#PG in Operations Management | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bratzkoo · 1 month ago

Text

operation: laundry love | joshua hong

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: software developer! joshua x reader Genre: fluff, love at first sight Rating: PG-15 Word count: 9.1k~ Warnings/note: requested by a lovely anon!

summary: Joshua Hong falls in love at first sight with you at a laundromat and schemes his way into making you like him back.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

Joshua Hong had always considered himself a practical man. At twenty-eight, he had a stable job as a software developer, a tidy apartment, and a cat named Algorithm. His life was as orderly as the code he wrote, each day neatly compartmentalized into routines and habits. Laundry day was no exception—every other Saturday, 2 PM sharp, he'd trudge down to Suds & Bubbles, the local laundromat, with his precisely sorted clothes.

But on this particular Saturday, as Joshua pushed open the glass door of Suds & Bubbles, his well-ordered world tilted on its axis.

The laundromat was busier than usual, probably due to the unseasonably warm weather that had everyone in town suddenly remembering their summer clothes. The air hummed with the whir of washing machines and the occasional beep of a dryer reaching the end of its cycle. The scent of detergent and fabric softener hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint mustiness of old magazines stacked on a nearby table.

Joshua's eyes swept the room, looking for an empty machine. That's when he saw her.

She was standing in front of a washing machine, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined a shirt with the intensity of a scientist studying a rare specimen. Her hair was piled haphazardly atop her head in what might generously be called a bun, secured with what appeared to be a pencil. She wore oversized sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm not arguing, I'm just explaining why I'm right."

To Joshua, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, meeting his eyes. For a moment, Joshua forgot how to breathe. Her eyes were warm, like flecked with gold, and crinkled slightly at the corners as if she was perpetually on the verge of laughter.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice snapping Joshua back to reality. "You wouldn't happen to know how to get spaghetti sauce out of a white shirt, would you? I've been staring at this stain for so long, I'm starting to see pasta shapes."

Joshua blinked, his brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. "I, uh... have you tried pre-treating it?" he managed to stammer out, mentally kicking himself for such a mundane response.

She sighed dramatically, holding up the shirt. "I've pre-treated it, post-treated it, and given it a stern talking-to. Nothing seems to work. I'm beginning to think this shirt has a vendetta against Italian cuisine."

A chuckle escaped Joshua before he could stop it. Her deadpan delivery and the absurdity of the situation broke through his initial panic, and he found himself relaxing slightly.

"Maybe it's more of a Chinese food fan," he offered, surprised by his own attempt at humor.

Her eyes lit up, and she let out a laugh that seemed to bubble up from her toes. "Oh my god, you're right! I should have been feeding it lo mein this whole time. How could I be so culturally insensitive to my own clothing?"

Joshua felt a warmth spread through his chest. He'd made her laugh. He, Joshua Hong, notorious for his dry technical explanations and inability to remember punchlines, had made this gorgeous, funny woman laugh.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," she said, extending her hand. "Y/N L/N, destroyer of shirts and apparent oppressor of Italian-American textiles."

"Joshua," he replied, taking her hand. Her skin was soft, and he had to resist the urge to hold on longer than socially acceptable. "Joshua Hong, software developer and... uh, laundry doer."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Laundry doer? Is that the technical term?"

Joshua felt heat creep up his neck. "Well, I... I mean, I'm not a professional or anything. Just a guy who, you know, does laundry. Sometimes. Well, every two weeks, actually. It's kind of a schedule thing, and—" He cut himself off, realizing he was rambling. "Sorry, I'm not usually this..." He gestured vaguely, unable to find the right word.

"Articulate?" Y/N supplied helpfully, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's one way to put it," Joshua said, managing a self-deprecating smile.

Y/N's gaze softened. "Hey, no worries. We all have our off days. Although," she added, glancing around the laundromat, "I'm not sure anyone's really on their A-game in a place like this. I mean, look at that guy over there."

Joshua followed her gaze to see a middle-aged man trying to stuff what looked like an entire month’s worth of clothes into a single washing machine.

"I think he's trying to create a black hole of socks and underwear," Y/N stage-whispered. "Should we alert NASA?"

Joshua snorted, then quickly tried to cover it with a cough. He wasn't used to finding things genuinely funny, especially not in a laundromat of all places. But something about Y/N's observations and the way she delivered them with such casual humor was infectious.

"Maybe he's conducting an experiment on the compression capabilities of cotton blend fabrics," Joshua found himself saying.

Y/N's eyes widened in mock seriousness. "Of course! How could we have missed it? Clearly, we're witnessing groundbreaking laundry science in action."

They both burst into laughter, drawing curious glances from other patrons. Joshua felt a mix of exhilaration and embarrassment. He wasn't used to being the center of attention, but with Y/N, it somehow felt... right.

"So, Joshua the Laundry Doer," Y/N said once their laughter had subsided, "since you're clearly an expert in all things wash and fold, any other tips for a hapless stain-battler like myself?"

Joshua's mind raced. This was his chance to impress her, to show off his knowledge. But as he opened his mouth to launch into a detailed explanation of stain-removal techniques, he caught sight of the playful glint in her eye. She wasn't really looking for a lecture on laundry. She was teasing him, keeping the banter going.

For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him. He wasn't good at this kind of thing. Flirting, joking around—it wasn't in his usual repertoire. But something about Y/N made him want to try.

"Well," he said, affecting a serious tone, "as a certified laundry professional—"

"Oh, you're certified now?" Y/N interjected, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely. I have a degree in Sock Pairing from the prestigious University of Wash and Tumble Dry."

Y/N gasped dramatically. "I've heard of that place! Isn't their mascot the Fighting Lint Roller?"

Joshua felt a grin spreading across his face. He was doing it. He was actually engaging in witty banter. With a beautiful woman. In a laundromat. If his friends could see him now, they'd never believe it.

"That's the one," he confirmed. "Our battle cry is 'We'll press your buttons!'"

Y/N doubled over laughing, clutching her sides. "Oh my god, stop," she wheezed. "I can't breathe!"

Joshua felt a surge of pride. He'd done that. He'd made her laugh so hard she could barely breathe. It was a heady feeling, one he wanted to experience again and again.

As Y/N's laughter subsided, she wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, man. I haven't laughed like that in ages. You, Joshua Hong, are dangerously funny. They should put a warning label on you."

Joshua felt his cheeks heat up at the compliment. "I, uh, thanks. You're pretty funny yourself."

Y/N waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, I just state the obvious. The world's a pretty ridiculous place if you pay attention." She glanced down at the shirt in her hand, then back at Joshua. "Speaking of ridiculous, I should probably actually try to wash this thing before it becomes sentient and decides to take over my wardrobe."

"Right, of course," Joshua said, suddenly remembering why they were both there in the first place. He glanced around, spotting an empty washing machine a few feet away. "There's a free machine over there if you need one."

Y/N followed his gaze and grinned. "My hero! Saving me from the horrors of waiting for a free washer. Truly, your laundry powers know no bounds."

As they walked over to the empty machine, Joshua felt a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He was elated at having met Y/N, at the easy way they'd fallen into conversation. But there was also a twinge of sadness. Once she started her laundry, she'd probably go sit down, maybe read a book or play on her phone like most people did. Their interaction would be over, just a brief, bright moment in an otherwise ordinary day.

Y/N opened the washing machine and started loading her clothes, chattering away as she did so. "You know, I've always wondered why they make these things so deep. Are they expecting us to wash a family of four's entire wardrobe in one go? Or maybe it's for people who only do laundry once a year and need to fit everything they own in here."

Joshua chuckled, leaning against the adjacent machine. "Maybe it's in case you need to hide from the Laundry Police."

Y/N paused in her loading, a pair of jeans dangling from her hand as she turned to look at him. "The Laundry Police?"

"Oh, you know," Joshua said, warming to his theme, "they patrol laundromats, making sure no one's mixing their colors and whites. Very strict about fabric softener usage too."

A slow grin spread across Y/N's face. "Let me guess, their motto is 'To protect and pre-treat'?"

"Exactly!" Joshua exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. He quickly tried to rein in his excitement, reminding himself that he was supposed to be playing it cool. "I mean, uh, yeah. Something like that."

Y/N's expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly as she looked at him. For a moment, Joshua thought he saw something in her eyes—a flicker of interest, maybe? But before he could analyze it further, she turned back to her laundry.

"Well, in that case, I'd better be extra careful," she said, her tone light. "I'd hate to get arrested for improper sock sorting."

As Y/N finished loading her clothes and closed the washing machine door, Joshua realized with a start that he hadn't even begun to do his own laundry. He'd been so caught up in talking to Y/N that he'd completely forgotten why he was there in the first place.

"Oh, shoot," he muttered, glancing around for another empty machine.

"Everything okay?" Y/N asked, pausing with her hand on the detergent dispenser.

"Yeah, just... I kind of forgot to actually start my own laundry," Joshua admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

Y/N's eyes crinkled with amusement. "The laundry expert forgot to do his laundry? Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Joshua ran a hand through his hair, chuckling despite his embarrassment. "I guess I got a little distracted."

Something flickered in Y/N's eyes at that, but it was gone so quickly Joshua wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. She glanced around the laundromat, then pointed to a machine in the corner. "There's one over there if you want to get started. Unless..." She hesitated for a moment, then continued, "Unless you want to share? I've got plenty of room in here, and it'll save you some quarters."

Joshua's heart leapt at the suggestion. Sharing a machine meant they'd have a reason to stay together, to keep talking. But he didn't want to seem too eager.

"Are you sure?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. "I wouldn't want to impose."

Y/N rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Please, it's a washing machine, not a kidney. Besides," she added with a wink, "I could use someone to protect me if the Laundry Police show up."

And just like that, Joshua's resolve to play it cool crumbled. He grinned, already reaching for his laundry bag. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

As they loaded their clothes into the machine together, their hands occasionally brushing, Joshua felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the humid laundromat air. He snuck glances at Y/N, taking in the way she hummed softly to herself as she worked, the little furrow that appeared between her brows when she concentrated on measuring the detergent.

Y/N caught him looking and raised an eyebrow. "What? Do I have detergent on my face or something?"

"No, no," Joshua said quickly. "I was just... thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," Y/N quipped.

"I know," Joshua replied automatically, then blinked in surprise. "Wait, did you just quote 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

Y/N's face lit up. "You caught that? Most people miss it!"

"Are you kidding? It's only one of the best Disney movies ever made," Joshua said, his usual reserve forgotten in his enthusiasm.

"Agreed!" Y/N exclaimed. "Talking furniture, a library to die for, and a heroine who's more interested in books than boys? Sign me up!"

As they finished loading the machine and Y/N started the cycle, Joshua felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Here he was, doing something as mundane as laundry, and yet he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself this much.

Y/N turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, Laundry Master, what do you usually do while waiting for your clothes to wash? Let me guess, you have a special meditation technique for achieving perfect fabric softness?"

Joshua laughed, shaking his head. "Nothing so exciting, I'm afraid. Usually, I just sit and work on my laptop or read a book."

"Ah, a man of simple pleasures," Y/N nodded sagely. "Well, how about we shake things up a bit? I've got a deck of cards in my bag. Fancy a game? I warn you though, I'm undefeated in Go Fish."

"Go Fish? Really?" Joshua asked, amused.

Y/N shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "What can I say? I'm a woman of sophisticated tastes."

As Y/N rummaged in her bag for the cards, Joshua marveled at the turn his day had taken. He'd come here expecting nothing more than clean clothes and maybe a chance to catch up on some work. Instead, he'd met Y/N—funny, beautiful, ridiculous Y/N—and now he was about to play Go Fish in a laundromat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N triumphantly produced a battered deck of cards from her bag. "Aha! Prepare to be thoroughly trounced, Joshua Hong. Your laundry expertise won't save you now!"

As they settled into a game, the rhythmic tumble of the washing machine providing a soothing backdrop, Joshua couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, his orderly life could use a little chaos. And if that chaos came in the form of a beautiful woman with a penchant for terrible puns and children's card games, well... he was more than okay with that.

It was, he decided, the best laundry day ever.

Joshua Hong had never considered himself a schemer. In fact, he prided himself on his straightforward nature. But as he sat in his apartment the day after his fateful meeting with Y/N, he found himself plotting like a character in one of those romantic comedies his sister was always trying to get him to watch.

"Okay, Algorithm," he said to his cat, who was perched on the arm of the couch, watching him with typical feline indifference. "We need a plan."

Algorithm yawned in response.

"Thanks for the enthusiasm," Joshua muttered. He pulled out a notebook and began to scribble furiously. "Step one: Figure out Y/N's laundry schedule."

He tapped his pen against his chin, thinking. "She mentioned she usually does laundry on Saturdays, but not every week. So maybe... every other week? Or possibly every third week?"

Algorithm meowed and jumped off the couch, apparently bored with Joshua's romantic strategizing.

"You're right," Joshua sighed. "I'm overthinking this. I'll just have to stake out the laundromat every Saturday for a while. That's totally normal and not creepy at all, right?"

Silence greeted his question.

"Right," he answered himself. "Perfectly normal."

And so began Operation Laundry Love, as Joshua had dubbed it in his head (though he'd die before admitting that to anyone else).

The next Saturday, Joshua found himself at Suds & Bubbles, a bag of laundry in hand despite having done his washing just the week before. He'd had to dig into his "emergency clothes" drawer to have enough to justify a trip.

As he pushed open the door, his heart sank. No Y/N. The laundromat was occupied by the usual Saturday crowd: a harried-looking mother with three small children, an elderly man reading a newspaper, and a college student who appeared to be using the dryer as a makeshift desk for her laptop.

Joshua sighed and resigned himself to actually doing his unnecessary laundry. As he loaded his clothes into the machine, he couldn't help but smile, remembering how he and Y/N had shared a washer the week before.

"You look happy for someone doing laundry," a voice behind him said.

Joshua whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat. But it wasn't Y/N. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the elderly man, who had set aside his newspaper and was now regarding Joshua with amusement.

"Oh, uh, I just... really like clean clothes?" Joshua offered weakly.

The old man chuckled. "Son, I've been coming to this laundromat for thirty years, and I've never seen anyone smile like that over a washing machine. Unless..." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "You wouldn't happen to be waiting for someone, would you?"

Joshua felt heat creep up his neck. "What? No, I'm just... doing laundry. Like normal. Because it's a normal thing to do. Normally."

"Mm-hmm," the old man nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Well, I hope your 'normal laundry' shows up soon."

As the man shuffled back to his seat, Joshua groaned internally. Was he really that transparent?

The answer, as it turned out over the next few weeks, was a resounding yes.

Every Saturday, Joshua found himself at Suds & Bubbles, armed with increasingly creative excuses for why he suddenly needed to do laundry so frequently.

"I spilled an entire pot of spaghetti sauce on myself," he told the amused attendant one week.

"My cat decided my closet was his new litter box," he explained to the harried mother the next.

By the fourth Saturday, he'd run out of plausible excuses and was seriously considering actually spilling something on all his clothes just to justify his presence.

It was on this fourth Saturday, as Joshua was contemplating the merits of "accidentally" upending a bottle of ketchup on himself, that the bell above the door chimed. He looked up, more out of habit than hope at this point, and nearly dropped the detergent he was holding.

There, silhouetted in the doorway like some laundry-bearing angel, was Y/N.

She was wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm not procrastinating, I'm doing side quests," her hair once again in its chaotic bun. To Joshua, she had never looked more beautiful.

Y/N spotted him almost immediately, her face breaking into a grin. "Well, well, well," she said, sauntering over. "If it isn't the Laundry Master himself. We've got to stop meeting like this, people will talk."

Joshua, who had been mentally rehearsing casual greetings for weeks, found himself suddenly tongue-tied. "I, uh... hi," he managed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Wow, they really should put a warning label on you. 'Caution: Excessive wit may cause spontaneous combustion.'"

