it?” He asks.
I sniffle, trying again to be able to say something, but the words get caught in my throat.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. It’s all gonna be okay, alright? You guys will be fine. Just give him a chance to come to terms with everything. It’s a lot to take in, and you know he’s avoidant.” He rubs his hands up and down my back, trying to calm me down, but it just makes it all worse. “He loves you. Nobody can deny it. Love is the most powerful thing in the universe. You guys will be fine.”
I ruined everything. Ashton’s positivity feels toxic rather than comforting.
It takes a few minutes, but I manage to stop sobbing enough to speak.
“I’m gonna go. Give him space. Take care of him, please? And tell everyone I love them and I’m sorry.”
“Wait, Orion, you shouldn’t—”
I don’t bother listening to everything else he has to say. I just run back out to the car. I can hear everyone calling after me, so I act quickly, turning the key in the ignition and reversing, then driving back out of the parking lot the way I came.
While I drive, I blast sad music that I can cry to. I’m probably not supposed to drive while crying as hard as I am, but I don’t really have a choice, already on an interstate. I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I stop at a convenience store after I drive for about 15 minutes. I turn off sharing my location with everyone and turn on Do Not Disturb. If Cal needs to be alone, I need to be alone too.
I need to grapple with the immense pain I’ve caused.
Just so people can know I’m alive after leaving the venue, I text Emelia.
To: emi✨
today is… the worst day ever.
As soon as it says it’s delivered, I put my phone in my pocket.
At 7-Eleven, I grab a jumbo bottle of Barefoot Cabernet Sauvignon and a bag of Voodoo potato chips, then get back in the car to head to the beach. The access I go to is in a touristy part of San Diego, but it’s nostalgic for me and reminds me of all the times I came here as a kid with friends. An ounce of comfort in this shitty fucking day.
After parking, I grab my 7-Eleven purchases and the blanket my moms make me keep in my trunk for ‘emergencies’ — I’ve never known what kind of emergency would call for a blanket in Southern California, but I guess, if today counts as one, I’ve determined the kind of emergency. I kick off my socks and shoes, carrying them in the plastic bag they gave me when I bought my wine and chips. Somehow, even in my emotional distress, I made sure the wine was a screw top, so I open it up while I walk down the beach, taking a long glug from the big bottle.
At my happy place on a not too busy day, I feel somewhat at peace with the world, even though I feel like my life is in shambles. I’ve spent so much time alone lately that it’s nice to be alone while surrounded by people. I don’t care if anyone is watching me while I just scarf down an entire bag of chips and nearly chug the entire bottle of wine.
I don’t want to feel anything right now, and being drunk is the best option I have on hand currently.
People watching and wave watching is a dizzying distraction while I sit on my sandy blanket. I don’t get in the water. Not even my feet. I just sit and drink, and, all things considered, it’s kind of nice, in a fucked up way.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been here when my head starts to feel heavy and my eyelids start to droop. Wine, especially combined with being sick with leukemia, has always made me sleepy. I check the time and find that it’s only 2:00, so there’s plenty of time for me to take a nap. I bury my keys in the sand under my blanket so nobody can steal them and shove my wallet into my pocket.
I pull the hood on my sweatshirt up and use the string to close it over my face, finding darkness in the middle of the day.
—
When I wake up, it’s not by choice. There’s someone shaking my shoulder and I can hear several voices close by, at least one of them speaking to me.
“Excuse me, you need to wake up, or we’re calling an ambulance for you,” a deep voice says.
I groan, swatting at my face to open the hood again. “No, I’m up.”
Blinking as I adjust to the sunlight, it can’t be too late, since the sun is still up. There’s a police officer leaning over me who looks slightly concerned, but mostly annoyed.
“Time to go home, kiddo, before we charge you with public intoxication. You can’t just get drunk and pass out on a beach on a Monday.”
Shit.
I sit up as quickly as I can, feeling dizzy from the wine that’s still running through me.
“Do you have someone you can call, or do we need to call you an Uber?”
“I’ll call someone,” I hear myself saying. I grab my phone from my pocket and hold it up closer to my face. “Hey Siri, call Irwie.”
“OK, calling Irwie now,” Siri says, and I press the phone to my ear.
It doesn’t even complete a full ring before Ashton answers. “Orion? Orion, are you okay? Everyone is—”
“If I drop you a pin, can you come get me?”
“What do—yeah, sure, yeah, I can come get you. Where are you?”
“I’m at the beach,” I slur sleepily, looking up at the police officer with one eye shut. The sun feels too bright.
“Are you drunk!?” He asks.
“Maybe…”
“Jesus Christ, Orion. Yeah, sure, drop a pin. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Wait! Ashton,” I nearly scream, trying to catch him before he hangs up.
“What?”
“Please… please don’t bring Cal.”
He sighs. “I’ll see you soon.” Then he hangs up.
“Is someone coming?” The police officer asks. I realize he’s one of two, the other standing a few feet behind him.
“Yeah, my friend said he’ll be here soon.”
The officers exchange glances. “We’ll be back in an hour. If you’re still here, you’ll be riding in the back of our car instead. Got it?”
My eyes widen. “Yes, sir. I’ll be gone, I promise.”
I gather my things up and put them into my 7-Eleven bag before standing up. While I walk toward my car, I drop a pin for Ashton. I have about a million notifications of phone calls and text messages. I don’t want to read anything from Calum or the band, or even my family. I just check the thread with Emelia.
From: emi✨
what happened
??????
you told him??? i assume?
hello?
pick up the phone orion
bro
literally everyone is freaking the fuck out
your mom just called
orion i get that you’re trying to be alone but we’re all so worried
can you just tell someone if you’re alive and okay?
orion, it’s been five hours
i’m on my way down to SD right now. your moms are so scared and cal is a wreck
Her last text was just over an hour ago, so if she really is driving down, she’s still in the car. I call her instantly. Just like with Ashton, it doesn’t even finish a full ring before she answers.
“BITCH,” she starts, and I have to hold my phone away from my ear for a second because of how loud she is. “DON’T YOU EVER DO THIS SHIT AGAIN!”
I wince, unsure if she’s going to continue or if it’s safe to speak.
“Where the fuck are you!?” Yep, she continues.
I sigh, sitting down on the hood of my car. “I’m at the beach.”
“Why haven’t you been answering literally anyone!? Orion, do you understand how many people are upset right now? Because it’s literally so many people.”
I let the alcohol talk next, and I regret the words that come out of my mouth the moment I say them.
“Just a preview of what’s inevitable. I’m fucking dying, in case you forgot. Get used to me not answering my fucking phone.”
Emelia gasps, and the tears start forming in my eyes again. I shouldn’t have said it. I know I shouldn’t have. It’s a low blow, especially for someone who so clearly just cares about me and wants me to be okay. I feel worse than I already do.
“Em, I’m—I’m sorry,” I choke out, falling back into a state of sobbing. “I shouldn’t have said that. Fuck, I feel so bad. I’m sorry. I just—I’m at the beach. I’m drunk. I fell asleep. I just woke up. Ash is on his way to me. You can go home if you want.”
She takes a big breath before she speaks again. “I’m headed to your moms’ house. I’ll see you there. Everyone is there now.” Then she hangs up on me, and I can’t even pretend like I blame her for it.
“Fuck,” I say to no one but myself.
Roughly thirty minutes after my call with Emelia, a black van pulls up next to my car. Ashton is in the passenger seat, and Matt is in the driver’s. They say something to each other that I can’t hear before Ashton throws his door open and walks up to me.
“Are you okay?” He asks. He hugs me before I can even say anything.
I laugh. It’s a bitter, short laugh. “No.”
He hugs me tighter, and I break down again.
Ashton drives my car to my moms’ house while Matt drives the van back to the venue. The drive ends up taking over an hour because there’s an accident on the way, and I’m grateful that he just plays a podcast for the whole time so we don’t have to talk.
Calum always jokes that I can’t stand silence so I always make up dumb stories to tell people just to make sure that there isn’t any dead air. I never make them up, he just tends to find them so random. I do hate silence, and I’d rather talk to people than not, so making conversation has always been… I wouldn’t say a strong suit, because it’s not always worthwhile conversation, but I guess it’s just easy. It’s easy for me to find random stories to tell from the depths of my brain, especially if it’s someone I’m comfortable with.
Right now, I don’t want to talk, especially not knowing that the whole band and their partners and my family and Emelia will be at the house when we get there.
We pull in right as Emelia is getting out of her car.
“Hey guys,” she says without enthusiasm as Ashton and I get out of my Civic.
I start crying again, and it feels stupid, but thankfully, she doesn’t care. Emelia welcomes me with open arms and hugs me to her chest.
“I’m sorry and I love you,” I whisper to her.
“I love you, and it’s okay.”
I nod against her.
“C’mon, let’s go inside,” she says. She steps back from me, her hands sitting on my arms as she looks at me. “Everyone is waiting.”
I don’t want to, but I know I don’t have a choice. Em walks in front of me and Ash walks next to me, with his hand on my back between my shoulder blades. As we’re walking up to the door, Calum bursts through it and runs to us. Surely he was watching Ashton's location get closer and closer to the house.
Emelia steps out of the way and gives Cal a clear path to throw his arms around me and squeeze me against his chest. I cry into his shirt while he holds me, and I’m transported back in time to our goodbye at the airport two months ago. The deja vu makes me cry harder.
“I’m sorry I ran," he apologizes, although I feel like it's unwarranted. I did a fucked up thing. "I love you, and I trust you and your judgment and I know you did things in a way that made sense to you."
I shake my head as well as I can within his embrace which almost swallows me. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I fucked up. I know I did. I’m sorry. I feel like shit.”
“Let’s talk about it later.”
I nod. Dropping it for the moment feels best, considering practically everyone we know is here and neither one of us wants an audience for our conversation.
“I know things are shitty, but we’ve got a ton of pizza inside if you’re hungry? Everyone else is in the backyard.”
I peel back from his embrace enough to be able to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry I fucked everything up.”
Calum’s eyes are brimmed with tears and I feel awful for causing as much pain as I have. He doesn’t cry a lot, and when he does, it’s always something that makes my heart ache. I feel like the worst person alive to do this to him. He doesn’t deserve this.
“We can talk about it later, okay? Let’s just be together for a little bit. Everyone has been so worried.” He kisses my forehead and takes my hand, tugging me inside with him, Ashton and Emelia following behind.
Inside the house, there are pizza boxes scattered around the kitchen and a few cases of La Croix on the island. Eri is in the living room with Disney Channel playing and Duke is asleep on his lap. My moms walk inside from the backyard as we walk in and they both run up to us, looking an appropriate mix of angry and relieved.
“Never do that again!” Mama says, embracing me quickly. Mom hugs me, too, and then she grabs my other hand that Calum isn’t holding.
“Eat. We’re glad you’re safe. You have an army of concerned friends in the backyard. They will be relieved to see you.”
I just nod, unable to process the right words to say right now. I’ve sobered up over the past hour but the wine brain fog is still lingering, especially given my exhaustion. Emelia hands me a plate with a slice of cheese pizza on it, then she nods her head toward the backyard.
“Come on, let’s go see everyone. I don’t think Luke has stopped crying since you ran off,” Calum says, giving my hand a squeeze.
I don’t get a chance to argue before he leads me outside, everyone’s heads snapping up as the door creaks open. Calum was right. Luke is still crying. How could I do this to all of them? What’s wrong with me? These people don’t deserve this kind of pain. Nobody deserves this.
Luke barrels toward me first, nearly knocking me over with a hug. I feel his body quivering as he shakily breathes and cries into my hair. Calum lets go of my hand and takes my pizza from me so I can hug Luke back. It takes so much self control not to cry again. I just focus on trying to calm Luke down, rubbing small circles into his back.
“I’m so, so sorry, O,” Luke whispers through his quiet sobs.
He’s sorry? Why is he sorry? I’m the one who messed up. “It’s okay, Lu. You didn’t do anything.”
He cried and I feel him shake his head. “I should’ve been there for you.”
“Luke,” I breathe out. “I didn’t want anyone to be there for me. That’s not on you.”
“Luke, give her some space. You’re not the only one who wants to hug her, man!” I hear Michael’s voice. He’s trying to lighten the mood a bit and I appreciate it. He peels Luke away from me and then he embraces me himself. “Glad you’re safe, O.”
“Sorry to scare everyone.”
