#also at least now i had the rash and swelling my mom's actually caring about it enough to warn me when she's cooking onions!

[reginaofdoctorwho]

also i don't think i already posted about it but turns out i'm probably allergic to onions :(

the smell of onions cooking or eating stuff with onions in it triggered my migraines for years but last week i got take out, ate the onions because i was like "these don't smell strong, it shouldn't be that bad" and uh. it was! migraine got triggered almost instantly, my face swelled up and i got a rash on my face, and i had to keep taking the max dose of my allergy meds this whole week just to slow the pain and ease it up

also i just got exposed again because i used the same knife my mom used for onion soup to cut a slit in my pomegranate and i got the rash and swelling in my hands :( luckily i had forgotten about it in the fridge for a while so none of the seeds the knife touched were actually good enough to eat so my face is fine ig? i'll find out tomorrow

[issyaboimoony]

For another rando-AU that will never get finished, I have this one I think named “Call Me” or something else cheesy and lame. This was another work in progress, based off a text post I believe (?) where a lady accidentally calls Satan.

Call One

“Okay, Bulma, you are never going to guess the kind of day that I’ve had!”

Piccolo stared in astonishment at the phone in his hands, and cast a curious glance around him. Sure enough, the flames were still burning bright and there was, in fact, no ice creeping over the place. It stood to reason, then, that Hell had not frozen over, and thus some mortal woman was talking to him through the phone that was supposed to be purely for business transactions.

“Excuse me?” he supposed, in retrospect, he could have said something a little more meaningful. He could have pulled out all the stops, pitched his voice low, and promised the woman a thousand miseries—into the mortal life and the next. And yet he was so startled that he was left squeaking out some inane answer.

“Gee… are you sick?” the woman demanded. “Your voice sounds terrible! I swear—you’re thirty years old, Bulma! Take care of yourself! I can swing by and give you some lozenges after my bath.”

“That’s—no, you’ve made a mistake,” Piccolo protested. He cast a furtive glance around the throne room. There was no one in attendance, but he still felt the need to cup his hand around the receiver. If Nail walked in on him… he’d never hear the end of it, now would he?

“You’re damn right I did!” the woman persisted, her voice reaching decibels that made Piccolo’s ears flap in protest. “When I started dating that son of a bitch! D’you know what he did, Bulma? The dirty bastard went and disappeared. Again. Probably back behind a dumpster somewhere with a concussion! I tell ya—we’ve been together over a decade now and I’m just about at my breaking point!”

“Listen, you’re really misunderstanding—,”

“The hell I am! What if Vegeta just up and walked out on you every time he got to itchin’ for a fight?”

Piccolo paused. Vegeta—oh, he knew that name. It wasn’t often that a person was such a shit stain that Piccolo knew their name from off the top of his head. Vegeta Vegeta (and he was not kidding with that name) was constantly popping up on Hell’s radar—the guy had murdered more than should seem reasonable for a human being, and was, in fact, a just generally nasty person. Honestly, when he finally made his way down here, Piccolo had seriously considered offering him a position. A lowly one in between his torture, sure, but they could use creativity like that.

“For the last time, woman, I’m not this Bulma!” Piccolo gritted out. Though if she was an Earth woman who was apparently ridiculous enough to deal with Vegeta, then… He shuddered at the thought. “What the hell number did you dial?”

The woman on the other end of the line sat still for a moment, before Piccolo heard an aggravated tut.

“How rude! This is a wrong number, and you’re just telling me now?!”

“I—,” Piccolo spluttered, “what?! I tried telling you at least three times, you pathetic mortal!”

“Oh god… are you some weird kid in a phase?” he could practically hear the sneer in the woman’s words. “Listen, I don’t know what your deal is, but you really oughtta talk to your parents about whatever feelings you’re having.”

“Excuse me—?!”

The phone went click, and Piccolo was left staring, dumbfounded, at the receiver. A geyser of flames shot up behind him as his temper swelled, and he snarled at the phone, which he promptly threw to the floor. The bone shaped apparatus skittered across the red stoned floor. Piccolo flopped back in his throne, fingers angrily tapping out his frustrations as he fumed.

Call Two

The next time the phone rang, at precisely 12 o’ clock Earth time, he was once more greeted by the shrill voice.

“Bulma, honey, did you get to go to the doctor?” Piccolo could feel his head pound. “Rashes are no joke. One time, I had one on my—,”

“Mortal.”

