#this was the stupidest decision they could’ve made | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

powpowpunchout · 1 year

Text

Shut Up.

Sandman sat inside his car.

His small, cramped, gray car that he’s had since his early 20’s.

His grip on the black steering wheel was tight, to the point he was afraid he was going to break it, and his back ached against the old, worn down seat.

He looked out his dusty, scratched up windshield, eyes never tearing away from the streetlight ahead. It felt like its red glow was getting brighter with each passing second.

He drummed his fingers against the wheel.

Was the light broken?

He’s been sitting here for what felt like hours–granted, it’s probably only been five minutes, but that’s still too long for a streetlight.

He took a deep breath and flickered his eyes over to the rearview mirror.

There were only a few cars behind him–at least, it looked like it. It was hard to tell. Despite the lampposts surrounding the roads, and despite every car around him having their headlights on, they didn’t help him. If anything, all the lights did was stress him out even more. There were too many of them, their colors all meshed together, and it was dang near impossible to glance around the road without getting blinded.

Sandman hated driving.

He hated driving even more at night.

This city was already filled with horrible drivers, but having to share a road with them while it’s dark? He would’ve been better off walking to the stadium.

Sandman looked back to the light. If he had walked, he wouldn’t be stuck waiting here. He’d probably already be at the stadium’s meeting room by now chatting with the higher ups.

Sandman took another deep breath in an attempt to calm his nerves.

When Sandman had finally answered that text from one of the higher ups a couple days back, they asked if he’d be able to meet with them in person to talk about that other stadium’s champion.

Sandman suggested they just tell him what’s going on over the phone, but the higher up told him they: ‘Preferred to speak of such matters in person.’ Which did nothing to ease Sandman’s worries. Then they asked him what day he would like to talk, and that’s when Sandman made the stupidest decision ever and told them he could talk to them during the weekend.

How Sandman wished he had just picked a closer day. How he wished he could’ve just ripped the bandaid off and have that stupid talk on a weekday, but no. He didn’t do that. Instead, he told them he was ‘busy training’, and ‘wouldn’t have much time till the weekend’, and then he ended up stressing about the meeting for the rest of the week.

A part of him had hoped that if he had the meeting later, he’d have time to prepare himself for whatever questions the higher ups would ask, but that’s not what happened. Of course that’s not what happened. Anytime he tried to think about the potential questions, his mind started to go down a worried spiral.

Were they gonna compare his record to the other champion’s? Was his record better than his? Were they gonna mention his strength? How brutal he was? Or were they going to tell Sandman that he should ‘bite back more’ and publicly insult the other champion in front of hundreds of interviewers?

Sandman pressed his lips together. He didn’t wanna do that last part.

He really didn’t.

He didn’t want to give a bunch of crazy fans and journalists more fuel. He did not want to be bothered all because people wanted to hear more about how he felt towards some guy he didn’t know.

The only good thing to come from this stupidly long, stressful wait was the fact that Sandman had finally started to train again, but only because he wanted to avoid thinking about the meeting. He spent most of the days in his basement working out, only stopping for a quick meal, a shower, maybe to call a friend if he was lucky, and to sleep. Sandman couldn’t even recall if he had stepped outside at all those past few days.

His body despised him for the lack of breaks. His arms were heavy, his legs burned, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like garbage.

Sandman’s eyes traveled down to his hands, which had been sharply outlined by the red light. They looked awful.

The skin around his fingers were raw, torn, and had scraped up skin hanging around them. If he stared at the injuries for too long, he’d be reminded of raw meat.

He shuddered.

He’s surprised none of those little injuries have bled yet.

His knuckles looked awful as well.

At one point during his training, he forgot to wrap bandages around them, and practiced his hits against one of his punching bags. He didn’t realize his knuckles started to split open until he noticed blood splatters on his bag.

He didn’t bother bandaging them again. The most he did was wash them off, slather moisturizer on them, and went back to training. Now he’s stuck with with these ugly, cracked knuckles–

A loud car horn made him jump.

He stepped on the gas before he even had the chance to look at the street light again.

He just sped ahead, praying the light was green, and praying that the meeting with the higher ups would go by fast.

~ ~ ~ ~

Octave sat at the back seat of a taxi, head resting against the window as he was driven through the city.

There was never anything fun about riding a taxi. From the ridiculous prices, to the uncomfortable, stiff, seats that were a nasty shade of brown to the crumbs of food littered around, it was disgusting–and the smell? The stench of body odor from the hundreds of people that sat in this taxi before him? The way it tarnished the inside of the car? It made Octave sick.

He wasn’t fond of the drivers either.

There were far too many times where drivers would yell at him over directions because they hadn’t listened to him the first time, or drivers who just loved to whistle and tap their fingers along their steering wheels while bobbing their head to whatever trashy music they were blaring–and the music they played–oh, the music they played… It was never good. Yet the drivers seemed insistent on turning their radio all the way up to share their terrible taste with the rest of the world.

Tonight, though, Octave couldn’t complain.

Whatever music was on the radio tonight was quiet, and the few sounds he could hear didn’t bother him all that much; a steady stream of guitar strums and the delicate tapping of drums. The driver was pretty quiet as well, he hasn’t said a word since Octave gave him directions. Why couldn’t all drivers be like him?

The taxi drove over a pothole, making the car bounce and making Octave bump his head against the window. He cussed quietly and rubbed the sore spot before he readjusted his position. He leaned close to the window again, propped an elbow up on the ledge, and rested his head against it.

The lit up windows of the buildings they passed by were nothing but orange and yellow streaks that disrupted the deep blue color of the city, and if there were any people still out and about, it was impossible to tell, as nearly everything was a darkened silhouette.

Octave took a deep breath.

This car reeked of cigarettes.

Octave’s eyes flickered over to the divider between his seat and the driver’s. He tried to look through its window and get a look at the driver, but with how dark it was, and with how many smudged handprints there were on the glass, it was hard to make out any details. The driver was balding–probably had as much hair as Don–along with a real dark 5 o'clock shadow, and he looked like the type to smoke indoors. Though, again, he’s been quiet, so Octave kept those thoughts to himself.

Octave slipped his hand into the pocket of his thin, black blazer and felt the cash he had brought along. He should have enough for a cheap can of beer and a ride back home.

Maybe he won’t even get a beer.

Maybe he’ll just get water instead, unless Aran plans buying him a couple of drinks.

Octave’s mouth curled to a small frown.

He wasn’t looking forward to hearing whatever Aran wanted to complain about tonight, but he needed an excuse to get out of the house more. Maybe Aran won’t be such a sourpuss. Maybe they’ll enjoy their time together.

Octave rested his other hand atop the seat next to him–but recoiled when he felt something wet on the cushion.

He frantically wiped his hand against his dark gray pants. He has no idea what could’ve left that wet stain, but he was probably better off not knowing.

Octave looked at his sleek, black shoes to make sure he wasn’t stepping on anything too nasty–but it was impossible to tell with how dark it was.

He fixed the collar of his white dress shirt before he brought his attention back to the window.

As he watched the city go by, the buildings getting smaller and more worn down with each block they passed, Octave found his mind wandering back to his night with Tiger.

After they had finished eating and were waiting for the check, Tiger wanted to have another go at making an origami rat.

Octave ran him through the directions again and again, watching as Tiger slowly got more familiar with each crease and fold, until he was eventually keeping up with Octave’s pace with a smile on his face.

They ended up making several paper rats and had used up most of the newspaper. That cost them an extra dollar, but neither of them cared.

“I think I might save one as a souvenir.” Tiger had hummed while he used his magic to bring one of the rats to his face.

“Same here.” Octave nodded as he looked at the rest.

“We certainly made a lot of these vermin, though. Should we throw the crooked ones away?”

“Nah,” Octave shook his head as he carefully placed the rest of the origami rats into his pockets, “I’ll take care of ‘em.”

Octave ended up bringing the paper rats back home and placed them on a small, dark brown, wooden bookshelf in his room. The same place where he kept all of his origami at.

It was kind of ridiculous to say, but Octave could never bring himself to throw out any origami he made, no matter how jank or lopsided it was. It didn’t matter if there was a rip, a tear, or if there was a big, ugly crease on it, he just couldn’t. He’d rather put them into one of the little baskets that sat on his shelves than to throw it out and replace it with a ‘better-looking’ origami.

Octave didn’t know why he couldn’t just get rid of them. Even as a kid, he struggled with throwing his little crafts away. A part of him always felt guilty even at the mere thought of it.

Wasn’t that just stupid?

What was there to even be guilty of? They’re just paper.

Octave rubbed his eyes, feeling dumber by the moment.

“You wanted me to take a left after that post-office, right?” The deep, gruff voice of the driver asked.

Octave looked straight ahead, just barely making out the worn down sign of the post office.

He nodded, “Yeah.”

The driver grunted in response and kept driving.

More and more of the block was starting to become familiar.

It’s been ages since he’s last been to the bar at this part of the city–actually, Octave wasn’t even sure if he’d consider this a part of the city anymore.

It was more like a rundown town that just barely touched the border of where the city ended. A lot of the houses here were probably a cough away from collapsing, whatever trash cans there were were completely overflown, the cracked and slanted sidewalk was covered in crude graffiti, and broken-down cars were parked along the curb, making the road a hassle for the taxi to drive through.

It was an ugly neighborhood.

Luckily, most of this neighborhood’s ugliness had been hidden by the night, as the lampposts here were too dull to illuminate anything.

The only memorable parts of this neighborhood that were worth looking at were the post office, a tiny coffee place, a smoke shop, and–of course–the bar.

The bar was especially popular, well, as popular as a bar in some ramshackle town could get.

The last time Octave had been there, he heard plenty of people talk highly of the bar’s owner and the food. Octave thought the food was okay at best.

The corner of Octave’s mouth twitched as he recalled more of the bar. He remembered it being pretty crowded, he remembered people smoking indoors, and he remembered music blaring from all the bar’s speakers, and the only reason he tolerated any of that crap was because of the bar’s retractable window.

The retractable window was the bar’s only window, but it took up nearly the entire front of the building and opened up similarly to a garage door. It was enough to air out the stench of smoke and booze, and made the inside feel a little less humid.

“Dang, must be some bar.” He heard the driver mumble.

Octave tilted his head closer to the window.

The bar was still kinda far, but they were already approaching the long, winding line of cars parked along the block. People were stepping out of their vehicles and chatting with friends as they walked along the sidewalk.

“Ya could say that.” Octave said, though he’s pretty sure the driver didn’t hear him. His eyes stayed on the bar. That tiny, crummy, shack of a bar.

Most of its exterior was made out of some sort of warm, beige cement that almost looked glossy with all the orange and yellow car lights shining on it. The walls also had some pretty ugly cracks and holes throughout them, exposing the brick foundation underneath. A brick foundation that was probably older than him.

The walls were pretty barren as well, the only interesting one being on the left side, where the bar’s name had been painted on. Octave couldn’t read it though, most of it had been washed away after years worth of rain.

The bar’s roof wasn’t anything too interesting either. A flat, black top. There wasn’t even an overhang to the dang place, so if you happened to be sitting at one of the hundreds of cheap, plastic chairs by one of stupid, crummy folding tables that the owners had set outside, and it started to rain? Good luck getting any cover. Your only options from there would be to get drenched and catch a cold, or get packed inside like a bunch of sardines.

Octave heard the driver cuss to himself as he tried to navigate through all the cars coming and going from the bar. Octave could also hear the loud music blasting from the place, along with the occasional, ear grating laughter from some drunken sap.

The taxi started to slow.

“This is the closest I can get.” The driver said.

Octave looked through the windshield and saw a couple of cars ahead of them. Their driving was sloppy, their turns were too sudden, it was obvious they were intoxicated.

“S’fine.” Octave mumbled. The car stopped. He heard the locks click and opened the door.

The driver watched him from the corner of his eye, “Be careful out there.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Octave waved him off and shut the door. He slipped past some parked cars and stepped onto the sidewalk, listening to the taxi drive off.

The bar was still a bit away, but he didn’t care.

As he started to walk, squeezing past groups of people, the sound of the bar’s obnoxious rock music filled his ears.

He narrowed his eyes at the crowd in front of the bar.

He knew these people weren’t here for any decent quality drinks. He knew first-hand how bad the drinks here were. They were rather overpriced garbage, or cheap trash.

The only reason this bar got any sort of traction was because of their desserts. Funnel cakes, apple fritters, thick slices of cakes, apparently they were good enough to be featured in a newspaper article Octave read months ago, but even then, he wasn’t sure if they were that good. They certainly couldn’t have been worth this crowd.

Plus, it was the weekend. All bars suddenly got ‘popular’ during the weekend. It didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, this was just another cruddy, rank bar.

If it were up to Octave, he would’ve chosen a place that didn’t look like it was a second away from crumbling, or at the very least, a place that got a visit from a health inspector at least once a year.

But Aran? Aran didn’t care about quality.

Especially not a bar’s.

When Octave had asked him a while back why he always chose some of the worst bars in the city, Aran just smirked.

“Good arguments, good fights, ‘n good women.” He told him as he lifted a finger with each thing he listed off, “And some booze t’top it all off? Makes th’whole t’ing grand.”

As Octave grew closer to the building, he scowled.

“Great.” He muttered, “Just great.”

That big, stupid window wasn’t open tonight, and of course, the bar was packed inside.

He felt his feet step off the pavement and onto a dry, dirt path. He grumbled as he kicked aside whatever beer cans were in his way while bright, yellow street lights shone down on him.

Of course that stupid window was closed tonight.

Why wouldn’t it be?

Octave glared at the overcrowded tables outside. People were screaming over each other, hollering, some egging their friends to take another shot, he wasn’t even inside yet and he was already annoyed.

When Octave got to the bar’s dark brown, rusted door, he grabbed the metal knob and sharply inhaled.

He swung it open.

The first thing to hit his face was the noise.

The obnoxious music.

The drunken laughter.

The clatter of glass.

And the humidity? It was horrendous.

The heat of a thousand bodies mixed with the smell of their breaths and sweat made him sick.

He scanned the inside, trying to find Aran, but it was near impossible with the way everybody was squeezed together, constantly moving, and rubbing their skins together. There wasn’t a single inch of the wooden-plank floor visible.