That broke through Joshua's panic, and he felt a grin tugging at his lips. "Sorry, I left my witty retorts in my other pants. I'm here to wash them."

Y/N laughed, the sound cutting through the monotonous hum of the washing machines. "There he is! I was worried the Laundry Police had gotten to you and stolen your sense of humor."

"Nah, they just put it through the spin cycle. It's a little dizzy, but intact."

"Oh, good," Y/N nodded seriously. "A dizzy sense of humor is a small price to pay for clean clothes and freedom from laundry-based tyranny."

As they bantered, Joshua felt the tension leaving his shoulders. This was why he'd been coming back week after week, enduring knowing looks from the regulars and inventing increasingly ridiculous laundry emergencies. Not just because Y/N was beautiful (though she absolutely was), but because talking to her felt as natural as breathing.

"So," Y/N said as she started loading her laundry into a machine, "do you always do your laundry on Saturdays, or am I just lucky enough to catch you during your weekly sock-sorting séance?"

Joshua froze for a split second. This was it, the moment of truth. He could confess that he'd been coming here every week in the hopes of seeing her again. Or...

"Oh, you know," he said, aiming for casual and probably overshooting into 'trying way too hard to sound casual', "laundry emergencies wait for no man. Or woman. Or... person of any gender, really."

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Laundry emergencies, huh? Sounds serious. What was it this time? Rogue red sock in with the whites? Denim uprising?"

"Actually," Joshua said, warming to his theme, "it was a catastrophic coffee spill. My entire wardrobe now smells like a coffee shop."

Y/N nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. The dreaded Cappucino Fiasco. I've seen it claim many a good outfit. You were wise to seek help immediately."

As they continued to load their respective machines, Joshua marveled at how easy it was to fall into rhythm with Y/N. They moved around each other seamlessly, passing detergent and fabric softener back and forth without a word, as if they'd been doing this dance for years instead of having met only a few weeks ago.

"So," Y/N said as she closed the door of her washing machine with a flourish, "what's your strategy for killing time while the laundry gods work their magic? Please tell me it's more exciting than last time. If you pull out a deck of cards again, I might have to report you to the Fun Police."

Joshua grinned. "I'll have you know that Go Fish is a game of intense strategy and skill."

"Uh-huh," Y/N nodded, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"Your Majesty," Joshua said with an exaggerated bow.

Y/N laughed, then grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the door. "Come on, Laundry Boy. There's a coffee shop next door that does a mean latte. I think we can risk leaving our clothes unattended for a few minutes. Unless you're worried the Sock Gnomes will strike?"

Joshua allowed himself to be led, his arm tingling where Y/N was touching it. "Sock Gnomes are no laughing matter," he said seriously. "They're a menace to matched pairs everywhere."

The coffee shop, as it turned out, was a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that looked like it had been decorated by someone's eccentric grandmother. Mismatched chairs surrounded wobbly tables, and the walls were covered in a truly bewildering array of artwork, ranging from serene landscapes to what appeared to be a portrait of a cat dressed as Napoleon.

"Wow," Joshua said as they entered, the scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloping them. "This place is..."

"A glorious affront to interior design?" Y/N supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say 'unique', but yeah, that works too."

They ordered their drinks - a simple black coffee for Joshua and something that sounded more like a dessert than a beverage for Y/N - and settled at a table in the corner. The chair Joshua sat in promptly made an ominous creaking sound.

"Don't worry," Y/N said, noticing his concerned look. "If it collapses, I promise to laugh only a little before calling for help."

"Your kindness knows no bounds," Joshua deadpanned.

As they sipped their drinks, the conversation flowed as easily as it had in the laundromat. They discovered a shared love of terrible puns, a mutual disdain for people who talk in movie theaters, and a surprising amount of overlap in their taste in music.

"No way," Y/N said, her eyes wide. "You like The Microphones too? I thought I was the only person under 40 who'd heard of them!"

Joshua nodded enthusiastically. "They're amazing! 'The Glow Pt. 2' is one of my all-time favorite albums."

"Okay, that settles it," Y/N declared. "We're officially friends now. I don't make the rules."

Joshua felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. "Friends, huh? Do I get a membership card or something?"

"Better," Y/N grinned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slightly squashed packet of gum. With great ceremony, she extracted a piece and presented it to Joshua. "I hereby bestow upon you the Gum of Friendship. Guard it well."

Joshua accepted the gum with equal solemnity. "I shall treasure it always," he vowed, then promptly unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth.

Y/N gasped in mock horror. "The sacred Gum of Friendship! You've destroyed it!"

"I'm savoring our friendship," Joshua countered. "It's minty fresh."

They dissolved into laughter, earning curious looks from the other patrons. Joshua couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this much. Being with Y/N was like being caught in the best kind of whirlwind - exhilarating, unpredictable, and utterly delightful.

As their laughter subsided, Y/N glanced at her watch and yelped. "Oh shoot, our laundry! We've been here for almost an hour!"

They hurried back to the laundromat, half-expecting to find their clothes strewn across the floor or absconded with by the mythical Sock Gnomes. But everything was just as they'd left it, their machines humming away peacefully.

"Crisis averted," Y/N sighed dramatically. "Though I have to say, part of me was looking forward to staging a daring rescue mission for our captured clothes."

Joshua grinned. "Maybe next time. I'll bring my laundry-themed superhero costume."

"Oh? And what would that look like?" Y/N asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Well, obviously a cape made of dryer sheets," Joshua began, warming to the ridiculous idea. "A utility belt stocked with stain removers for every occasion. Oh, and a mask that looks like one of those mesh laundry bags."

Y/N nodded approvingly. "Don't forget the catchphrase. Every good superhero needs a catchphrase."

"How about... 'It's time to clean up this mess!'" Joshua suggested, lowering his voice to a gravelly superhero register.

Y/N burst out laughing. "Perfect! Watch out, evil-doers. The Laundry Avenger is here to take you to the cleaners!"

As they continued to riff on increasingly absurd laundry-themed superhero ideas, Joshua marveled at how comfortable he felt. Usually, prolonged social interaction left him drained, but with Y/N, he felt energized, like he could keep talking for hours.

All too soon, their laundry was done, and they found themselves standing outside Suds & Bubbles, clean clothes in hand.

"Well," Y/N said, shifting her laundry bag to her other shoulder, "this was fun. Who knew doing laundry could be such an adventure?"

Joshua nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn't want this to end. "Yeah, it was great. Maybe we could, uh..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Joshua took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Maybe we could do this again sometime? The laundry thing, I mean. And the coffee. Or, you know, just hanging out. If you want."

Y/N's face broke into a wide grin. "Joshua Hong, are you asking me on a laundry date?"

"Maybe?" Joshua said, then, gathering his courage, "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Well, in that case," Y/N said, pretending to consider it seriously, "I suppose I could pencil you in for my next laundry day. Someone's got to make sure you don't fall victim to the Sock Gnomes, after all."

Joshua felt like his heart might burst. "It's a date. A laundry date."

As they parted ways, Joshua couldn't keep the grin off his face. He'd done it. He'd successfully engineered an "accidental" meeting, and even better, he'd secured another one.

Operation Laundry Love, he decided, was a resounding success.

Little did he know, Y/N was walking away with a similar grin on her face, thinking to herself, "I wonder if he realizes I don't usually do my laundry on Saturdays?"

But that, as they say, is a story for another load of laundry.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of laundry detergent, coffee dates, and increasingly elaborate excuses for Joshua's constant presence at Suds & Bubbles. He had become something of a legend among the regular patrons, who watched his blossoming relationship with Y/N with the rapt attention usually reserved for soap operas.

"What's the crisis this week, son?" Mr. Jenkins, the elderly man who had first caught onto Joshua's scheme, asked one Saturday.

Joshua, who had just arrived and was scanning the laundromat for any sign of Y/N, startled at the question. "Oh, uh... paint," he said, grabbing wildly at the first excuse that came to mind. "Lots of paint. Everywhere. I'm thinking of taking up abstract expressionism."

Mr. Jenkins nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. A noble pursuit. Though I must say, your clothes look remarkably clean for someone covered in paint."

Joshua glanced down at his spotless jeans and t-shirt, realizing his mistake too late. "I... changed before coming here?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Jenkins said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the charming young lady you've been meeting here every week."

Before Joshua could stammer out a response, the bell above the door chimed. He turned, his heart doing its now-familiar leap as Y/N walked in.

She was wearing a sundress today, her hair for once free of its usual chaotic bun and falling in waves around her shoulders. Joshua felt his breath catch in his throat.

Y/N spotted him and grinned, making her way over. "Well, if it isn't my favorite laundry buddy," she said. "What's the disaster today? Attacked by a rogue sprinkler system? Fell into a vat of maple syrup?"

Joshua, still a bit dazed by her appearance, blurted out, "Paint."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Paint?"

"Uh, yeah," Joshua said, committing to the lie. "I'm taking up abstract expressionism."

Y/N's eyes lit up with mischief. "Oh really? And here I thought you were more of a performance art kind of guy. You know, the kind where you keep showing up at a laundromat week after week, pretending to have laundry emergencies."

Joshua felt his face heat up. "I... what? No, I just... I mean..."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and clear in the humming atmosphere of the laundromat. "Relax, Joshua. I'm just teasing. Though I have to admit, I am curious about this sudden interest in art. Care to elaborate while we wait for our clothes to wash?"

Still a bit flustered, Joshua nodded. As they loaded their machines (Joshua had actually brought laundry this time, having run out of clean clothes due to his frequent "emergencies"), he found himself spinning an increasingly complex tale about his newfound passion for abstract art.

"So there I was," he said, warming to his theme, "staring at this blank canvas, when suddenly I was struck by inspiration. I grabbed the nearest paint can and just... let loose."

Y/N nodded solemnly. "As one does. And the paint just happened to get all over your clothes in the process?"

"Exactly!" Joshua said, relieved that she seemed to be buying it. "You know how it is with artistic passion. Sometimes you just can't contain it."

"Mm-hmm," Y/N hummed, her eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. "And what, pray tell, was the subject of this masterpiece?"

Joshua, who knew about as much about art as he did about deep-sea fishing, panicked. "It was... a commentary on the existential dread of modern laundry practices?"

There was a beat of silence, and then Y/N burst out laughing. "Oh my god," she wheezed, clutching her sides. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, and I love it. Please tell me you're going to display this masterpiece in a gallery. I would pay good money to see a painting about the existential dread of laundry."

Joshua, realizing he'd been caught out, couldn't help but join in her laughter. "Alright, alright," he admitted once they'd both calmed down a bit. "I may have exaggerated the paint situation a tiny bit."

"A tiny bit?" Y/N asked, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Joshua Hong, I do believe you've been telling me tall tales. I'm shocked. Shocked and appalled."

"Would it help if I said I was inspired by your artistic influence?" Joshua offered, grinning.

Y/N pretended to consider this. "Hmm, flattery will get you everywhere. But I think you owe me a coffee for this blatant deception. And maybe a painting about laundry-based existential dread."

"Deal," Joshua said, relieved that she seemed more amused than annoyed by his fib. "Though I warn you, my artistic skills are limited to stick figures and the occasional smiley face."

"Perfect," Y/N declared. "I expect nothing less than a masterpiece of stick figure angst surrounded by washing machines. You have one week to deliver, Mr. Hong."

As they made their way to what had become their usual table at the coffee shop next door, Joshua marveled at how comfortable he felt with Y/N. The nervousness that had plagued him during their first few meetings had given way to an easy camaraderie, punctuated by their shared love of terrible jokes and pop culture references.

"So," Y/N said once they were settled with their drinks (a simple latte for Joshua, and something that seemed to consist mostly of whipped cream and caramel for Y/N), "now that we've established your budding career as an abstract expressionist, what's really been going on with you this week?"

Joshua, caught off guard by the sincere question, found himself answering honestly. "Oh, you know, the usual. Work's been pretty hectic. We're launching a new software update next month, so everyone's been pulling long hours."

Y/N nodded sympathetically. "Sounds stressful. Is that why you've been coming to the laundromat so often? Blowing off steam by cleaning your clothes?"

There was something in her tone, a hint of... what? Hope? Curiosity? Joshua couldn't quite place it, but it made his heart rate pick up.

"Well, that's part of it," he admitted, deciding to take a risk. "But mostly... I've been hoping to run into you."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Oh," she said softly. Then, a smile spreading across her face, "You know, you could have just asked for my number. It would have saved you a fortune in quarters."

Joshua groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I know, I know. I just... I wasn't sure if you'd want to hang out outside of our laundry days. And then it became this whole thing, and I didn't know how to bring it up without sounding like a complete weirdo."

Y/N reached across the table, gently pulling his hands away from his face. "Joshua," she said, her voice warm with affection, "you are a complete weirdo. But you're my kind of weirdo."

Joshua felt a surge of warmth in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Y/N confirmed. "Now, are you going to ask for my number like a normal person, or do I need to write it on a dryer sheet and hide it in your laundry?"

Laughing, Joshua pulled out his phone. As they exchanged numbers, he felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. No more elaborate excuses, no more anxiously waiting at the laundromat hoping Y/N would show up.

"So," he said once their numbers were safely stored in each other's phones, "now that we've entered the digital age, what do you want to do for our next non-laundry related hangout?"

Y/N's eyes lit up. "Oh, I have the perfect idea! There's this new escape room place that just opened up downtown. The theme is... wait for it... a haunted laundromat!"

Joshua blinked. "You're kidding."

"Nope!" Y/N said, grinning. "It's called 'Spin Cycle of Terror.' Apparently, you have to solve puzzles related to missing socks, detergent bottle clues, and a vengeful dryer spirit. It's supposed to be hilariously bad."

"That sounds absolutely terrible," Joshua said. Then, unable to keep the smile off his face, "When do we go?"

Y/N clapped her hands in excitement. "I knew you'd be up for it! How about next Saturday? Unless you have another painting emergency, of course."

"I think I can clear my schedule," Joshua said dryly. "Though I may need to stock up on laundry-themed good luck charms. You never know when a vengeful dryer spirit might strike."

As they continued to chat, making plans for their upcoming escape room adventure, Joshua found himself marveling at the turn his life had taken. A month ago, he would never have imagined himself looking forward to a cheesy haunted laundromat experience. But with Y/N, even the most ridiculous activities seemed like the best way to spend an evening.

The week leading up to their escape room date (and Joshua's heart did a little flip every time he thought of it as a date) passed in a flurry of text messages. Y/N, it turned out, was a prolific texter, sending Joshua everything from random song lyrics to photos of particularly interesting clouds to long, rambling messages about her day.

Joshua, who had never been much for texting, found himself eagerly checking his phone at every opportunity, just in case Y/N had sent something new.

"Dude, what's got you so smiley?" his coworker, Hoshi's, asked one day after catching Joshua grinning at his phone for the third time in an hour.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Joshua said, hastily putting his phone away. "Just... a funny meme."

Hoshi's raised an eyebrow. "A funny meme that's been making you check your phone every five minutes for the past week? Come on, spill. You've met someone, haven't you?"

Joshua felt his face heat up. "Maybe," he admitted.

Hoshi's whooped, drawing curious glances from their other coworkers. "I knew it! Our little Joshua is all grown up and in love. So, who's the lucky lady? Or gentleman? Or non-binary individual?"

"Her name is Y/N," Joshua said, unable to keep the smile off his face. "We met at the laundromat."

Hoshi's's eyebrows shot up. "The laundromat? Seriously? Man, and here I thought all those cheesy rom-coms were lying to us. Good for you, buddy. When do we get to meet her?"

The question caught Joshua off guard. He and Y/N had been in their own little bubble for the past few weeks, but the idea of introducing her to his friends and coworkers made everything feel suddenly more real.

"I... don't know," he admitted. "We're still figuring things out."