“Oh. It’s you, that kid.” The woman sounded entirely nonplussed. “You know, it’s really late at night. And I’m certain I typed the number in right this time—,”

“You clearly did not. And I’m not a child.” Piccolo shooed away an imp in aggravation. The thing had paperwork tottering in its hands, and he was in no mood to deal with that. He had far more pressing matters on his mind. “I’m a demon, from beyond your mortal plane, and—,”

Click.

He pressed his fangs together, and promptly threw the phone across the room.

Call Three

It had been a few days since Piccolo had received a phone call from the strange woman. He kept hoping that she would call back, just so that he could give her a rather nicely worded message about how she was an insufferable human. As it went, he did not hear from her, and was left to simmer.

Finally, though, the phone rang, and when he picked it up, it was once more the woman.

“Bulma—,”

“No. Still not Bulma. I will never be Bulma, and you are a moro—,”

Click.

Call Four

Piccolo was certain that his blood pressure was going to sky rocket. He didn’t know the mortal’s name, didn’t know what she looked like, and was certainly unaware of what to do. Nail had already been into see him multiple times, claiming that his spikes of anger had been causing destruction in lower chambers. He’d sent the man away, ordering him to fix it as he slumped down into his chair in aggravation.

The phone rang, and he snatched it up. He crammed the offensive thing up to his ear, and heard silence on the other side.

“It’s you again, isn’t it?” the woman sounded defeated.

“Of course, it’s me! How did you even get this number?” Piccolo snarled into the receiver.

“I swear, I’m typing my friend’s number in!” She was angry. He didn’t know what she looked like, but he could imagine the square set of a jaw.

“You’re obviously doing something wrong.”

“Maybe it’s your fault.”

“How could it possibly—listen, mortal woman. You are the one calling a number that, for all intents and purposes, should not even exist on the same plane as you.”

The woman groaned. “Listen, can you just put your mom on the line? This is getting out of hand. This is what, the third or fourth time you’ve done this I’m a demon blah blah line? I honestly don’t have time for it anymore. I don’t know why our lines keep getting crossed, but I’m in no mood for it, mister.”

“I’m probably older than you, don’t talk down to me!” Piccolo spluttered. Nail entered the throne room just then, carrying a stack of papers. Piccolo stared at them for a solid moment, before a malicious grin broke out across his face. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?”

“The hell should I tell you for? Don’t you have a bedtime?”

Piccolo pressed his teeth together into a harsh line and massaged his temple with his free hand. “Woman. Answer. The question.”

“Gyumao Chi Chi… why? You think you know me or somethin’?”

Piccolo chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. You have a lovely night.” He quickly snatched a pen from Nail’s hand, and began eagerly scribbling. He hung up the phone quickly, before picking it up once more to make a few calls.

Call Five

The phone rang, and for once, Piccolo not only anticipated it—but was also excited for it. He eagerly snatched it up, and reclined back in his chair. “Yes?”

“You mind telling me why the hell I have a little green thing in my house?!” Chi Chi screeched. Her voice reached decibels that Piccolo hadn’t known existed, and even as he pushed the phone away from him he cringed. He was certain it had transcended the multiple levels down into Hell.

“Don’t like the present?” Piccolo smirked. After their last chat, Piccolo had done some research on a Gyumao Chi Chi. Thirty-one, Chinese-American, with a childhood best friend turned boyfriend. She was apparently a nurse, best friends to Bulma Briefs, married to the rather infamous Vegeta Briefs. He’d stared at her profile for quite some time, memorizing details that he could possibly use against her in their now-regular phone calls.

“I mean… he’s rather sweet, but I’m not sure why he’s here.”

Piccolo frowned. “Sweet—what the—,”

“Yes, little Dende here has actually been rather good company.” Chi Chi didn’t sound nearly as surprised as she ought to be. “He’s been sprucing up my garden and cleaning around the house.”

Piccolo groaned. “Why did he send Dende?”

“Who sent him?” Chi Chi asked shrewdly. He had her picture memorized in his brain, and try to imagine which way her face twisted. “Why’s he look like an alien, anyways? He just keeps saying he’s from Hell?”

“He is.” Piccolo dropped his head into his hands. Of course Nail sent Dende—the least demonic of anyone in Piccolo’s employ. Sure, he’d told Nail not to send anyone dangerous, but he’d wanted to wreak a little bit of havoc into Chi Chi’s life.