Octave tried to see if Aran was at any of the small, dark brown, wooden tables scattered around, but they were surrounded by too many people–

Octave squinted.

In the far back, left side of the bar, at one of round, green-cushioned booths that was pressed against the worn down brick wall, was Aran.

How did he get a good seat like that? And by the looks of it, he managed to keep it all to himself.

A group of people got in Octave’s way, blocking Aran from his sight.

He took a deep breath, taking in a lungful of the nauseating, greasy stench of the food, and shoved past them. .

He didn’t bother saying any ‘Excuse me’s, or ‘Sorry’s, no one would hear him, and no one would care.

He tried to push through whatever gaps he could see, always managing to get a whiff of a woman’s cheap perfume, or a man’s overpowering cologne.

He cringed whenever he felt someone lean their body against his, or when someone’s hand grabbed onto him because they mistook him for someone else. Every single time he got touched, the desire to shred that sticky sensation off his skin grew.

That vile, sticky sensation.

That was the perfect word to describe this place: Sticky.

The people were sticky, the tabletops were sticky, the floors were sticky, the food was sticky, heck, he’d even say the dang air was sticky.

He remembered the ventilation in here was bad, but he didn’t remember it being this bad.

And the lights that hung from the beaten up, flat, black ceiling above? They somehow made the place even uglier.

They were a hue of green that Octave couldn't describe with any other word besides ‘Gross’, and they made the entire bar look like it had been filled with some sort of toxic gas.

A scowl spread across Octave’s face.

A room full of toxic gas would’ve been better than this.

As he kept trudging on, he overheard conversations from the booths he passed.

Conversations about awful dating lives, awful jobs, and awful families, all mixed in with bitter laughs.

Octave looked straight ahead and tilted his head, trying to peer past the crowd to get a better look at Aran.

For a brief second, he swore he saw Aran’s lips move, followed by a chuckle. What got him in such a good mood? Who was he talking to? There was no way he got some stranger to talk to him willingly.

Octave pushed aside a couple of people, and when they gave him dirty looks, he made sure to shoot one back.

When he finally reached Aran’s seat, he rested his head atop the booth. He gritted his teeth when he felt the sticky fabric cling onto his palm.

He looked down at Aran, who looked back up at him with a smirk.

Octave opened his mouth–

“Octave?” He heard another voice say.

Octave whipped his head down and stopped.

Sitting in the center of the booth with a bright purple flip phone in his hand was Disco Kid.

Octave stared at Disco.

And Disco stared at Octave.

“C’mon, O’erload.” Aran said as he motioned towards the empty spot right across from him, “Git comfortable.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Sandman stood inside an elevator, staring at his fuzzy reflection in metal doors while low creaks and hums filled his ears.

He picked at his thumbs.

The longer he looked at his reflection, the more he wished he had worn something better.

Sure, he was going to a ‘casual’ meeting, but it was still a meeting. He could’ve thrown on some dress pants at the very least, even if he hated how uncomfortable they were.

Here he was though, wearing nothing but a gray t-shirt and a pair of black shorts with thick, white lines on both sides.

At least his shoes were kinda new. Despite their color being a washed-out shade of blue, he got them not even a month ago. It’s much better than the other pairs he had at home, which were barely hanging onto their threads.

Sandman took a deep breath, taking in a lungful of the strong, artificial smell of mint that came from whatever cleaners the custodians used.

He hoped tonight’s meeting was going to be fast.

He just wanted to get it done and over with.

Then he can go to bed and forget it ever happened.

A small ding snapped Sandman out of his thoughts.

The doors slowly opened, their creaks pierced his ears. He quickly stepped out and entered the stadium’s third floor.

He walked through the pristine, brightly-lit hall and glazed his eyes over it.

Nothing but locked office doors on the left side, and large windows looking out to the city on his right.

He wasn’t used to seeing the offices with their lights off. Usually when he passed through here, he’d be able to peek through their thin windows and see the different rooms, or catch a glance at whatever the employees were doing, but tonight they were lifeless.

There wasn’t even a custodian wandering around, or someone in a fancy suit rushing about trying to finish whatever work they had left.

He entered the main room of the third floor.

There wasn’t anything interesting here, just a place where all the third floor’s hallways met. It was also the place where the WVBA hosted holiday events, or small birthday parties for certain higher ups.

It was the perfect size for it too. It was real large–probably the same size as the Minor Circuit’s ring–making it the best place to set up tables full of food and party favors. The ceiling was a large, white dome with windows all around, and people usually hung streamers and lights from up there… And sometimes a piñata if the higher ups felt crazy enough. It was something that Sandman helped with from time to time.

He never hung anything actually, mostly just held onto people’s ladders and promised to catch them if they fell.

Tonight though, it was barren.

Just four, white, plain walls, each with a set of grayish-blue, double doors at their center that had been propped open. Above them were metal plaques with room numbers written on them, but Sandman didn’t need to read them. He already knew where to go.

Ae made his way towards the doors on the far right with a plaque that read: ‘Hallway C45-C66’, his eyes bounced around whatever plain, boring furniture was placed in here.

Just a couple of teal chairs that were pushed against the left and right walls, their cushions probably as comfortable as the ground. Next to the chairs were short, dark brown tables that had neat stacks of magazines atop of them that were probably as old as Macho Man.

Sandman picked up the pace and entered the double doors. The sound of his steps echoed through the corridor.

All of the office lights were off here as well.

This should be the right hallway. He thinks so, anyway.

The text he got said to meet here, didn’t it?

He went to grab his phone from his pocket, but stopped when he realized he had left it in the car.

Why didn’t he take his phone with him? Was he stupid?

Was the meeting even tonight?

What if he had already missed it?

What if it had been postponed?

What if–

A door behind him clicked open.

“Mr.Sandman?” A deep, smooth voice called out.

Sandman whipped his head around and saw the stadium’s matchmaker poke his head out past the door. There was a smile on his face while his thin, black dreads dangled from the side.

A wave of relief washed over Sandman, “Evenin’, Mr. Grisli.”

“You walked right past us!” Mr. Grisli said as he stepped out of the room, “What? Did you just not want to see us tonight?” He extended a hand out.

Sandman gave it a shake, “No sir. Sorry, I got the room numbers mixed up–”

“Awh, I’m just giving you a hard time, son.” Mr. Grisli swatted at the air before he fixed the loose ponytail his dreads were in before he stroked his fuzzy, black, stubble beard. He also had a stubble mustache, but it was kinda hard to notice with the way it blended in with his tuscan brown skin, “How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain.” Sandman said as he watched Mr. Grisli wrap his hands around the black suspenders that were hidden underneath his unbuttoned, navy blue suit. The man was a few good inches shorter than Sandman, and he had a plump, plush stomach that was comfortably hugged by his tan dress shirt. “How bout you, sir?”

“Oh, just fine.” Mr. Grisli hummed as he tilted his head, resting it against his thick, amber brown, wool scarf that had been tucked neatly inside the suit, “I appreciate you coming over at such a late hour. I know you’re a busy man, so we won’t be keeping you too long.”

“Appreciate it, sir.” Sandman mumbled. Mr. Grisli motioned Sandman to follow him into the meeting room.

Sandman kept talking, “I do gotta–I gotta rush home ‘n make some calls after this. Gotta check up on some people and all that.” He felt a prick of guilt after that lie left his lips.

“Hey now, I understand. You got folks waiting for you.” Mr. Grisli said, his voice mixed with the taps of his black dress shoes as the ends of his black pants swayed, “I got to go straight home after this as well. My daughter’s school is hosting a little art show tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss it. This’ll be her first one!” He smiled warmly, “But yes, we’ll do our best to make it quick.”

“Thanks, sir.”

Mr. Grisli pushed up his small, round-framed glasses, “Awh, come on, son. You don’t need to call me ‘sir’ or anything fancy like that. This is supposed to be a casual meeting.”

Sandman grinned, “You got it, Teddy.”

“It’s Theodore.” Another voice said the moment Sandman stepped past the door. It was cold, monotone, and Sandman had a feeling he already knew who it belonged to.

He peeked past Teddy and looked at the long, oval, maple wood table.

Sitting on one of the black office chairs at the very front-left of the was Edmond Mono. One of WVBA’s managers.

He sat tall in his chair, his oxford blue suit looked rather tight on him. The singular, black button looked like it was about to rip through the fabric, the creases of his sleeves dug into his arms, and the collar’s edges seemed so sharp it looked like they were digging into his neck.

Sandman pressed his lips together, trying his best to hide the fact he just… Didn’t want to be around Edmond.

He didn’t… Hate him, but it was pretty obvious that Edmond didn’t like him, and it was all because Sandman called him ‘Eddy’ a few years back.

Out of all the reasons to hold a grudge against someone, being called a nickname had to be the worst one. How was Sandman supposed to know Edmond hated nicknames?

‘For future reference, Mr. Sandman…’ He remembered Edmond muttering to him on that dreadful day, ‘I have a name tag for a reason. If you refuse to address me by my last name, I won’t respond. Do I make myself clear?’

The corners of Sandman’s mouth curled down at the recollection.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s just a nickname.” Teddy told Edmond. Edmond’s long, thin nose crinkled in response.

“This is a meeting, not a get-together. I will treat it as such.” Edmond said.

“Well, I’m glad you’re taking this seriously,” Teddy put his hands on his hips, “but it’s my name we’re talking about, and I’m perfectly fine with being called Teddy.” He went to the very end of the table where a couple papers and a light blue mug were. He sat down–the chair squeaked–and he took a drink of… Whatever was in that mug. Probably coffee.

Sandman glanced over to Edmond.

Edmond didn’t bother to look at him. He just kept his head down, filling in paperwork, leaving Sandman with the view of his short, combed back, dusty, light brown hair that had several gray streaks in it, and had enough gel in it to make it look plastic. His skin was also a light shade of brown–not the same shade as his hair, though. It was much lighter. It kind of reminded Sandman of tea mixed with milk

Sandman then watched as Edmond took a calculator out of his pocket–

Sandman tried so hard not to roll his eyes. Of course Edmond was the type to carry a calculator everywhere.

Sandman pushed that thought out of his head and tried to make small talk.

“How you doin’, Mr. Mono?”

Edmond kept his eyes on his paper, “Fine.”

He didn’t say another word. Sandman pressed his lips together. A one word response was better than no response, he guesses.

“Why don’t you take a seat and get comfortable?” Teddy piped up, “We’re still waiting on one more, but I don’t mind starting a bit early so you can get home on time.”

Sandman nodded.

Teddy’s voice was the only comforting thing in this meeting room. Honestly, Sandman wished they had met in Teddy’s office instead, or heck, he’s sure Edmond’s office would’ve been better than this place.

There was nothing to this room.

No posters, no books, no trophy plaques, just a long table, some chairs, and a clock that was above a whiteboard at the very end of the room, all boxed in by boring, beige walls and a dark gray carpet. There weren’t even windows.

The smell here reminded Sandman of a doctor’s office. A fittingly boring smell for a boring room.

Sandman sat on the seat to the right of Teddy. The seat let out a loud creak as he scooted closer to the table.

“So now,” Teddy started, “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty about that other champion, haven’t you?”

“Yeah. Been on th’papers a bunch. What bout him?” Sandman leaned back, trying to get comfortable, “He still talkin’ bad bout me or something?”

Teddy chuckled, “You know it. The big guy got really riled up after you called him a ‘Nobody’.”

Sandman tried so hard not to wince at the reminder.

“Not his fault his feelings got hurt all because you said the truth, though.” Teddy laughed. That only made Sandman feel worse. Teddy pushed up his glasses and continued, “Anyways, after your little interview, we got a phone call from that champion’s stadium a few days ago. The uh–the–�� He started snapping his fingers.

“The Malachite Cybernetic Boxing Arena.” Edmond said.

“Right!” Teddy lit up, “The MCBA, we’ve seen a couple of pictures of the place, it looks pretty snazzy. They got this whole crystal-theme thing going on.”

“Did they get their feelin’s hurt too or something?” Sandman half joked.

Teddy chuckled again, “Oh, they were fuming. But no, no, after that interview, they got even more interested in seeing the two of you fight.”

Sandman pressed his lips together.

He knew this was going to happen eventually. He knew it since the day that horrible interview happened, but surely there wasn’t going to be a fight this soon.

“Yeah? Well–Is he really–” Sandman fumbled with his words, “Is he any good? You know, like–a good fighter? Decent record?” His hands started to get sweaty.

Teddy thought to himself for a moment, and the longer Sandman went without an answer, the faster his heart raced.

Edmond spoke up instead, “We’re planning to have another discussion with the stadium’s representative in the near future. We need to figure out how we’ll deal with the advertisements, who’ll be handling most of the finances, and of course, if their champion is even a good match for you. As for the champion’s record–”

The door slammed open. Startle flashed across Edmond’s face before he scowled and faced the door.

A tall, lanky woman with pinkish-pale skin and a crooked, baby-blue suit came hurrying in. She wore black, oval-framed glasses, and her dark brown hair was in a loose, messy bun that looked moments away from coming undone. She also had a lot of loose strands in her face.

She used one hand to close the door behind her while the other carried a thick, black journal with post-it notes, letters, and thin folders shoved between the pages.

“Hi, hello, hi! Hope I’m not too late!” The woman said, her voice wavering, as was the grin on her round face, “I was finishing up some poster designs in my office and I–well! I lost track of time!”

As the woman made her way over to Teddy, Edmond muttered to himself.

“...No better than Terry…”

“I lost track of time working on posters for Bull’s interview that you wanted me to finish before the end of the weekend, Eddy.” The woman shot back with a frown, “If you’d like them to be finished faster, you can always lend a hand.”

Edmond shut his mouth.

As she quickly shuffled over to the seat on the left of Teddy, Sandman caught a glimpse of her lower half.

Worn down, dark blue jeans with bits of paint splatters on them, untied, dark gray tennis shoes that looked like they were about to fall apart, and Sandman swore her socks were different colors. Despite how sloppy her attire was, she had still managed to throw on a suit, which was a lot more than he could say.

Sandman’s seen her throughout the stadium before. He knew she was a part of the WVBA’s creative team, but he couldn’t remember the name of her role.

Graphic designer?

Promoter?

Either way, the few times he’s interacted with her, it’s always been pleasant.