Hoshi's nodded understandingly. "No pressure, man. Just know that when you're ready, we're all dying to meet the girl who's got you checking your phone like a lovesick teenager."

As Saturday approached, Joshua found himself growing increasingly nervous. This would be their first real date outside of the laundromat and coffee shop. What if things were awkward? What if the easy rapport they'd developed over shared loads of laundry didn't translate to other settings?

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, Joshua was a bundle of nerves. He changed his outfit three times before settling on a simple button-down shirt and jeans, then spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get his hair to cooperate.

"It's just Y/N," he told his reflection, trying to calm his racing heart. "You've seen her elbow-deep in dirty laundry. This is no big deal."

But as he arrived at the address Y/N had sent him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was, in fact, a very big deal.

The escape room place was tucked between a trendy vegan restaurant and a vintage clothing store. A neon sign proclaimed "Spin Cycle of Terror" in lurid pink letters, complete with a cartoon ghost emerging from a washing machine.

Joshua was so busy staring at the sign, wondering what he'd gotten himself into, that he didn't notice Y/N approaching until she was right beside him.

"Pretty epic, right?" she said, making him jump.

"Y/N! Hi! You... you look great," Joshua stammered, taking in her appearance. She was wearing a dress patterned with tiny washing machines and bubbles, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with what appeared to be a clothespin.

Y/N did a little twirl. "You like? I figured if we're going to face a vengeful dryer spirit, we might as well dress the part."

Joshua laughed, feeling some of his nervousness dissipate. "It's perfect. I feel underdressed now. I should have at least worn a shirt with a sock pattern or something."

"Next time," Y/N said with a wink. "Now come on, we've got some laundry-based puzzles to solve!"

As they entered the escape room, Joshua was hit with a wave of artificial lavender scent. The room was set up to look like the world's most over-the-top laundromat, complete with washing machines that seemed to be made entirely of glitter and dryers that emitted an ominous red glow.

"Welcome to the Spin Cycle of Terror," a bored-looking employee droned, clearly having repeated this speech many times. "You have one hour to solve the mystery of the missing socks and appease the vengeful spirit of Agatha Cleanpress, the laundromat's former owner. Failure to do so will result in you being cursed to fold fitted sheets for all eternity."

"Jokes on them," Y/N whispered to Joshua. "I already can't fold fitted sheets."

Joshua snorted, earning a glare from the employee.

"Your time starts... now," the employee said, hitting a button that started a comically large timer on the wall.

What followed was an hour of the most ridiculous, pun-filled, laundry-themed puzzle-solving Joshua had ever experienced. They deciphered clues hidden in detergent bottles, played a memory game with different types of stains, and even had to perform what the instructions called a "sock puppet séance" to communicate with Agatha's spirit.

Throughout it all, Joshua found himself laughing more than he had in years. Y/N attacked each puzzle with enthusiasm, her running commentary on the increasingly absurd challenges keeping Joshua in stitches.

"Oh come on," she exclaimed at one point, elbow-deep in a bin of mismatched socks. "How is this even a puzzle? This is just my normal laundry experience!"

As the final seconds ticked down, they found themselves facing the last challenge: a riddle that would supposedly reveal the location of Agatha's missing lucky sock and put her spirit to rest.

"I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?" Y/N read aloud.

They looked at each other, momentarily stumped.

"Not alive but grows... needs air... water kills it," Joshua muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Y/N's eyes suddenly lit up. "Fire!" she exclaimed. "It's fire!"

They looked around frantically, spotting a cardboard fireplace in the corner that they had dismissed earlier as mere set dressing.

Racing over, they found a hidden compartment containing a single, sparkly sock.

"We did it!" Y/N cheered, just as the timer buzzed.

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of canned applause, and a holographic image of a ghostly old woman appeared.

"Congratulations," the 'ghost' said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like the bored employee who had greeted them. "You have solved the mystery and found my lucky sock. You are now free from the curse of eternal fitted sheet folding. Please exit through the gift shop."

As they emerged from the escape room, still high on their victory, Joshua felt a surge of affection for Y/N. Her hair had come partly loose from its bun, her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she was clutching the sparkly sock they'd been allowed to keep as a souvenir.

"That," Y/N declared, "was the most ridiculously awesome thing I've ever done."

"It really was," Joshua agreed, still grinning. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "You know, I never thought I'd have this much fun pretending to be cursed by a laundromat ghost."

Y/N bumped her shoulder against his playfully. "See? This is why you need me in your life. To introduce you to the wonderful world of laundry-based entertainment."

As they walked out onto the street, the cool evening air a refreshing change from the lavender-scented escape room, Joshua felt a surge of courage.

"Hey," he said, his heart racing, "do you want to grab some dinner? I mean, if you're not sick of me after an hour of sock sorting and ghost appeasing."

Y/N's face lit up. "Are you kidding? After all that excitement, I'm starving. Plus, I think we need to celebrate our victory over Agatha Cleanpress. Any ideas?"

Joshua thought for a moment, then grinned. "Actually, I know just the place. How do you feel about continuing our laundry theme?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Color me curious, Mr. Hong. Lead the way!"

Twenty minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of a small, quirky restaurant called "The Soap Suds Café."

"No way," Y/N breathed, taking in the washing machine-shaped menu boards and the waitstaff dressed in what appeared to be high-fashion interpretations of laundromat uniforms. "This is amazing. How did you even know about this place?"

Joshua rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. "I, uh, may have done some research on laundry-themed attractions in the area. You know, just in case."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something else... was that fondness? "Joshua Hong, you continue to surprise me. And here I thought I was the queen of ridiculous themed experiences."

As they were led to their table - a booth made to look like the inside of a front-loading washing machine - Joshua felt a warm glow of satisfaction. He'd managed to impress Y/N, to make her smile that radiant smile that never failed to make his heart skip a beat.

The menu, as it turned out, was just as themed as the decor. Appetizers were listed under "Pre-Wash Cycle," main courses under "Heavy Duty Wash," and desserts under "Fluff and Fold."

"I can't believe this place exists," Y/N said, giggling as she perused the menu. "Oh my god, they have a cocktail called 'Fabric Softener.' I don't know whether to be impressed or terrified."

"Why not both?" Joshua suggested. "I'm leaning towards the 'Spin Cycle Spritzer' myself."

As they ordered their meals (Y/N chose the "Delicate Wash Delight," a surprisingly elegant salad, while Joshua went for the "Heavy Duty Burger"), they fell into easy conversation, recounting their favorite moments from the escape room.

"I still can't believe you managed to untangle that giant knot of sheets so quickly," Y/N said, shaking her head in admiration. "If laundry folding was an Olympic sport, you'd definitely take the gold."

Joshua felt his cheeks warm at the praise. "Well, I had a pretty great partner. Your sock puppet séance was a thing of beauty. I think you might have missed your calling as a laundry medium."

Y/N struck a dramatic pose. "What can I say? The spirits of lost socks speak to me. It's both a gift and a curse."

As their food arrived (served on plates designed to look like old-fashioned washboards), Joshua found himself marveling at how comfortable he felt. Here he was, in a ridiculous laundry-themed restaurant, with a woman he'd met only a few weeks ago, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"You know," Y/N said, pausing in her attack on her salad, "I have a confession to make."

Joshua felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "Oh?"

Y/N nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I don't actually do my laundry every Saturday."

Joshua blinked, processing this information. "You... don't?"

"Nope," Y/N said, popping the 'p'. "I usually do it on Sundays. But after we met that first time, I started coming on Saturdays. You know, just in case a certain software developer with a penchant for laundry emergencies happened to show up."

Joshua felt his jaw drop. "You mean... all this time..."

Y/N grinned. "Yep. Looks like we were both playing the 'accidental' meeting game. Although I have to say, your excuses were way more creative than mine. I just pretended to have a very messy lifestyle."

For a moment, Joshua was speechless. Then, he burst out laughing. "I can't believe it," he managed between chuckles. "Here I was, thinking I was being so clever."

Y/N joined in his laughter. "Hey, you were! I was impressed by your dedication. The paint excuse was particularly inspired."

As their laughter subsided, Joshua felt a wave of affection wash over him. "You know," he said softly, "you could have just asked for my number too."

Y/N's smile turned a bit shy. "I know. But where's the fun in that? Besides, I kind of liked our laundry day meetups. They were... special."

Joshua nodded, understanding completely. There was something magical about those Saturdays, something that might have been lost if they'd rushed into regular dating too quickly.

"Well," he said, raising his 'Spin Cycle Spritzer', "here's to laundry emergencies, escape rooms, and ridiculously themed restaurants."

Y/N clinked her 'Fabric Softener' against his glass. "And to new beginnings that smell like lavender detergent."

As they continued their meal, the conversation flowed easily from topic to topic. They discovered a shared love of obscure indie bands, debated the merits of various streaming services, and somehow ended up in a heated but good-natured argument about the best way to organize a bookshelf.

"I'm telling you," Y/N insisted, gesturing with a forkful of salad, "organizing by color is the way to go. It's aesthetically pleasing and makes your bookshelf look like a rainbow!"

Joshua shook his head, grinning. "But how do you find anything? What if you can't remember what color the book cover is?"

"That's half the fun!" Y/N exclaimed. "It's like a treasure hunt every time you want to read something."

As Joshua opened his mouth to retort, he was struck by a sudden realization. He could see himself having this exact debate years from now, in a shared apartment, surrounded by a mix of his meticulously organized books and Y/N's color-coded chaos. The thought should have terrified him - Joshua had always been cautious about relationships, preferring the safety of his orderly life. But instead, he felt a warm glow of contentment.

"Earth to Joshua," Y/N's voice broke through his reverie. "You okay there? You looked like you were a million miles away."

Joshua blinked, focusing back on Y/N's concerned face. "Sorry, I just... I was thinking about how much I'm enjoying this. Being here, with you."

Y/N's expression softened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Joshua confirmed. Then, gathering his courage, he reached across the table and took her hand. "I really like you, Y/N. And not just because you make laundry day the highlight of my week."

Y/N turned her hand in his, interlacing their fingers. "I really like you too, Joshua. Even if you do have terrible ideas about bookshelf organization."

They shared a laugh, the tension of the moment breaking into something warm and comfortable.

As they finished their meal and stepped out into the cool night air, Joshua felt a sense of possibility that he hadn't experienced in years. Whatever this thing was between him and Y/N, wherever it might lead, he knew one thing for certain: his life would never be the same.

"So," Y/N said as they walked, their hands still linked, "same time next week at the laundromat?"

Joshua pretended to consider this. "I don't know, I might be busy. You know, with all my abstract expressionist paintings and laundry emergencies."

Y/N nudged him playfully. "Come on, I'll even let you borrow my lucky sock."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?" Joshua said, grinning. Then, more seriously, "Although, maybe we could meet somewhere that doesn't involve washing machines next time? Not that I don't love our laundry adventures, but..."

"But it might be nice to see each other in a setting that doesn't smell like fabric softener?" Y/N finished for him.

"Exactly."

Y/N nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'd like that. Although I have to warn you, I may not be as charming without the backdrop of spin cycles and dryer sheets."

Joshua squeezed her hand gently. "Somehow, I doubt that."

As they reached the corner where they would have to part ways, Joshua felt a reluctance to let the evening end. "So, um, I'll text you? About our next non-laundry related hangout?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes twinkling. "You better. And who knows? If you play your cards right, I might even show you my color-coded bookshelf someday."

"I look forward to it," Joshua said, meaning it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life.

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to be the first to say goodbye. Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Joshua leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Y/N's cheek.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said softly as he pulled back, his heart racing.

Y/N's cheeks were flushed, but she was smiling wider than ever. "Goodnight, Joshua. Thanks for a wonderful evening."

As Joshua watched Y/N walk away, he touched his lips, still feeling the warmth of her cheek against them. He had come a long way from the man who had walked into Suds & Bubbles a few weeks ago, his life as orderly and predictable as his laundry routine.

Now, as he made his way home, Joshua felt as though his world had been turned upside down in the best possible way. His thoughts were a whirlwind of escape rooms and laundry puns, of shared laughter and intertwined fingers.

One thing was certain: Joshua Hong was falling, and falling hard. And for once in his life, he was perfectly happy to let the cycle run its course.

362 notes · View notes

royonninjago · 5 months ago

Text

The Ninja's Roles Within the Team

Something I think the various Ninjago shows do really well is the characterizations of each Ninja. If it was bad, then kids wouldn't wanna watch the show or buy the Lego sets to reenact their favorite moment and create new scenarios for the Ninja to go through.

However, for the past few years a problem I've had with the TV show is that some characters feel more... useful than others. Then there are moments when one character is missing, but the team seems to operate just fine without them, and I think that does a real disservice to the characters.

In contrast, take the ATLA episode "Sokka's Master". It's one of my favorites because it separates Sokka, the only non-bender in Team Avatar, from the rest of the team. The episode demonstrates to both us and the rest of Team Avatar why Sokka is essential to their team. Without him, they're bored, can't figure out where they are or where they're headed on a map, and are overall completely directionless. Its like the precursor to those dime a dozen fantasy mangas where the weak member of a dungeon divers gets fired and the rest of the party ends up deeply regretting it.

I want the Ninjago TV show to demonstrate to us why each member is essential to the Ninja Team, and why without one of them the Ninja Team is worse off or have to work twice as hard to compensate.

Dragons Rising had such a good opportunity to explore this, but unfortunately it seems like the biggest problem the Team faces from being separated across the merged realms is lack of manpower and not much else. In lieu of this, here are some of my ideas as to how each character could prove to be essential to the Ninja.

Lloyd - The Leader. This one is definitely the most obvious. He's had a very clear leadership role since he became the Green Ninja, and ever since Wu left this distinction has only gotten more pronounced. However, I do find myself wishing to see a bit more of a dark streak with him. He was originally introduced as an antagonist, and I don't know about y'all but I still find myself enjoying Three Days Grace ever since I played the Halo 3 campaign at a friend's house while listening to AMVs of their songs.

Kai - The Weapon Master. Although there was never anything to support this, I always thought that Kai made the weapons that the Ninja used in the pilots. He is a blacksmith, after all. I think it would be cool if this aspect was more leaned into and not only make him the guy that creates all the swords and throwing stars and whatever other simple weapons the Ninja use, but to also be the best one at using those weapons. A sword is obviously his go to, but put any kind of simple weapon in his hands and I think he'd be able to use it very well. Imagine how much cooler it would have been in season 11 if Kai managed to defeat Aspheera's sheer power with his incredible swordsmanship skills. It'd certainly tie into his arc that season much better than what we actually got.

Jay - The Scout. Remember that scene in the pilots where the Skulkin cars were trying to reach 88 mph or whatever and Jay was gaining on them just by running? The writers sure don't! Though in all seriousness, whenever the Ninja need to learn a new technique to do something, Jay always picks up on it really quickly. First to perform Spinjitzu and summon his Golden Weapon Vehicle, second to unlock his true potential, third to summon his Elemental Dragon, he managed to surprise Ronin when practicing Airjitzu, not to mention his laundry list of hobbies. If they really leaned into his speed, combining that with his skills as a Ninja would make him perfect for running ahead and reporting back on the enemy forces. In my own little world, I like to imagine him as a PG version of the Scout from TF2 (Jay even had a slight Boston accent in the pilots!).

Cole - The Muscle. This one is also fairly obvious due to Cole's signature Earth Punch, but I feel as though it should be noticed more when he's not around, especially in Master of the Mountain. If I'm remembering correctly, they don't fully acknowledge his absence until they're locked up in the Vengestone cage about to be executed. If I regularly hung out with a dude that could lift a car over his head, I'd be lamenting about his absence whenever I needed to lift a heavy box.

Zane - The Information Officer. Another obvious one, but in this case I feel as though they lean a bit too heavily into it. Yes, he's a robot and yes, it's his job to know things, but I want to see his more dorky and silly side from time to time. Give us more Zane following a bird because it danced and him just chilling (literally) in the fridge at midnight for no reason type of stuff. After all, his greatest fear is losing his humanity.