“We love you so much,” Crystal says, hugging me straight after Michael lets go.
Sierra is next, and then KayKay. After everyone else has had a turn, Luke resumes his hugging and clings to me for another few minutes while everyone else starts talking and eating again. He keeps apologizing to me and it hurts. He sounds so sad. When he finally pulls away, I look up at his red face that’s covered in tears.
I pull my sweatshirt sleeve over my hand and reach up to wipe them away. “Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”
Luke nods, and then Sierra comes up to him and takes him off to calm him down, mouthing a ‘sorry’ to me.
Finally in a place where I can breathe again, I look up and catch Calum staring at me. His eyes have welled up tears and are a muted version of their normal rich brown. I try to smile at him, but I end up having tears start to form in my own eyes for the millionth time today. When one falls from my eyes, he’s quick to reach over and wipe it away.
“I love you,” he says, his voice almost too quiet to hear, full of love and pain and sadness and, possibly most difficult to admit, fear.
“I love you.”
I look down at the pizza he’s holding for me, my stomach starting to make noises, and then I notice the tape wrapped around his knuckles. Ashton is somewhat known for always having his hands taped up with blisters from playing the drums, but not Calum, and the location of the tape wouldn’t be from playing any instrument. It also wasn’t there this morning.
“What happened to your hand?” I ask, taking the pizza from his grasp with one hand and using the other to reach for his bandaged one, pulling it closer to try to inspect.
He chuckles, and I'm grateful to hear a sound close to laughter come from him. “I got in a fight with a wall.”
I look up at him, eyebrows raised, trying to fight a smile. Calum is practically magic. Not even seconds ago I was about to cry, and here he is, flipping my mood like it’s as simple as turning on a light switch. “Elaborate?”
Cal sighs, breaking our eye contact. “I wanted to punch somebody, but I know how you feel about violence, so I punched a wall. Three times.”
My raised eyebrows move to being knit together. Cal isn’t known for being an angry person, much less a violent one. Gentle is the first word I'd use to describe his soul, and kind is the second. Angry isn't even on my list. “Who did you want to punch?”
“Ashton.” He doesn’t even hesitate before he says it. I watch his jaw clench as he looks behind me, presumably to wherever Ashton is standing. He’s angry. He’s furious.
I don’t understand why he would be mad at Ashton but able to look past what I’ve done enough to be consoling me right now. Ashton didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who messed everything up and Ashton got stuck in the crosshairs. He was just trying to be a good friend to me and he made his opinions very known—he didn’t agree with what I was doing but respected that it was my choice to make, not his. Does Calum not see that?
“Cal, don’t be upset with—“
His eyes snap back down to me, anger still firing in his irises. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
His fury silences me and I decide it’s probably best to listen to him. I don’t want to fight with him in front of all these people, but I know I need to talk to him about this soon. Ashton and Calum call each other soulmates. I don’t want to be the reason there’s a rift between them. I want to talk about it now and clear the air, but if Calum says he doesn’t want to talk about something, it’s by far the better choice to leave it alone.
“Okay,” I say, my voice small.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Calum promises. “Right now I just want to be with you, okay?”
I nod, even though everything I have wanted to say all day is gnawing at my stomach, clawing at my throat, and filling the entirety of my mouth. I need to talk about all of this; after sitting on it for over two months, I need to get everything off my chest. But, knowing Calum, I know that if he doesn’t want to talk about something, it’s useless to try to talk about it, so even though I’m dying to talk about the issue at hand, I have to swallow the words and try not to choke on them.
“Can we go sit down? I’m so tired.”
Calum nods, wrapping an arm around me and guiding me over to the outdoor living room situation my moms have set up, sitting down on the couch that’s covered in Duke’s hair from him being out here all day. KayKay and Emelia are sitting on chairs across from us, deep in their own conversation. I think Em is telling her about a project she did in her photography class and KayKay is looking through the final images on her phone. I'm glad they can talk about something normal in the midst of all this.
I slowly take bites of my cheese pizza, but each mouthful sticks on its way down my throat and make it far less appetizing.
“Need anything?” Calum asks, taking note of my silence and slow eating.
“No, just don’t have much of an appetite these days.”
It’s nice to be back with everyone, and I don’t want to act like it isn’t, but this all feels wrong. Ashton and Calum aren’t speaking. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells in my own head, trying not to trigger any conversations that I can’t have yet and narrowly avoiding crying yet again. Calum is being attentive, smoothing my hair for me while I talk and always having his hand on me somewhere, whether resting on my knee, wrapped around my waist, or intertwined with mine. All I can picture is the look on his face when I told him I have leukemia and the way it felt to practically watch his heart stop beating.
One day, he’s actually going to have to watch as my heart stops beating, and the thought alone makes me hate myself even more than I already do.
read next chapter
#5 seconds of summer#5sos#calum hood#luke hemmings#michael clifford#fanfiction#ashton irwin#fanfic#5sosfam#imagine#calum x fem!oc#calum x ofc#calum x oc#calum 5sos#calum imagine#calum 5 seconds of summer#calum hood fluff#calum hood fanfic#calum hood fic
11 notes
·
View notes
Photo
A little Virgil and Alan, and stupid mistakes.
Warnings: drug references.
-o-o-o-
It was a persistent beep that tore him from a weird dream of painting Two in Van Gogh style stars and suns. A swipe at his bedside table and something he had no care to identify crashed to the floor.
Blurry eyes found his clock and discovered numbers that shouldn’t exist. Four was one of them and immediately reminded him of Gordon, but it was the AM following it that hurt his brain.
“Virgil?”
John’s voice slapped clarity into his neurons and his body started moving automatically. Before he knew it, he was on his feet and halfway to his bedroom door.
“No incident.” John’s voice was sharp and obviously understanding regarding Virgil’s brain function at this time of the morning.
The words sunk in and Virgil wilted on the spot. “What?” One word was all he had.
“Sit down.”
That sparked worry. “What?”
“Sit down.”
Unable to really do anything else, he did what his brother asked as consciousness slowly seeped into awareness.
“I’ve received a call from Brandon Berrenger.”
“What?”
“Alan attended a party with Brandon last night.”
Virgil blinked slowly. He remembered dropping his little brother off in Auckland yesterday for his long-awaited award ceremony which then Virgil and the rest of his brothers had to miss because of the monsoon in the remains of Bangladesh yet again.
Virgil had been adamant that Alan not miss the event and had dumped him at his hotel which conveniently held Brandon as well. Security hadn’t been happy but Alan had been climbing the walls since the incident with Kayo. Virgil understood and talked Scott and Kayo down, giving his brother the space.
And trusting in Brie, Alan’s security specialist.
The award was for a video game design. Alan had spent quite some time putting his little Indie game together and it had become a hit in a very short period. Virgil was so proud.
His little bro deserved a little fame all of his own.
“What’s wrong?”
John wouldn’t be contacting him at 4am if there wasn’t something wrong.
“I’m calling in the debt from your first art show.”
Virgil’s eyes widened and he shot to his feet. “What? What happened?”
“You can’t tell Scott.”
“Fine! Tell me what happened and where I am needed!” He headed towards the door.
“Take Two, but leave her at the airport and pod out for minimum disturbance. Brief you enroute.”
Virgil was halfway to the hangers and his auxillary launch chute. “FAB.”
Two was in the air before John would tell him anything. During that time, every scenario that could possibly be linked to his blasted first art exhibition raced through his head.
It had been a low point in his life. College and his rainbow of hair colours and multiple piercings as he tried to discover who he was, struggling to conquer demons of his own. He’d fallen into the dark side of the college scene for all of two weeks before John dropped in unexpectedly; and Virgil had the shame of his little brother having to pick him off the floor because Virgil’s ‘friends’ thought it might be funny to ‘celebrate’ his exhibition.
It had to have been the shortest trip into the college drug scene ever. Virgil still had the scars from the piercings. Shortly after that, he had switched from art college to engineering.
His hair had been black ever since.
And no one but John knew of the incident.
Damn.
The dots connected.
“Aw, hell, Alan.”
Two roared into Aotearoan airspace and he was given clearance to land. He was of two minds whether to take the pod or grab a car. But he was still on call and as far as the family knew he was on a simple rescue…
“It will be a dud callout. Act grumpy when you get back.”
“You’re going to take flack for that.”
“Not the first time, Virgil. Go get our little brother.”
It took further clearance to launch into Auckland’s airspace, but John handled it smoothly and Virgil was quickly darting over rooftops and skyscrapers to reach the hotel.
“You might want to hurry.”
John’s tone had Virgil landing the dragonfly quietly on the roof of the hotel and jumping out, medkit in hand. Everything was quiet and oddly un-emergency-like.
The rooftop door unlatched as he approached and Virgil was darting down the stairwell into the hotel. Fortunately, he didn’t have to go far. Perk of always renting out the penthouse.
The door to his brother’s suite opened before he could reach it, but this time it wasn’t John’s doing. Brandon, worry on his face, darted out into the hallway. The moment he spotted Virgil, he rushed over.
“Hey, Virg, I’m glad you came. Alan, well, he’s cool, you know, but not that kind of cool, maybe?” He was scratching the back of his head as if he had lice. He looked Virgil up and down. “You came in Thunderbird Two? Full-on International Rescue? Oh, god, Scotty is gonna kill me!
“Where is he?”
Virgil hurried past him. Fortunately, he didn’t have to go far. Alan was sprawled on the sofa in the main room, Brie beside him.
“Virg-il!” His little brother swung out an arm in greeting and nearly knocked Brie flying. Her reflexes solved the problem by darting out of the way. “Come and sit with me. Take a load off.”
Virgil blinked and hurried forward, landing beside Alan. An attempt to take his vitals was derailed by Alan suddenly throwing himself at Virgil and wrapping him in a floppy hug. “Virgie, big bro, smotherhen, I am so happy to see you!”
Virgil found himself almost choking with the enthusiasm strangling his neck. His eyes darted to Brandon and the mix of guilt and worry nesting there. A glance at Brie and he made it clear there was going to be one hell of debrief after this.
The security guard swallowed.
That and he hated the name ‘Virgie’.
“Alan, I need you to sit back for a minute. Okay?”
But his little brother was cuddling into Virgil’s shoulder and muttered something of the negative variety complete with a protesting ‘Virgie”.
Brandon was fidgeting where he was standing. “I think, but I don’t know, you know? That Al might have had one of the special pieces of cake.”
Virgil narrowed his eyes at Brandon. “Special?” He knew exactly what the boy meant, but clarity was important in all situations.
“Uh, yeah, I think there might have been some weedcake.”
Alan snuggled up more and muttered ‘I love you’ into Virgil’s uniform.”
“You think?”
“Um, yeah. But! I thought he knew, you know? And then he was super happy and dancing with all the girls, and well…” Brandon’s shoulders drooped. “He was having fun.”
Virgil unconsciously stroked Alan’s back.
“Brie?”
She straightened in her seat. “Mr Tracy began acting erratically.” She swallowed. “When he started taking his clothes off, claiming he was hot, I decided to remove him from public view.”
It was only then Virgil, focussed on the health condition of his brother more than anything else, realised that Alan was dressed in clothes slightly too big for him.
“We managed to get him back to the suite before he became entirely naked, but he did not want to leave the party.”
“Why was he at a party in the first place?”
“Hey, he won an award, bro! For creating the coolest game ever. The boy deserved a celebration.” Brandon tipped his head a little. “I know some people.”
Obviously the wrong people. Virgil frowned and Brandon took a step back.
“Hey, no, man! The people who did this weren’t my friends. Honest!”
Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to focus on Alan rather than the predicament, he used a little muscle to separate himself from his little brother. It was easier than expected as Alan had all but fallen asleep.
“Love you, Virgie.” His eyelids were drooping as Virgil yanked out the mediscanner and ran it over him. As expected, vitals pointed to intoxication, likely from marijuana.
He grabbed a testing kit and, with a swab from his brother’s mouth, activated it. It would take a few moments to do its thing, so he put the test aside to wait for the results. It wasn’t often they needed to test for drugs on a rescue, but since an incident that had nearly cost Scott his life, the tests had been a mandatory part of their kit.
“Virgie? Sing me a song? Like Mom used to sing you?”
“Alan, how are you feeling?”
Alan blinked at him. “Tired. Sing me a song?”
“Why don’t you lie down and rest?”
“I want you to sing.”