“Glad you could make it, Lizzy.” Teddy grinned as Lizzy plopped into her seat.

“Glad to be here!” Lizzy said, she then looked at Sandman, “And glad to see you as well! How’ve you been!” She eagerly scooted closer to the table.

Sandman nodded, “Doin’ alright, you?”

“Good, good.” She dropped her journal on top of the table and flipped it open to a page covered in messy handwriting and doodles, “So, what have you all been talking about so far? Champion stuff, right? Or are we past that?”

As she rambled, Sandman noticed that she had another set of glasses hooked onto the collar of the white t-shirt underneath her suit. Maybe they were reading glasses?

“We’re still at the champion stuff.” Teddy said.

“Oh, that’s great!” Lizzy’s smile got brighter, “I’ve been hearing so much about him ever since Jade had that phone call with–”

Teddy raised a finger. Lizzy stopped.

Teddy then looked to Edmond, “Care to join us, Mr. Mono?”

All eyes were on Edmond now.

Edmond, who was sitting at the very front of the table. Alone.

He narrowed his eyes before he stood up, grabbed his papers, and walked to the back of the table.

He stopped when he was just a chair away from Lizzy and sat back down. He went back to working on whatever was on those papers.

Teddy mouthed a little ‘Thank you’. Lizzy went back to talking.

“Right, so after that phone call with those representatives, Jade told us all about that champion!” She skimmed the contents of her journal, “Like–did you hear how he plowed his way through his stadium’s circuits in less than a month?”

Sandman and Teddy’s eyes widened.

“Shut the front door!” Teddy exclaimed, he sounded much more excited over this than Sandman was, “All I’ve heard was how he’s sent five opponents flying out of the ring because of how hard his punches were.”

Sandman’s stomach started to feel like it was getting crushed.

“Oh, there is so much more to him. You should’ve been in the breakroom the other day.” Lizzy propped her head up with her hands, “Just about everybody was crammed inside of there so they could hear what Jade had to say. Did you know during one of his matches, an opponent punched him in the face–only for their hand to break?! Could you imagine having a jaw that strong?”

Sandman felt his hands get sweatier.

“That is crazy.” Teddy turned to Sandman, “Are you hearing all of this?”

Sandman forced himself to nod.

His jaw was clenched.

Teddy and Lizzy kept talking.

“Apparently–one time–he punched a guy so hard, he ended up forgetting his entire life!” Lizzy let out an ecstatic laugh.

Sandman started to pick at his fingers under the table.

What was there to laugh about?

What was funny about this?

Was he supposed to be excited as well?

Did they forget that he’s the guy this freak’s after?

Did they think he’d like to go flying out of the ring? Or forget a good chunk of his life? He has some memories he’d like to keep.

Sandman kept staring at the two higher ups as they kept talking.

Has he looked away from them even once?

Has he even blinked?

He probably looked insane right now.

He hoped none of them noticed–

His eyes flickered to Edmond.

They locked eyes for just a second before Edmond went back to his work.

Great.

He noticed.

He’ll probably tell Teddy and Lizzy about this the second Sandman leaves.

“Hey, so–” Sandman cut in, “We just here to talk bout this guy? Or is he like, comin’ over here or something.”

That sounded way ruder than he wanted it to.

Edmond raised his head, “Yes, why don’t we focus on what this discussion is supposed to be about?”

Sandman noticed the hint of disappointment in both Lizzy and Teddy’s faces.

He scratched the back of his neck, “I mean, I don’t mind–”

“We have more important matters to focus on than these exaggerated claims.” Edmond said.

“They aren’t just claims!” Lizzy shot back, “This is important information about the champion! Wouldn't you want to know what your opponent is like before he–”

“I’d like to leave this place before 11, Elizabeth.” Edmond glared at her.

Lizzy folded her arms and slouched.

“We… Did get a bit sidetracked.” Teddy fixed his posture. He gave a passing glance to Edmond before he continued, “To answer your question though, Sandman, the guy’s record is pretty good. I can’t remember the exact numbers, but I’d say it’s on par with yours.”

“Right.” Despite finally getting an answer, that only made Sandman feel worse, “And he’s comin’ here?”

“In due time.” Edmond said, “The MCBA is already interested in sending their champion to our stadium, there’s been plenty of press about the two of you, your fans seem quite eager about the idea, and frankly, our stadium needs another big match. Especially after how Bald Bull’s turned out.”

“Oh, please. People loved his fight!” Lizzy exclaimed.

Edmond scoffed, “So? He didn’t win, and his fans lost interest.”

“A tiny bit of them! A smidge.”

“A small decrease in interest is still a decrease, Elizabeth.”

Lizzy opened her mouth–but Teddy spoke up.

“It’s also been a while since you’ve had a big fight, right?” He asked Sandman.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” Sandman shrugged.

Teddy nodded, “Right! So we were thinking–wouldn’t it be exciting to go against another champion? Not just for you, but for our audience as well! They love your fights, they love you.”

Honestly, Sandman didn’t mind the lack of big, flashy fights, those were more of Macho Man’s thing. If anything, he kinda couldn’t stand them.

He hated how crazy fans could get, he hated how invasive interviewers would act, and he hated how stressful the build up to the fight was.

But just by glancing at the higher ups’ faces, it was pretty clear that wasn’t the sort of answer they wanted.

“So when’s the guy gonna arrive?” Sandman asked, “Gonna take a while, isn’t it? He’s gonna have to fly over here, go through all the other circuits–”

“He isn’t going to go through the circuits. When he arrives, he’ll be coming straight to you.” ” Edmond stated.

Sandman stopped.

What?

No, no, that can’t be right.

Edmon glanced up at Sandman, waiting for a response, but when he got none, he kept talking, “There’s high demand to see you fight that champion. The sooner we schedule your match, the sooner we get the fundings we need to push out advertisements–”

“And the sooner my team and I can start working on your posters!” Lizzy chimed in.

“And hey, all that demand aside, it’ll be fun.” Teddy smiled, “What do you say, son?”

‘No.’

That was the first word that came into Sandman’s mind.

No.

No way.

He did not care how great that champion was, he couldn’t be that good to skip over everyone.

The higher ups stared at Sandman, waiting for an answer.

Sandman’s throat tightened.

‘You can’t disappoint them.’

It wouldn’t be fair to the hundreds of contenders that had to fight their way to the top before him.

‘They’re counting on you.’

Why should he be the exception?

‘What would your fans think?’

It’s not fair.

‘What would your friends think?’

It’s not fair to the other boxers.

‘If you turn this down, you could ruin everything.’

It’s not fair to him.

Sandman took a deep breath, “Sure.”

As soon as that word left his mouth, the disgustingly thick slurry of regret rose in his throat.

He covered his mouth and took a deep breath. It was too late to take it back now.

The meeting was going to be over soon.

~ ~ ~ ~

Octave sat at the end of the beaten-up booth.

It was stained, scratched up, and reeked of sweat.

He kept his arms folded, nails digging further into his skin with each miserable second that passed.

His posture was stiff and uncomfortable, and he was nearly an inch away from falling off the booth’s edge, but he didn’t care. As long as he was far from Disco, that’s all that mattered.

He narrowed his eyes at Aran, watching in annoyance as he kept whipping his head around to look at whatever woman passed him. The way his greasy ponytail kept moving made Octave want to grab it and rip it off of him.

And speaking of annoying, how did Disco and Aran both manage to dress in ways that drove Octave up the wall?

Disco wore a varsity jacket that was an annoyingly bright shade of blue, with puffy white sleeves that the bar’s light bounced off of. The purple t-shirt he wore underneath was so saturated it could probably melt Octave’s eyes if he stared at it for too long. The only tolerable thing he was wearing was a pair of dark blue shorts that were hidden under the table.

Maybe if Disco shoved the rest of himself under the table, Octave would be able to tolerate him more.

And Aran.

Aran and his stupid, beer-stained, murky green shirt. Aran and his stupid, dark green shorts that probably had even more stains on them. Aran and his stupid, skin-curling clothes that he probably hadn’t washed in weeks.

Aran suddenly shot up from his seat and hollered at a waiter.

“Over ‘ere ye ninny! I’ve been waitin’ here for hours!”

The waiter, who was dressed in nothing more but a white shirt, a pair of jeans, and a black apron, made their way over with a plastic tray full of drinks.

Aran took one of the pints and started downing it with loud, disgusting gulps.

“Bout time.” He said as he wiped off the white foam around his lip, “Get me another, hah?”

The waiter nodded as they handed over a bright red soda can to Disco. Disco cracked it open. Octave cringed at the sound.

The waiter walked away.

Aran went back to eyeing the crowd.

Octave’s nose scrunched.

“Say Aran,” He finally said, “mind tellin’ me what this schmuck’s doin here?” He pointed to Disco.

Disco lowered his brows but didn’t take his eyes off the phone.

Aran turned around, “What? Thought ye’d like th’extra bit’o company.”

“With Disco?” Octave asked.

“Yeah, what’s wrong wit’ him?” Aran shrugged.

Octave glared at him.

Aran threw his hands up, “I needed a ride here, izzat so wrong? Ye expect me t’walk over 20 miles jus’ t’get to some beer?”

“I ain’t, but did he really have to be here? He couldn’t have just dropped ya off or somethin’? He hadda walk ya over–what, were ya too scared to go alone?” Octave asked.

“I wanted t’buy him a drink after drivin’ me! Didn’t know it was a crime t’do somethin’ nice for yer friend.” Aran snapped.

“Ya can spoil th’guy for all I care, but ya told me this was our night, that it was just gonna be th’two of us hangin’ around–”

“Oh, so suddenly I can’t have another friend around?!” Aran asked.

“Ya can! I just don’t wanna–”

“Right, sorry, forgot how sensitive ye git wit’ t’is sorta crap.” Aran rolled his eyes, “How come when ye hang round Tiger, it’s all fine ‘n dandy, but when I hang round somebody else–”

“He thought you were gonna ditch him again.” Disco spoke up, grabbing both of the men’s attention.

“What?” Octave mumbled, the clammer of the bar drowning out his voice.

Disco nodded, “Yeah, when we were drivin’ here, he told me you probably weren’t gonna make it, so like, he wanted…” His words trailed off when he saw the glare Aran was giving him. He quickly took a sip of his soda and went back to texting.

Octave stared at him.

He then looked back at Aran, “Ya think I’d ditch ya?”

Aran scowled and muttered something under his breath..

“Why th’heck would ya think that?”

“I’unno, Einstein, certainly don’t have anyt’ing to do wit’ what happened last time.” He sneered. He grabbed his pint and took another swig.

“Last time?” Octave muttered.

Through the ruckus of the bar–through its blaring music and drunken cackles–he thought to himself.

The last time…

That was at the diner, wasn’t it?

Unless Aran was counting the time they went to the stadium and put traps in Bear’s–

Octave shook his head. No, that couldn’t be it, right?

The only other thing they’ve done together was talk on the phone–Octave stopped.

“Ya–are ya talkin’ bout earlier this week? What, when I couldn’t meet with ya at th’bar?” Octave finally asked. He looked back to Aran, whose frown grew.

“Are ya seriously still upset over that?! I told ya I was runnin’ errands. I couldn’t have met ya at th’bar even if I wanted to!” Octave raised his voice.

“No, ye told me ye just hadda do th’stupid laundry.” Aran hissed, “T’at sorta stuff don’t take all day.”

“Well guess what? It was a lotta laundry, ‘n I had to deal Macho Man–”

Aran pushed himself up and leaned closer to Octave, “Oh, boo, yer dad ran into ye, poor t’ing. Did he hold y’captive or somet’ing?”

Octave heard Disco snort. He gave him a nasty look, which made Disco bury his face deeper into his phone.

Octave tried to keep talking, “I got home late ‘n didn’t feel like–”

“Didn’t feel like what? Bein’ round yer friend?” Aran asked.

Aran lingered in front of Octave’s face, waiting for an answer.

Octave stared at him, nails digging deeper into his arms.

He finally forced an answer out of his mouth.

“No, that ain’t it.”

“Why didn’t y’call me then? Was I not worth th’time for t’at either?” Aran’s tone got more cynical.

“No, I got–I was gonna call ya after I was finished talkin’ with Tiger–”

“I didn’t ask about Tiger.” Aran’s face was barely an inch away from Octave’s.

Disco’s eyes kept darting to Aran then back to Overload.

“I gave ya a voicemail. Didn’t ya see that?” Octave said.

“Was that th’bloody t’ing ye sent me in th’middle o’the evenin’?!” Aran asked. For once in his life, Octave wished the bar’s music was louder, “I was already at th’bar when ye sent that crap, ‘n I couldn’t even hear it wit’ how cruddy th’quality was. Does yer phone even have a proper mic?!”

Disco’s hand suddenly came between them. He placed it on Aran’s chest and pushed him back into his seat. “How about some personal space?”

Once Aran was seated, Disco mumbled something to him.

Octave watched the two men talk before he slowly brought his head down, staring at the wooden table that had been ruined with crude, scratched-in words and drawings.

He could feel Aran’s eyes on him.

“Yer lucky Disco was there for me t’at night, d’ye know t’at?” Aran asked him. Octave’s mouth curled down.

“I was sittin’ round t’at bar like some idiot for nearly half ‘n hour waitin’ for ye.” Each word that left his lips was colder than the last, “Disco over ‘ere actually came when I called ‘em. Imagine that, aye? Maybe you could learn a t’ing from him.”

“Knock it off, Aran.” Disco said, getting back into his spot, “If I had to hang round you all the time, I’d probably need a break too.”

Aran didn’t say anything.

The deafening conversations of the bar filled the air between them.

The waiter from before came over. They slipped a menu with a dirtied plastic cover in front of Octave. They then grabbed the extra pint of beer–when suddenly Aran stood up.

“I don’t want t’at crap anymore. I’m gettin’ my own drink.” He pushed the waiter out of the way and stormed to the other side of the bar.

Octave and Disco watched him disappear into the crowd before they looked back at the waiter.

“I can take it.” Disco said, gesturing for the waiter to hand the drink over.

They did so. Disco grabbed it and nodded to the waiter. The waiter walked off.

Octave picked at the uneven edges of the menu, glazing over the small list of food they had to offer before flipping it over.

There was nothing but drinks on the other side.