Nya - The Strategist. I feel as though on a 'don't judge a fish by it's ability to climb a tree' level, Nya is just as smart as Zane. Due to his physiology, Zane can hold much more raw information many times over Nya, but I feel as though Nya is much better at putting that information to use. Going back to Master of the Mountain (I realize I'm referencing it a lot, its still fresh in my mind), when Kai and Zane were lost, they relied entirely on the raw data from Zane's internal compass, and because of that they got lost and had to rely on Geckles capturing them to reach their settlement. On the other hand, when Lloyd, Jay, and Nya were lost, Nya was able to determine the location of the Munce settlement by searching for signs of life and finding footprints. Also, I think this characterization fits the Master of Water really well considering water adapts to whatever environment it resides in.

The new Ninja from Dragons Rising are still very inexperienced and still haven't really found their grooves within the team, but I'm still gonna try and analyze them here.

Arin - ???. Right now, Arin's main skills are his unique Spinjitzu skills and his talent with a grappling hook. Its still so early in his Ninja training that he hasn't really carved out a distinct role for himself, though I hope this changes as time goes on. Not too long ago I proposed a cool idea for his future if any of y'all wanna take a look at that here.

Sora - The Technical Specialist. While I don't enjoy the idea of PIXAL being replaced as the Ninja's primary vehicle builder, with Sora being the Elemental Master of Tech it seems very possible that this is where things are headed. Instead of that, I think it better for her to either focus on using her skills in the field or to specialize in Mechs. Both of these ideas come from the Elemental Mech mini-series. I thought the idea of switching up parts on a mech in the middle of a battle to be a fun concept and one giving credence to her being a Field Tech, and whenever she uses her Elemental Powers its for the purpose of creating or altering or fixing a mech about half of the time.

Wyldfyre - The Dragon Expert. Even before the Merge, the Ninja encountered Dragons a lot. Now that there are dragons seemingly everywhere, Wyldfyre seems like the perfect liaison for communicating with these dragons, assuming she can learn to cool off when its needed. She also seems to know a good amount about dragons, considering that she was easily able to identify the Wasting Sickness and make a soup to help ease the pain it caused. There's still a lot she needs to learn before anyone can consider her an expert, but with her love of dragons and the belief that she is one, I think she'd be more than willing to learn.

And there you have it. If you have any ideas or head cannons or questions surrounding this topic, I'd love to hear them!

#lego ninjago #lego ninjago dragons rising #ninjago #ninjago kai #ninjago jay #ninjago zane #ninjago cole #ninjago lloyd #ninjago nya #ninjago arin #ninjago sora #ninjago wyldfyre #dragons rising

113 notes · View notes

starshine-hockey-girl · 1 month ago

Text

My late addition to the Cellyfloshie Birthday Bingo. In my usual fashion, I am unable to write a short blurb. Instead, I wrote a 12k word prequel to The Crosby Crew. (Don't worry- I am going to post it in three more digestible parts)

My bingo was virginity, age gap, secret lovers, pining and meet cute. I threw in Inspired by too (My Big Fat Greek Wedding and a scene from Return to Me)

Many thanks as always to @pattiemac1 and @penstxgal1968 for the continuous support. Shout out to @couldawouldashoulda50 for helping find the dividing points.

Finally, thanks to @cellythefloshie for her patience and complete understanding of my verbosity. I hope you enjoy.

I don't think any warnings apply. It's pretty PG.

September 13th, 2014- Back of the house - Aphrodite’s Kitchen - Pittsburgh, PA

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” the bus boy called out as Sera entered the kitchen through the back door. She swept her long, brown hair up into a quick bun as she made her way to the office.

“Kostas,” she smiled, “Don’t antagonize me or I will make sure that you are the last one cut tonight.” He stopped in his tracks. He and she both knew that he had a standing date with his girlfriend every Saturday night.

“Come on, Sera,” Kostas called back, “Can’t I give you a hard time or are you too snobby now - Miss “I graduated from an Ivy League college”.

Sera pressed her lips together. Her decision to go to college to pursue a degree in business management and marketing did not go over well in her family. Well, at least, it didn’t in her extended family. The idea that Sera was not perfectly content to work in the restaurant her family had owned and operated for generations was patently absurd to her tight knit group of aunts, uncles and cousins. There were whispers that she thought she was too good for the family that had followed her since she decided to pursue her education. They simply could not understand why she didn’t want to find herself a nice Greek boy and settle down. It was an expectation that even her parents, Alexander and Sophia, clung to even if they supported her need to follow a different career path.

There was one person, however, that stood in Sera’s corner, no matter what. Her beloved Theía (aunt), Calliope, was her champion and idol. She was mysterious and flamboyant and marched to the beat of her drum. She, like Sera, had deviated from the chosen family career path when she opened up a travel agency after the death of husband, Alphonso. Everyone expected her to give up her dream when he died suddenly at a young age, but Calliope worked tirelessly to make it the “go to” among the Greek community. She specialized in travels to Greece and started taking Sera with her on location scouting trips when she was in high school. It was only natural for Sera to make the decision to pursue education that would allow her to help her aunt to take the agency to the next level.

Sera grimaced slightly and then put on a fake smile. “To answer your question, I am here because Calista went into labor.” Kostas turned to shout it to the rest of the crew. “Kostas!” she shouted, “Don’t announce it yet. You know that first babies take forever and you will get everyone in an uproar for nothing.” He knew from his many nieces and nephews that she was exactly correct. “Now let me get out there,’ she smiled.

Sera nodded to the other server, Marina, and looked over the dining room. Marina nodded to a table of four that had just sat down. Sera paused. The man that she could see looked familiar but she couldn't place him. She gathered her thoughts and approached the table. Two couples sat across from each - Marc-Andre Fleury and wife Vero along with Sidney Crosby and a random blonde, Michaela. Sera did a quick observation of the body language. It was clear that Marc-Andre and Vero were comfortable and relaxed. The other couple at the table, however, were the exact opposite. Sidney sat stiffly as Michaela droned on about the traffic and lack of valet at the restaurant. “What kind of restaurant doesn’t offer valet parking?” the blonde asked.

“Come on, Michaela,” Vero countered, “This is supposed to be the best Greek food in town. My hairdresser told me.”

Sera smiled, “Let me guess, Patricia sent you this way?” Vero nodded in agreement. “She’s married to my cousin, Theo. She is our biggest source of advertisement.” Sera noticed the subtle way that Michaela placed her hand on Sidney’s thigh. She also noticed how he looked down, pressed his lips together and glanced at Michaela before staring straight ahead again. “I am assuming this is your first visit here. Let me welcome you and formally introduce myself.”

Sidney turned his focus on the pretty brunette with kind eyes. There was something about her that put him at ease, opposed to the blonde beside him. Vero had spent months trying to convince him to go on a blind date with her Pilates instructor. He had broken up with his long-term girlfriend, Kathy, in the spring. When the relationship had died a slow, yet painless death, she started her campaign immediately and didn’t let up until he finally agreed two weeks before training camp. He had tried to keep an open mind, but it was obvious within a few minutes that this was not a love match. From the moment they shook hands outside the restaurant, everything about Michaela screamed high maintenance. It was the last thing that he wanted as he looked into a brand new season. “No,” he thought to himself as he listened to Sera speak, “I need someone low key. Someone like her.”

He was lost in thought when he felt the eyes of everyone at the table and Sera’s eyes on him. She smiled at him and repeated her question, “What would you like to drink?” He gulped and looked around the table, hoping it wasn’t obvious that he had been transfixed by her mouth.

“Do you have beer?” he asked shyly.

“Yes, what kind would you like?” she asked.

“I'm not picky.” he answered, “As long as it is cold.”

“Do you trust me?” Sera leaned forward and asked in a conspiratorial tone. Sidney nodded yes and suddenly felt flushed. “I will bring you my favorite. You'll love it.”

“I am sure I will,” Sidney smiled before Michaela cleared her throat loudly.

Sera nodded as she turned to Michaela. ”And what can I get you?”

Michaela looked around the restaurant and scrunched her nose, “Do you have bottled water?”

Sera inhaled sharply at the insulting question, “Of course we do.”

Michaela continued “I would like bottled water, I just don't want Swiss. I got sick on imported Swiss water once.” She looked to Sidney for sympathy. His eyebrows furrowed together as she spoke. He grew annoyed but he nodded sympathetically. She turned back to Sera who could barely contain her laughter. She said “As long as it's not Swiss or tap water, it'll be fine. Preferably, French.” Sera nodded in understanding. Michaela continued, “I'd like it cold, no ice, no glass, just the bottle and a straw.” Sidney and Sera exchanged a look before Michaela leaned forward in front of Sidney, “Do you need to write that down? Should I repeat it?”

Michaela turned to Vero, “They never get my order right at these places.”

Sera smiled sweetly, “I think I got it"

Michaela questioned, “Are you sure?”

Sera was about to spit out an answer when Sidney interjected, “I am pretty sure she got it.” She turned to walk away when Sidney reached out to touch her, gently putting his hand on her arm. Both of them felt a jolt of electricity that pulsed through their bodies. “Can I also get a glass of water? Any kind, no straw.” Sera nodded and raced away.

Sidney’s phone rang and he sheepishly got up. His mother spoke softly and he walked to the back of the restaurant to hear her. His Nanny Forbes had not been feeling well and his mother gave him the update from her doctor’s appointment. Sidney leaned against the back wall and looked up. HIs gaze landed onto Sera.

Sera emptied a bottle of Evian water into a sink and refilled it from the tap. As she replaced the cap, her eyes met Sidney’s. She blushed with the embarrassment of being caught. Sidney winked his approval and they shared a smile.

Sidney spoke to his mother, “Can you call me back in five minutes? Please?”

Sera returned to the table with the tray of drinks. She placed the two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc for the Fleurys in front of them. In front of Sidney, she placed a mug of Alfa Beer. She explained that it was a Greek import. Finally she placed the bottle of Evian and a straw in front of Michaela. She took a big drink of water.

“I bet that’s refreshing,” Sidney stated then he asked, “Was it just what you wanted?”

“Exactly the way I asked.,” Michaela responded as Sidney shared another look with Sera. Michaela spoke to Vero, “You know that you have to be exact with these people. Otherwise, they’ll just give you plain water from the tap. Can you imagine?” Sidney began to laugh. “What’s funny?” Michaela questioned.

“Nothing,” Sidney replied as a fit of giggles overtook him, “I’m just glad that your delicate sensibilities were not disturbed.”

As Sera began to take their food order, Sidney’s phone rang again. He got up and walked away. She tried to not eavesdrop as she put the orders in at the point of sale computer but she couldn’t help when she heard the distress in his voice.

“What do you mean? Taking Nanny to which hospital?” he questioned, “You said she was fine earlier.”

Sera stopped and studied his face. Sidney turned to return to the table but finished his conversation. “I’ll be on the first flight out,” he said as he hung up. After a quick explanation to Marc-Andre, Sidney turned to walk out of the restaurant.

Sera grabbed a to-go order sitting on the counter. “Kostas,” she yelled out, “What is this order?"

“It’s a greek salad with gyro meat, pastitsio and baklava,” he yelled back.

Sera grabbed and followed Sidney toward the exit. “Excuse me?” she called out to him. He turned to face her. “Take this,” she thrust the bag into his hands, “I don’t want you to go hungry.”

He took the package and said, “Are you sure? What do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house,” she replied with a smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” he hesitated before remembering that he needed to leave.

“It’s the least I can do,” she said quickly as he left, “I hope that your Nanny is okay.”. He turned around quickly and looked at her. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to my Yiayiá. I will pray for her.”

“Thank you,” he replied in a hushed tone, “I really appreciate it.”

Friday, October 3rd - Pittsburgh, PA

Sidney drove around aimlessly after practice. He was in a bit of a state of limbo that was between the end of preseason and the start of the regular season. To be honest, he was avoiding going home to an empty house to be alone with his thoughts. He was still processing the death of his beloved Nanny a week ago. He had been numb and going through the motions after returning from the funeral. No one had said anything but it had been noticed by his teammates, particularly Marc-Andre Fleury.

He stopped three cars back at a red light and looked around to get his bearings. The neighborhood looked familiar and it took a moment for him to place the memory. Then he saw the neon sign that confirmed his recollection. It was the Greek restaurant from before training camp - the one from the disastrous first date. Michaela, despite getting no response from Sidney, had continued to text. He laughed as he recalled the game of water switcheroo that the waitress played on her. “What was her name again?” he thought.

At that moment, he saw her as she walked down the street. However, the light had turned green and the car behind him honked. “Hold on there, buddy,” Sidney said to himself. He started to drive forward before he was overwhelmed with a desire to see her again. He made it a block and a half before he did a quick u-turn. “What are you doing?” he asked himself.

Fortunately, he found street parking right outside the restaurant. Sidney hopped out of the car. The reality of what he felt compelled to do hit him hard. “Crosby,” he said to himself again, “What are you doing?” The scene from Good Will Hunting flashed in his mind and he answered himself, “I am going to go see about a girl.” He flung the door open wide and entered the restaurant with confidence.

His eyes searched the dining room for her, but he couldn’t see her. He walked past Didi, the hostess who stared in stunned silence as THE Sidney Crosby walked past her. He walked to the back of the restaurant where he had observed her that night. He stopped short when he saw her. She stood with her back towards him but with her arms wrapped around the neck of a tall, muscular man. They shared a kiss that landed somewhere in the middle of passionate and platonic. Sidney stood in disbelief. He tried to will his body to move but it refused to budge.

Nicolas, the muscular man, caught sight of Sidney through his peripheral vision. “Can I help you?” he asked as Sidney stared intently, the heartbreak apparent on his face.

Sidney raced outside the restaurant and paced. His heart raced and his face flushed with embarrassment. “WTF?” he asked himself, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey Crosby!” a middle aged man yelled from across the street, “Give ‘em hell this season.”

Sidney gave a short wave and started walking down the block. He made it about 100 yards before he reached the edge of the Westinghouse Memorial Garden. In all of his years in Pittsburgh, he had never been inside of it. “What the hell?” he told himself before he entered the park. He walked around aimlessly and allowed the serenity of the park to ease his mind.

Internally, he questioned his reaction to seeing The Girl in the arms of another man. He didn’t even know her name even though he was sure that she had introduced herself. What he did remember was the mischief in her eyes and the smile that lit up the room. He kicked himself for not remembering her name. He kicked himself for leaving the restaurant without getting her number. “What did that matter, Crosby?” he asked himself, “Clearly she is unavailable.”

He found himself standing in front of the Westinghouse statue. He looked at it for the first time. He studied the details and reached out to touch it. Somehow, touching it would ease the anxiety and pain.

“Fancy meeting you here.” Sera called from the bench behind him, “How is your Nanny?”

Sidney spun around. Sera sat serenely on the bench and smiled at him. He stood still and tried to process what was happening. “How is she here?” he thought to himself. He left her in the restaurant. He left her in the arms of another man. Then he noticed Sera’s colorful sundress. She hadn’t been wearing that at the restaurant. “Wait,” he thought, “how could she have changed clothes.”

Sera watched as his face contorted and processed his thoughts. Mistakenly, she interpreted his lack of response as a sign that he didn’t remember her. She looked down in embarrassment.

“How did you get here?” he asked breathlessly.

“I’ve been here. I watched you walk up from that way,” she answered before standing up, “I am sorry I disturbed you.”

“No, I just saw you now….. At the restaurant,” he interjected.

Sera studied his face, “You didn’t see me. You must have seen my sister. I have been here for a while.”

“Your sister?” he asked meekly.

“Twin actually,” Sera smiled.

“You have a twin?” Sidney asked, suddenly aware of the possible mistaken identity, “You have a twin?”