Virgil eyed Brandon, but surprisingly found no humour there, only honest worry.
“Okay, Allie, you lie down, rest, and I’ll think of a song.”
“Yay!” His little brother was immediately animated enough to curl up on the sofa, eyes hopefully staring up at Virgil.
The test beeped positive.
Virgil grit his teeth.
Fortunately, it didn’t appear to be a high dose, but he would be happier double checking with a blood test.
First he needed to get his little brother home. “Hey, Allie, want to go for a ride?”
Alan frowned up at him. “Do I get a song as well?”
“Sure.” Virgil packed his kit away, all the time running through possible symptoms for the inevitable crash his brother was likely to go through in the next few hours.
It was going to take so much to keep this hidden from Scott.
Virgil hated hiding things from his big brother.
But there were some things Scott was just better off not knowing.
Alan flung his arms out. “Carry me?”
A blink, but Virgil realised that there was no way he was prepared to let his high little brother attempt to walk out of here.
Without a word, Virgil stood up and scooped his little brother into his arms.
So much lighter than Scott.
Yet so much heavier than he used to be.
Alan once again curled into his shoulder as Virgil shimmied him into a comfortable hold. He eyed both Brandon and Brie. The former hurried to open the door, while Brie jumped up, cut in front of both of them, and peered out into the corridor as the security force she was supposed to be.
Virgil made his way up through the stairs and onto the roof to the dragonfly pod. It took some manoeuvring and heavy lifting to get his brother into the backseat as by this time he was drifting into sleep.
Hopefully sleeping it off would be the cure. In any case, Alan was grounded for the next couple of days at least until the stuff was out of his system.
Climbing into the front seat, he eyed both Brie and Brandon, who had scrambled up the stairs after him. “I expect a confidential report from you, Brie. Brandon, I believe John wants to talk to you again.”
The redhead went white as a sheet. “Okay.”
Brie stood as militarily straight as she could. Virgil was of two minds as to whether Kayo needed to be informed. Would she tell Scott?
That was something that could be discussed with John. Tomorrow.
As he launched the pod skywards, Alan shifted in his seat. “Love you, Virgie.”
Virgil sighed.
“Love you, too, squirt.”
-o-o-o-
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#Virgil Tracy#Alan Tracy#John Tracy#brandon berrenger#nuttyfic reblog#drug references
42 notes
·
View notes
Text
FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 25 - CALL IT A DAY
Haurchefant has work to do, but Rhiki would rather play a game.
(It's WoLchefant Hours again, apparently. I don't know why, but this is the only idea my brain would provide, even after I smoothed out the prompt and tried feeding it through again. Oh well.)
Rating: Teen
Genre: Fluff
Characters: Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light (Z'rhiki Irhi)
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Word Count: 964
Content Warnings: Mildly suggestive dialogue
Amidst all of the hustle and bustle that constituted day-to-day life at Camp Dragonhead, it was easy to forget how quiet the Highland nights could be. During the day the halls rang with the clanking of metal against stone as armed men and women filtered in and out of hall. The kitchen was a din of clanking pots and singing kettles. Raised voices filled the the courtyard as Knight Captains barked orders at their troops and supply caravans were ushered through the gates. Every hearth was lit with a crackling fire, and the door to the main hall swung open so frequently Haurchefant sometimes wondered why they bothered having one at all. Now, though, in the darkest hours of the night, the garrison was still. Past his study window, snow drifted down from a moonless sky, muffling any sound coming from without. With the exception of himself and several pairs of unfortunate guards he knew to be stationed throughout the camp, no doubt huddled around meager fires and muttering hushed complaints, the denizens of the outpost slumbered. On rare nights such as these, when he sat up late attending to never-ending stacks of missives and reports, it felt almost as if he was alone in the keep. The sound of his quill against parchment and the occasional muted snap from the fireplace were the only sounds that kept him company.
The words on the page before him swam, and he blinked a few times until they were once again still. He always hoped that the silence would help him concentrate, but it was his enemy in just as many ways as it was his friend. The dim, flickering light and the late hour conspired with the stillness to make him drowsy, and he struggled to keep his mind from drifting away from his work. He was considering opening the window in the hopes that the blast of frigid air would clear the fog from his mind when he heard the door to his study creak open. He looked up from desk to see the Warrior of Light slipping in from the hallway. He hadn’t heard her in the corridor – she was wearing travelling clothes rather than her typical dragoon armor.
“Still at it, I see,” she hummed, coming to lean over his desk and study his paperwork.
He sighed, drawing a hand up to his face. “Yes, well, ‘no rest for the wicked’, as they say.”
Her lips curled into a smile – the same that crept into her voice. “I didn’t realize that being wicked required so much paperwork.”
He chuckled at that. Returning his hand to the table, he leaned back from the desk. “I suppose they leave it out of the recruitment leaflets, just like the good do. I’ve noticed tales of knighthood and chivalry also conveniently omit all the bureaucracy.”
“Well, it’s hardly the most romantic part of the job, is it?” She joked. Then, she took a moment to examine his face. “You look tired,” she observed. “Maybe you should call it a day. I’m sure these… whatever they are… aren’t going anywhere. I, on the other hand….”
He smiled fondly at her but shook his head. “Would that I could, truly. But I’ve put these off for far too long already, and if I don’t finish them soon my seneschal will chain me to my desk."
“Not the best place to be chained,” she agreed. Looking back down at the papers cluttering his desk, “How many do you have left?”
“Too many,” He groaned, leafing through the stack in front of him. “You have no idea how many reports I have here telling me in excruciating detail that there was nothing interesting to report.”
With a thoughtful “Hmmm…” she slid up to perch on the corner of his desk, crossing her legs over the edge and turning her upper body towards him. Her tail twitched playfully back and forth. “Well, maybe I could help you?”
The offer was a generous one, though he doubted very much that she’d have the patience to make it through more than a form or two. Still, he smirked and gestured with open arms towards the paperwork strewn across his desk. “Be my guest! Would you be interested in compiling some patrol notes? Or perhaps verifying the accuracy of this moon’s supply requisitions?”
She looked at him as if he had asked her to lick an ice sprite. “Uhhm, no,” she said flatly. “I was thinking more along the lines of providing… motivation.” Her eyebrows arched suggestively.
Haurchefant leaned forward, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, though her tone and the sudden wicked edge to her grin left room for only so many options.
“How about….” She pretended to consider, though he suspected she had known what she was going to say before she even entered the study. “For every report you complete, I’ll take off a piece of clothing.”
He raised his eyebrows. Now that sounded like a fun little game. Although…. He looked her over, glanced down at his papers, then back up at her. “You… may run out of clothing before I run out of paperwork, my friend.”
She rolled her eyes at him and huffed, annoyed that he was so focused on the practicality of her proposal. “Fine, then. If I run out of clothes to take off then I’ll start taking off your clothing. How does that sound?”
Just minutes ago he had been on the verge of nodding off, but now he was as awake as he’d ever been; all thoughts of sleep pushed to the furthest corner of his mind. He returned her smile, eyes tracing the curve of her body. “That sounds like a fantastic idea.”
His seneschal was going to be thrilled.
#ffxivwrite#ffxivwrite2023#final fantasy xiv#ffxiv#haurchefant greystone#haurchefant#haurchefant x warrior of light#WoLchefant#HarucheWoL#auggie writes#rhiki tag#i was originally hoping to try out a bunch of rhiki ships with these prompts#but so far I've done... 3#whoops
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ultraman Anime Season 3 Review
This was absolutely the best season by far, theres much less inconsistency and plotholes this time around. And with 12 episodes, it definitely felt more comprehensive and less rushed.
Tho there were still some sticking points which Ive made a list of while binge-watching the season such as:
1. I felt that the portrayal of the scene where Hayata supposedly “dies” couldve had a much greater impact if it was shown that Shinjiro was able to identify Hayata on the rooftop prior. It was really weird to see Shinjiro act out when the blast imploded when previously it was shown that he couldnt even make out what was happening on the rooftop.
2. The whole idea of “Bemular being Ultraman” point has been put off so far by this point that seeing him working behind the scenes felt so painful and contrived to watch cause no one from the main cast really “acknowledges” him even tho they should since hes literally Ultraman. And with all the events tied to his existence, aka Shinjiro’s 2nd awakening and the Space Contraction event from Season 2, has no one bothered to consult him on the validity of the Universal Alliance Council?
3. Daisuke later pointed out that Bemular was Ultraman, but previously no one seemingly make the link so to have this reveal being taken so nonchalantly at that point feels like a total waste of dramatic reveal (but then again, its a reveal thats been late for 3 seasons alr so..). But in fact, they didnt even outright reveal that, they just simply pointed out that Bemular somehow has access to Specium, as a manga-reader im like bruh wtf is this, its like the anime writers are trying their absolute best NOT to establish this connection like wtf
4. I found it really weird that Adad didnt really bother to give more info about Mephisto to Dan, sounds like prolonging the plot for no reason and being mysterious for the sake of being mysterious, because there was really no reason why shouldnt, especially since at that point in time, the SSSP were dealing with the Univeral Alliance Council as a whole, which threatens bascially everyone
5. Anyone else had the feeling that Taro was nerfed for the first half? Dude was just reduced to shooting fireballs and not literally sprout actual flamethrowers and pulses of pure fire like in Season 2
6. So Rena just stupidly decided to trust Seiji even tho his suit was spotted killing her dad? Plus Seiji’s filmsy explanation was really weird considering he was framed. This is some Asahi-leveling of illogical behavior coming from both sides since this new piece of revelation shouldve stunned and alarmed both parties in question
7. There was a pretty convenient plothole here, that Taro told Ide that he was gonna go to the hospital that Endo is at but Shinjiro went to the hospital that Ultraman and Zetton fought in, and only later it was revealed that apparently its the same hospital wut? Alot of conveniences here this season
8. Another convenient point to hasten plot progression was Bruh Jack and Rena showing up at the SAME town that Shinjiro and Taro are in even tho they came from vastly different locations? Jack had just arrived from the US and Rena literally came from the Alien city
9. Another convenient point was why didnt Zarab just killed off Endo instead of leaving him alive in the first place tho? In fact, why was he hurt in the first place? It was obvious that Mephisto already knew about the “Calamity” plan, and Jack even detailed it out to the rest later on. In fact, why didnt Bemular just pop up to the SSSP and explained wtf was happening to Shinjiro and how to manage it, it was apparent that he knew what was going on from the get-go but seemingly as an act to artificially prolong the plot, he refused to talk directly to the SSSP and this bascially setup the redundant chain of events that lead to Endo’s assassination attempt
10. Valky pointed she had different goals from Mephisto, but we have no idea what it was even till the end? Was it a planned subplot that got abandoned again?
11. While Taro did came to the conclusion that the there was indeed the existence of Fake Ultraman, this was truly only valid to explain the cases of Shinjiro going berserk in the 1st and 3rd instance. We saw that Shinijiro truly went berserk during the 2nd instance when he envisioned Zetton for the 2nd time but he didnt really point that out either during Taro’s monologue.
12. Bemular died too quickly and we still don't have an in-anime explanation why he became like this
13. So it was never really explained why did Shinjiro not evolve into a Giant of Light again? And why is evolving into a Giant of Light a bad thing either? Would he lose himself after evolving or...? Cause it wouldve helped if we had more exposition on this, this whole line of logic of Shinjiro becoming a Calamity was very obviously rushed and botched considering its aided by the fact that Bemular for some reason, refuses to actually provide his expertise on wtf is going on with Shinjiro throughout the season
14. The various “visions” Shinjiro had throughout the season was so random, literally the exact same situation as Orb in UFO having visions about ES of all things, except in this case, this was purely done for convenient plot progression like bru
Overall, it was kind of rushed near the end because the fact that Shinjiro still went out of control seemingly on purpose in the public eye made it still hard to believe he didnt had his power under control
Plus from the standpoint of the public which was deluded so deeply by Mephisto prior and had their reservations, truly it wouldve been less convinced. Esepically at the end of the day, Mephisto and Edo’s of logic makes complete sense and the anime totally sidestepped addressing the crux of the conflict between the 2 ideologies with no reconcilation, it ended up being reduced to Shinjiro’s personal character development instead. Especially so since Edo and Mephisto were sort of lumping their attitude towards the New Ultras with the impact of the original Ultraman itself
But this season gets BIG bonus points as imagine my surprise when Maya was still alive lmao (since yall know from my s2 review that I really didn't like how they handled Maya's character then) for the post-credits scene, but it still dosent explain the plotholes of the other Warudan aliens in the previous season
Again, this was definitely the best season by far and with EVEN MORE exciting action.