Octave flipped back over to the food and looked over his options again. His stomach felt like it had been tied into a knot.

Nothing looked appetizing.

The bar felt like it was getting hotter.

The fabric of his suit and pants clung onto his skin.

He could feel beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead.

It didn’t help that there were hundreds of people here rubbing against each other, or the fact the kitchen door was left wide open, letting the heat of the ovens and grills pour out.

Everything was starting to grate on his nerves more and more.

From the constant tapping, to the snapping of fingers, to the horrible sound of people scraping their utensils against their plates, all wrapped together with Aran’s words ringing in his head, it made him want to claw his skin off.

He felt his heart race and took deep, heavy breaths in an attempt to block out even a fraction of the noise.

Tonight wasn’t a good night to drink.

Especially not with Disco here.

He’ll just get some water, chat with Aran, then leave–

Quick taps started to fill his ears.

Octave’s eyes shot over to Disco, who was tapping with one hand to the music while texting with the other.

Octave gripped onto the menu tighter.

He kept watching.

He thought about grabbing that extra pint and smashing it against Disco’s hand.

He thought about driving the shards into his skin and dragging it across–

Disco looked at Octave. They locked eyes before Disco looked at his hand.

He then shoved it into his jacket’s pocket.

His expression was sour, but whatever, at least he was quiet.

Octave shifted around, trying to get comfortable as all of the bar’s terrible sensations wrapped their arms around him and dug their fingers into his body.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to be in bed.

He wanted to be on the phone with Tiger.

Disco rested an arm on the table and inched a bit closer to Octave.

“Say, you uh–ya wanna drink that?” He asked, pointing to the pint of beer, “I’m not real big on alcohol and stuff, plus my parents’ll kill me if they find out I’ve been drinkin’. You a fan of beer?” He tilted his head.

Octave tossed the menu down and kept staring at the empty spot in front of him, “None of ya business.”

Disco’s mouth hung open, “Wh–?” He gestured about for a second, “None of my–!? I’m right here! I’m right here, at th’same booth as you, not even five feet away! I’m literally a part of your business right now!”

“So?” Octave muttered.

“So we could, ya know, talk? We got nothin’ better to do, my food ain’t comin’ for another who knows when, and I can’t leave till Aran wants to go home–whaddaya want me to do!?” He tossed his arms up, “Just spend th’next hour ignorin’ you and bein’ on my phone?”

“Yeah.”

Disco’s brows dropped.

He glared at Octave before he shoved his phone in his face again.

“Tryna be nice, ya know.” Disco muttered, sinking further into the booth’s cushions.

Octave just sneered, “Why?”

Disco looked at him like he was crazy, “Cause I don’t wanna spend th’whole night being petty to some guy I see every other day? Cause Aran was kinda bein’ a jerk to ya? Cause I wanted a conversation? Cause it’s–it’s nice? C’mon man, that shouldn’t even need an explanation.”

Octave nodded, “Right, sweet ‘n all, but I still hate ya.”

“Yeah, like I haven’t caught onto that.” Disco folded his arms.

Octave tried to look anywhere else but at Disco. He scanned the crowd for a waiter, but all of them were busy. There weren’t any signs of Aran either.

“You know, most people don’t even bother tryna talk to th’guy who nearly broke their boombox,” Disco grumbled as he kept texting, “or throws their stuff round like it’s nothin’, or–ya know–treat them like dirt everytime they see ‘em.”

Octave tore his head away from the crowd, “Ya want a medal or somethin’?”

Disco grip on his phone tightened, “I want you to actually say somethin’ to me that isn’t an insult.”

Octave scowled, “And I want you to stop bein’ so annoyin’.”

“And I want you to quit being such a jerk.” Disco said.

“And I want you to quit bein’ so thin skinned.”

“And I want you to go back to th’way you were when you first came to this stadium!” Disco exclaimed before he turned away from Octave and brought his knees to his chest, “Ya weren’t the happiest guy, but you were a heck of a lot nicer than you are now.” He muttered to himself, but Octave could hear him perfectly.

Octave’s face burned. His throat tightened.

The nerve of that chump.

Freak barely even knows him. What gave him the right to spew that sorta crap?

“I thought maybe we’d be a li’l more chill since we’re outta the ring cause–I dunno. I just did.” Disco said.

Octave grit his teeth.

“Wanna call me stupid for that too?” Disco asked, peering over at Octave.

If Disco hated how he treated him so much, why doesn’t he just shut up more often?

Why doesn’t he just turn off his devices?

Why does he even care about those stupid devices? They’re replaceable.

Maybe if he was quiet more often, Octave would tolerate him more.

Maybe if stopped tapping and dancing around for more than ten seconds, Octave could work up the energy to be ‘nicer’ to him.

Maybe if Disco was half as decent as Tiger, he’d get a shred of respect from him.

Octave narrowed his eyes. His mind wandered back to Tiger.

How he wished Tiger was here right now. How he wished he had one person in this stupid bar that wasn’t fed up with him.

If Tiger were here, he’d probably teleport Octave out of this joint, or maybe he’d laugh at every line Octave’s thrown at Disco tonight.

‘Or maybe not.’

He lowered his brows.

‘C’mon, ya saw how mad he got at Don ‘n Pisty after th’way they treated ya durin’ dinner. What makes ya think he’d put up ya stupid act?’

Octave grumbled to himself. So what if he’s being harsh?

‘Did ya forget th’time ya talked bad bout Bull? Did ya forget how fed up Tiger got with ya?’ The voice in the back of his head asked, ‘Do ya want Disco to run his mouth bout whatcha said ‘n end up with another friend mad at’cha, ya dolt?’

Octave covered his face with his hand and let out a heavy sigh.

He then stared at Disco through the cracks of fingers.

“I ain’t a fan.” Octave finally said.

Disco turned around, “What?”

“Of beer. I don’t like it.”

Disco didn’t say anything.

Octave’s chest grew tighter.

His eyes flickered over, and when he saw Disco staring at him, mouth hanging open, he looked away again.

“Really?” Disco said, his tone uncertain, “Always–always thought you’d be the type to like that sorta stuff.” Disco said.

“Yeah, well, I ain’t.” Octave said, “Ain’t a fan of gettin’ drunk either, or th’hangovers.”

“Right.” Disco nodded, “Same here. I, uh–Don’t really get th’excitement for that sorta stuff. Not sure how Popinski can handle bein’ like that all the time.” He chuckled, though it sounded forced, “What bout wine?”

“Bad. None of ‘em ever taste good.” Octave raised his head, “I know Joe has bout a glass of that stuff daily.”

Disco chuckled again, a bit more genuine this time, “Yeah, he’s always talked bout wantin’ to have a wine cellar. He got me a fancy bottle of wine once for my birthday, gave it to my parents instead.” He shrugged. “You can’t say anythin’ bad bout wine near him, though.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“He’ll get wine-y.” Disco flashed a big, goofy smile and laughed at his own joke. Octave got a laugh as well.

That was a bad joke.

He can’t believe he got a laugh from Disco’s stupid, bad joke.

He’s never gonna let himself live this down.

Disco started talking again, but Octave couldn’t make out a single word he was saying. His voice just dissolved with the hundreds of others in the bar.

The heat was starting to get to him again.

Where was Aran?

Octave tried to search through the crowd, but he couldn’t even find the tip of Aran’s hair.

The voice in the back of his head spoke up again, ‘Go outside.’

Octave gripped onto the table’s edge. Should he? Aran would probably get ticked off if he left him again.

But the constant clamor, the blaring music–if Octave stayed here a second longer he’d probably break something–someone–

He shook his head and punched the table, making Disco jump.

Octave got out of his seat and took a step towards the crowd.

“Hey ya–you good?” Disco asked.

Octave only glanced at him before he muttered, “I need some fresh air.”

He pushed his way through the crowd and made his way to the door, leaving Disco all alone.

~ ~ ~ ~

Sandman sat in his car at the parking lot behind the stadium.

He stared at his flip phone, its blue light burning into his eyes as a pit formed in his stomach.

‘Why did you agree to that?’ He asked himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. What was he supposed to do?

Say no to the higher ups’ faces? After they’ve put all their time and consideration into this upcoming match?

Tell them he’ll ‘Think about it’ and put up with their constant calls, emails, and letters asking if he’s finally made a decision?

He’s beaten plenty of guys before, he’s sure this won’t be any different.

Besides, it’s not like he could run back inside and tell Teddy he changed his mind.

Teddy probably already contacted the other stadium by now.

Sandman slowly exhaled and rested his head against the steering wheel.

The sound of his car’s engines filled his ears as the AC gently blew in his face.

He hated this.

He hated himself.

He should’ve said no.

Sandman’s thumb hovered over his phone’s keypad. He pressed a few buttons and went to his contact list.

He scrolled through it, eyes glazing over most of the names as he thought about who he should talk to.

He hesitated when he saw Bald Bull’s. He still hasn’t responded to Sandman’s text from several days ago.

Sandman scrolled past him.

No way was he going to bother Bull with his stupid match. Poor guy was already going through enough.

Sandman scrolled past Macho Man’s number. He scoffed.

Yeah, as if he’d talk to Macho about this. All he’d get as a response is nothing but Macho bragging about how tough he is, and how Sandman just needed to ‘man up’.

Sandman scrolled past Bear Hugger’s number–he forgot he had his number.

The last time they texted each other was…

Sandman glanced at the date.

Months ago.

What sort of jerk would reach out to someone again just to complain about their problems?

What sort of jerk goes months without talking to someone who works at the same building with them?

Then Sandman scrolled to Joe’s number.

He stopped.

His thumb bent down ever so slightly, hovering over the ‘Call’ button, before he raised it back up.

What would he even say to Joe?

‘Hey, remember that champion guy we talked bout? Th’one on the paper? Yeah, I have to fight him.’

‘So?’ Joe would probably say, ‘He’s threatened to fight you at least twenty times by now. You’re not surprised, are you?’

‘Guess I just… Didn’t expect it to happen so soon, ya know?’

He could hear Joe’s scoff echo in his head, ‘Please. You’ll be fine. You’re a boxer–you’re the champion! What’s there for you to be scared of? Losing?’

Sandman lowered his brows, ‘I guess.’

‘Right, because you’ve lost so many times before.’ Joe would reply with a roll of his eyes, ‘It’s not like everyone below you has ever lost before. It’s not like they’ve ever gotten knocked down and had to push themselves back up. Why, it’s unheard of.”

‘I’m just worried.’ Sandman thought.

‘You’re being dramatic. You’ll be fine.’

Sandman stared at his phone for a moment longer.

‘You’ll be fine.’

Sandman closed his phone, shoved it into his glove compartment, and drove away.

~ ~ ~ ~

Octave sat at a curb and watched as cars slowly maneuvered their way through the sloppily made parking lot. Their yellow lights occasionally doused him, and he’d sometimes get a lungful of smoke with every other car that passed.

The bar was a good several feet away, and even then, he could still hear its blaring music and the obnoxious conversations, along with the stench of cigarettes and cheap booze.

Being outside sucked, but it was a million times better than being inside.

At least he wasn’t sweating up a storm anymore, and at least he could get a good look at the stars.

Octave stared at the sky.

He hoped he could still get a taxi at this hour. He might have to walk a couple blocks to find one, or–worse case–spend a couple quarters at a phone booth and call one over.

He patted his pocket. He should have enough for a call and a ride home.

As Octave looked at the sky, his face started to scrunch.

He’s been out here for at least half an hour. The only reason he’s bothering to wait around is to say goodbye to Aran so the schmuck doesn’t think he ditched him again.

Octave sneered. As if Aran deserved a goodbye after the way he’s acted tonight.

Did he seriously get so worked up over Octave not making it to one stinking bar that Aran just had to replace him with Disco? Disco?

He’s met up with him hundreds of times before, but the one time he couldn’t make it, Aran throws a fit?

Whatever.

Hopefully Aran will get over it by next week.

Octave heard footsteps coming from behind.

He groaned.

“Hey.” He heard Disco say, “Think you can get a cab for Aran?”

“What? Why?” Octave whipped his head around, about to ask why Disco couldn’t drive him, but he stopped when he saw how upset Disco seemed.

“I ain’t gonna drive him back.” Disco said, “I was–till he went and started threatenin’ me. I don’t care if he’s drunk or whatever, I’m not–” Disco kicked at the sidewalk, “I just don’t wanna be around him anymore. I’ve had enough ‘Aran’ for tonight.”

Octave forced out a chuckle, “Right.” He stood up and brushed his pants off, “Yeah, I’ll get ‘em a cab.”

“Thanks.” Disco nodded. He put his hands in his pockets and lingered for a moment, “Sorry, I like–probably ruined your night, didn’t I?” He put on a tired grin, “Look, I really didn’t know you were gonna show up. I just thought I was his backup plan again.”

Octave pressed his lips together and nodded, “It’s whatever. I don’t care.”

“Alright.” Disco sighed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he said, “Ya have a good night.” And walked away.

“Mhm.” Was all Octave responded with as he watched Disco disappear into the parking lot. He stayed put for a moment while a strange, burning sensation filled his throat.

He swallowed and turned around.

Aran was standing in the middle of the bar’s doorway arguing with… Someone. They were tall–probably as tall as Macho Man–and had a big, broad build. They were wearing all black, but it couldn’t have been a security guard. No way this run down, shack of a bar could afford a security guard. Either way, he looked mad at Aran.

Octave fixed the collar of his shirt and walked over, weaving through the crowded tables and trying not to breathe in too much smoke as he approached his friend.

“I don’t care…You won’t…Staff like that…!” Octave heard bits and pieces of whatever the big guy was saying.

“Not my fault…How bout they…Jobs for once?!” Aran shouted back.

“You threatened…She couldn’t…” The man went off, but the neighboring conversations were drowning him out.

“Ye can tell t’at lass to go shove it then!” Aran snapped.

Octave grabbed Aran by the shoulder.

Aran spun around, about ready to throw a punch–but he lowered his fist when he saw it was Octave.

“I’ll deal with ‘em.” Octave said, giving Aran a pat, and getting a cold look from the man. “C’mon.”

He started to drag Aran away, but before they got too far, he faced the man again.

“Ya wouldn’t happen to have a phone we could borrow–”

“Get. Lost.” The man growled, his voice was deep and cold, and he looked like he was about to tear their heads off.