“Wait, so you do remember me?” Sera suddenly realized.

“Of course I remember you,” Sidney replied, “You made an impression.”

“Hopefully a good one,” she blushed.

“The best one……:” he started to say her name and realized again that it had escaped his memory. He stepped toward and she stood up. “I am embarrassed that I forgot your name.”

“Sera Pappas,” she grinned, “I never got your name by the way.”

Sidney stared at her for a moment. “My name?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, your name,” Sera replied, “You do have a name, right?”

“You really don’t know my name?” he asked.

“Should I know it?” Sera answered bluntly.

Sidney blinked and processed her words. He smiled, “I don’t guess you should, but it’s Sidney….. Sidney Crosby.”

Sera tilted her head, “Like the hockey player?”

Sidney shook his head, “Not like….. The hockey player.”

“No shit,” Sera’s hand went to her mouth, “You’re the hockey player, Sidney Crosby?”

“The one and only - at least as far as I know,” he grinned at her expression.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Each of them grinned stupidly. Finally Sera spoke, “So you were at the restaurant? Why?”

“I am not entirely sure,” he blushed, “I think to find you.”

Sera tucked her hair behind her ear, “To find me? Why? Do you need some non-Swiss, preferably French bottled water?”

“With a straw, please,” he answered.

“Follow me, Mr. Crosby,” she teased.

Together they walked through the park. “Are you not working today?” he asked as they walked.

“No, I am on my lunch break,” she answered, “I like to come here to clear my head."

“Ahhhh,” he responded, “I guess the restaurant can get annoying.”

Sera stopped in her tracks, “I don’t work at the restaurant.”

Sidney stopped, “Yes, you do. That’s where we met, remember?"

“Yes, I remember. How could I forget Michaela?” she grinned.

Sidney winced at the memory of the blonde, “Then I am confused.”

“Calista, my sister, went into labor that night so I took her spot,” Sera answered matter of factly.

“So where do you work?” Sidney asked as they began walking again.

“Currently, I am working at my aunt’s travel agency,” she laughed, “Once I get that into the 21st century, I will move onto my uncle’s insurance agency. Who knows from there?”

Sidney was filled with questions for her. He wanted to know everything that there was about her life. They walked in comfortable silence before they paused at the entry to the park. Sera glanced at him. “You never answered my question, by the way.”

“Your question?” Sidney tried to remember what her question might have been.

“How is your Nanny?” Sera asked again, “You were going to fly to see her?”

Sidney looked down and kicked an imaginary rock on the sidewalk. “She….” Sidney struggled to find the words, “She……” Sera looked on with concern. “She died,” Sidney finally spit out.

Sera’s hand went to her mouth momentarily, “Oh no! I am so sorry. I feel horrible for asking.”

“It’s okay. You had no way of knowing,” he started to assure her.

Suddenly she ran and leapt into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Sidney. I am so sorry, Sidney.”

His arms wrapped around her instinctively and inhaled her scent. She squeezed him tight as if it was the most natural thing on earth to do. He held onto her as the tears slid down his face. She kept repeating herself and he clung to the words. Slowly after a minute, he sat her feet back down on the ground. Without thinking, he kissed her forehead then stepped back, “I’m sorry. I should have asked.

“No, it’s fine. I would have said yes,” she looked at him shyly. “I am really sorry to hear about your Nanny,” she said without thinking and added, “I would love to hear about her some time.”

“How about over dinner?” Sidney blurted out.

“When?” Sera shocked him with her answer.

“Tonight?” he asked hopefully.

“Okay,” she smiled before she pulled away a bit, “You can pick me up at work.” She looked at the restaurant before she spoke, “I really need to get back to work now. Can we skip the water? Do you think that you will survive? You won’t dehydrate, will you?”

“I think I’ll survive - just barely,” Sidney jested, “Can I pick you up at 5:30?”

Sera paused. She wanted to be sure that her aunt was gone when he arrived. The last thing she wanted was to set the family group chat on fire for a first date. “Let’s say six instead,” she suggested.

“Works for me,” he started to walk backwards to his car. Sera mirrored his backwards walk as she headed back down the street to work. Sera paused and watched him get into his car. She tried to wipe the goofy grin off of her face, but it was an impossible task.

Once he was safely in his car, she turned to walk back to the travel agency storefront. After a minute, she got the sense that she was being followed. She turned to look behind her and saw nothing. Then she saw his car in her peripheral vision. She stopped and turned to the street. “Mr. Crosby,” she called out, “Are you following me?”

“Maybe,” he called back.

“Why?” she stepped toward his car and ignored the irritated driver in the car behind him.

“Multiple reasons,” he shot back. He too was aware of the car behind him that impatiently waited.

“Such as,” she smirked.

“One, I need to know where to pick you up later, “ he explained. Sera blushed at forgetting to tell him.

“You’re a resourceful one,” she smiled, “and the other reason.”

“I want to make sure that you got there safely,” he said while looking her directly in the eye.

“Oh,” she replied, “Anything else?”

“Just admiring the view,” he teased, “It’s a mighty fine view.”

Sera turned around and began to walk again. She moved her hips in an exaggerated sashay movement. When she arrived at Apollo Adventures, she turned to wave at Sidney before going in.

Her aunt looked up from her desk. “Who did you wave to?” she asked, “Anybody that I know?”

Sera blushed, “No - it’s nobody that you know.”

#sidney crosby x oc #the crosby crew #nhl fic #nhl imagine #cellysbingo2024

21 notes · View notes

serenelystrange · 2 months ago

Text

Summary:

“I think maybe I am actually allergic to bee stings,” Eddie says, before collapsing into a heap. In which they've survived the bee-nado, only to feel the sting of the aftermath. Or, how Eddie almost dying (again) dominoes into them finally getting out of their own way, and into happiness!

Rating: G / PG

Post-Season/Series 07, Post-Canon, Near Death Experiences, Fluff, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, First Kiss, Love is stored in the kitchen, Humor

At AO3, or below the cut.

Feedback is love and always appreciated! <3

Notes:

Screw that one NPR dude, bee-nado is freaking delightful.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“Hey, guys?”

The team turns at the sound of Eddie’s strangled voice, simultaneous expressions of horror dawning as they take in the red welts springing up all over his face.

“I think maybe I am actually allergic to bee stings,” Eddie says, before collapsing into a heap.

“Eddie!” Buck says, darting forward and just barely managing to keep his head from slamming into the concrete. He lowers Eddie down gently and leans in, hearing the raspy wheezing coming from his rapidly closing throat.

“Shit, he can’t breathe. Do we have any Epipens left?”

“On it,” Hen says, crouching down with Buck and pulling the pen from her medic bag.

“Good thing he already lost the turnouts,” Chim says, eyeing Eddie with concern. “I’ll get the stretcher. Come help me, Buck?”

“No,” Buck says quietly but with no room for argument, attention completely focused on Eddie.

“I’ll help,” Bobby says, hurrying off with Chim to get the prepped for the hospital.

“Sorry, bud,” Hen says to Eddie as she slams the pen down into his thigh, holding her breath the whole time she’s holding the plunger down.

“Come on,” Buck whispers urgently, meeting Eddie’s panicked eyes with a matching gaze. “You’re not letting bees take you out after everything you’ve been through.”

Eddie gasps for air as the medicine kicks in, twitching up with the adrenaline roughly.

“Easy,” Buck soothes, cradling the back of Eddie’s head and helping him up into a sitting position slowly. “Just breathe, you’re ok.”

Hen doesn’t even bother trying to get Buck to move, she just works around him, feeling Eddie’s throat and making sure he isn’t going to die en-route to the hospital.

“I’m ok,” Eddie rasps, closing his eyes and leaning back into the hand now cupping his neck for just a moment. “Thanks,” he says to Hen, gratefully. “That would have been such a shitty eulogy.”

“Nobody wants to see Buck cry through a whole speech,” Hen agrees, lightly. “Now up and at ‘em, let’s get you to the hospital.”

Eddie stands shakily as Chim and Bobby wheel up the stretcher, and groans.

“I can walk and sit in the bus,” he protests.

“I will carry you,” Buck warns.

“I’m a dad, too,” Chim adds, “don’t make me pull the dad voice on you.”

“Fine,” Eddie huffs. “But I want it noted that I’m operating under duress.”

“Duly noted,” Bobby says dryly. “Now can we please go to the hospital?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but finally does as he’s told.

“Finally,” Eddie says hours later, when they’ve finally released him to his ride home.

From the driver’s seat of the Jeep, Buck frowns over at him.

“You almost died,” he says. “Again. I’d be upset if they didn’t want to observe you for a while.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Not your fault,” Buck says, shrugging. “But you couldn’t see your face swelling up, Eds. It was scary as hell.”

“Thanks for stopping me from cracking my head open, by the way,” Eddie says. “I didn’t remember until everything wore off, but I definitely should have hit the ground harder than I did.”

“Just glad I was fast enough,” Buck says, grinning. “Score one for lighting-quick reflexes.”

Eddie just groans.

“See what I did there?” Buck asks, in a much better mood now that Eddie isn’t in anaphylaxis.

Eddie sighs. “Can we please just go home? I need a hot shower and a drink.”

“Can’t get warm?” Buck guesses, already pulling off his soft hoodie before Eddie finishes nodding.

“It’s probably not the freshest,” Buck admits as he hands it over, “but it’s warmer than your t-shirt anyway.”

“You can just put the heat up,” Eddie laughs, “you don’t have to literally give me the clothes off your back for a thirty minute drive.”

“Shut up,” Buck huffs. “I’ll do both. Just wear the hoodie so I’m not worried about you freezing the whole way home.”

“Fine, fine,” Eddie says, pulling it on and snuggling into the cozy material happily before buckling his seatbelt.

“Still warm,” he says, giving Buck a quick thankful look and shoving his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie.

“Good,” Buck says, before finally turning the car on and heading home.

“We didn’t have time to get a whole cake,” Hen says on their next shift. “But that new bakery down the block did have these…”

Eddie groans as she opens the box to reveal a few dozen bee-shaped cake pops.

“No bad puns?” he laughs. “I’m sure there’s a death-by-bee related joke in there somewhere.”

“Buck vetoed it,” Chim says. “Apparently ‘near-death experiences aren’t something to joke about, Howard.’”

“Since when?” Hen says, amused. “That’s kind of our whole thing after these ridiculous situations.”

“You’d be upset if someone joked about Karen almost dying,” Ravi says, joining the conversation and grabbing a cake pop with a happy hum.

“You weren’t even there!” Chim says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“And Karen is my wife,” Hen says. “That’s different.”

“Is it though?” Ravi asks.

His sharp brown eyes look directly into Eddie’s soul for just a moment before he grabs another cake pop and scampers off.

“What the hell,” Eddie says, looking at Hen and Chim’s amused faces with wide eyes.

“Go find Buck before he gets emo,” Chim says, handing him two cake pops. “He probably needs some sugar anyway.”

“And the cake pops,” Hen adds, mildly.

They leave before Eddie can even argue.

“Bzzz, bzzz,” Eddie says in greeting, finding Buck on the little couch they usually play video games on, staring off into space.

“Hilarious,” Buck says, dryly.

“We gotta laugh,” Eddie says, handing Buck one of the cheery yellow cake pops. “Or we’d probably never stop crying.”

“I know,” Buck says, sighing and moving over so that Eddie has room to sit beside him. “I’m just in a mood I guess.”

“It happens,” Eddie says, easily, polishing off the treat in a few bites and putting the stick on the coffee table to deal with later. “That’s actually really good.”

“I’m not hungry,” Buck sighs, offering Eddie the cake pop back.

Eddie takes it and puts it on the table before looking at Buck with concern.

“Not hungry?” he asks, reaching out to touch Buck’s forehead with the back of his hand. “You burn like a million calories a day, you should be starving.”

“I’m not sick,” Buck says, frowning at Eddie’s hand as he pulls it away.

“Then what’s up?” Eddie asks.

“It’s dumb,” Buck says, quietly, looking at the floor in front of them.

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “But you should still tell me.”

“Tommy broke up with me,” Buck says after a long moment of consideration.

Eddie hums in sympathy and gives him an encouraging nod.

“Through text,” Buck adds, and Eddie hisses out a breath.

“Ouch,” he says, “that’s rough.”

“It’s whatever,” Buck says, finally looking up from the floor and over at Eddie. “I mean, we weren’t that serious yet or anything. But it was nice. And turns out, getting dumped by a guy sucks just as much as getting dumped by a girl.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, “he’s an idiot for breaking up with you. It’s his loss.”

“Maybe,” Buck allows, giving Eddie a wry grin. “He probably won’t want to fly you out to super violent half-naked sports now, though. So like, sorry about that.”

“You know,” Eddie muses with an amused grin. “Somehow, I think I’ll survive. As long as I don’t run into another 100 bees.”

“I hate you so much,” Buck says, torn between laughing and groaning.

“Nah,” Eddie says, leaning in until their shoulders are pressed together. “I’m your favorite. At least until Chris comes back. If he comes back.”

“He will,” Buck says, firmly. “If he doesn’t give in by the end of August I’m going to drive out there myself and get him.”

“Please don’t kidnap my son, Buck,” Eddie laughs. “The Texas cops won’t give you as much leeway as Athena.”

“It’s not kidnapping if I’m bringing him back to his father,” Buck huffs. “It’s a rescue mission.”

“He just needs some time,” Eddie says. “Hopefully. I’m trying not to catastrophize here, you’re gonna have to meet me halfway.”

“What’s halfway to El Paso?” Buck asks.

“Somewhere in Arizona, probably,” Eddie says, thoughtfully. “But I meant more emotionally.”

“I can multi-task,” Buck says, before closing his eyes and resting his head on the back out the couch, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Eddie’s wrist.

“I’m really glad you’re ok,” he says, swallowing around the wobble in his voice.

“Me, too,” Eddie says.

He’s surprised to find that he actually means it.

Chris comes home the second week of August, and graciously allows Eddie to hug him for almost an entire minute before squirming away and asking what they’re having for dinner.

“I haven’t gotten groceries this week yet,” Eddie admits, looking around at a whole lot of random ingredients that require too much effort for his currently mental capacity.

“Is Buck ok?” Chris asks, worriedly. “Is that why he’s not here?”

“What?” Eddie asks, before reassuring him. “No, Buck’s fine. He’s just working, he was gonna come by tomorrow after his shift to see you.”

“Oh,” Chris says, sighing in relief. “Good. I thought he stopped getting our groceries cuz he got hurt or something.”

“I buy our groceries, Mijo,” Eddie laughs. “We just shop together sometimes. Buck needs food at his house too, you know.”

“Dad,” Chris says, looking at him with one impressively raised eyebrow. “Do you even know where the waffle mix is?”

“Uhh,” Eddie hedges, eyes landing on the pantry doors. “In the pantry, obviously.”

Chris rolls his eyes.

“We don’t have waffle mix,” he says. “Buck makes the batter with actual ingredients.”

“Waffle mix is ingredients,” Eddie argues lightly, “just all mixed up already.”

“I’m going back to Texas,” Chris drawls, before giving Eddie a sheepish look. “Too soon?”

“You’re a brat,” Eddie says, ruffling his hair. “And I love you more than anything in the world. But yeah, maybe we don’t joke about you running away again for at least a year, ok?”

“Fiiine,” Chris says. “Now about dinner…”

Eddie laughs and pulls up his phone, handing it over to Chris to choose somewhere to order from.

His baby is back, they deserve the treat.

“Chris!” Buck shouts the next evening, letting himself into Eddie’s house and heading straight for the boy, scooping him right off the couch and into a gently bone crushing embrace.

“Buuuuck,” Chris whines as he laughs. “I’m too big to pick up!”

“Never,” Buck says, grinning. “If you ever get as big as me, I’m just gonna have to get stronger so I can keep carrying you.”