Although this is the final season, I doubt TsuPro is actually done with this venture since Season 2 was Netlflix Japan’s Number 1 anime last year and I have no doubt Season 3 would be the same this year. And tbh, this is literally the final season purely because the Manga just simply doesnt have enough content at this point to warrant a 4th Anime Season. So I suspect that this sub-franchise most likely continue with as said, the Tiga/Zero route and either theyre gonna be following the Novel concept of also including the previous Ultra suits from the first 3 seasons, or itll be a totally brand new, fresh slate with totally new suits and characters involved only.
Personally Im hoping itll be a mixture of the 2, but for this to work, they would most likely have to nerf Shinjiro and have him being able to only use the Type B suit. And I really hope we get to see the suits of other ultras like the ones we saw some years back like Gaia, Max, Hikari etc
In fact, I believe I read somewhere that theres gonna be some news about this on the 21st of this month, so stay tuned
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Petey Piranha's Odd Voyage
(Note: Petey’s unintelligible noises have been translated for your convenience.)
(Out in the ocean, a ship is sailing. Petey Piranha, the captain of the ship, is writing something in his journal.)
Captain Petey: (Captain’s log, Day 32. I question the ability of this ship to flawlessly steer herself without the need of a wheel. But nevertheless, we grow ever closer to reaching the Promised Land. As I write this, however, I realise that my handwriting is completely incomprehensible.)
(He stares down at his “handwriting”, literally nothing more than squiggly lines drawn haphazardly across both pages.)
Captain Petey: (This is bullsh*t!)
(He tosses the book as hard as he can. It explodes just offscreen.)
(One of his crewmates trots up to him.)
First Mate Game and Watch: Captain, we have reached the island.
Captain Petey: (Why do you insist on fabricating these fibs? I do not see a single inch of land within our vicinity.)
First Mate Game and Watch: I saw it with my own two lack of eyeballs! Take a gander through the spyglass.
(The Captain takes a look.)
Captain Petey: (That is a cardboard box! You are an absolute dipstick in every sense of the word, and I cannot fathom how you made such a mistake.)
First Mate Game and Watch: …I was looking through the wrong end of the telescope.
(Captain Petey punts the incompetent First Mate into the sun.)
Captain Petey: (…I could use a really big swig.)
(As he takes out a bottle to chug from, *CRASH!* Thunder and lightning! A grey fog descends upon the ship as Captain Petey goes to investigate. Another ship looms out of the fog for dramatic effect.)
Captain Petey: (It can’t be!)
(But it could! As the rest of the crew gather around their captain, the fog clears to reveal several familiar crocodilian figures aboard the other ship.)
Kaptain K. Rool: Hit it, boys!
(The Kremling on his left activates the boombox on his shoulder, playing an extremely bass-boosted version of Gangplank Galleon. Krusha, on his right, pulls out a realistic minigun and fires upon the other ship. Captain Petey and his crew duck for cover.)
Captain Petey, to Shipwright Shulk: (Activate the emergency thrusters!)
(Shulk pulls out a remote and presses the large button. The ship then grows rocket thrusters and blasts off from the water. Captain Petey and his crew scream as they hang on for dear life. Eventually, the ship reaches low orbit, then plummets down to Earth. Somehow, without burning up, she crashes back down to sea, completely unharmed.)
(Captain Petey hesitates, then takes a really big swig from his bottle. As he empties the bottle, Crewmate Toon Link walks up to him.)
Crewmate Toon Link: How do we do it, Captain? How do we defeat the Kremling menace? And more importantly, why did you choose to install cannons on this ship without actually bringing any cannonballs?
(Before Captain Petey can consider smashing his bottle against this impudent child’s head…)
Crewmate Meggy: Captain! I’ve spotted the island close by!
(There it is! Without a second thought, the ship speeds off like a motorbike to her destination. Before Captain Petey can celebrate his victory, however…)
*CLANG!*
(The ship comes to an abrupt stop.)
Captain Petey: (Who dares?!)
(The crew peeks over the edge. The obstruction that stopped the ship in her tracks is nothing more than a small raft, manned by a tiny Mii dressed as a sailor.)
Captain Petey: (…AAAHAHAHAH!)
(The sight is so hilarious, the crew can’t help but laugh! But before Shipwright Shulk can wipe his tears, a cannonball bigger than a man crashes down on top of his head, leaving a massive hole in the deck. The rest of the crew stop laughing and stare in shock.)
(The Mii Sailor puts away her shoulder-mounted cannon and speeds off towards the island.)
Captain Petey: (I shan’t let this journey be all for naught! Activate the thrusters!)
Shipwright Shulk, from within the hole: But Captain-!
Captain Petey: (DO IT!)
(Shulk does as he’s told. The ship rockets off at full speed once again. Meanwhile, the Mii Sailor gets off her raft and continues the journey on foot, Captain Petey in pursuit. However, the sight in front of them causes them to stop dead in their tracks.)
Boombox:
“…Interior crocodile alligator
I drive a Chevrolet movie theatre…”
(The Kremlings have reached the treasure first! Kaptain K. Rool cuts his own celebration short, and Forward Smashes Krusha away to face the intruders. The music stops.)
Captain Petey: (I highly question the feasibility of this situation.)
Kaptain K. Rool: This is my gold! I found it fair and square! So make like a tree, and BACK OFF!
Captain Petey: (That joke is only funny when I do it!)
(The captain and kaptain square off. Kaptain K. Rool brandishes his minigun. Before he can do anything, however, the Mii Sailor slaps the weapon out of his hands, knocking it into the ocean. A valiant effort, if futile. K. Rool Forward Smashes her into orbit. He then readies his boxing gloves.)
Kaptain Krusha K. Rool: Compared to me, even without firearms, you are just a CROC of shit!
*sitcom laugh*
Captain Petey: (That’s what YOU think. Watch this!)
(He charges up a Forward Smash of his own… and smacks K. Rool with his leaf. It barely scratches the croc’s thick hide.)
Kaptain Krusha K. Rool: …
(He responds with a punch of his own, knocking Petey onto his back.)
Kaptain Krusha K. Rool: Time to return you to the dirt, plant boy!
(He charges up his Forward Smash to the max. Before he can make good on his word, however…)
*SPLAT!*
(He is squished into a FLAT FUCK!)
(The Mii Sailor is standing above him, holding her raft atop her head. Captain Petey joins her at the side.)
Captain Petey: (…We win!)
(Both he and the Mii Sailor jump up in joy as a victory fanfare plays.)
(Source: BagelBoy)
#incorrect quotes#smash bros#submission#petey piranha#King K Rool#Super Mario#Donkey Kong#super smash bros
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happy Birthday Ratsoh!
Dedicated to one of the best mutuals, I hope you enjoy your b-day present @ratsoh-writes
Some fluff between the underswap brothers. (I had an absolute blast with this, and hopefully the guys are somewhat in character).
The first sign should have been how quiet the house was when he got home.
…Star hadn’t mentioned any plans to leave the house earlier that morning, and whenever something came up unexpectedly he would usually send a text or leave a note near the front door.
See, most of the time Honey could hear movement of some kind throughout the house, whether it was Star exercising, cleaning, or doing anything else to keep him occupied. Not all that surprising considering Star could never keep still.
Honey had learned to drown out the sounds of his brother ever since they were little. So when the house was quiet…..… it was terrifying. Because that wasn’t the norm.
So why was it quiet?
He wasn’t kept in suspense for long.
“SANS! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
Not that Star heard him… he had already fled the scene.
In simple terms, the kitchen wasn’t in the same state Honey had last left it in. But oh, that was an understatement.
Multiple dishes were abandoned on the kitchen island, stained with an unidentifiable sludge. An entirely different liquid was spread across the countertop, slowly leaking down the sides and puddling on the floor. Filth had covered the walls and even managed to engulf parts of the ceiling. The microwave was emitting some noxious fumes, and even worse, one of Honey’s kitchen appliances was in pieces next to it. He couldn’t even tell what it was anymore.
The scent in the kitchen only made everything worse, thick and nauseous… and probably going to linger once everything was clean again.
Nothing was smoking or on fire… but that didn’t mean much when the rest of his precious kitchen was in shambles.
Of course his brother had fled the scene, Honey was furious. As was always the case whenever Star pulled a stunt like this.
Star usually tended to conveniently disappear until Honey had calmed down somewhat, before using the argument that claimed he just needed more practice.
And people thought Star was mature just because he was the older one.
He was just so frustrating! Honey had lost count of the number of times Star had destroyed his kitchen experimenting when the universe itself had proved several times over that he shouldn’t be.
The real question was how to get even.
For as much of a gremlin Star was, he didn’t necessarily destroy the kitchen on purpose… he was just doomed for failure when it came to making anything food-related.
You’d think he’d of learned that by now.
Bracing himself against the unpleasant task, Honey entered the kitchen and tried to compartmentalize on where to start and get everything back in order. Not that he was really all that focused… he had enough practice repairing his kitchen that he could do it on autopilot.
Which really meant he could plot on how to get even.
Of course, his first thought was to not bake any sweets for Star for a week or two, but Star would eventually get whiney. Not to mention the strategy had never discouraged him from trying again later.
Swap out his favorite condiment with something else? …Hmm, already been done before. Besides, that was something Honey did on occasion just to get Star to stop eating mayo with everything. (It was gross).
And the prank wouldn’t really stop Star from trying again, especially once Honey was out of the house and Star was brave enough to risk trying it once more.
Doesn’t Star have anything better to do with his time?
….…Huh. Maybe that’s something he could do.
It’s dumb, yeah, and would require more effort than he’d usually put into something… but it may keep Star out of the kitchen for a while. Especially if he threatens to do something like this in the future should Star cause any more incidents in his kitchen.
Besides… maybe Star will end up enjoying it and try to improve it. That might keep him busy.
And if he was busy… hopefully he’d stay out of Honey’s kitchen.
______
A few hours later, it was done… and Star had come home. Though he wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as usual. (Wonder why).
He didn’t bother meeting Honey’s eyes… shuffling his feet as he waited.
“Sans.”
“It wasn’t my fault! …I was. It… it was an accident!”
“Oh? Is that all? And how many times has my kitchen been destroyed now because of an accident?”
Star shuffled again, “...I’ll clean it up.”
“Too late. Besides, I don’t trust you in there.”
“Oh come on Honey, it wasn’t that ba-.” Star cut himself off, realizing he was probably still in trouble “...I’ll replace what was broken.”
“Anything else?” Honey was fighting really hard not to smirk and accidentally give it away.
Yeah, he was still mad…. but he’d had a bit of time to cool down. And more importantly, he was looking forward to Star’s reaction to his jape.
He just needed Star to head around the corner towards his room.
“I’ll give you a list of what needs to be replaced in the morning.”
Star nodded and began making his way towards his room. This was one of the few things he wasn’t really willing to fight with Honey over. And it was one of the only times he was willing to put up with his nagging. It was probably deserved.
But he wasn’t prepared for this.
…
“...Umm, Honey? What’s this?”
Finally allowing a snicker to escape, Honey grinned at him. “Well, after cleaning up my kitchen, I decided to weave a web of frustration, and it somehow ended up in your room and escaping out into the hallway.”
The hallway was an elaborate recreation of every laser scene in any action movie ever..., and it only got more complicated the further down the hallway you got.
Thin, delicate yards of thread were strung up in the hallway in a classic red color. And they were hung in such a way that it would be easy to tell if any of them got broken.
“Instead of destroying my kitchen, you can occupy yourself by getting through the maze… and don’t worry, for every string you destroy, there will be a consequence for it.”
(There wasn’t really… Honey hadn’t quite got that far ahead in his plan, not that Star needed to know that).
And even if Star just decided to take it down, Honey was satisfied that the time it would take would be enough to get even with his brother.
This joke wasn’t a good equivalent to Star destroying his kitchen.
After all, Honey’s kitchen was his sanctuary, his safe space, and Star’s room was… well, just that, his room.
But who knows, maybe a few hours trying to master the obstacle course would occupy Star… and Honey knew it would be good entertainment for himself. Getting to watch his brother try and make his way through the maze… that sounded like a fun time. (Not to mention the “grand prize” was a jar full of mayo… at least it was until Honey swapped it out).