“Right. Gotcha.” Octave went back to pulling Aran away, “Been a real pleasure drinkin’ here.”

Aran’s head darted from the big man to Octave, “Aye, Ov’rload, there’s two o’us–”

“Didn’t know ya could count that high.”

Aran gave him a slap to the back of his head, “Can it.” He hissed, “We could take him though. Knock him down. Dolt won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Maybe another time.” Octave muttered as they went through the parking lot. They avoided passing cars until they eventually got off the dirt path and onto a sidewalk.

Octave couldn’t recall if there were any phone booths nearby or not. Hopefully there was. He really didn’t want to spend the rest of the night walking around this terrible place.

As the two got further and further from the bar, and closer to the rundown houses and stores of the town, Octave finally let go of Aran and wiped his hand off his pants.

Neither of them said a word.

Octave could hear Aran grumbling to himself, kicking at rocks as he cussed and complained about the chef, the poor workers, and the fine beer he supposedly didn’t get. Octave ignored him.

Octave scanned whatever parts of the neighborhood weren’t hidden in the darkness. Most homes were the same thin, two story, rectangular brick buildings with battered doors, crooked railings, and boarded windows. People’s yards were rather dead, littered, or decorated with birdbaths, small statues, and fancy pots to overcompensate the fact that the front of their house looked like garbage.

Speaking of garbage, the streets were covered in it. Crushed cans by mailboxes, soggy cardboard left to rot on driveways, and crumbled newspapers tangled in the wires of utility poles.

Some houses had their lights on.

They were bright, yellow, and obnoxious, but they did a better job illuminating this awful street than those dang lamp posts, which only provided weak, sputtering white lights that attracted moths and mosquitos.

“Had a good time tonight?” Octave asked as he stared ahead.

“Pah.” Aran said, “Disco did nothin’ but be annoyin’. Only time I enjoyed m’self t’night was when I left t’at bloody booth.”

“Then why’d ya invite him?” Octave rolled his eyes. The smell of the booze Aran drank started to mix with the muddy smell of the neighborhood.

“Thought it’d be funny.” Aran joined Octave’s side, a sly smirk on his face, “And hey, he wasn’t th’only one to ruin m’night.”

Octave raised a brow, “What?”

Aran let out a whistle, making Octave cringe, “Don’t go actin’ like yer all innocent. Ye did nothin’ but mope round bout th’noise.” He wrapped an arm around Octave and pulled him close, “Didn’t even order anyt’ing. Th’food ain’t that bad, ye know.”

“Wasn’t hungry.” Octave said.

A couple cars passed them, their headlights stinging Octave’s eyes for a moment. He squeezed them shut and shook his head. When he opened them again, he could sort of see a couple taller buildings in the distance. There could be a phone booth there.

Octave’s eyes flickered over to Aran then back to the path, “Yeah, I had a cruddy night too.”

“Didn’t ask.” Aran said.

“I know.”

It was silent again.

The heat of Aran’s breath irritated Octave more and more, and the way Aran’s skin pressed against the back of his neck made him want to hurl.

“Disco was pretty annoyin’ though, not like that’s anythin’ new.” Octave added. That got a snort from Aran.

“Tell me bout it. Man jus’ has to open his mouth at th’worst times, don’t he?”

“I know, right? Guy can’t shut up if his life depended on it. Even when I was sittin’ there doin’ nothin’, he just hadda start yappin’.” Octave shoved his hands into his pockets, “It’s like he’ll die on th’spot if he goes a whole minute without talkin’.”

“Ye should’ve been there when he was drivin’ me to th’bar. Nothin’ but corny music ‘n constant blabber th’whole way through. I’ll give th’lad this though…” Aran said.

Octave tilted his head.

“Least he don’t leave a man hangin’ alone at th’bar.”

Octave rolled his eyes again.

“Ye couldn’t even be bothered to stay a whole hour wit’ us t’night.”

“It was gettin’ loud.” Octave grumbled.

“Awh, boo hoo.” Aran clicked his tongue, “That don’t change th’fact Disco managed t’stick round longer than ye.”

“Least Disco knows how to put on some clean clothes, huh, Aran?” Octave shot back.

Aran snickered, “Aye, but at least Disco don’t go throwin’ tantrums over everyt’ing. Could ye imagine bein’ like that?”

“I bet Disco doesn’t pick the nastiest bars in th’city either.”

“And I bet he don’t nearly cry over noise. Remember t’at?” Aran asked. Octave dug his nails into the fabric of his pants.

“Yeah? Hey, how many times has Disco gotten suspended again? I’m sure it ain’t in th’double digits like some other guys.” Octave could see Aran’s smile grow wider from the corner of his eyes.

“I bet Disco don’t know how to shorten his suspension down to one week like me!” He exclaimed proudly, “I’m sure he also don’t have nearly as many losses as a certain someone either.”

Octave felt Aran pull him closer, “I’m sure th’schmuck doesn’t shove mouse traps into people’s lockers too.”

“Awh, c’mon now.” Aran chuckled, “We both worked hard on t’at. Could’ve thrown ye under th’bus when them higher ups was talkin’ to me, but I didn’t. Know why?”

“Cause ya stupid?”

“Cause I’m a good person.” He squished Octave’s cheeks and shook his face, “Ye gotta take notes on t’at, got it?”

Octave yanked his arm off and forced a grin on his face, “Yeah, cause when I think of some goody-two-shoes, I think of th’guy who keeps shovin’ stuff into people’s lockers ‘n cheats all th’time.”

Aran flexed his arms, “Aye, it pays off. Still in th’World Circuit, ain’t I? ‘Sides, I’m doin’ loads better than th’guy screamin’ at every boxer over some foot tappin’ or whatev’r.”

“World Circuit chump with crazy fans ‘n two whole friends. Whadda winner.” Octave scoffed.

Aran let out another whistle, piercing Octave’s ears and making his face scrunch.

“Right, like yer one to talk. How’s yer li’l boyfriend doin’? Is he still callin’? Still takin’ ye on ‘em dates after t’at dinner?” Aran brought Octave close to him again, eagerly waiting for an answer.

“Yeah.” Octave clenched his fists, “We went to th’diner few nights back–”

Aran yanked him even closer, their faces now touching, “Really? Really? Wow, ain’t t’at grand? It’s good to know yer loyal to somebody. It ain’t with th’guy who’s been there for ye since th’start, but it’s better than nobody, ain’t it?” Aran didn’t give Octave the chance to respond as he kept talking, “And for what? T’get an extra date in? T’get a pat on th’back from some magician?”

Octave gave him a scowl.

“C’mon, don’t gimme t’at look.” Aran said, “I’m just jokin’. I’m givin’ ye a hard time. If ye wanna frolic off wit’ Tiger, be m’guest, but I’ll still be waitin’ round for ye because I know how t’be loyal.” He pointed to himself.

“Oh, congrats, ya such an angel.” Octave sneered, “Can’t win a dang fight without cheatin’, ‘n can’t go a night without drinkin’. Bet you’re a real role model for ya sister.”

When Octave glanced back at Aran, there was a twinge of surprise–a twinge of pride–that sparked inside of him when he noticed Aran’s smile had faltered.

Aran parted his lips.

They stayed open for a moment.

“What’re ye on bout?”

“C’mon, she’s your sister, Aran. Ya know what I’m talkin’ bout.” Octave said, the smugness of his tone matching what Aran had just seconds ago, “She has to have seen th’way you’ve thrown ya self at th’other boxers before. Did she see th’time ya tried to bite a guy’s nose off? Or th’time ya nearly strangled a guy with that stupid rope-glove thingy ya whipped up? Or do ya only show her those funny li’l snippets on the papers, like Macho Man gettin’ covered in ink?” He chuckled.

Aran kept staring at him, letting out a barely audible ‘What?’

“Whaddaya mean ‘what’?” Octave asked, “If I hadda brother that crazy, I’d lock myself in my room forever ‘n wait for th’day he drops dead. Ya act crazy in th’ring…”

Aran’s grip on Octave’s shoulder tightened.

“...Ya keep gettin’ suspended–ya know, it ain’t gonna be too long till th’higher ups have hadda enough and kick ya out for good, ‘n then you’ll end up on th’streets cause ya can’t be normal...” Excitement in Octave’s tone grew.

Aran’s hand curled into a tight fist.

“...And I bet th’poor thing smells nothin’ but booze all day. Say Aran, when’s th’last time ya haven’t had a drink? Ya can’t even stop when ya sister’s home with ya–for pete’s sake, th’second she’s in bed, ya just gotta down a can, don’t’cha?” Octave gave his friend a smirk, “She ain’t dumb. I bet she notices all those fancy cans ‘n glasses of beer ya shove into th’trash cans, or hides away when she knows you’ve been drinkin’. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise me if she goes to school smellin’ like beer either–”

Aran socked Octave in the face.

Octave stumbled back and held onto his nose.

“Th’heck was that for?!” Octave snapped, “Are ya really–”

Before Octave could finish that sentence, Aran threw another punch.

Then another.

And another.

Octave tried to step away, but when he saw Aran’s fist flying towards him again–he caught it.

He delivered a sharp blow to Aran’s gut. Aran grunted.

He then struck Aran in the face.

Spit flew from Aran’s mouth.

Aran threw his other fist at Octave–but Octave caught that as well.

Octave kept his grip on Aran’s fists, heart pounding as Aran towered over him and pushed him back further and further.

Aran suddenly threw his head back and bashed it against Octave’s.

A horrible wave of pain immediately rushed through him.

Octave clutched at his head before Aran ripped his arms away and socked him in the jaw.

The taste of blood started to trickle inside of Octave’s mouth.

Aran grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

He kept hitting Overload’s face.

Each punch was harder than the last.

Hot spit and hushed cusses rushed against Octave skin as Aran kept going.

Octave grit his teeth and threw his body against Aran’s.

Aran staggered back, and Octave revved his arm back and punched Aran in the gut again.

It was his turn to keep hitting.

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t care where he was punching, he just wanted to make it hurt.

Aran’s body jerked back with each blow, and when Octave struck him in the face, a loud crack filled the air.

He went for another hit–

But Aran grabbed his arm and bit into it as hard as he could, making Octave scream out.

Octave tried to break free, but Aran kicked him in the stomach and shoved him to the ground.

Octave tried to push himself up, but Aran got on top of him.

He held Octave down by his throat and raised his fist into the air.

He struck him in the face.

Then again.

And again.

“Ye keep m’sister outta yer bloody mouth.” He muttered as he struck Octave again.

Octave tried to pry Aran’s hands off his throat.

“If ye even think bout utterin’ bout her again, I’ll kill ye.” He hit Octave again.

Octave gargled something. Salvia and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

He struck him again.

“After all I’ve done for ye–” Aran grabbed Octave’s head and banged it against the pavement, “After all I’ve done for ye!”

Octave let out a violent cough. Blood flew out and stained Aran’s hands.

Aran grabbed a fistfull of Octave’s hair and threw another punch, “What do you know about havin’ a good family!?”

He ignored Octave’s hands desperately clawing at his arms.

He ignored Octave’s body jerking around, trying to break free.

He just kept hitting him.

“What do ye even know bout people likin’ ye?” Aran said before he struck Octave, “I could’ve ignored ye like everyone else–”

“Aran–” Octave called out, but Aran hit him again. More blood started to run down his face.

“But I actually cared bout someone like ye!”

Aran hit him again.

“Aran–Aran stop.”

Aran raised his fist again.

Octave squeezed his eyes shut.

He waited.

But when nothing came, he cracked them open.

Aran loomed over him, eyes wide and wild, blood running down his hand as he stared at Overload.

His heavy breaths filled the cold night’s air.

Octave stared back up at him.

His breaths were shaky, he could feel warm blood stream from his nose. His entire face felt as if it had been lit on fire.

Aran muttered something to himself. He let go of Octave’s neck.

“Don’t ye ever talk bout m’sister again.” He hissed.

Aran raised his head, but before he stood up, he spat on Octave.

He finally pushed himself off of Octave, grinding the bottom of his shoe into his chest as he looked down at his bloodied work one last time, “Enjoy yer time wit’ Kitty while it lasts.”

He gave a final kick to Overload before he stormed off.

Octave clutched at his stomach with one hand and rolled himself over.

Blood ran down his chin. His body burned.

He pushed himself up and watched as Aran grew further and further away.

His breaths grew heavier, wilder, as Aran disappeared into the darkness.

Fine.

Who needs him?

#punch out #punch out!!#punch out wii #punch out oc #punch out aran ryan #punch out mr sandman #art #fic #ALL FINISHEDDD

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makaybee · 1 year

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Giana was an only child that played in the quite streets of Willowcreek. Though her parents, Thomas and Alana Mullins, gave her the best of everything, there was always something missing. Her request for more siblings was met with rejection, and involuntary solidarity made her aware of just how alone she was. Both parents were workaholics. Her mother, a Britechester graduate with a distinguished degree (with honors) in Fine Arts, had at the time landed a job as an art curator. Her father was a chef at a five star restaurant and cooked more meals for strangers than he did for his own family. Looking back now, she could understand why having another child wouldn't have been the best decision.

Her relationship with her mom became strained as she aged. Alana strove for perfection in her work life and expected the same of her home life. As a result, Gigi attended a private high school that probably cost more than her mother's luxury car. With her mother's firm insistence, she attended a plethora of extra curricular activities. Soccer, softball, art club, music...there were too many to count, and if it weren't for the wall of framed awards her mother displayed in her library, she wouldn't even remember any of it. Because if she were being honest, she didn't care. The trophies, the acknowledgments, were just another way to earn her parent's attention.

Her despondency worsened in college. Her mother insisted that she follow in her footsteps. Gigi really didn't want to take the same path her mother took, but part of her still yearned for attention and approval. And so, she also pursued a degree in Fine Arts. She used painting to express her anger, and for a while her pieces, though brilliant, were filled with caged frustration and loneliness. Then she ran into Dillan -quite literally- outside of the Foxbury Common Cafeteria. (Nobody had mocha lattes like Foxbury.)

Distracted by the phone in her hand, she had just enough time to register the long string of expletives (Did she detect a Mt. Komo accent?) before a dripping hot slice of pizza, followed by -was that a fizzy blurpleberry soda?- splattered on her brand new white Simverse sneakers. Well dang.