“You already bust out of all your sleeves,” Eddie says, watching the scene with soft eyes. “You better just let him love you, Chris. For the sake of t-shirts everywhere.”

“He can love me and put me down,” Chris says.

“If you insist,” Buck says, making a show of dramatically placing him back on the couch. “I just missed you, kid.”

“Missed you, too,” Chris says. “Can I watch TV now?”

“I see how it is,” Buck laughs, shaking his head and following Eddie into the kitchen, leaving Chris to his own devices.

“Teenagers, man. Ouch.”

“Brutal,” Eddie agrees, grinning.

“And yet you look happy as a clam,” Buck laughs.

“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, shrugging minutely. “My kid is back where he should be. That’s enough happy to last a few weeks at least.”

“Yeah, it is,” Buck says, clinking the beer bottle Eddie had handed him against the one in Eddie’s hand.

They sip their drinks in comfortable silence, and Buck can’t help but think back to that night in his kitchen years ago. It was different then, more frustration than relief, but a thrill all the same. He’d been so sure Eddie was going to hit him, he’d practically begged for it, really.

“I, uh,” Buck says, keeping his voice low so Chris doesn’t eavesdrop. “Remember when you were Mr. super secret fight club, and we were still pissed at each other?”

“In your kitchen?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer. “I remember, yeah. Why?”

He takes another long sip of his beer, watching with interest as Buck’s eyes follow the movement of his throat as he swallows.

“I think I was flirting with you,” Buck says in a rush. “I just didn’t realize it.”

“Hmm,” Eddie says, nodding and taking one last swallow of his drink before putting it on the counter. “Yeah, that makes sense. You were pretty, uh,” he makes a vague hand gesture, “crotch-forward with the swaggering.”

“Not on purpose,” Buck says, blushing pink. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says. “Pretty sure I was flirting back.”

Buck freezes, giving Eddie an incredulous look.

“And you didn’t say anything?” he asks. “For five years??”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, “it’s been a crazy few years. I couldn’t handle a sexuality crisis on top of it.”

“Oh,” Buck says, before his eyes widen in realization. “But you can now?”

“I think so,” Eddie says, turning to face Buck fully. “The single women of Los Angeles will be relieved.”

“What about the men?” Buck asks, laughing softly at Eddie and his terrible dating history.

“I only care about one of them,” Eddie says. “And he’s standing a foot away from me at the moment, so I guess I should ask him that question.”

“Oh,” Buck says again, before smiling sappily. “I’m also really relieved you’ll no longer be terrorizing the hearts of L.A. women.”

“Just yours?” Eddie asks, dropping his gaze to Buck’s lips. “Do you think it’s worth the risk?”

Buck kisses him instead of answering, pressing him gently against the counter and cages him in with his arms, catching his startled gasp against his lips.

Eddie murmurs something that Buck can’t make out, but it’s not stop, so he doesn’t. Eddie grabs his waist and pulls him closer as he returns the kiss, fingers hooking into the belt loops of Buck’s worn jeans to hold him in place.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Eddie says when they pull apart, staring at one another and catching their breath.

“You’re always worth the risk,” Buck says, stealing another quick kiss. “Every time.”

Eddie grins bright and joyful, and Buck feels his breath catching at the sight.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says with awe. “But I’m so glad you don’t have that awful mustache anymore.”

“Rude,” Eddie laughs, punching Buck’s shoulder playfully before tugging him into another kiss.

They can argue about facial hair another day.

By the time they make it back to the living room, Chris is scrolling tik-tok, a 70’s show dubbed in Spanish playing on the TV in the background.

“The Incredible Hulk?” Eddie asks, watching the green-painted man with bad hair and cringing. “This does not hold up, yikes.”

“Mark Ruffalo is way better,” Chris agrees. “I thought this one would be fun in Spanish, though.”

“Well,” Buck says, giving the screen a dubious look. “Some things are bad in any language.”

Chris dissolves into giggles at his solemn tone, and that sets Eddie off into laughter, until Buck is left staring between them both and their matching squinty faces, shaking his head with amusement.

He’s never been happier.

The End

Notes:

Hope you like!

#buddie #buddie fic #buck x eddie #evan buckley x eddie diaz #911 fic

21 notes · View notes

mitsde123 · 5 months ago

Text

Exploring Career-Enhancing PG Courses in Maharashtra with MITSDE

In the bustling educational landscape of Maharashtra, MIT School of Distance Education (MITSDE) stands out as a premier institution offering a diverse range of postgraduate (PG) courses tailored to meet the dynamic needs of today’s professional environment. Located in Mumbai, the heart of Maharashtra’s economic and cultural hub, MITSDE empowers students with flexible and accessible online learning programs that pave the way for career advancement and personal growth.

#PG programs #PG in Project Management #PG in Operations Management #Supply Chain Management #PG in Finance #PG in Material Management #PG in Construction and Project Management #online PG programs #online learning #PG course #PG courses

0 notes

runnning-outof-time · 2 years ago

Text

The Good I’ll Do | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - written for @sunsetbeachesandwriting ‘s 500 Follower Celebration

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy and (Y/N) finally step over the line after the celebration of the legal betting license that was given to the family.

Warnings: drinking, smoking, roaming hands and heavy kissing (pg-13 rated)

Word Count: 2458

A/N: this was such a fun story to write. I chose the prompt: “What's going on inside that head of yours?” and also drew inspiration from the song The Good I’ll Do by Zach Bryan. Congratulations on your milestone! Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

Drinks were flowing at the Garrison, everyone was in good spirits. Tommy had managed to get the family a legal betting license, which meant that the operation that was run out of their Watery Lane home was on the verge of an expansion. Things were looking up, and to (Y/N), it felt like they'd won the lottery and become millionaires. No one could touch the Shelbys now.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) had known the Shelby family for several years now. She met them through Martha, John's late wife, who was her good friend. When she passed, (Y/N) stayed, feeling like the Shelbys were her people; like she belonged with them. She helped out at the shop, running the papers and checking the books alongside Polly, and had quickly become an integral part of both the business and the family.

"Another one, (Y/N)?" Polly questioned as she walked over to the booth the younger woman was sitting in with two glasses in her hands.

"Can't say no, can I?" (Y/N) teased with a grin, accepting the glass as Polly sat down next to her.

"I've already poured it," the older woman grinned, sipping on her drink.

(Y/N) mirrored her, her eyes falling on the boys again. They were over at the bar, talking animatedly about something, smiles on each of their faces. She was happy to see them smile again. Life after the war was tough on each of them in their own way.

Arthur struggled with keeping his head right, and at times he'd have trouble keeping himself, and his actions, in check. John came home to four kids to watch over, and he was having trouble settling into that role without a woman by his side. And then there was Tommy. Tommy kept everything in and focused every bit of himself on bettering the family business. It paid off, but (Y/N) was able to see what it cost him.

She'd be lying if she said that she didn't feel something each time she looked at him. There was something in the way he held himself; the way that he put himself on the line for his family, that sparked something within her.

Seeing him smile now as they celebrated their moving up in the world made her the most happy. Maybe now he'd slow down.

"It's good to see them happy," she voiced her thoughts to Polly after a few moments had passed.

"It's well deserved," Polly agreed with a nod, a smile on her face. "They'll be happy tonight and then go back to work tomorrow." (Y/N) nodded along, her eyes focused on the three.

—

Some time later, (Y/N) was ready to leave. She finished whatever was in her glass before she pulled the sleeves of her jacket over her shoulders. Things had settled down as the night went on, and now only the Shelby family and some remaining patrons were left in the bar. Harry was working on straightening everything up and the barmaid, Grace (Y/N) remembered her name to be, was still working the bar.

After grabbing her purse, (Y/N) looked around the room. Polly was still sitting with the man she'd taken a shine to. They were in a booth across the room talking about something. What?…(Y/N) did not know. John and Arthur were in the bag, both of them slouched back in the booth that was behind (Y/N)'s. Tommy had gone into the snug to get away from the noise some time ago, and (Y/N) had no doubt that he was still in there.

She made her way over to the side room's door before heading out the main one. She opened the door wide enough to peek her head through, seeing Tommy sitting in his usual chair, reading the paper with a cigarette between his fingers. He looked over in (Y/N)'s direction when he heard the door open. "I'm going home. I just wanted to say goodbye," she told him her reason behind her presence.

Tommy nodded before he set the paper down on the table and stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray. "I'll walk you home," he announced as he stood from the chair.

"Oh, Tommy, you don't..."

"I was leaving anyway," he cut her off before she was able to decline his offer.

"Are...are you sure?" she asked, frozen as Tommy walked to the door so that he could open it wider.

"That I was leaving? Yes, (Y/N), I'm sure," he answered her with a slight grin on his face, waiting for her to step out of the way so that he could exit the snug. "Let's go," he nodded towards the door then, and all (Y/N) could do was nod back before she allowed him to make the first move. She fell in line beside him then and they exited the tavern.

— —

"This is mine," (Y/N) said as she and Tommy walked up the steps towards her apartment.

"I know, (Y/N)," Tommy responded, his words making her giggle, "I've been here before."

She took hold of the door handle then, surprised that she was able to insert the key and turn it to unlock the door on the first try. Before opening the door, she turned to look at Tommy again. "I just wanted to tell you in case you forgot," she informed him, her words making him chuckle as he heard them. She held his eyes for a moment then, her insides fluttering at the feeling of being trapped under his gaze. "Do you want to come in?" she asked him then, her voice softer than before.

"Would you let me?" Tommy responded with a question his own, his voice dropping to meet the volume she used.

"I asked you, didn't I?" she pointed out, unable to keep the smile from forming on her face as she giggled slightly.

"You did," he agreed with her, pursing his lips as he tried to hide his smile.

"Come in, Tommy," she whispered, her smile full now as she turned the handle and opened the door to her apartment. Like she'd asked, Tommy followed her, shutting the door behind him before he turned to watch (Y/N) as she took off her coat.

(Y/N), aware of his eyes on her, concentrated on what she was doing so that she didn't make a fool out of herself. She slipped her arms out of her coat, but got caught before she was able to get it completely off of her body. Instead of finding the problem, she began shaking her arms in hopes that she'd fix it. In the midst of her movements, she found that her purse was still on her shoulder and that she’d managed to get the strap caught the coat's arm. She stopped her struggle and placed the purse on the table so that she'd be able to take the coat off successfully. She heard Tommy chuckle once she was finished. "What?" she asked him, turning to face him as her cheeks heated up.

"You're beautiful," he told her, the corner of his lips quirked upwards in a grin.

"I think the proper statement would be 'you're drunk'," she pointed out, giggling slightly as her cheeks got even warmer. She was surely blushing at this point.

"It always affects you in beautiful ways," he told her, his grin growing because he was able to see how she was reacting to his words. She looked away from him then, knowing full-well that his eyes were still focused on her. She didn't know what to do, or say, but she couldn't deny that the feelings she had towards him had now been kicked into overdrive.

Several silence filled moments passed before (Y/N) looked over to Tommy again. It didn't surprise her that he was still looking at her. His gaze hadn't moved from when they finished speaking. She tried to keep herself composed as she opened her mouth to speak again. "Will you stay?" she asked, timidness now apparent in her voice.

Tommy tried to hide his smile again, his eyes shifting to the far wall for a moment before they found hers again. "I'll sleep on the floor," he answered her question.

(Y/N) smiled at his response and walked the few steps between them so that she was standing in front of him. She looked down at his hands before she took them into hers, immediately noticing the calloused nature of them as they wrapped around hers completely. She then let her eyes rise up his body until they found his again, and she noticed how he was trying to keep himself composed. For a moment, she wondered if he felt the same way inside as she did right now. Her heart was racing, but the feeling of his hands holding hers grounded her.

She searched his eyes for a moment longer, almost drowning in their blueness before she spoke again, "I'm proud of you, Tommy," she told him, her voice just above a whisper.

Tommy heard her loud and clear due to their closeness and her words, combined with the feeling of her hands in his, made him gain the confidence to jump over the edge and into the unknown. Time seemed to slow down as his gaze flitted down to her lips before coming back up again.

Nothing else needed to be said. They both knew what would happen next. (Y/N)'s hands left his and moved to the sides of his torso at the same time that his hands rose to take hold of her cheeks. Tommy then closed the gap between them, dropping his lips onto hers in a haste kiss, one that immediately had tongues clashing and hands roaming in hopes to find a place to purchase and hold onto.

"Tommy," she gasped as his lips left hers and trailed down her jaw to find a new spot on her neck. Her hands moved underneath his jacket, blindly working to unbutton his waistcoat so that she could get to the collared shirt that was underneath it.

"I know," he mumbled against his skin, gently pulling on the sleeve of her dress so that he'd be able to kiss her collarbone. She'd just managed to unbutton his shirt when he lifted her up and moved her over to the table. Her dress got hiked up towards her waist and his hands moved from the swell of her hips to the exposed area of thighs, her skin turning white under the path that his nails took.

Moving her hands from his sides, (Y/N) took hold of Tommy's face, making him raise his eyes to hers again. Nothing was said between them. They just smiled at each other, the both of them knowing exactly what the other was thinking. After so many instances of toying with the invisible line that stood between them, they'd finally crossed it. And now that they had, neither wanted to go back.

(Y/N)'s eyes dropped to his lips this time, and she didn't even try to be coy about it. Instead of finding his eyes again, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, kissing him slower and deeper this time; savoring the feeling of his lips on hers. Tommy wrapped arms around her waist again, allowing him to pull her flush against his body. (Y/N) squeaked at the movement before following it with a sigh of content. There was no place she'd want to be more in her life from now on than where she was right now.

—

"What's going on inside that head of yours?" (Y/N) asked Tommy as she ran her hand lazily through his hair. They'd moved to her bed and were now practically laying on top of each other due to its small size. Tommy had taken off his upper layers, leaving him in his undershirt with the suspenders he was once wearing hung loosely off of his trousers. (Y/N) was still in her dress, although it was now slightly disheveled from her trying to find a comfortable position...it was tough having two people on a bed meant for one.

"Hmm?" he hummed in response, his eyes still focused on the ceiling.

"You're thinking of something...I can tell," she told him as she rolled slightly so that she could see him better. He turned his head slightly as she moved, his eyes hooking onto hers for the umpteenth time that night. "What are you thinking, Tommy?" she asked him softly after a few moments had passed.

He didn't speak right away, and instead reached up to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face. His actions made her cheeks heat up and bashful giggles escape her lips. "I don't want to hide anymore...I need someone who I can be with for more than just a night," he told her as he ran the back of his hand down her cheek again. (Y/N)'s heart felt like it was going to burst at his admission, but she wasn't able to say anything in response because Tommy had put a slight pressure on her cheek, physically telling her that he wanted her face closer to his. "Tell me that you need me, (Y/N)," he breathed against her lips, just barely touching them as he spoke.

"I need you," she whispered back without hesitation before she closed the gap and kissed him again.

Their kiss was languid and only lasted a few moments before Tommy pulled back again. "There's so much good I'll do with you by my side," he told her, speaking with an honesty she'd never heard from him before, "this license is just the beginning," he added before matching his lips to hers again. They shared a few more lazy kisses before pulling away again.

A wordless smile was shared before (Y/N) dropped her head down on his chest. Silence fell around them as (Y/N) closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the lines Tommy was tracing on her back as his heart beated steadily against her ear.

Neither knew how much time had passed before Tommy spoke again. His voice was soft, but (Y/N) heard him loud and clear: "I feel like I'm new when I'm with you, (Y/N)." It sounded like it was a sleepy confession, one that a person would say when they thought their partner was asleep, so she let it stay at that. Although she couldn't help but smile at his admission. What he probably didn't know was that she felt the exact same way.