That particular betrayal should be entertaining.
“Alright then. Have fun!”
Honey got to see a look of pure determination fill Star’s face before he turned and walked away… after all, he had some popcorn to make. This was going to be fun.
______
Turns out Star had chosen to forgo sleep in an effort to beat the maze…. not that he had accomplished that yet. (For once his hyperactivity was working against him, and Honey had deliberately made the trap challenging to beat).
But he had somehow managed to find the time to bring a brand new stan-mixer home for Honey as a replacement for the broken one.
Guess that was an acceptable apology.
Star was lucky they were family… but as annoying as he could be, Honey loved him anyway.
This short fic didn’t turn out quite the way I expected… but it was interesting none the less. (Trying to get into the headspace of a character that’s not your own is difficult), but I still had fun with it.
A lot of this was inspired by Masterlist 12 “Honey the domestic terrorist”. Lol, I’m not sure it’s entirely up to date anymore… but it made me laugh, and this is the story that came out of it.
Originally I had wanted to do something dedicated to Nomadtale… but I don’t think I would have had the right characterization for the brothers.
Anyways.. while it wasn’t quite as fluffy as I wanted, I hope you still enjoyed it Ratsoh. Happy b-day! Hope you liked this silly little story.
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Grogu standing near Din Djarin's legs. From The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 4, Sanctuary. Calendar from DataWorks.
Caption reads: Ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rat? - The Mandalorian.
Din Djarin was feeling hopeful when he told the small…womp rat … that they could just lay low and stretch their legs and hide out for a couple of months. He’d thought that they had time. At least he thought that then. But like any other time in his life when he thought things were calming down and he could take a break and just be, the universe had other plans.
Sorgan was a proper Outer Rim skug hole. Nothing of value there; no significant galactic history; not much of a population. It was just green and in the middle of nowhere. But that should have been a big red flag to him. He knew that. He just didn’t want to believe it.
After all, he’d spent a good portion of his life tracking runaways and people who skipped out on bail or warrants or other legal proceedings. What he’d learned is that a planet like Sorgan was what they all wanted. Someplace nice, but not populated. Someplace the authorities didn’t care about. Someplace that they would go unnoticed. Just like him.
Finding Cara Dune there should have been the first warning. Once they properly met it was clear that she was hiding there. She had a problem with a chain code. He understood having a problem with chain codes. But usually Drop Troopers didn’t have them. Most of the folks had been happy to see folks drive the Imps away. Drop troopers had some of the toughest tasks to complete and they did it and were largely celebrated. So how did she end up on a skug hole?
He hadn’t wanted to try and find another place. That was just tiredness on his part. He liked to pretend that he felt fine after the run-in with the mudhorn and the fight with the Guild to get the child away from the Imps, but the truth was less convenient. All of him hurt. Every step he took reminded him of the fight with the Jawas. Every breath he took reminded him of being tossed around by the mudhorn. His armor took the brunt of any attack but that didn’t mean he walked away feeling fresh as a Sarad lily. He didn’t.
Mandalorians were trained to deal with pain. They worked through it, slept through it, and fought through it. It was second nature to them. But sometimes it was too much. He felt that keenly when they finally reached Sorgan. He had a kid to protect. Which made no sense, but there it was. He’d put himself on the line for the kid and he wasn’t going to give up, so that meant he had to be smarter now than he had been when he first found the little womp rat.
That’s why he ignored the drop troopers warning that he should leave because she was already there. Why he listened to those fish farmers or whatever they were. Why he agreed to help them with their problem. Another piece of data ignored because he wanted to rest and just do nothing.
That had been a foolish dream. But it wasn’t the kid’s fault. How was he to know that the raiders the fishermen complained about were Klatooinians and they had managed to get their hands on a damn AT-ST? How was the kid to know that the villagers were exactly what they seemed.? Simple people farming something and trying to live a life of peace and prosperity. It was too late anyway. He’d given his word to them and he couldn’t back out no matter how many brightly flashing red alarms were going off in his mind.
Klatooinians didn’t go places to settle down and farm fish or shrimp or krill or whatever the hell they made the spotchka from. They stayed where they were from or they were pirates, raiders, trouble. They were trouble. And he promised to help.
In retrospect, he wished he’d simply noted the coordinates of their base and taken the Razor Crest and blasted the place down to its component parts and the AT-ST as well. It would have been faster and cleaner and he and the kid could have just left right after that, because it was the final red flag.
But that’s not what he did. He stayed there and trained the villagers. Got friendly with them. Helped them plan a way of getting their problem resolved, forgetting to consider how much of a problem that would be to him and to the kid. The kid he’d been trying to save from ex-Imps and whatever messed up plan they had for the little guy. It was the kind of decision you made when you were too tired, too beat, and too Mandalorian.
Yes, he was glad it had all worked out in the end. He was glad that the villagers were fine. He was very glad that Cara Dune had his back and took that other bounty hunter out. It never should have happened. It was sloppy and amateurish and not worth the beskar. He just hoped that one day he and the kid could rest up. Relax. And just take walks someplace where the only point of the trip was to stretch their legs.
Until then, well, he had to remember that when something looked too good to be true, it was because it was. The easy path so often lead to disaster because you refused to believe your eyes. His eyes had told him so much when they had come to Sorgan and he had refused to believe them.
Learning a lesson late was better than never learning it. He hoped he’d learned this one in time or he and kid were going to find their path harder than he’d imagined and he was a Mandalorian. He knew how to imagine the worse because he’d already seen it and said ‘This is the Way’. Dank Farrik.
Din Djarin speaking to Grogu on the bridge of the Razor Crest. The Mandalorian, Season 1, Episode 4, Sanctuary. Caption reads: You ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months...
1 note
·
View note
Text
The Demon Bros Play DND!
Who’s ready for some Stupid Headcanons?
So, the Satanic Panic of the 1980s claimed that the tabletop RPG known as Dungeons and Dragons had the power to turn your children into satanists and devil worshippers. So of course, the brothers have totally played DND after hearing about all the human world nonsense.
Lucifer the Back-up Back-up DM
He’s too busy to play this game dammit, stop inviting him! What do you mean both Satan and Simeon can’t DM the one-shot? Ugh... fine.
Despite all his UUUUUUUUGGGGHHH, Lucifer is a damn good storyteller, prepare to be immersed as hell.
Also, sorry guys, he’s a rule whore. If something’s against the rules, YOU AREN’T DOING IT.
He’s also a complete sadist who will randomly get everyone to roll perception checks for NO REASON.
Lucifer has definitely stood up and slammed his hands on the table while giving a description for extra effect, Mammon screamed and nearly fell out of his seat which REALLY ruined the mood.
“Everyone, we’re rescheduling, I’m too busy.”
He’s been a player a few times, and he’s NOT good at it. All his characters end up being really generic and boring. He’s better at being the world and everything in it, not the dummy wandering around it.
Human/fighter lookin’ motherfucker
In conclusion, he’s a good DM, but he’s probably too busy to play.
Over-Powered Self Insert (Mammon)
This game is for nerds! He’s not playin’, Levi!
Fine, his character is great and amazin’ and is also him. MC! What do these numbers mean-
Mammon’s the type of player to make his character a self insert and not take it too seriously, then get really REALLY attached as the campaign progresses.
He’s the type not to make a backstory for his character either, so go wild DM MCs!
He also both purposefully and accidentally metagames a whole bunch. Like dude, YOU know this, YOUR CHARACTER DOES NOT.
Shit he forgot his dice, can he borrow some?
“Okay MC, that’s five points of piercing damage.” “I RUN OVER AND HEAL THEM! I’LL SAVE YA MC!”
Mammon goes out of his way to save MC’s character long before it would make sense in-character to do so.
“Well, as your first man it’s my duty to save your character! You’ll probably be a blubberin’ mess if I didn’t...”
He’s not the best role player, but he’s also not the worst at it either. He tends to break character when things get too serious and he doesn’t know what to do.
Notes who? He came in here with one sheet of printer paper and it’s for doodling only.
He and Asmodeus start the tavern brawls. No question about that.
Theft is very common, he’s stealing from everyone, including but not limited to: the party, the royal guards, the dead enemies, the giant fuck-you dragon that Satan dropped in there to deter Mammon from stealing...
“I’m gonna steal that crown from the dragon.” “Roll stealth.” “Nat 20 BITCHES.” “Fuck you.”
If his character dies, may the Demon King have mercy on his greedy little soul because he’s going to mope about it for a damn long time.
Over-Powered Self Insert Again (Leviathan)
His character totally isn’t a self insert, shut up! He just looks and acts like an idealized version of himself!
He’s the one with twenty pages of character info and backstory AND the amazing commissioned art.
Levi has about 40 sets of expensive blue dice that he claims gives him the best rolls but an average session with him usually leads to roughly 10 crit fails.
While his luck with dice isn’t that good, he’s the player who will get as much out of their turn as possible, AKA break out the calculators and notes we’re doing some math.
His turn goes on for at least ten minutes because of all the shit he’s doing. When you finally think it’s over he goes “I still have my movement!”
Takes notes like a madman, every bit of lore and character info is being written down, meaning it’s a headache for everyone involved if there’s a continuity error because Levi WILL point it out.
“So you all head to the east, the great Valley of-” “Hang on, valley? In the second session you said there was a mountainous area to the east.” “Levi, shut up.”
Levi is the self appointed “guys come on let’s get back on track!” player, and whoever’s DMing is grateful to have him.
Levi is kind of the opposite of Mammon in terms of character seriousness, at first he’s taking everything super seriously and then as the campaign goes on he slowly loosens up and has some fun.
Out of curiosity one day he searches up a magical girl DND class and he’s ALL OVER IT. PLEASE LET HIM BE A MAGICAL GIRL NEXT CAMPAIGN-
Damn good at roleplaying, he’s carrying the entire in-character discussion until everyone else gets into it.
The Done With Your Bullshit DM (Satan)
So, this is the game that’s supposedly summoning him all the time despite the fact that he hadn’t been up to the human world since the 50s... what the fuck is everyone on up there?
It was the 80s, probably a lot of drugs.
When Satan DMs, you can only break the rules if it enhances the story... or if it fucks with Lucifer’s really boring character.
He will fudge dice rolls every once and a while, he also gets very attached to the characters everyone has made so he doesn’t want to perma-kill any of them unless they roll a DND quadruple natural 1 sin or something.
As attached as he gets, he isn’t above completely raging, killing everyone’s characters, and ending the session if everyone’s being annoying.
Don’t worry, your characters will be safe and sound next session once everything calms down... just don’t mention how Satan burned your character sheet right in front of you. It’s your fault if you didn’t make a second copy of your character sheet!
He’s pretty decent when it comes to improv when a player stumbles into something he didn’t plan out, but that’s not going to stop him from getting a little annoyed.
Though, if you somehow manage to get to the big bad too soon... yeah sorry, he’s got a way more dramatic fight scene planned, your player’s getting conveniently blasted out of there.
As a player, Satan is pretty decent at the game overall, but he tends to be a little aggressive if there’s an overarching mystery to be solved.
He needs to understand what’s going on! He doesn’t care if it upends the plot or it’s too early to find out! He needs to know!
His character is actually distinct and different from himself, Satan thinks it’s more interesting that way. All the books he’s read have made him a pretty awesome role player!
Satan’s notebook both as a DM and a player is filled to the brim, no detail is too insignificant to be put on the page.
Satan doesn’t fear dungeon puzzles... dungeon puzzles fear Satan.
“Are you all stupid?! This puzzle is so easy a four year old could solve it!”
I ROLL TO SEDUCE- (Asmodeus)
At first he didn’t want to play, he doesn’t play these kinds of games, sweetie. He’s too pretty.
When he’s finally convinced he puts a decent amount of effort into his character, but leaves the backstory pretty open.
Asmo would probably be the bard... right? No. He’s the warlock with the magic sugar daddy patron, and the warlock patron is spoken to as such.
“Hey baby... how’ve you been? Have I been good~?” “...”
Huh! Who woulda thought that all the bedroom roleplaying would transfer so well to DND!
Simeon is the only DM that doesn’t immediately shut this down, so Asmo will be extra inclined to play if Mr. Nice Shoulders is DMing.
When he gets really into it he buys a bunch of sparkly and very pretty dice, they bring him good luck in every roll!