Slowly, she pulled her eyes up from the bubbling mess on the ground. She totally expected to be berated for ruining some poor guy's lunch. Her gaze took note of his ruined Simdidas shoes (definitely limited edition), fashionably distressed jeans, (covered in pizza sauce), to the shirt that read “Never trust atoms. They make up everything”. The guy stared at the ground for what seemed like forever, so she couldn't read his expression behind the expensive designer glasses he wore. Still, she could've sworn she picked up on a bit of anger? Hostility?

His eyes flitted to hers, but only for a moment before dropping once again to the mess between them. She braced herself for another slew of profanities, the kind worthy of a parental advisory label, but all he asked was, “How do you fix a broken pizza?”

She stood there baffled, unsure of how to respond. The absurdity of the question in a situation like this...

His dark eyes rose to meet hers before asking once again. “How do you fix a broken pizza?”

Still she stood there, mouth gaping, probably looking like a fish out of the Brindleton Bay. “Tomato paste.” He said with finality.

“What?” She asked.

“That's how you fix a...pizza. You know...that’s broken. Tomato paste. Get it?” A single brow rose as he studied her reaction.

Gigi let his words run through her head for a second as she struggled to piece together the scene unfolding. Before she could stop it, laughter, genuine and pure, poured from her traitorous lips. She couldn’t believe she was actually laughing -like a chortling donkey, mind you- at such a corny joke. Honestly, it was the stupidest thing she ever heard. And yet, it was at that very moment, she knew she found a kindred soul, and she wouldn't have to be alone for as long as he was around. Needless to say Gigi and Dash were fast friends after that day.

#sims 4 #TS4 #Gigi x Dash

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pupuseriazag · 9 months

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Blue Tarantula - 1/??

(Guess who is finally posting this thing LASFHASFJSAH I've been writing this one + other 2 since June and after doing some light editing before exams I think i feel confident enough to share this little thing of my Spidersona Rox :3. Just one thing: I made the mistake of starting it in english but I didnt like so much the idea of Rox and Miguel speaking english between them (him being mexican and Rox being salvadorean) so I apologize for that if you only speak one or the other 😅)

My name… is Roxana Reyes. Years ago I was bitten by a weird spider in the woods while on a trip with some friends, it gave me amazing and unbelievable powers I had to keep as a secret from everyone else.

I could climb walls and ceilings, my senses sharped drastically and some of my teeth changed, becoming more fang-like. I almost felt like this was some type of blessing given to me by the gods themselves…

And so I became the Blue Tarantula, and accidentally joined the fight with the rebellion in my city.

You see my city… and country, has been subjected to a regime ever since I became an adult, one funded by the Alchemax industries in an effort to keep control of both the people and to take advantage of the (few) resources we have.

I had heard about the rebellion when it first started as rumors, I heard how the police had raided some neighborhoods and made them move away since they needed the land to house wealthy individuals, and to set a barrier between “low class” and “high class” with the excuse of progress. And since police would not care about those tagged as “low class” I guess it became my duty to influence people into helping each other.

I was able to help people around during these hard times, I saved countless people so they began to see a ray of light at the end of the tunnel… And I also became a target for the regime. It's incredible the kind of chambres and smear campaigns a corporation can fund because they are scared of your influence.

And I was alone in this. Other than the occasional old lady sharing some pupusas and tamales with me or little kids wanting me to show them some cool tricks… I had no one but myself.

My parents don't live here in the capital, my mom moved out after the divorce and I managed to get her a decent house with my savings from doing tattoos. My dad managed to be considered a “high class” individual and lives over there so I almost never see him… Not like I would love to see him anyways.

Friends? I have a few, but we’re…not so close… not since the "accident", where I had to choose between saving my then boyfriend… and my best friend.

…and I made the wrong choice thinking I could save both.

An accident happened in one of Alchemax’s laboratories, the last one to remain in not a wealthy zone. My best friend… Gwen, she was there to visit her boyfriend. A daddy’s son with an ego bigger than the Lempa.

I told her many times that he was not going to help us, I tried telling her so. Many. Times. That he was not to be trusted, but letting your heart guide your actions sometimes leads to the stupidest things.

In our case, it made her boyfriend try to chase her down with the prototype of a machinery with octopus-like arms… and in my case, it made me save the wrong person.

She fell down a platform, straight to the floor.

And you know the “funniest” part? He dumped me a day later. He said the near death experience made him realize he didn't want to be with me… and I couldn't tell him the reason he was still alive was thanks to me.

I was broken, devastated and severely depressed…I let my best friend, the only closest friend I ever had, to die just so this ingrateful asshole would ditch me… I was so, so stupid.

There's no day I don't regret my decisions, if I could go back in time I would save her. I would not choose him but her… and maybe, just maybe… I could’ve asked her out.

The whole incident was covered afterwards, no investigations were done aside from hunting down those who dare to speak about what happened there… Gwen’s parents did not even get to see their daughter… or know what happened to her. To this day, they still believe she was kidnapped.

After that day, I was relentlessly asked by people to uncover the truth and reveal to them what happened, so the weight of knowing what happened and not being able to speak about it was put on my shoulders, along with the trust of the majority of people expecting me to be the leader of the rebellion…. I refused to be the leader, and that did not stop them from seeing me as one.

So, Blue Tarantula spends their days and nights with heavy eye bags. Watching the hacked cameras and having to rescue people around. They have to escape easily as they are a target of cops… with no one to greet them on their own in a small apartment, no one waiting for them with a meal or a hug.

Just them, and themselves.

That was, of course, until some months ago, when the weirdest shit happened and my life again did a 180. It all started when something appeared on the Flor Blanca Stadium. Something that was not from this world.

So I did as I usually did with the couple of assholes that make my life worse from week to week, kept the civilians away from the scene and dealt with it myself.

And there I was… face to face with a big cyborg that somehow resembled the green goblin… its red eye with a laser pointing at my forehead constantly as I tried to take it down

But no matter what I did, it was way stronger than me, it pinned me to the ground as it pointed its robotic arm at me, charging up a laser that would instantly blow my head.

It was going to end up this way. No more Blue Tarantula, no more fighting, no more suffering.

No more Rox.

As I closed my eyes to accept my death, I felt some strange lights coming from my right. Both the cyborg and I turned around to an impossible sight.

What looked like floating blue hexagons began to spin slowly, and the unmistakable sound of reverb waves increased quickly until they turned orange, revealing the true nature of that almost biblical sight.

It was a portal, there was no other word for it. And something came out of it, like a projectile coming straight for the cyborg and taking it off from me.

Rain began to fall as I watched with heavy eyes how a beast almost obliterated the cyborg, then trapped the robot in what looked like one of those baskets covered with cellophane that people give out in christmas.

The masked beast approached me showing me his humanoid figure, was he an alien? His clothes (or skin, who knows) bearing the symbol of a red holographic spider, or was it a skull? I cannot truly tell as my eyes are begging me to let go of my consciousness.

I also felt fear for a moment, not understanding this impossible situation and not being able to speak as my mouth was full of blood.

His mask disappeared when I slowly blinked, revealing what looked like the most handsome man I had ever seen in my life.. Or at least this week.

He kneeled beside me, putting a hand behind my head to lift it carefully

"I cannot leave you here, not like this.” His eyes were a deep red, something inhuman and another thing to write just about how fucked up this situation was. “You’re coming with me” His demanding voice said as he lifted me from the ground in his arms, I almost felt bad for his pretty suit getting covered in so much blood.

I don't know where he is taking me, but one thing’s for sure, it has been a hell of a long time since someone held me in their arms… but I was so tired, I knocked out before knowing where he was taking me, hopefully to heaven I wished.

This had to be a bad dream, I probably was having a fever and that's why this dream was so weird… it was that or my dying consciousness giving me delusions before I gave my last breath.

I woke up hours later, no longer feeling the synthetic grass on my skin nor the big arms of that guy, but the soft touch of cotton and comfiness of a bed. The soft electric hum of a nearby ac and the mumbling of some people lullabying me, telling me to sleep a little more… just 5 more minutes…

"Oh, she woke up," A feminine voice coming from behind me said.

"She needs to rest more. Her body has not recovered fully yet." The man from before replied.

I opened my eyes slowly, staying still in the bed while my eyes tried to adjust to the white light of the room.

I heard steps coming closer, stopping right where I could feel the person behind me, probably already noticing I was trying to ignore them.

"I know you’re awake." He said in a serious voice.

I turned my head softly, meeting the same red eyes that greeted me after I almost died.

The serious expression in his face softened when we locked eyes. Almost in relief to see me still alive.

"She is awake." He turned to the other person in the room. "I'll take it from here, Layla."

"Got it." But I heard no footsteps or person coming out of the room.

"Glad to see you're alive." He said while still holding eye contact. "Can you sit?"

I lifted my body carefully, sitting down on the bed but closing one eye. These damn lights are too bright for my liking.

"Great." He dragged a very funky looking chair closer, sitting beside me "You may be wondering what you're doing here."

"I'm also wondering who the hell are you… or where the fuck I am" I let out unconsciously.

The situation began to fall on me as I realized that was no dream. I was somewhere I don't know, worst case I’m trapped in Alchemax and this is one of their traps.

The man frowned. "You are in the infirmary of the HQ.” He continued. “My name is Miguel O’Hara.”

"Ah, Miguel te llamás ¿Y me hablas en inglés?." I replied mockingly. “No se quien seas, Miguelito. Pero yo no le contesto a los imbéciles de Alchemax.”

He sighed. “I do not work for Alchemax, at least not the one in your universe-”

“Universe? ¡¿Qué putas estás diciendo?!”

“Si te callas por lo menos 5 minutos.” He raised his hand. “Te puedo explicar qué “putas” está pasando.” Yeah I figured he would cave in.

I crossed my arms, still holding a stern look on him.

“¿Sabes lo que son los universos alternos?”

“¿Lo de que “existe” posibilidad de que una supuesta versión mía tenga una mejor vida? Aja.”

“Ok, eso ya hace más fácil las cosas.” From his right hand, an orange light came out, displaying itself like a holographic and translucent screen that he touched around. “Tu nombre es Roxana-”

“Rox.” I corrected him.

“...Rox Reyes.” He continued reading. “Eres la spiderwoman de la tierra 503-B, nombre en clave: Tarántula Azu-”

“Perate perate.” How does he have so much info on me? “Primeramente que es esa madre, segundo ¿Como tenes mi información?”

“Es una pantalla, y ya casi llego a esa parte así que si no te molesta, déjame terminar.”

“Man, ¡¿Cómo queres que reaccione?! ¡No se donde putas estoy! ¡No se que esta pasando! ¡No entiendo NADA!”

“Eso INTENTO.” His tone went up as well. “Estoy intentando explicarte de la pinche mejor manera. Asique callate y trata de escuchar por lo menos.”

“¡Ah claro! Porque claramente que me empeces a gritar ¡Hará que me calme!”

"Ay coño." He mumbled under his breath bringing his hands to his face. "LYLA." He commanded and a little floating hologram came out of nowhere.

"Mhm?" The little image of a woman with big heart shaped sunglasses and a white fur coat shaping her nails addressed him.

"Help me explain to her-"

"Them." I corrected him again.

"Explain it to them."

"Explain what?" The hologram replied.

"Everything, maybe they will listen to you." He got up from his seat, visibly mad.

"Ok ok." The hologram came closer to me. "Sooo Spiderperson from earth-503. This man you see it's actually the spiderman of this universe.” She pointed at him. “You are the spiderperson of your universe" She pointed at me almost touching my nose. “And big guy saved you from an anomaly becaaaaause that's our job! We’re fixing the maaany anomalies that appeared on the multiverse.”

"In other words," He stood up. "We are working on fixing this mess, so accidents like the one you suffered don't happen anymore."

"So you are like a crusader? Like, beating the shit out of those… things? Ese cyborg era de otro lugar?”

"No, kinda and yes." His angered expression turned into seriousness.

"¿Y qué pasa si no logras atraparlo?"

“¿No notaste nada raro mientras peleabas con él? ¿No lo viste glitchearse?”

“...Osea que no era el cansancio ganándome.”

“Esos errores que viste suceden ya que él no era de tu universo” He took a glance at my hand. “Estarías sufriendo lo mismo, si no fuera por el brazalete que te puse.”

I looked at my hand, just now noticing the weird thing on me.

“Todavía es un prototipo, no lo pierdas por favor.”

“A ver, perate que la cabeza me da vuelta.” I said, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to tie and connect the infodump I just received. “Me estas diciendo que uno, sos de otro universo, dos, estuve a punto de morir por un pendejo que no era de mi universo, tres, que es importante regresarlos por que si no se glitchea…” I opened my eyes, confused by one of the things. “¿Por qué?”

"Porque la presencia de estos en universos donde no pertenecen genera más anomalías, hasta que el mundo colapsa."

"Y esa es teoría o-"

"Sucedió."

This is starting to sound ridiculous, multiverses, anomalies, apocalypses. This has to be a fucking joke.

I leaned in close to Miguel. "¿Y cómo sé que puedo confiar en vos?"

"Tienes mi pa-"

"¿Cómo sé que no me estás mintiendo? Porque después de todo” His eyes focused on mine. “Para mí seguís siendo un extraño que me raptó a un lugar desconocido."

His eyebrows drew closer “Esperaba que te tomaras esto mas enserio.”

“¿Cómo esperas que me tome todo esto en serio? Literal me estas hablando que disque sos de otra dimensión e inventándote mas mamadas.” I launched my hand to his throat, taking him by surprise as he fell to his back and I pinned him to the ground, knocking his chair over as well. He grabbed my hand and I noticed his talons come out. “¿Acaso me queres ver la cara de pendejo? Vas a tener que intentar mejor que inventarte una película.”

He tried to get up and I kept him in place with all my force, but I still haven't recovered completely so he overpowered me and turned me around, now having him pinning me against the cold floor roughly and causing me to cough.

“Me estoy empezando a aburrir de tu maldita actitud.” He growled while showing some of his teeth. “Ni siquiera sabes el peligro en el que estás. Ni siquiera quieres entender que SIMPLEMENTE quiero ayudar a que tu maldito universo no colapse y puedas seguir viviendo tranquilo.”