Tagged: @mgcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @lora21 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @dragons-are-my-favorite @sunsetbeachesandwriting

MASTERLIST

Listen to the song The Good I’ll Do by Zach Bryan

HERE.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

485 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

Podcasting "Let the Platforms Burn"

This week on my podcast, I read “Let the Platforms Burn,” a recent Medium column making the case that we should focus more on making it easier for people to leave platforms, rather than making the platforms less terrible places to be:

https://doctorow.medium.com/let-the-platforms-burn-6fb3e6c0d980

The platforms used to be source of online stability, and many argued that by consolidating the wide and wooly web into a few “curated” silos, the platforms were replacing chaos with good stewardship. If we wanted to make the internet hospitable to normies, we were told, we had to accept that Apple and Facebook’s tightly managed “simplicity” were the only way to get there.

But today, all the platforms are on fire, all the time. They are rocked by scandals every bit as awful as the failures of the smaller sites of yesteryear, but while harms of a Geocities or Livejournal moderation failure were confined to a small group of specialized users, failures in the big silos reach hundreds of millions or even billions of people.

What should we do about the rolling crisis of the platforms? The default response — beloved of Big Tech’s boosters and critics alike — is to impose rules on the platforms to make them more hospitable places for the billions they’ve engulfed. But I think that will fail. Instead, I think we should make the platforms less important places by freeing those billions.

That’s the argument of the column.

Think of California’s wildfires. While climate change has increased the intensity and frequency of our fires, climate (and neglect by PG&E) is merely part of the story. The other part of the story is fire-debt.

For millennia, the original people of California practiced controlled burns of the forests they lived, hunted, and played in. These burns cleared out sick and dying trees, scoured the forest floor of tinder, and opened spaces in the canopy that gave rise to new growth. Forests need fire — literally: the California redwood can’t reproduce without it:

https://www.pbs.org/wnet/nature/giant-sequoia-needs-fire-grow/15094/

But this ended centuries ago, when settlers stole the land and declared an end to “cultural burning” by the indigenous people they expropriated, imprisoned, and killed. They established permanent settlements within the fire zone, and embarked on a journey of escalating measures to keep that smouldering fire zone from igniting.

These heroic measures continue today, and they’ve set up a vicious cycle: fire suppression creates the illusion that it’s safe to live at the wildlife urban interface. Taken in by this illusion, more people move to the fire zone — and their presence creates political pressure for even more heroic measures.

The thing is, fire suppression doesn’t mean no fires — it means wildfires. The fire debt mounts and mounts, and without an orderly bankruptcy — controlled burns — we get chaotic defaults, the kind of fire that wipes out whole towns.

Eventually, we will have to change tacks: rather than making it safe to stay in the fire zone, we’re going to have to make it easy to leave, so that we can return to those controlled burns and pay down those fire-debts.

And that’s what we need to do with the platforms.

For most of the history of consumer tech and digital networks, fire was the norm. New platforms — PC companies, operating systems, online services — would spring up and grow with incredible speed, only to collapse, seemingly without warning.

To get to the bottom of this phenomenon, you need to understand two concepts: network effects and switching costs.

Network effects: A service enjoys network effects if it increases in value as more people use it. AOL Instant Messenger grows in usefulness every time someone signs up for it, and so does Facebook. The more users, the more reasons to join. The more people who join, the more people will join.

Switching costs: The things you have to give up when you leave a product or service. When you quit Audible, you have to throw away all your audiobooks (they will only play on Audible-approved players). When you leave Facebook, you have to say goodbye to all the friends, family, communities and customers that brought you there.

Tech has historically enjoyed enormous network effects, which propelled explosive growth. But it also enjoyed low switching costs, which underpinned implosive contraction. Because digital systems are universal (all computers can run all programs; all nodes on the network can connect to one another), it was historically very easy to switch from one service to another.

Someone building a new messenger service or social media platform could import your list of contacts, or even use bots to fetch the messages left for you on the old service and put them in the inbox on the new one, and then push your replies back to the people you left behind. Likewise, when Apple made its iWork office suite, it could reverse-engineer the Microsoft Office file formats so you could take all your data with you if you quit Windows and switched to MacOS:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

This dynamic — network effects growth and low switching costs contraction — is why we think of tech as so dynamic. It’s companies like DEC were able to turn out minicomputers that shattered the dominance of mainframes. But it’s also why DEC was brought so low that a PC company, Compaq — was able to buy it for pennies on the dollar. Compaq — a company that built an empire by making interoperable IBM PC clones — was itself “disrupted” a few years later, and HP bought it for spare change found in the sofa cushions.

But HP didn’t fall to Compaq’s fate. It survived — as did IBM, Microsoft, Apple, Google and Facebook. Somehow, the cycle of “good fire” that kept any company from growing too powerful was interrupted.

Today’s tech giants run “walled gardens” that are actually walled prisons that entrap their billions of users by imposing high switching costs on them. How did that happen? How did tech become “five giant websites filled with screenshots from the other four?”

https://twitter.com/tveastman/status/1069674780826071040

The answer lies in the fact that tech was born as antitrust was dying. Reagan hit the campaign trail the same year the Apple ][+ hit shelves. With every presidency since, tech has grown more powerful and antitrust has grown weaker (the Biden administration has halted this decay, but it must repair 40 years’ worth of sabotage).

This allowed tech to “merge to monopoly.” Google built a single successful product — a search engine — and then conquered the web by buying other peoples’ companies, even as their own internal product development process produced a nearly unbroken string of flops. Apple buys 90 companies a year — Tim Cook brings home a new company more often than you bring home a bag of groceries:

https://www.theverge.com/2019/5/6/18531570/apple-company-purchases-startups-tim-cook-buy-rate

When Facebook was threatened by an upstart called Instagram, Mark Zuckerberg sent a middle-of-the-night email to his CFO defending his plan to pay $1b for the then-tiny company, insisting that the only way to secure eternal dominance was to eliminate competitors — by buying them out, not by being better than them. As Zuckerberg says, “It is better to buy than compete”:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/7/29/21345723/facebook-instagram-documents-emails-mark-zuckerberg-kevin-systrom-hearing

As tech consolidated into a cozy oligopoly whose execs hopped from one company to another, they rigged the game. They colluded on a criminal “no-poach” deal to suppress their workers’ wages:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-Tech_Employee_Antitrust_Litigation

And they colluded to illegally rig the ad-market:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_Blue

This collusion is the inevitable result of market concentration. 100 squabbling tech companies will be at each others’ throats, unable to agree on catering for their annual meeting much less a common lobbying agenda. But boil those companies down to a bare handful and they’ll quickly converge on a single hymn and twine their voices in eerie harmony:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/16/compulsive-cheaters/#rigged

Eliminating antitrust enforcement — letting companies buy and merge with competitors, permitting predatory pricing and other exclusionary tactics — was the first step towards unsustainable fire suppression. But, as on the California wildland-urban interface, this measure quickly gave way to ever-more-extreme ones as the fire debt mounted.

The tech’s oligarchs have spent decades both suppressing laws that would limit their extractive profits (there’s a reason there’s no US federal privacy law!), and, crucially, getting new law made to limit anyone from “disrupting” them as they disrupted their forebears.

Today, a thicket of laws and rules — patent, copyright, anti-circumvention, tortious interference, trade secrecy, noncompete, etc — have been fashioned into a legal superweapon that tech companies can use to control the conduct of their competitors, critics and customers, and prevent them from making or using interoperable tools to reduce their switching costs and leave their walled gardens:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

Today, these laws are being bolstered with new ones that make it even more difficult for users to leave the platforms. These new laws purport to protect users from each other, but they leave them even more at the platforms’ mercy.

So we get rules requiring platforms to spy on their users in the name of preventing harassment, rather than laws requiring platforms to stand up APIs that let users leave the platform and seek out a new online home that values their wellbeing:

https://cyber.fsi.stanford.edu/publication/lawful-awful-control-over-legal-speech-platforms-governments-and-internet-users

We get laws requiring platforms to “balance” the ideology of their content moderation:

https://www.texastribune.org/2022/09/16/texas-social-media-law/

But not laws that require platforms to make it easy to seek out a new server whose moderation policies are more hospitable to your ideas:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/07/right-or-left-you-should-be-worried-about-big-tech-censorship

The platforms insist — with some justification — that we can’t ask them to both control their users and give their users more freedom. If we want a platform to detect and block “bad content,” we can’t also require the platform to let third party interoperators plug into the system and exchange messages with it.

They’re right — but that doesn’t mean we should defend them. The problem with the platforms isn’t merely that they’re bad at defending their users’ interests. The problem is that they can’t defend those interests. Mark Zuckerberg isn’t merely monumentally, personally unsuited to serving as the unelected, unaacountable social media czar for billions of people in hundreds of countries, speaking thousands of languages. No one should have that job.

We don’t need a better Mark Zuckerberg. We need no Mark Zuckerbergs. We don’t need to perfect Zuck — we need to abolish Zuck.

Rather than pouring our resources into making life in the smoldering wildlife-urban interface safe, we should help people leave that combustible zone, with policies that make migration easy.

This month, we got an example of how just easy that migration could be. Meta launched Threads, a social media platform that used your list of Instagram followers and followees to get you set up. Those low switching costs made it easy for Instagram users to become Threads users — and the network effects meant it happened fast, with 30m signups in the first morning:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/07/06/meta-launches-threads-and-its-important-for-reasons-that-most-people-wont-care-about/

Meta says it was able to do this because it owns both Insta and Threads. But Meta doesn’t own the list of accounts that you trust and value enough to follow, or the people who feel the same way about you. That’s yours. We could and should force Meta to let you have it.

But that’s not enough. Meta claims that it will someday integrate Threads into the Fediverse, the collection of services based on the ActivityPub standard, whose most popular app is Mastodon. On Mastodon, you not only get to export your list of followers and followees with one click, but you can import those followers and followees to a new server with one click.

Threads looks incredibly stupid, a “Twitter alternative you would order from Brookstone,” but there are already tens of millions of people establishing relationships with each other there:

https://jogblog.substack.com/p/facebooks-threads-is-so-depressing

When they get tired of “brand-safe vaporposting,” they’ll have to either give up those relationships, or resign themselves to being trapped inside another walled-garden-cum-prison operated by a mediocre tech warlord:

https://www.garbageday.email/p/the-algorithmic-anti-culture-of-scale

But what if, instead of trying to force Zuck to be a better emperor-for-life, we passed rules requiring him to let his subjects flee his tyrannical reign? We could require Threads to stand up a Fediverse gateway that let users leave the service and set up on any other Fediverse servers (we could apply this rule to all Fediverse servers, preventing petty dictators from tormenting their users, too):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/platforms-decay-lets-put-users-first

Zuck founded an empire of oily rags, and so of course it’s always on fire. We can’t make it safe to stay, but we can make it easy to leave:

https://locusmag.com/2018/07/cory-doctorow-zucks-empire-of-oily-rags/

This is the thing platforms fear the most. Network effects work in both directions: if your service grows quickly because people value one another, then it will shrink quickly when the people your users care about leave. As @zephoria-blog recounts, this is what happened when Myspace imploded:

http://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2022/12/05/what-if-failure-is-the-plan.html

When I started seeing the disappearance of emotionally sticky nodes, I reached out to members of the MySpace team to share my concerns and they told me that their numbers looked fine. Active uniques were high, the amount of time people spent on the site was continuing to grow, and new accounts were being created at a rate faster than accounts were being closed. I shook my head; I didn’t think that was enough. A few months later, the site started to unravel.

Platforms collapse “slowly, then all at once.” The only way to prevent sudden platform collapse syndrome is to block interoperability so users can’t escape the harms of your walled garden without giving up the benefits they give to each other.

We should stop trying to make the platforms good. We should make them gone. We should restore the “good fire” that ended with the growth of financialized Big Tech empires. We should aim for soft landings for users, and stop pretending that there’s any safe way to life in the fire zone.

We should let the platforms burn.

Here’s the podcast:

https://craphound.com/news/2023/07/16/let-the-platforms-burn-the-opposite-of-good-fires-is-wildfires/

And here’s a direct link to the MP3 (hosting courtesy of the @internetarchive; they’ll host your stuff for free, forever):

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_446/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_446_-_Let_the_Platforms_Burn.mp3

And here’s my podcast feed:

https://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

Tonight (July 18), I’m hosting the first Clarion Summer Write-In Series, an hour-long, free drop-in group writing and discussion session. It’s in support of the Clarion SF/F writing workshop’s fundraiser to offer tuition support to students:

https://mailchi.mp/theclarionfoundation/clarion-write-ins

[Image ID: A forest wildfire. Peeking through the darks in the stark image are hints of the green Matrix "waterfall" effect.]

Image: Cameron Strandberg (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fire-Forest.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #mp3s #saving the news from big tech #platform decay #enshittification #fire debt #good fire #big tech #lawful but awful #content moderation #content moderation at scale #antitrust #trustbusting #podcasts

144 notes · View notes

the-hinky-panda · 10 months ago

Text

Reparar (Los Regalos Series)

So this is technically the last part of Los Regalos but I'm not completely opposed to revisiting these two again.

Pairing: Colonel Horacio Carrillo x Fem!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: You’re new to Colombia and the Search Bloc, loaned out by the Army to help sift through the wiretaps, sat phone calls, and other communications. After figuring out that it was Colonel Carrillo who was leaving little gifts, the two of you start seeing each other. But after an assassination attempt that leaves you wounded, you two decide to act like you've broken up. However, things are never as easy as they seem.

He wakes up with a splitting headache and the taste of ash in his mouth. Horacio buries his head into his pillow and prays the throbbing in his temples and the vertigo lessens enough for him to remember exactly what happened last night. Grief still presses heavily between his shoulder blades as soberness churns his stomach. How much whiskey did he go through? What happened last night exactly?

It comes to him in flashes. He had spent time looking at the gifts and offerings that you had been sneaking into his office. He knew from the side-eyed looks between Peña, Murphy, and Trujillo, you had some help with this little covert operation. He vaguely remembers the things, but what did he do with them? A box, he put them in a box. Then what?

Oh God. Oh God. He went to your apartment. He knocked on the door. He left the box. Oh God, no. He left the box. The horror of you finding your kind gifts dumped in front of your door is enough to rouse him out of bed. He moves too quickly and instantly regrets it as his head splits apart and his stomach roils. He has to sit there with his head between his knees until the pain decreases and his stomach settles.

While he waits for that, more pieces of last night come to him. The knock at the door. Him not caring to even pick up his gun as he approached the front door. Opening the door and seeing your face, your red-rimmed eyes, and the sad downturn of your mouth. You brought the box back. You brought the gifts back to him. That makes his stomach flip again.

He has to find you. You were here last night, he has a vague memory of you sleeping here. He takes in a couple deep breaths and stands up from the bed. The room spins but after a moment it slows to manageable sway. He moves from his bedroom and leans on the doorway of the small guest room down the hall. If you had slept there, he couldn’t tell. The bed is neatly made, no signs of clothes or shoes tossed over a chair or laying on the dresser. He rests his head against the doorframe and tries to remember if you were really here last night or if he’s just made that up.

There’s a beep that comes from downstairs. Three short beeps followed by a long one. The coffee pot. Someone made coffee. You must have made coffee. He makes his way downstairs, practically leaning against the wall to help balance himself. He’s too hungover to be quiet which is good since his tongue feels like sandpaper and he’s not sure he could call your name, to warn you of his now conscious presence.

But when he reaches the first floor of the house, he doesn’t hear you at all. He doesn’t smell your light perfume. In fact, he doesn’t sense anyone at all. The curtains are all drawn, the rooms pleasantly dark. There is still the scent of coffee hanging in the air and it doesn’t twist his stomach. He ventures into the kitchen and finds two cups sitting neatly in the sink. Did he drink so much that he forgot having coffee with you at some point this morning? Wait, is it morning? He looks up at the clock on the wall and sees it’s almost three-thirty in the afternoon.