Asmo has a fictional harem, no question about it. It gets to the point where Satan, Lucifer, and Simeon stop describing NPCs as attractive.
He’s rolling to seduce either way, he’s turned many an antagonist into a lover. To be fair, Asmo’s horniness has gotten everyone out of a lot of jail cells... so they can’t complain.
His notes consist of really random comments about the plot and the other players. It’s also COATED with doodles.
‘Wow, this character is such an asshole, I hope Belphie kills them.’ ‘Shit.’ ‘MC looks so cute when they play their character!!!!!!!! :D’
Poor bab forgets the rules a lot... it’s just too much to remember, okay?! How was he supposed to know that he ran out of spell slots an hour ago?!
Please help him, MC...
*Dice Cronch* (Beel)
Homeboy has been given edible dice, no question. He has also eaten the non-edible dice...
Beel goes to Satan for help with making his character, and he ends up really loving the character! :D
Problem is, he’s not that good at roleplaying... D:
“Can my character eat that person?” “Beel, no- you know what? Let me check what you’d need to roll to do that.”
I’ll save you MC part 2 electric boogaloo, but when it comes to Beel, the entire party is getting protected, no matter how little it makes sense in-character.
While Beel does take notes, a lot of them don’t end up being very important for later events. For example, he’ll jot down stuff about the layout in one room, but it turns out he didn’t take notes for the room that was actually going to be used for a boss fight.
He’s always nice to the NPCs, shame Belphie doesn’t show them the same courtesy.
Murder Hobo (Belphie)
Chaotic evil.
“Belphie, your character’s alignment is neutral good, remember?” “Fuck that, this guy’s annoying me.”
If Belphie doesn’t like an NPC, it’s up to the rest of the party to stop him from derailing the campaign and killing them.
He has space themed dice because cow-man likes space and thought they were pretty.
Notes? NOTES? You think Belphegor, the Avatar of SLOTH, takes notes? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
He’s drooling all over the notebook... ew. Someone wake him up and tell him it’s his turn.
He puts about 35% effort forth to make a halfway decent character, and approximately 4% effort to actually roleplay.
Belphie sleeps through important plot details so he’s almost always really confused. He’ll turn to MC and ask them to explain what he missed before not learning his lesson and going back to sleep.
Wake him up for the dungeon puzzles though, he and Satan love those.
“Okay, we can’t see what’s in the room because none of the conscious party members have dark vision?” “Nope, what do you do?” “...I shove Mammon inside and shut the door.” “WHAT?!”
Bonus! The Best DM (Simeon)
Our favourite angel has homebrewed this entire campaign and boy fricken howdy are these players going to enjoy it.
Simeon fudges the dice rolls to avoid anything too irreversibly bad happening, buuuuuuut he’s still a total asshole who does the random perception rolls to keep everyone on their toes.
Everyone gets a character arc god dammit, even if they don’t have a backstory, one will be provided!
He’s got a map, he’s got miniatures, he’s got dice and backup dice for the backup dice, he’s got DM notes for days!
Simeon could be a voice actor with the amount of character voices he can do, no one ever gets confused with who’s talking.
Did someone just uncover a massive bit of plot that was meant to be found out later? Good job! No harm done! Simeon’s DM improv is second to none, and the plot will adjust accordingly!
#Obey me#Obey me!#Obey me Headcanons#obey me! headcanons#Obey me Lucifer#Obey me Mammon#Obey me Simeon#Obey me Leviathan#obey me beelzebub#Obey me Belphegor#Obey me Satan#Obey me Asmodeus#Obey me MC#obey me shall we date#obey me! shall we date?
292 notes
·
View notes
Text
Build-A-Bear
Part One
Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters
Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence
Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?
Author’s Note: I’ve written a decent portion of this but know I won’t keep writing it or post it unless I hold myself accountable and get it out there in the first place 🙈 I haven’t written much for Marvel yet but I’ve read plenty and have written for other fandoms in the past (not to mention the writing degree on my wall lol). I’ll try to post every 2-3 days to keep this moving! And if you like it and want to, buy me a coffee!
No one knew Tony Stark had a daughter. No one but Tony Stark and his daughter. Well, and her step-mom Pepper. And her godfather Rhodey. And her uncle-not-uncle Happy. But no one in their everyday lives knew. She was given her mother’s maiden name and kept a secret, even when she turned 17 and moved to a small apartment near NYU’s campus (with Happy stationed right next door, of course) to start life as a truly normal adult, or as close to normal as an undercover Stark could be. When she graduated with her PhDs in robotics and electrical engineering at 25 — proving brains really do run in the family — she moved into her own apartment in Manhattan, funded by her father under the pseudonym “Michael Myers.” Subtlety was never his strong suit.
Fortunately for you, growing up without the Stark name let you live a relatively normal life. It also allowed you to apply for a position within Stark Industries without being ushered past any red tape because of who your father is. Outside of the financial advantage you had, you worked for your spot in a STEM career. You suffered through every man in your field belittling your work despite knowing less than you. You dealt with the constant interruptions and “well, actually” because of your gender. You powered through late nights and early mornings when your mind was flowing too smoothly to quit.
The last thing you wanted to do was have all that work disregarded because you shared a name with genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark. So you filled out the application, sent in your resume and cover letter, and attached three letters of recommendation from your professors. You went through hours of interviews, background checks (conveniently redacting your father’s name), and polygraph tests until that offer letter showed up in your email. You even had to sign the Non-Disclosure Agreements that would bar you from discussing *anything* work-related with anyone outside of your department.
You spent your first year in the weapons analysis department, evaluating alien weaponry and determining how it worked and how to disable it. You had your fair share of mishaps, of course. Holes blasted into walls, fried robot dummies, even burnt animal carcasses. By the end of your first year, your supervisor sent a commendation and proposal for you for an undisclosed promotion. After Pepper Potts “thoroughly examined your resume, cover letter, and accomplishments during your tenure with Stark Industries,” as the letter read, you were awarded a position working on the Avengers’ weapons as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist. You’d never see a fight in-person, but you were assigned to work on advancements and post-battle repairs for everyone, from the Winter Soldier’s arm to the Falcon’s wings to Vision’s... everything. The only heroes you wouldn’t work on were Iron Man and War Machine (those were your dad’s territory) and Spider-Man.
On your first day in your new position, the one and only Pepper Potts showed you to your new lab on the 47th floor. It took all your willpower to look your step-mother in the eye and say, “Wow, Miss Potts. This is amazing. It’s such an honor to meet you,” with a straight face to convince any passerby that you had no outside affiliation with her. Even if her eyes stayed steady on you, you could see her mentally rolling them.
Once you were alone behind the doors of the elevator, conversation changed course.
“You’re going to be sharing a lab with someone else,” Pepper said.
“Sweet. As long as they’re competent, that’s fine by me,” you shrugged. Part of earning your degrees was learning to share a workspace with others, even those who bumbled and fumbled with no idea what they were doing. You’d had more hair singed by nearby explosions than you’d like to admit.
“He’s still in college so he’s not here as often as the others. Most of his work will be on Spider-Man’s gadgets and suit, but you can use him for any help you need.”
Walking past the familiar faces of Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho in their respective labs, Pepper ushered you into your lab, where you were met by your father and put on the same excited facade you did with Pepper.
“Oh my god, you’re Tony Stark! This is incredible! It’s such an honor to meet you, sir!”
He shook his head at you and reluctantly accepted your outstretched hand. Oh, the jokes you’d be making at family dinners.
“Yeah, anyway, this is your new lab, Miss [Y/L/N]. Make yourself at home. This lab rat over here is mister Parker. If you have any questions, he can at least bullshit an answer for you.”
The young man on the other side of the lab perked up at the sound of his name. He tugged the goggles off his face and set down his soldering rod to rush over to you.
“Hi. Hi, I’m Peter,” he said, reaching his hand out to you.
“I’m [Y/N]. It’s nice to meet you, lab partner.”
He looked to be a bit younger than you and at least relatively smart, if the MIT sweatshirt peeking out from under his lab coat said anything. If your dad gave him an internship like this, you knew you shouldn’t question it. He had to be a genius.
The kid just smiled at you, continuing to shake your hand past what most would deem socially acceptable.
“Okay, enough of that,” Tony said, pushing on your joined hands to separate you two. “Mister Parker might be in and out of the lab from time to time. He joins the Avengers on the occasional recon mission for immediate repairs but since he’s on break from classes, you’ll see him more often than not. Play nice.”
When he noticed you surreptitiously looking Peter up and down, he added, “Remember, no fraternizing with coworkers.” He pointed a finger directly at you before he spun and pointed to your fellow lab mate, realizing he should warn Peter too to save face.
“All the blueprints you need for the Tin Man’s arm are in the system. We’ll have you start on that and see what you can do about minimizing the sound that thing makes. Any other questions, give Pep a call.”
“Thank you, mister Stark. I really do appreciate everything,” you said genuinely.
“Yeah, well… don’t let me down,” he replied, patting you on the shoulder on his way out. Pepper followed close behind, leaving you alone with Peter Parker.
“So Peter,” you started, sliding onto the lab chair next to where he remained standing, “tell me about yourself.”
“Uh… what do you want to know?” he asked as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.
“How old are you?” you asked immediately.
“I’m 21.”
Only four years younger than you. So you’d probably get along just fine.
“I assume you’re at MIT?” He nodded. “What are you studying?”
“Biomolecular and mechanical engineering.” He said it so casually, you’d think he was talking about the last song he heard on the radio.
“Damn,” you responded, eyes wide. “I thought robotics and electrical engineering was wild but fuck, that sounds like hell.”
He laughed and nodded, letting a bit of the tension in his shoulders fall. “Yeah, it’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”
He shot you a small smile before gesturing back at his project. “I should probably get back to work and let you get started.”
For the rest of the day, you familiarized yourself with the Winter Soldier’s arm to figure out how to… turn the volume down? You assumed it was the gears inside causing the noise, but part of you wanted to outfit an audio jack and speaker just to fuck with your dad.
You and Peter worked in relative silence, aside from the playlist he had quietly playing through the lab sound system. When lunch rolled around, however, you finally spoke up.
“Hey Peter,” you called, his eyes flicking from the chemical beakers in front of him up to you. “First of all, what are you doing?”
“Um, it’s Spider-Man’s web fluid. Just trying to find more durable combinations.”
“Interesting.” As much as you wanted to touch the stringy substance, you knew better than to fiddle with someone else’s lab work. “Okay so second thing, in my last position, I’d just order food and have it brought to my floor but now that I’m on an exclusive floor, what do you do for lunch?”
“Oh, there are a couple security guys who have clearance to come into this floor. They just can’t get into any rooms so you’d have to meet them at the elevator. But I usually find something in the kitchen down the hall.”
“Oh, sweet. Thanks!” you said as you made your way out the door. Before you could fully exit, you turned back to see if Peter wanted you to grab anything. Once he promised he’d take his own break ‘once I get this one thing figured out,’ you continued to make your way to the kitchen.
As you drew closer to the doorway, you could hear three voices speaking over each other. They didn’t sound angry, but they were definitely arguing. You opened the door anyway and almost immediately froze in your tracks. The Falcon stood with one hand on his own head and one on the Winter Soldier’s head while Captain America rolled his eyes before those same eyes landed on you, along with the rest of the room.
“Perfect,” Sam started. “Hey new girl, between the three of us,” he said, pointing to himself, the Soldier, and the Captain, “who has the best hair?”
“First of all, my name is [Y/N]. Second,” you continued, making your way past them to the fridge you hoped your dad kept stocked with goodies, “that’s an unfair question.”
You grabbed a soda and popped it open before turning back to the three men. “Your hair suits each of you. Cap wouldn’t look good with Winter Soldier hair and Falcon wouldn’t look good with Cap’s hair.” You took a few steps closer, leaning against the island counter between you and eyeing each of them. Your eyes settled on the Winter Soldier, unashamedly flitting across his face and admiring the sharpness of his features. “You,” pointing at him, “could probably pull off either of their looks, though.”
Bucky smirked at you, but his rosy cheeks gave away a hint of embarrassment at your compliment. Steve and Sam, on the other hand, weren’t taking it quite as gracefully.
“What?!” Sam shouted. “Okay, now I know you’re lying. I could pull off Cap’s hair for sure.”
“You know, I think shaggy hair would really suit me,” Cap said, only half sarcastically.