“¡¿PUES ADIVINA QUE, PENDEJO?! ¡SI ME HUBIERAS DEJADO MORIR ME HUBIERAS SALVADO DE VERDAD! ¡MORIR IBA A SER LO MEJOR QUE ME IBA A PASAR EN LA VIDA!” I yelled at him trying to fight back tears. “¡YA ESTABA LISTO PARA MORIR!”

His expression changed to surprise, I guess he wasn't expecting me to admit that.

“¡Y SI ME VAS A MATAR POR NO ESCUCHARTE, PUES APURATE!”

He let go of me, getting up from the floor and turning around while putting his hands on his hips. Fucking asshole cant even help me get up.

I rolled on the ground, to try to get up on my own, but both my back and stomach hurt like hell and I let out several coughs and held a hand to my stomach. He turned around and immediately went on to help me get up.

“Suéltame, pendejo.” I whispered in pain.

“Todavía no te recuperas.”

“Pero bien que te pusiste a pelear.” I turned my head to him.

“¿Y quien se tiró hacia mí primero?”

I rolled my eyes, letting him sit me on the bed again.

“Discutiremos esto cuando hayas descansado y te sientas mejor.” He crossed his arms.

I was about to speak and he lifted a finger, shushing me off.

“Si vas a decir otro de tus comentarios sarcásticos mejor ahorratelo.”

I closed my mouth, pissed off and looked elsewhere.

“Bien, voy a mandar a que alguien venga a revisar cómo sigues.” He began to walk off to the door. “Cuando estés dispuesto a hablar, decidiré qué hacer contigo.”

“Que mierdas se supone que significa eso”

“Tu vas a elegir si quedarte o irte.” The door opened sideways automatically, showing me a glimpse of the outside hallway before he left without saying more.

If he thought that would make me feel less angry, then he is fucking wrong. He is lucky I’m still not ok, or I would’ve paralyzed his ass.

What am I even supposed to do? Does he expect me to just wait here? Bullshit.

I took a look at the room from the bed, this place felt unreal. Like if I was put in one of those sci-fi movie sets with stereotypical futuristic equipment.. but as much as I tried to find the sound of people outside or someone that confirmed this was just an elaborate joke I couldn't, I could only hear the humming of the ac and my own thoughts.

I refuse to believe he is being serious, theres just no fucking way, even for someone like me who has some faith in the gods and believes in paranormal shit, this is all just too dumb and stupid.

He may think I will cave in and fall for his lies, Pfft, pobre pendejo.

....But why did he leave me alone here? Is he too stupid to believe I will stay here? Nah, as soon as I am capable of walking without pain I will get the fuck out of here and go home. Soon enough I’ll be home and-

…And I’ll keep living my sad life.

…

Ugh, if there's something that I hate more than myself is having to be alone with my thoughts. So I got up from the bed while holding a hand to my stomach, to try and distract me from thinking.

I approached a cabinet sluggishly, putting my free hand on where the outlines of an opening were, but no handles to be seen. And it opened automatically, letting me see that inside was my ripped and bloody mask.

“Puta…” I let out in a whisper, taking a look at it. “Justo le había cosido eso…”

No sight of more of my things though, so no phone to check if I could receive any signal to confirm I was still “in my universe”, even saying that makes me cringe.

I couldn't see a clock either, or at least one that made better sense than one on the wall near the bed… so either way I’m fucked unless I actually go outside and check the place myself. Worst case scenario I’m inside one of Alchemax’s labs…. Even worse case scenario, that man is right.

What am I even thinking?! He is NOT telling the truth. No man that pretty ever tells the truth.

But his suit… The way he knows “classified” stuff, the floating screen, the little holo lady…

Am I inside one of those vr games? I immediately moved my hands to my face. If this is one of those games I will be able to “clip” through my head and see the empty inside of my arm… But my hands touched my face, neither clipping nor letting me feel any headset attached to my head.

No, there has to be a trick, it's always a mirror trick or strings attached to something, I REFUSE to accept that bitch is right.

I walked up to a panel nearby the bed, finally something that I recognized, a touchscreen. The screen lit up showing all the options it had: “Assistance, Options, Lights, Info”. I touched Info and one of those screens appeared. Now’s my chance to confirm this is just layers of glas- My… MY FINGER WENT THROUGH IT?! IT'S LITERALLY LIGHT?! BUT IT’S NOT BEING REFLECTED ON ANYTHING!

Calm down Rox, calm the fuck down. There has to be a pretty clear and believable explanation for this, one that we may not understand completely, but believable nonetheless.

My eyes turned to the holo screen again, it had an orange color similar to the other one that guy pulled out and held my information. “Subject name - Rox Reyes, “Blue Tarantula”, from Earth 503B, Age 27, One anomaly reported in universe, Status: Injured, Recovering in HQ’s infirmary. Not a member of the spider society”

I'm even more confused… No, I shouldn't allow them to get to my head, that's how he will win and I. Won't. Let. Him.

I took a step back and turned to the door. I've seen enough bullshit in one day, or night. I'm getting the fuck out of here.

There were no handles on the door, and even though I was literally touching it, it did not open. Great, he trapped me in here.

I let out the most stressed out sigh I ever had in my life and brought both hands to my face. This is just the worst.

And on top of that, I'm starving. And there was no food around.

This must be one of his tactics, he is trying to starve me so I end up caving in just for the taste of some food in my mouth. WELL GUESS WHAT, DUMBASS?? I'M ACCUSTOMED TO NOT EATING IN A WHOLE DAY!

…but truth be told, I didn't eat last night because of the emergency. So my stomach is hurting like crazy asking me to give it anything.

My only option now is either stare at the ceiling…or try to sleep some more.

But if I fall asleep they may come for me and take me elsewhere.

So I laid down again on the bed, looking at the white ceiling for a while… My eyes began to close themselves… Ugh, I'll just sleep for a moment.. I'll be alerted easily if someone tries to come inside… And I will teach them a lesson…

#zagreusfics #RoxReyes #Im not gonna tag it with Miguel because I dont feel comfy yet of people I dont know finding this xd #these are like 10 pages so enjoy #well 9 and a half but you get me #lots of salvadorean slang with Rox btw #this was a good practice of going between voseo and more neutral spanish #plus some help from some of my mexican friends with Miguel's speech xd

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talkin-tdc · 1 year

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Ranting about my favorite character XD

I love Ordon…but I need to rant about him a bit

Ordon is quite frankly one of my favorite characters, I love what he does with Rian and their cute interactions after he turns good and all that…but that’s why I wanted him to survive and why I have to fault him for all his DUMB moves!! (Also I get that the gelfling aren’t supposed to be the brightest or some suspicious, so just take this in good fun as an outsider looking in/advice I would’ve given him if I could).

I’m not going to fault him for putting Tolyn in charge because honestly that was one of his few good choices. He’s fiercely loyal to the lords and the crystal which is what he was supposed to be so while yes Tolyn sucks and he basically killed the guard, can’t blame Ordon for that one in a good conscience…

You know what I CAN blame him for though? His complete lack of awareness in the carriage scene! Like, dude, you are the head of security! The Captain of the crystal guard and you let some rando maiden who looks to be a princess (but you don’t know for sure because she could be lying) into the lord’s carriage?! And people might be thinking ‘Oh, but SkekOk insisted’ and yeah he did but would it have killed Ordon to at least try to be more vigilant? Like do a pat down or question her to validate her claims or something? Have her empty her pockets? No? Nothing before he lets a random girl on the street into the carriage of the lords of the crystal?! She could’ve had a knife, or poison, or a million other things and he doesn’t even bother to check. It didn’t even seem like he knew her or had met her before evidence by the fact that he referred to her as “girl”. Yet he lets her in without even asking her name if something bad potentially happened, just trusts that the crowd says she’s a princess.

Next up for stupid decisions is the decision to not talk to Gurjin or get any tangible proof while he was at the castle that Rian killed Mira. I mean I know most people can write this one off, but honestly this is the most heinous in my opinion. Like he doesn’t even see her body, heinous. Let me say that again for the people in the back ahem HE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW FOR A FACT THAT SHE WAS DEAD!! You couldn’t even be bothered to ask about the body? Like ‘hey can I see her stab wounds to know if a gelfling really killed her?’ Not even that?!?! She could’ve been kidnapped for all he knew! She could’ve still been alive marking Rian innocent, but nooo we can’t have common sense can we? And not even trying to talk to Gurjin? Come on! He’d be far more likely to admit to you than anyone if your son really did commit a crime. He didn’t even check to see if Gurjin had the sickness that Rian had. He surely needed to prepare himself for the journey to find Rian, he couldn’t have swung by just to try to investigate? Couldn’t have asked Tolyn to investigate and make sure Gurjin was actually sick or showed any signs of sickness before you left?! It’s like he wants to believe Rian’s a murderer and was sick to protect his own reputation, that is not the thing to be worried about in that scenario!

Finally we come to his stupidest decision yet, going with Rian to Ha’rar. While yes there were a lot of emotions after the dreamfast and obviously that clouded everyone’s judgment, it made absolutely zero sense to go there together. Why not hmmm I don’t know have the all maudra’s daughter go with him instead of the gelfling who is said father of the accused murderer? Like Tavra could get an audience with Mayrin way faster than Ordon could. Plus she’s a third party without Ordon’s bias. I’m also sure it’d be just a little bit easier to get Gurjin out of the cells or try to save the guard or figure out more information on the Skeksis if he went instead of Tavra. Plus while running in the forest, Ordon stated he had knowledge of more of the Skeksis wrong doings, so it also could’ve made more sense if he had spoken to Maudra Fara about their info and convince her earlier that something was up.

Anyway yeah, rant over. I love him as a character but his choices could’ve been better for survival. I really wish he could’ve survived for season two if that had ended up happening but it is what it is. Let me know your thoughts on him as a character!

#rian #gelfling #gurjin #ordon #captain of stonewood #captain ordon #dark crystal age of resistance #tavra #dark crystal #skeksis #stonewood #drenchen #vapra

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vasfasan · 1 year

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idk mAYBE i’m missing something here, but i think this is quite possibly the STUPIDEST decision rumple has ever made?? like bro could’ve just stabbed killian and gotten EVERYTHING he’s ever wanted, which is become the dark one again. like he specifically did stuff to the sword IN THE NEXT EPISODE to ensure he become’s the DO again, but he could’ve just as easily just used the sword right there to kill two birds w one stone: kill his nemesis & get dark magic. the only reason he had to NOT kill hook then and there is plot....

#ouat 5x10 #ouat 5a #once upon a time #rumplestiltskin #killian jones

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beenbaanbuun · 2 years

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Sleep On the Floor - Jeon Wonwoo

Words: 2.4k

Genre: fluff (based off of the song Sleep On the Floor by The Lumineers)

Warnings: none

“Do you want to run away with me?” The question shocked you, especially coming from your usually reserved best friend. He sat there, next to the window, staring out into your parents' backyard at the rain pouring out from your neighbour’s busted drainpipe.

“Wonwoo,” You stopped typing, spinning your chair around so you could look at him. The job application could wait. “You know we can't do that.” He sighed, his body visibly deflating in disappointment at your answer. Honestly, you weren't sure what he expected you to say to that. It was a ridiculous question, but somehow he seemed completely serious.

“Why can’t we?” His gaze was fixed out of the window, not bothering to look your way as he argued his case, “think about it for more than a few seconds, will you? We both hate this place and yet here we are, both 26 and still stuck here.”

It was hard to deny his point. For as long as you two had been friends, you’d talked about leaving. Not running away, but rather running towards something great. You’d hoped that it would’ve happened by now, but there you were.

“We don’t have any money.”

“We won’t need any.”

“Wonwoo…”

“Y/N.” He finally turned to you, his voice almost begging you to hear him out, his eyes sending you the same message. This was something you’d never seen from Wonwoo before. This was desperation. You hated seeing him like this.

“Where would we go?” Something deep within you wanted to listen to him, to follow him in his shitty car anywhere. It could’ve been your life-long infatuation with him, but something inside of you told you that you’d follow him anywhere he wanted you to go. All you needed was a little push, and you’d be right there with him.

That's what made this situation so dangerous. It was stupid. Possibly the most idiotic idea he’d ever come out with, and yet you were considering it. The only thing holding you back being the uncertainty of it all. If it all went wrong, you’d have to come back to the hell-hole you were so desperately trying to escape. The idea of freedom being so close and yet so far filled you with dread. Surely it would be better to stay unhappy than to get happiness so ungraciously ripped from you when you’d only just acquired it? You craved safety, and yet you may have craved Wonwoo just a little more.

“Anywhere that would make us happy.” The way he said it made your chest tighten. This really was something that he wanted to do with you, together. It gave you a sliver of hope that he might just feel the same way.

“Okay,” Your head nodded slowly with your answer, your brain screaming at you to choose the easy, sensible way out. For once you were going to listen to what your heart was telling you and do what was possibly going to be the stupidest decision of your life. “Let's run away together.”

Wonwoo slept at your house that night, cuddled up to you in your bed like usual. It took a while for you to fall asleep, your heart beating a little too fast, and your thoughts racing a little too frantically. Nothing about the situation you were in felt real, and yet the man whose hair was tickling your neck felt a little too real. It wasn’t rare for the two of you to sleep in the same bed, and yet tonight felt different. You and the man you’d been in love with since the day you met him were going to flee your boring lives together. You were going to become free… together.

You weren't sure what time you’d eventually fallen asleep, but by the time you woke up Wonwoo was already gone, a cold mug of tea on your nightstand with a sticky note attached. You smiled at the cute action, taking the sticky note from the mug with a gentle tug.

‘Me and you till the end <3’

Fuck, he was making it hard not to be in love with him.

The next few days passed without a single word from Wonwoo about your plan. He still showed up at your parents’ house every day at the same hour, much to your parents’ joy. He still answered all of their questions about how his love life was going, and he still pretended to not fully understand the hints they were putting down about him and you. He still dropped his own hints that the two of you were just friends, and he still broke your heart every time the words ‘best friend’ left his mouth.

As usual, you blushed, pulling him away from them, ignoring his teasing as you guided him up to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you, just making sure that your parents got the message. You two would talk until you ran out of things to say, and then you’d just enjoy the company of the other, the silence that filled the air feeling nothing but comfortable.