You’re not here. You’ve given up on him. And he can’t be angry with you about that. He was the one that kept pushing you away, returning your things in the middle of the night. He’s the one that drank himself into oblivion last night and has no memory of what he said or did. Maybe you’re off crying on Javier’s shoulder now. The single DEA agent had a thing for damsels in distress and what Horacio has put you through could certainly qualify as distress.

He hears the front door open, the loud noise of people walking past and a car horn make him wince before the door quietly shuts and stillness returns. There’s only a handful of people with keys to his home, only a handful of people he trusts with access to his home. He hears a soft sigh being released, a delicate sniff, before a couple clacks of shoes reverberate through the darkened home. He steps back into the dining room which gives him a direct line of sight to the front door.

He almost doesn’t recognize you. He’s never seen you in uniform before. Gone are your sneakers and jeans and linen shirts. You’re in a starched dress shirt, buttoned all the way up to your throat, a fitted olive colored jacket, and straight pencil skirt. You’re in the middle of taking off the plain black pumps so you can walk whisper-like through the house. Your hair is pulled back into a neat bun at the base of your neck while a military hat is perched on your head.

“Horacio?”

It takes him a couple tries before he can force sound out of his mouth. “Querida.”

You still completely. Your hands fidget with something, gloves, as you wait for him to say something else. When he doesn’t, you reach for your shoes again. “I can leave. I’m sorry.”

“No.” It comes out as a command, like he’s standing in front of an inept cadet. “I mean, don’t go. Please.”

You breathe a slow sigh of relief, a shaky smile crosses your face as you go back to slipping off your shoes. “Okay. If you want to take a shower, I’ll make some more coffee.”

He nods mutely, wondering just how awful he must look for you to suggest that to him. He’s still trying to piece together what exactly happened last night, what was said, what wasn’t said, but his head is still pounding and thoughts won’t complete themselves. You pass by him on the way to the kitchen and slip your hand into his, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll talk when you come back downstairs.” And you smile, truly smile. After everything he has put you through, you smile at him. “It’ll be okay, Horacio.”

The world stops spinning. The ground levels out. You tell him it’s going to be okay and he believes you.

***

You have no idea if he’s going to be okay. You’re so used to seeing Horacio being strong, immovable, and in complete control of whatever chaotic shitstorm is currently surrounding Search Bloc. He’s been made of granite for as long as you’ve known him. But now you can see the cracks in the stone, the weak points, and it scares you. It’s a good reminder though, that he is human, he is just a man under the uniform, muscles, and temper.

This morning has been an eye-opening experience for you. Shortly after you had gotten up and made the bed in the guest room, someone had rung the doorbell. You answered it only because you saw it was the thin, well-dressed woman you had seen at Search Bloc a couple months before. Julianna, you remembered, was her name. You opened the door to her, introduced yourself and invited her inside. Surprisingly, she accepted the invitation. Not sure what to do next, you offered to make some coffee and she accepted that invitation as well.

The two of you had sat at the small kitchen table and she had poured out her grief at her current situation. Even though Horacio had been horribly drunk, he had managed to tell you everything Julianna was now saying. She had come over to collect Horacio so that they could break the news together to the two children. You tell her that Horacio isn’t feeling well, not exactly a lie, that is why you’ve come over to check on him. But the task that she has been handed is a heavy one so you offer to go home, shower, get into uniform, and complete the task yourself if she’s agreeable. She grabbed ahold of your hands so tightly your knuckles are still slightly sore from the desperation in her grip.

You have no idea how people can make a living out of having to inform families that their loved one isn’t coming home anymore. Having to look into the innocent eyes of two children and tell them that their father won’t ever walk through the door again, tuck them into bed, be there for milestones, was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. You had kept it together during the delivering of the news, the goodbye with Julianna and the parting hug you gave her before returning to Horacio’s home. But it’s as you're emptying the coffee pot and refilling it that the tears do come. This is how Horacio finds you a few minutes later, sobbing over fresh coffee grounds in the kitchen. He takes over for you, completing the preparation and turning on the coffee pot before directing his attention to you.

“Querida.”

The term of endearment is said with such sadness but understanding. He hesitantly slips his arms around you and you immediately mold yourself against him. You bury your face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder, you inhale the fresh scent of soap and aftershave. He smells like himself now, no longer of whiskey and despair, and you try to get even closer to him by pressing your hands into his broad shoulder blades. He feels so solid, strong and protective.

Julianna has lost this particular kind of comfort. You have not and you’re determined to not waste any moment that you’re given with him now. You try to stop your tears, or at least slow them down, and take in a deep breath. “I’m sor-”

“No, mi amor,” he cuts you off. “I’m sorry.”

Mi amor. Hearing that familiar term of endearment only creates more tears. Could this entire debacle be redeemed? You remember how it felt last night when he reached for you, pulled you close, buried his face against your stomach and told you that he loved you. You remember starting to say it back to him. You had cried yourself to sleep last night, believing that the moment of confessing your feelings has been lost.

Maybe…maybe it hasn’t been.

“Te amo, Horacio.”

You feel his arms tighten around you as his lips brush against your ear. “Te amo, mi vida, mi alma.”

#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #colonel horacio carrillo x you #colonel horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo fic

33 notes · View notes

monstersdownthepath · 1 year ago

Text

Milestone Monster: The Oliphaunt of Jandelay

CR 30

Chaotic Neutral Titanic Outsider

Mythic Realms, pg. 58-59 (pic taken from Adventure Path: Rise of the Runelords: Sins of the Saviors, pg. 63)

Only once in all of recorded history has the Oliphaunt of Jandelay trod on soil outside its home plane, called to Golarion by a powerful archmage--one of the Runelords, no less--and used as the mother of all siege animals against his enemies. In its footprints, lakes grew and cities disappeared. Where it passed, mountains moved aside and valleys formed below it, if only to keep its back from scraping the sky. A churning storm of incredible proportions heralded its arrival and marked its departure, the weather itself seeming to fight alongside the Oliphaunt as though the grand storm saw kindred in the apocalyptic beast.

It is a titan in all but name, a monstrosity of such immense size that it appears to be a mountain from a distance. The Spindletorn, over a thousand feet tall, was created by the Runelord who sought to command the Oliphaunt to give him just enough height to look the beast in the eye. This is because the destroyer is utterly immune to all mind-affecting effects unless it can draw line of sight to the creature using them, and most creatures are simply too far beneath its notice for it to even bother separating them from the background. Even then, the caster in question must know how to naturally speak fluent Celestial or the infinitely more bizarre Jandelayan (language-cheating magic such as Tongues does not work!) AND speak loudly enough to be heard over the rumble of its footsteps and the roaring storm that surrounds it, or the Oliphaunt may ignore any attempt to subvert its will.

The feat of calling it into the world has not been replicated since, as the method of stealing the Oliphaunt from its home was lost alongside the Runelord that first performed the deed, who was either executed for his calamitous crime or destroyed by the retribution of Jandelay when it recalled its creator, slave, and guardian. When Runelord Gimmel gained command over the great beast, he thought himself unstoppable, but what he did not know was the great Guardian of Jandelay makes new saves against every effect holding it in a new plane each day, even if the effect doesn’t normally offer a save. Once it succeeds, it is pulled back into Jandelay... and everything and everyone within five miles of the beast is utterly destroyed. Every creature within the sphere is targeted with Mass Hold Monster (DC 30 Will to avoid), and then the entire 5-mile bubble is wracked with a perpetual Earthquake and Storm of Vengeance that rages for 1d12 months, assuring nothing remains but the memories of those who managed to escape.

It caused a terrifying disaster when it was present, and a worse one when it left. The armies of the Runelords could not best the beast, what hope would something as inconsequential as a group of adventurers have to best such a beast?

Quite a bit of hope, actually. In fact, I advise DMs to play with the system a little in regards to how the Oliphaunt operates, especially since the art of it remains relatively inconsistent with its implied scale. The Spindlethorn is over a thousand feet tall, yet all art of the great beast portrays it as maybe a hundred or so feet, much smaller than any of the Kaiju, which it shares much with (including the fact it’s saddled with the Massive rule). The landscape of the land it moved through is supposed to have irrevocably altered, with its footprints forming new lakes, mountains pushed aside or trod over and reduced to rubble, and entire cities wiped out just by it walking through them. It’s of impossible size and world-shaking power, far beyond anything a normal party should be able to handle were it to turn its attention on them... which is why I recommend, among other things, that the Oliphaunt’s statblock represent a small part of the beast; a section of its back or head that the party has made it to in order to break some device or magic that’s been put into place by a third party. The majority of its attacks aren’t purposeful actions, but things like incidental footsteps, swings of its trunk, thrashes of its head, the lashings of the storm that surrounds it and the backlash of the Wards of Jandelay that coat its body seeking to defend it. That last one is especially fun to imagine, as the Wards already grant it numerous defensive abilities, so why not some offense as well?

I also enjoy the potential narrative change of what its 740 HP represents. Reducing that to 0? That’s doesn’t kill it, that drives it back. It’s still the victory condition, but rather than to slay the Oliphaunt, it’s to break whatever is holding it in the plane to send it back to Jandelay without triggering the retributive destruction of the Guardian of Jandelay (and if it’s already in Jandelay and the players are somehow there too, it should be completely unassailable). The preservation of the Oliphaunt’s mystique is what I aim for with this, especially since--as written--the Oliphaunt doesn’t come back if it’s slain, which is a little odd considering what it is and what it represents.

But what does it take for a party to drive back a living apocalypse? A lot of damn effort. It has DR 20/Epic and Regeneration 35 that’s suppressed only by Acid damage from a Mythic source, and that’s just the start! The Wards of Jandelay that protect the beast raise its AC all the way up to 50, and even its touch AC is an impressive 30 despite its size. It’s also shielded by 41 SR, immune to any mind-affecting effect that comes from a creature it cannot draw line of sight to, and any attempt to get in front of it without the use of physical flight or (as Runelord Gimmel tried) climbing up and meeting the beast’s eye is thwarted by the enormous aura that surrounds it: a 500ft bubble radiating off its body in every direction that forces any creature attempting to use any form of teleportation or dimension-hopping (including but not limited to Etherealness, Shadow Walk, and Plane Shift) into, out of, or within the bubble to succeed a DC 41 Will save or the attempt fails. The Oliphaunt even shuts off Gate automatically without allowing a save unless the creator of the effect is either Mythic or an Artifact, so if you want to maneuver around in the bubble with minimal resource use, it’s going to be via actual running/flying.

... I do not actually recommend flying. Not only is this a good way to draw the Oliphaunt’s incredibly dangerous attention, but it’s also surrounded by a Weather Sphere that’s 5 miles in diameter, and inside this sphere it has complete control of the environmental conditions. It doesn’t matter the season or the setting, the Oliphaunt can create blizzards in a summer desert with nothing more than a thought. It can change the weather inside the sphere once per round as a free action, though for obvious reason it tends to stick with destructive storms (which are difficult to fly in, even with magic). Hurricane-force winds, tornadoes, and deadly lightning spring up constantly around it, harmless to the mountainous beast but devastating for everything around it. Once per round as another free action, the Oliphaunt can call down a bolt of lightning to deal 5d10 damage to anything it can see so long as its weather sphere is set to stormy, which is just a little bit more damage on top of what it can already do.

Whatever section of the Oliphaunt the players are standing on takes up an 80ft square, and though the beast has an 80ft reach, it’s also Massive, so no AoOs against a typical party anyway. Getting onto its back or head to attack it should be the plan, as fighting it from below simply shouldn’t be a viable option. Anyone trying should take the Oliphaunt’s 4d10+25 trample damage every round! Each of its other natural attacks deal 4d10+17 damage each, except for its trunk, which deals 4d8+8 damage instead. Via its stats, it has 2 slams, 4 gore attacks with its massive tusks, and a bite attack, but as per my recommendations, re-characterizing these to be lashings of the storm, the rolling and thundering of the Oliphaunt’s body, and the Wards along its form attacking any creature on it are all possible. The Wards being the aggressor especially make sense in regards to the Ruinous Tusks ability, normally allowing its gore attacks to be treated as adamantine and also automatically afflict any creature they strike with Greater Dispel Magic! which, since it can make four such attacks a round, means it shreds through buffs and defensive magic with frustrating ease and swiftness. That’s basically what creatures need at this level to overcome the buffs that high-level people slather on themselves like sunscreen, but that doesn’t change the fact it’s terrifying from the player’s perspective to have their protection AND hitpoints shredded at the same time.

Perhaps one of the few limbs of the Oliphaunt that could reasonably join in on the battle are its massive ears swatting at troublesome players (is two slams), and of course its winding trunk. The trunk deals the least damage of all its attacks, easily characterized by it simply being too big to impact a creature directly, like a gnat slipping through the holes of a fly swatter, but it carries the threat of Grabbing and constricting victims for 4d8+25 damage each round the grapple isn’t broken. Any creature grappled by the trunk (or the beast’s bite attack/imprisoned by the mystic wards) can also be drawn inside the great beast’s mouth(/constricted by the magic) to take 4d10+17 further damage every round. Unlike many creatures with Swallow Whole, cutting one’s way out of the Oliphaunt presents a secondary danger in simply falling hundreds of feet to the ground.

I find it more than a little amusing that the Oliphaunt has spell-likes, though giving up its potential full-attack to use them is silly. It can use Greater Shout at will, presumably because of its trumpeting, to deal 10d6 Sonic damage to everything in a 60ft cone and potentially stunning and deafening victims. It also can use Transmute Rock to Mud 3/day for reasons I can scarcely understand, since a single footstep has roughly the same effect as the spell upon terrain. Maybe if it needs to mire an army, rather than to destroy it? I don’t know. If the storms don’t stop an army from marching against it, I can’t imagine that a little mud will. It’s strange that it has spells with such minor effects, when compared to the destruction it can wreak simply by walking from Point A to Point B.

One of the strangest things about the Oliphaunt to me, though, is that it’s not actually a mindless beast. it has the Intelligence and Wisdom of a normal human, and even possesses enough ranks in a few Knowledge skills to give it superhuman insight into Arcana, Religion, and Planes. It has a curious amount of Diplomacy, enough to be able to sway any entity it deigns to speak to, though there’s never been a mention of it speaking to anyone. It speaks Celestial and Jandelayan, one uncommon and one unheard of, but that it can speak at all is surprising. Who has heard the Oliphaunt’s voice? What does it say, and to whom?

All of these skills aren’t being used to speak with the Watchers, who are always invisible to its senses (and who fear and worship it), their Inconspicuous ability bypassing its Ward Against Command entirely. So who exactly is it speaking to, if anyone? Who is it using its Knowledge to impress and understand? Who is it using Diplomacy to sway and Intimidate to cow, and who is it using Sense Motive to gain insight into, if not the Watchers or the Collected? It’s said the Collected fear it immensely, grow terrified when it approaches their lands, but this is understandable given its size and what it represents. If such a beast approached me, even with gentle intent, I would be a little spooked too. Maybe it’s Jandelay itself it communes with?

For all the lore it has which tells of the destruction it wreaks with its mere existence, for all the talk of it representing destruction and calamity, it did create Jandelay explicitly to preserve worlds that had been destroyed, at least in some fashion. It protects the realm and is protected by it in turn, and only when removed from its museum of lost worlds does it lash out so violently until its creation, its home, its child, calls it back and wracks the world that took it in the with terrible storms and neverending earthquakes. Elephants are gentle creatures by their nature, lashing out only when provoked, and who’s to say the same is not true for the Oliphaunt of Jandelay? The only example of its behavior ever seen on Golarion is when it was stolen from its land and controlled by a madman seeking conquest.

Perhaps it shares more than a little in common with its fellow CR 30 Colossal and unwillingly apocalyptic Leviathan.

You can read more about it here.

#Milestone Monster #Monster Spotlight #CR 26 and up #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

88 notes · View notes