You giggled to yourself as the three of them started talking over each other again, all dead set on their own hair being the best of them and positive they could pull off the others’ looks. While they bickered, you searched the pantry until you found a snack to at least get you through the remainder of the day.
“Alright boys, it’s been fun but I have work to do,” you said as you walked past them again. “Actually, wait. Bucky — can I call you Bucky?” He nodded even though you continued anyway. “If you could stop by lab six today, I’d love to check out your arm in person. The digital renderings aren’t quite the same.”
“Uh, okay. Sure. I’ll find you,” he said quietly.
“Sweet, thanks!” And with that, you skedaddled back to your lab.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x Stark!reader#Stark!reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes series#bucky x Stark!reader
448 notes
·
View notes
Text
﹏ㅤ✦ㅤ( O1 ) ㅤTHE IKEA KIDS
₍ᐢ. ̫ .⑅ᐢ₎ ㅤ— ㅤJ. VIPER ㅤ+ ㅤK. AL ASIM ㅤ+ ㅤN. VIPERㅤ !
There are people that we look up to, swear to become one day, no matter how 'impossible.' There are also people we look down upon, people we swore to our parents we'd never become. Yet, we become them anyway because nothing else is good enough. (inspired by sk8, but not really.)
ONE. TWO. THREE.
It doesn’t matter how many times you see the faces around you, there will only ever be two that actually matter to you. Don’t misunderstand, you love your family, it’s a genetic obligation, but if you got to choose who raised you these people would be your last pick. They don’t care about you and you don’t care about them, it’s just the sad truth.
You jumped out the window and landed in front of your skateboard. You picked it up and walked down the narrow path on the side of your house. You flipped the building, as you usually do when you leave and tossed your skateboard down, riding off to a familiar meeting place.
You dodged the hanging vines of trees that grew abundant in your area, your movements on beat with the music blasting in your ears. You rode past the wonderland of houses until you reached the main streets, the busy ones. You kicked up your board to run across the long street and were back on it the moment you hit the sidewalk. You continued your way past small shops, waving to the people you knew as you passed.
“Oh, Yn! Good morning! You’re here earlier than usual.”
You tail scraped your board to a stop and tossed the familiar shophand a smile, “Morning, Najma.”
“Jamil is just getting ready upstairs, I fixed you some breakfast while we wait!” Najma grinned, placing the doorstop under the glass door.
There was something about their small shop that never failed to put a smile on your face upon entering. No matter where you smelled the cinnamon scent or saw the warm red color of the walls it always brought back swell memories.
“Any new, exciting stories to share?” She asked while she prepared you a plate of her cooking.
You let out an exasperated sigh, sitting in your usual seat, “I’d hardly call them ‘exciting,’ but I suppose I do have something to share. You know that convenience store just a way down from here?” You pointed out the direction so she’d have an idea.
“Yea, mhm.”
“Kalim and I met a couple kids there, an interesting lot.” You nodded, your volume lowering and it became yourself you were talking to, “One in particular caught my attention, I wonder what he was playing…”
“Yn, you’re talking to me,” Najma laughed, placing the food in front of you.
“Ooh, smells good in here!” Another voice took the words out of your mouth. You both turned to the door and there in his usual attire stood Kalim.
“Morning, ‘Lim!” Najma waved, “Yn was just telling me about those kids you met at Sam’s!”
Kalim took a seat next to you, watching Najma prepare his breakfast with the eyes of a little kid. You snapped to bring his attention back to her question and not just her food.
“What? Oh, those kids. They were pretty cool!”
“Who was?”
You groaned, hating to hear the same explanation over again, “One of these days we’re gonna replace you with your sister.”
Kalim laughed, but still ran him up to speed, “They both had blue hair, nobody ‘round here is bold enough to dye their hair like that, excluding us obviously! One of them actually looked a little younger than your sister.”
“Really,” Jamil raised a brow. They both thanked his sister when she brought them their food.
“Yea!” Kalim answered, mouth stuffed with bread.
“What was he like?” Najma asked, sitting next to her brother, “If you start hanging out with the older one, it’d be really cool having a younger brother!”
“You have a brother.”
“I know, Jamil, but a little brother!”
For the rest of the morning you talked about all sorts of things, their importances varied from subject to subject, until customers started coming and Najma had to excuse herself. You handled the dishes after that while Jamil fetched his things for your departure.
“Do you think we’ll run into them at the skatepark?” Kalim asked, tapping the tip of his board onto the floor gently.
“Doubt it. They’ve been here long enough to know Sam’s is the place to go for literally everything, actually, they’ve been here long enough to know that place exists. It easily hides from new eyes.” You explained, shaking the water off your hands, “Though if we do it’ll be a treat, the tall one was so frightened it was actually funny. What was his name again?”
“I have it here!” Kalim checked the sides of his backpack and pulled out a small piece of paper. “The taller one, Idia. The younger one, Ortho.”
“Hm,” you hummed, walking over to the staircase that led to the sibling’s living quarters, “Jamil! We’ll wait for you in the front!”
You listened for his quick “Okay!” before you and your other friend made your ways outside.
“Think we should stop by the high school and see if they're there?” Kalim suggested.
“No, dumbass, that’s creepy and I’m enrolled there! They’ll make me stay for sure.” You opened your phone, checking your socials for anything before settling with scrolling through TikTok. You leaned your head on Kalim’s shoulder, sharing your screen with him as you waited.
“Man, you’re slow,” Kalim commented when Jamil finally decided to join you.
“Let’s go get lunch at Uncle Sam’s before we go to the skatepark, looks like a newbie’s challenging Lily to a skate match or whatever.” You turned your phone off and got on your board, the other two following.
“Really? Wow, there hasn’t been one in years! Way before Yn and I started going!” Kalim kept a steady pace at the same speed as you.
“And there is a reason for that. They can get dangerous.” Jamil, the only one out of you three that has even been to a TSM, kept at a distance behind you both.
“Oh, how dangerous? The skatepark was pretty much made for babies!” Kalim rolled his eyes, turning around to face him.
“The TSM’s do not take place in the skatepark, Kalim.” You could hear him shake his head at his words.
“Then where?” You asked, finally getting interested in the conversation, “What does TSM even stand for?”
Jamil sighed, clicking the button at the intersection, “To make this quick, a TSM is a Twisted SkateMatch, the term isn’t used as often as it used to be-”
“Why not?” Kalim got back on his board when you could finally cross, though you and Jamil decided to walk across.
“There’s no need for it until recently, if Yn is right. It depends on what is being challenged, the Tsunotaro and Lily decide where it will take place. They never reuse a location and each time it gets increasingly dangerous.”
#۰ ⸂ぬ ࣪˖ 🧃 a twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland fluff#twisted wonderland headcanons#twst#twst fanfic#twst fluff#twst x reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland imagines#twst scarabia#jamil viper#kalim al asim#twst scenarios#disney twst#twst imagines#twst wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twst drabbles#jamil x reader#twst jamil#kalim x reader#twst kalim
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
NCT 127: How they would be as coworkers in a shitty office
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
❁ [Taeil] King of the welcome wagon; If it was your first day working in a small dinky business, Taeil will make it his sole responsibility to make the environment as inviting as possible. After all, the business wasn't some glamorous well known company, nor was it an exciting new start up, so Taeil made it his mission to paint the office as pretty as he could before you could decide if the job was too boring to keep. If you ask any of his co-workers they'll tell you nobody put him in charge of welcoming the newbie, but it seemed everybody but you noticed him do a double take at the receptionist's desk where you waited to be shown around. Soft moments included him making you a coffee every time he left to make his own, making a point of clearing a little space in the communal fridge for your lunch and hanging around while trying to maintain a respectful distance in case you had any queries so he could be the first to answer them. If you were low-key dreading your first day, you kinda forget about the nerves quickly because of his kindness and tells you cheerfully "See, we don't bite." Will make sure you have everything you need, down to the last sticky note and ball point pen, and smiles bashfully at you when you go to thank him.
❁ [Johnny] cheesy office romance; It was quite impressive really, the fact that Johnny managed to unlock every single office romance cliche you could think of and he wasn't subtle about it either. Though there was no policy really about dating co-workers, the whole situation was a tiny bit embarrassing given the blatant flirting from the titan walking around in his shirt and tie, always throwing devilish smiles from over the photocopier. Even if his desk was miles away from yours, there would always be an excuse to stroll by your work space to drop off some paperwork personally, or remind you of the meeting happening in the afternoon despite the email reminder going around. Johnny really put his bladder through it since he now took too frequent trips to the water cooler that was so conveniently placed next to your desk. The whole office gagged when you finally agreed to go for drinks after work. The hours were spent buying each other pints and admiring him with his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the delicate tattoos that decorated the skin there before calling it a night and letting him kiss you on your porch after walking you home. You kind of became the height of office gossip, which Johnny thrived in, but you couldn't really be mad when you were dating that tall glass of water after all.
❁ [Taeyong] The receptionist with first aid training; Stapling your finger was embarrassing enough, imagine the heat flooding your cheeks when the receptionist appears at your desk clutching the first aid kit, big kind eyes glancing at your finger empathetically. Taeyong was the first face you saw when you walked through the door, that alone making a wonderful first impression, also he was a very diligent worker. He never made a fuss when you asked him to fax something, make a memo or photocopy, and when you had to ring the office because you left your keycard and needed to be let in, he laughed that off with you too while assuring that it happened all the time. On the blasted day you aimed the stapler at your paper but instead caught your finger, Taeyong was the first to perk from behind his desk at your exclamation of "Ow!" and was by your side before you knew it. He apologised profusely at the sting of an anti-bacterial wipe and wrapped your finger gingerly in a plaster, his chair scooted towards you and your knees bumping occasionally. You were pretty sure every female in the office was crushing on him and you were one of many, but you couldn't help the blush when you received a private IM chat asking if you wanted to get coffee after work: "Date? :)" he wrote at the end of the message. You wasted no time typing on your computer a reply, sneaking a glance at his face from behind the desk and exchanging a smile before looking busy once again.
❁ [Yuta] The guy that lowkey terrified you; Yuta was the co-worker that, whether it was on purpose or not, pushed you away with sheer intimidation and sinfully good looks. When you first encountered him in the office you were sure he was a model undercover, and when that was debunked you were sure he must have had a much higher level and higher paying job than you. His presence read corporate, the cologne you sometimes caught a whiff of smelt expensive and you could easily picture him in a big leather chair in a tall glass building barking orders at people. What surprised you was behind the intimidating aura, lay the humility of any of your other co-workers. All it took was one painfully awkward conversation in the break room and with the power of pointless small talk you learnt that his weekend plans didn't involve a modelling side hustle like you expected, but rather being a homebody, watching animated movies and cooking dinner for one instead. When you did finally enter an established relationship with him, expect impulsive moments like being tugged into the copier room so he can press his lips to yours and run his hands through your hair, or intense staring contests when other male co-workers demanded your attention. Overall, he was terrifying, but his redeemable qualities involved making dates after work so you had something to look forward to, buying your favourite cake during office parties and volunteering to do overtime with you so you would always be entertained.
❁ [Doyoung] The manager that scares you shitless; For the position of local branch manager, Doyoung exuded way more power and intimidation than what was probably warranted. Maybe that was why he managed to get the branch performing so well, everybody dreaded being called into his office for "friendly chitchat" after making a small mistake. When you first arrived, you steered as clear from him as possible, only venturing near his office when absolutely needed. What you didn't see was the way he would watch you intently in your little office nook, always appreciating how hard you worked and how cute you looked in your office get-up. You often squirmed at the amount of eye-contact he gave you when he ran meetings and you would glance around to see if anyone else was experiencing the same thing. Nope, just you. When he did call you into his office that one time you were quaking in your shoes. You had already convinced yourself you were fired before you had even reached his office door, but the feeling was replaced soon enough with confusion when he did eventually speak to you. "I just wanted to ask... would you be interested in.... this corporate training program?" He rushed. My god, your boss was just as awkward as the next bumbling guy. It would be a while before he asked you on an official date, dinner for two, also quite a bit of paperwork to fill out with HR, but you would come to realise his icy exterior wasn't all that icy when he wasn't in work-mode.
❁ [Jaehyun] The temp that never left; Jaehyun was fresh from university, now venturing into the world of work but still had the boyish aura that set him apart from the rest of the men in the office. From the way he spoke to you over lunch in the break room you could tell he was full of ambition, but also didn't seem to be in any rush to leave this job any time soon. Jaehyun was the guy who you initially tried not to get too close to, since you were under the impression that he would be leaving after completing the temporary placement and when he left it would hurt like a bitch. However, you could have sworn his placement ended like a month ago, but eventually you learnt that he somehow managed to talk himself into a full-time position. "Oh that, yeah, I guess I just realised I had more reasons to stay." He shrugged as casually as he could when you asked about it. You couldn't deny that you were happy, not when you saw his smiling face in the conference room saving you a seat, hearing his outrageous stories from uni and always being the two to get a little too drunk at corporate parties and being sent home in a taxi of shame. Romance blossomed when you remembered that one drunken kiss in the backseat and you both bonded when your boss gave you the cold shoulder after arriving to work a little more than dishevelled and with a hangover.
❁ [Jungwoo] Desk buddy; Honestly, who could hate their job when they had a sweet Jungwoo sitting at the desk adjacent to theirs. You kinda scored when your boss appointed you this specific desk because Jungwoo took to you almost embarrassingly quick. It made your heart swell looking at all the little knick knacks on his desk; toys to fiddle with and colourful sticky notes, this was just one part of his persona. You were a little shocked when he offered you a cigarette during the lunch break, kind of exposing a duality you didn't know existed, but nobody could be that wholesome of a person. Monday to Friday 9-5 was filled with Jungwoo ping-ponging back and forth between these traits, any off handed comments he would mutter to you when the boss was giving an announcement or the conversations you would overhear him having with a friend over the phone would remind you he wasn't a total puppy of a human being. However, the way he always offered to share a snack and would flick paper and notes at you playfully was also very much him being himself. You always fluttered a little at the smirk he would throw your way when your manager was talking something boring or ridiculous, it seemed those smirks were only reserved for you. It didn't take long before he became your best friend in the office, if he wasn't in that day you were in the right mind to just call it quits yourself (and vice versa), he was the guy that made the long hours that much more bearable.
❁ [Mark] The bumbling intern; When it came to responsibilities in the work place, you tried to delegate as little of that as possible to Mark the intern. It was cute really, the guy put in 110% effort into his tasks and yet when it came to coffee orders, photocopying or sending out a memo, something nearly always went wrong. You couldn't help but admire his enthusiasm, also that he made an effort to know everybody in the office, including the cleaners. Mark was one of the first people to greet you when you joined, waving around a little notebook of Starbucks orders and a company card to splurge, urging you to write down whatever you wanted. A simple task right? Rookie mistake. Bless him, you would never tell him how his mistake of getting full dairy rather than the soy you requested led to a night on and off the toilet, but that just scratched the surface of his office blunders. Somehow, he never cost the company too much, but there was a reason why the poor boy never got promoted beyond intern. He wasn't deterred though, he'd lean up against your desk while you made idle chit chat and he'd tell you that he liked his job and he didn't aspire to be the best in this business. Where he really proved himself was during company functions, you'll never forget during the annual employee bbq when he asked you your favourite song so he could sing it melodically accompanied skilfully with a guitar. Mark's contributions to the work place were always a little unpredictable, but he kept things interesting and people, including you, genuinely enjoyed having him around.
❁ [Haechan] Probably the reason you get fired; Even in the workplace, Haechan can't deny himself a bit of mischief. He made a stellar first impression by rocking up half an hour late, sending your boss a half arsed apology and plonking down at the desk across the room from yours. To be honest, he kind of annoyed you at first, his attitude came off immature and you didn't appreciate how distracting he was when you had work to do. However, things started to change at some point. Haechan was the guy that convinced you to ditch the office party and sit on the rooftop with him to watch the city lights, the guy that sent out ridiculous memos just to catch you smile and the guy eventually became the reason for you own demise after he started picking you up for breakfast most mornings. When the manager called you in his office after being late the third time in a row, you ducked your head and mumbled something about traffic while hiding a croissant wrapper in your pocket, Haechan covered a laugh with a cough and apologised on behalf of both of you. When you asked him about why he never seemed to give a shit about anything, you learnt that it was because he had a taste for adventure; "Don't tell me you wanna stay and work here forever? Don't you wanna do something more... exciting with your life?" He asked you incredulously, like the answer was obvious. He kinda got you, no, you didn't want to work in a dingy office for the rest of you life. To be honest, when he painted a picture of moving to a big city, or taking a road trip, or just fucking off to the suburbs you didn't hate the sound of that either. When you were both sat there in your manager's office, signing off on a severance package, you weren't even mad. You didn't have time to be, Haechan was already clasping your hand and leading you to his car and laughing about finally being free, tugging his tie from around his neck whilst driving no where in particular- the start of an adventure.
#why was haechan's so long#nct 127#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct#nct as boyfriends#nct 127 as boyfriends#boyfriend!nct#nct headcanons#nct drabbles#nct x reader#nct imagines#kpop imagines#kpop headcanons#kpop drabbles#kpop fluff#Taeil#taeyong#johnny#yuta#doyoung#jaehyun#jungwoo#mark#haechan#the office#office worker!nct
121 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bullets and Bubble Baths | Tony Stark
Hey lovelies here's the first drabble for my Dinner at Dizzy's event!! Thank you all so much for your requests!! Enjoy!
Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst
Entres (Pairing): Tony x F!Reader (Third Person)
Sides (Prompts): 11: “Oh my god, that was really violent.”, 23: “I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you.”
Notes: Y/n is Tony’s assistant, Tony's hella protective because she’s not an Avenger
Word Count: 1.4k
Dinner at Dizzy's Master List
She’s in the bathroom.
No, scratch that, she’s in the bathroom, vanilla bubbles up to her chest, soaking in the warmest, lavender scented water— with her boss. He’s not in the tub with her or anything, god forbid, but he’s there, yelling, and waving his arms around like a madman. Oh, and there’s gunshots— don’t forget about the gunshots that’s the most important part here. Why did she take his offer of moving into the Avenger’s Tower again?
Oh right— convenience.
“Tony what the fuck is going on?” She shrieks, trying to pull more bubbles over her chest but only ends up splashing water all over the floor.
He spins from the door which he has just locked, eyes blown wide, and she almost screams again. “Hydra— I think. Some big guys with guns. Steve’s down there now with Banner—”
A loud crash echoes from several floors below as if on cue, followed by another round of shots, and her heart skyrockets. She sits up, arms crossing over her chest frantically, listening for any noises that may be closer— like in her apartment closer. So far there are none but with her luck that’ll probably change. She turns back to the man in front of her, shivering from the cold air and the fear coursing through her veins.
She doesn’t want to scream again but she can feel it bubbling in her throat so she does the only thing she can think to do— she rambles. “How’d they get in? What do they want? Do you think Steve and Banner are okay? What are you doing in—”
She only stops when he drops in front of her, hands shooting out and wrapping around the back of her head, fingers twisting harshly in the wet strands of her hair as he yanks her mouth to his. It isn’t a heated kiss— more of a shut up or we’re going to die kiss— but for a moment it makes the world still, her heartbeat spiking for a whole different reason now. Maybe it wasn’t just convenience, maybe there was another reason she moved.
Before she can move her lips against his, he's pulling away from her, brown eyes searching over her face, probably making sure she’s not about to combust into words again. Don’t worry Tony, she’s too busy combusting into literal flames.
“I don’t know, okay? Not yet. Wasn’t exactly the right time to ask.”
“Tony—” he raises a brow and she shuts her mouth— right, they’re supposed to be laying low.
She lowers her voice a few octaves, whispering, all too aware of the fact that his lips are still only inches away from hers and that she still can hear bullets dinging off something metallic. Steve’s shield. Bucky’s arm. She swallows, fingers digging into her cold, wet flesh.
“Shouldn’t you be helping them?” Please don’t leave though, she adds in her head.
She has no idea why she asks. Courtesy maybe. Nerves or anxiety or the fact that she’s naked in a gunfight and he kissed her and she doesn’t know what else she can possibly say in this situation to make it okay. Nothing. She can say nothing. She regrets it immediately.
“I—” the door explodes, splintering into a hundred tiny pieces before he can finish— or even start, to be honest— his thought.
Before the scream can even rip up her throat he’s on his feet, gold and scarlet armour curling around his body. She must have missed him hitting the button on his watch thingy. Who can blame her, what with the large man that barrels into the bathroom, gun in hand. Gun pointed at her. So it’s just a party in the bathroom now, that’s cool. He scowls at her and she freezes, too numb to feel either cold or hot at this point. What the fuck did she do? She’s just trying to take a bath!
Cue the scream.
“Oh my god Tony look out!”
The man charges at him just as his helmet clamps shut, a sharp clang sounding through the bathroom, presumably a bullet bouncing off his armor, and he wastes no time holding an arm out and hitting the man square in the chest with a blast of god only knows what. She’s an assistant, she doesn’t get paid to know how his suits run. Then again she didn’t think she was getting paid to sit in luxurious bathtubs and get shot at either so maybe she just has no true grasp on her job and what it entails.
She watches, unable to look away, as he blasts him a few more times. She can’t see the man— the fire beam thing blasted him way out of the room the first time. She doesn’t even want to know what state he must be in right now. Rest in pieces, she supposes. She doesn’t have that much sympathy for the man who tried to put a bullet in her skull and made her waste her expensive bubble bath. Asshole. Still, after the fifth blast or so she decides that maybe it’s time to step in.
“Tony?” It’s almost silent, her voice shakier than she’s expecting after all the screaming.
From outside of the bathroom she hears the sound of metal clinking together, no doubt his armor retreating back into wherever it is that it goes when he isn’t using it. Seconds later the man— her boss— is running back into the room, chucks slipping against the tile as his eyes draw over her body frantically. It’s what makes her realize she isn’t numb anymore, the heat creeping up and over her chest. She lifts her arms higher, not looking down because she knows the bubbles are long gone.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Shit, what’s going on—”
He’s on his knees again, arms reaching out towards her, and she can’t think straight, she can only feel the hot tears beginning to drip down her face. “I— I think so? I don’t think I got hit. Are you okay? You got hit by a bullet! I just— I— Oh my god, that was really violent!”
She’s malfunctioning. Like on the fritz, fingers twitching, voice absolutely gone. Is this how Vision feels all the time? God, she hopes not. That would be awful. She feels Tony’s arms wrapping around her and her head flopping onto his shoulder but none of it really registers. She could have died. What the hell is her job?
“You’re okay. I got you.” He whispers.
“I’m an assistant.” She mumbles weakly against his shirt. “This was not part of the job description.”
He goes to pull away and she tenses, terror spiking through her veins. No, do not let go. She can’t handle it, not right now. She tightens her fists around his shirt, trying to keep him from shuffling too far away.
He doesn’t let go— not completely at least. He only backs up enough to look into her eyes, wincing slightly when he does, brown eyes filling with guilt. “I know, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t blame you if you left right now.”
She sighs, her shoulders sinking. Her face feels sticky, her chest cold, but no part of her feels like leaving. She’s terrified, yes, and pissed off that her bath got ruined. Her heart feels like it’s trying to escape her chest and she kind of wants to throw up. It’s awful and she hates feeling this way. But this is her home and him—
“Tony why did you come find me?” She whispers, the thought suddenly hitting her square in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs— he came for her instead of fighting with the rest of the team.
He doesn’t hesitate in pulling her closer to him again, this time his head sinking against her neck. “I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without. That’s you. I had to make sure you were safe.”
Well, maybe he’s her home too.
She wraps her wet arms around him, soaking his shirt and simultaneously squeezing her to him as hard as she can. “Thank you.”
He nods against her shoulder, lips pressing into her skin. She smiles— they’re definitely going to need to talk about this tomorrow.
For now, though, she sinks deeper into him, letting her eyes flutter closed. “You owe me a new bubble bath, boss.”
#Tony Stark#tony stark x reader#tony stark x y/n#tony stark fic#tony stark fluff#tony stark angst#tony stark imagine#iron man#iron man x reader#iron man x y/n#iron man fic#iron man imagine#mcu#mcu fic#marvel cinematic universe#Dinner at Dizzy's
247 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
andreswilo24
Sin título
hichamkiy
Hicham Kiy
arlequin-n
hello stranger
morriganameraucanas
Morrigan Ameraucanas
nightl0cks
to love is to destroy