By the time the end of the week rolled around, you were almost positive that he’d forgotten about his suggestion. Maybe he was drunk, or high. He wasn’t the type to overindulge in drugs or alcohol, but then again, he wasn't the type to suggest running away. You were starting to have doubts about whether you knew him as well as you initially thought.

That was until Friday evening when he didn't show up at his usual time. You were a little concerned since he usually ran like clockwork, showing up at your house the same time each day, only ever being early or late by 5 minutes. Even your parents were beginning to question the absence of your friend who’d had the same routine for the past few years. You didn’t have an answer though, shaking your head and checking your phone each time they asked.

He hadn’t texted once to let you know where he was or to let you what he was doing, causing your mind to race. What if he’d left without you? Because as reluctant as you were, to begin with, you’d spent the entire last week praying for him to give you a time and date that you would be escaping your own personal hell that you called home. You sat and waited for him, all night, your eyes not leaving your phone screen for more than a few seconds. It was torturous to wait for him, and yet it seemed like you had no other option. You were desperate.

‘Pack your bags and meet me outside at 2 am on the dot <3’

When your phone screen finally lit up with a message you almost squealed with joy. It took a moment for you to burst into action, not fully aware of if you were dreaming or not. It all seemed too good to be true, even if you were still annoyed at him for not texting you earlier in the day.

You stood up from your bed, your mind racing bout what to pack. A case would be too big, too obvious. The camping backpack you got from your mum for your 26th birthday would be perfect though. You’d yet to use it, and you did feel a little bad about using it for the sole purpose of running away from home, but you only had a few hours to get your entire life packed up. You pushed the thought to the back of your mind and started showing everything you could into the bag.

It took a while, especially when you chose to unpack and repack the back every half hour to make more room for something else you found. By 1:30 am, everything on your make-shift list was in a tiny little backpack. Your entire life shoved into a piece of fabric. If you weren’t so excited, you would’ve been more sentimental about leaving home. You would’ve felt bad about leaving your parents who’d given you nothing but love your entire life.

On your bed was a note to your mother. It wasn't anything profound or too emotional; you simply didn't have the time for that. No, it was just a simple letter to let her know that you were safe, you were with Wonwoo, and you’d contact her when you’d settled somewhere. And with one last look over at the letter, you turned and left your room, phone in your pocket and everything else in your bag.

In usual Wonwoo fashion, he was right on time. He was grinning ear to ear when he pulled up outside of your sleepy house, noticing you and your backpack on the pavement.

“You waiting for someone, pretty?” You sent a middle finger in his direction, laughing at his terrible flirting. He’d always been terrible at talking to any woman other than you. It was just something else to add to the list of things that made your heart break. “Okay, okay. Get in.”

You did a once over of the vehicle in front of you. It was the same old VW that he’d always driven, but there was something different. The back seats were pushed down, a mattress lay on top with a quilt and a few pillows. Fairy lights lit up the make-shift bed, making it look more homely despite it being the back of a car. Down the side of the mattress was a backpack; Wonwoo’d you had to assume. It was around the same size as yours, except it was stuffed a little less full. He always had been less bothered about physical objects, preferring to relive his memories through his phone’s camera roll.

You swung your back into the trunk, forcing it down the side of the mattress with all your might. There was barely any room at the side of the huge object, but you tried your hardest. Then, carefully shutting the boot, you ran to the passenger side of the car, sliding in next to Wonwoo.

He looked pretty in this lighting, not that he didn’t always. There was just something about the way the moonlight shone down on him that elevated everything, making him look angelic. His dark hair had been freshly washed and sat flat against his forehead, pushed out of his eyes by his glasses. The silver rims of them framed his almost-black eyes beautifully. Eyes that glittered like obsidian in the moonlight.

“What?” He had a little smirk on his face as he questioned you. “Do I have something on my face?” You punched his arm lightly, thankful that the twilight hid your blush.

“No. I just can’t believe we’re actually leaving this shithole.” He chuckled a little, lifting his hand to stroke the back of your head.

“Me neither,” Suddenly the car started, the ignition loud against the silence of the night. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up when we stop.”

And so you did. Your eyes fluttered shut, the rumbling of the engine acting as a lullaby. It was a silent sleep, not a single dream disturbing you. Every so often you came back to consciousness, the sound of Wonwoo’s warm voice filling the air as he hummed along to whatever song played in his head. His hand rested on your knee, thumb rubbing gentle circles into your flesh as he drove.

It was sunrise that Wonwoo woke you up, shaking your shoulder gently, whispering your name gently. The car was motionless and silent and the sun shone brightly through the windshield, illuminating Wonwoo in a soft golden haze. You watched him for a moment or two before taking in your surroundings. He’d parked in a forest, the thick trees going sky high, brushing against the clouds with their thick canopies.

“Where are we?” Your voice was heavy with sleep and barely understandable, but Wonwoo had plenty of experience in understanding you.

“Honestly, I’m not too sure. I just drove and then stopped when the sun began to rise.” You nodded, stretching your back slightly as you did so. “There’s a cafe here. We can grab some food before we set off again.”

“Okay. Give me five minutes.”

The food at the cafe wasn’t great, but it was cheap. Something that made both you and Wonwoo let out a collective sigh of relief. You strolled around the forest as you ate, enjoying the fresh morning air that carried with it the warmth of the sun.

Wonwoo was silent for the majority of the time, letting you ramble away to him in excitement. He seemed a little distant, as if lost in thought, but you ignored it. He was probably just a little tired. Maybe you’d be able to sleep a little more before you set off again.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing, opening the trunk immediately when you got back to the car. He waited for you to crawl in first, soon following you, folding you up into his arms as usual. Once more, he was silent, and this time so were you. In fact, it was silent for so long that you wondered whether Wonwoo had actually fallen asleep.

“Can I ask you a question?” He made you jump a little when he finally spoke, breaking the peaceful silence of the car. You looked up at his face, trying to meet his eyes but he was busy watching out of the window.

“Sure.”

It was silent for a few moments more, as if he was carefully choosing his words; something he did fairly regularly.

“How long is it going to take before you realise I like you just as much as you like me?”

What?

“Because I have been in love with you since the day we met and yet after all this time you still try and hide your feelings from me.”

You lay there in silence, not entirely sure of what to say to him. You’d spent the past few years of your life trying to hide your feelings from him and yet here he was confessing to you that there really was no reason for it. He’d noticed them anyway, not to mention that he felt the same way about you.

Part of you was sure that you were still asleep in the passenger seat, that any moment you’d wake up to see Wonwoo driving you through the night. That was just you being cynical though. This was all really happening and you’d have to face up to it.

“I don’t know what to say.” Your voice was hardly above a whisper; you’d be surprised if he even heard it. In typical Wonwoo fashion, he did.

“Say yes.” It was a simple answer, but you weren’t sure what he meant. He hadn’t even asked a question.

“Wh-” He cut you dead, pulling you in even tighter.

“Be my girlfriend.”

#Seventeen #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen oneshot #Svt #svt scenarios #svt fanfic #svt fic #svt oneshot #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen requests #svt requests

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growup-thatbeautiful · 3 years

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Clone Wars Character on TikTok

Anakin- Poor Anakin, man does not have a that many creative ideas, but his life and ideas are strange enough that he gets a lot of followers easily. He’s also almost constantly videoing things too, so he’s able to get real time. There are so so many videos showing the reactions that Obi-Wan has because of his dumbass plans.

Everyone, literally everyone, thought he was an f-boy until he made a post, super confused, saying that he has a wife?? That he loves so much? So, coincidentally, the next videos he posts are him and his wife, who doesn’t show her face but there’s a poll going on about who it is. Most people have figured it, though, because some of his videos are him just listening to Mrs. Skywalker rant about people in the Senate when she comes home to him.

He also tries to convince everyone that he’s the best husband in the world by videoing himself cooking her dinner, which he always burns. In those videos, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, staples on Anakin’s account, are heard in the background giving him absolutely terrible advice on how to fix it. They usually end up with burnt pans and a whole bunch of frantic clips of Obi-Wan trying to turn off the oven, “My dear, your time is up.” And Anakin in the background “Force, that’s not going to kriffing work, Master. I’m coming in with the water gun.” (No one questions why there’s a water gun.) Ahsoka is just….chilling in the background. She’s just as clueless as the rest of them, but it’s funnier to watch them almost burn down Padame’s kitchen before she tries to step in and make things worse.

Ahsoka-Her feed is a more controlled chaos than Anakin’s, but chaos nonetheless. She does a lot of dance challenges with Fives, and is sometimes able to rope in Anakin, who tries really hard but is terrible at it, and Rex, who doesn’t actually dance and just stands there staring at the camera. There was one time she got Obi-Wan to do it with her, and he absolutely crushed it. All that grace has to help him somewhere else, right? Because she does dance videos, though, sometimes she get inappropriate comments or duets, which Rex, Obi-Wan, Plo, Fives, and Anakin all duet or make a video about explaining that she’s a minor and how unacceptable this is. Well, that’s what every but Rex does. Rex won’t let anyone, anyone, talk to his little sister like that, so he makes a super menacing video of him cleaning his guns.

Needless to say, she does a lot of videos with Rex. They do a lot of random videos of their conversations and pointless arguments. They also do so a lot of competitions with each other, rather it’s staring contests or sparring matches. Their sparring match videos are actually super popular, and they get more and more intense and complicated as they go on. There are never any weapons involved, but they get to show off combat skills and have huge fights across the ship or compound. Their usually filmed by a hysterical Anakin or Fives. Obi-Wan has made his disapproval clear, but there’s a video on Ahsoka’s account of him betting on the outcome.

Obi-Wan- Mostly on Cottagecore TikTok and posts aesthetic videos of him meditating, making fancy, pretty tea drinks, or any other mundane thing he does. He also posts self-defense videos to teach people how to protect themselves, and gives tips of how to use the force and how to help meditate. I think he posts once a week, but posts a bunch at one time because he’ll have one day of silence where he can get stuff for himself done. Basically, his account is to comfort people, to help people, in perfect Obi-Wan fashion.

He also posts encouraging videos to cheer people up when they need it. Cute messages like “Today’s going to be a good day” with that award winning Negotiator smile that get galaxy wide comments and duets. Sometimes the messages border on him illegally sharing decisions that the Senate’s made, like when he announced on his feed that a certain Planet should get ready to party because a certain vote had gone a certain way.

Sometimes, though, he posts videos of Ahsoka, Anakin, or Cody doing incredibly stupid things. It’s become a series, he shows the person do or say the stupidest things, and then he zooms in on someone else’s face. The most common duo is Anakin and Rex, but sometimes there’s Waxer and Cody, once or twice, Obi-Wan and Cody.

Rex- He doesn’t post a lot, and when he does he’s usually not really in them. People only know him specifically because he’s in so many of Ahsoka’s videos. His are mostly “the stuff I have to deal with videos” showing petty fights between some of the 501st or some animal that a soldier decided they wanted to sneak into the ship. That, of course, lead to a blowup on his account, so he started posting lots of content with his brothers. Ahsoka has the notion that he’s doing it to help the way people see Clones, but he does seem to enjoy it a lot.

He, like Obi-Wan, posts hand to hand combat training video to help people in the galaxy, put his training to more use. He makes sure to show how to hold your first in a punch, how to safely clean a blaster, how to take a punch. Some of his posts are to teach people about clones and mando’a traditions. But he’s not all serious. He likes making videos of him and his brothers when they go out to do things for fun or they go out to 79’s.

This one might be a bit far fetched, but I think he would also post videos of him and Ahsoka doing mundane things together, repainting their armour, making bracelets or some stuff on the floors of the bunks during hyperspace. It’s calmer than what Ahsoka posts, and purposely so.

Fives-Oh man. Fives’ account is a wreck. Half of the videos are him running away from something he’s done and the other half are him running into things that he shouldn’t about to be doing. Shakily filmed, someone (usually himself) screaming in the background, you can hear him panting and out of breath. A lot of the times Anakin is with him or chasing after him, and as you can almost always hear Rex cursing and yelling at them to stop, especially if they haven’t done the thing yet because that means they have a plan. When Fives has a plan it ends up being worse than when he makes it up on the spot.

He also posts videos of him giving people in the streets compliments, because he’s sweet like that. He usually gets pretty funny reactions most of the time, and the few times they’re bad reactions he simply flips the camera and grimaces, then, of course, starts laughing because he’s not going to let one person put him down.

He also has a series of him painting the Bi flag all over the ship and waiting to see people’s reactions. The cutest was that one time Ahsoka walked past and ran her fingers along it softly and smiling. Also notable was the time Obi-Wan caught him midway through and just pretended he didn’t see him. All of those are posted with the persons permission, of course.

Aayla and Bly- They share an account where they do ALL of the couple-y stuff. Any couples challenge that they’re asked to do, they do. It’s hard to do the challenges like “You could’ve been nicer to me today” because they’re both on it all the time and have definitely heard of it, but they make do with all kinds of others. Aayla and Bly are definitely one of those couples that adopts all the kids that follow their account, and they’re ready to fight anyone who says anything bad the Clones or the Jedi.

There’s also a large amount of videos that some of the 327th takes of them cuddling together, training together, polishing weapons together. Basically, their account is them being cute and the rest of the 327th either being incredibly supportive of them or gagging at all the PDA. They start a trend where they go up in front of random people around the ship and start making out to get the reaction. Some examples of the best reactions are franticly running outside of the room, slapping Bly across the back of the head, and wild cheering.

Cody: You’re kidding, right? He does not have time to do the TikTok, nor does he understand TikTok at all. He is in most of Obi-Wan’s videos, and he’s sometimes in Rex’s too. Most of the time he’s telling all of them not to do whatever they’re about to do, or he’s sitting on the floor and crying with Rex.

Anakin actually started making videos called “When you see your dad and your other dad be romantic.” Where it’s just him finding Obi-Wan and Cody doing cute things in random places, followed by Anakin or Ahsoka making faces at the camera.

Plo- Parent side of TikTok for sure. His account features so many, so many, videos of him doing fun things with the 104th. He may seem like an extremely serious man, but put him with all of his kids and has almost no impulse control. They ask to stop at that restaurant they saw on the way to their mission, and he makes it happen. Everyone pretends not to notice because they wouldn’t dare go against him.

This account is also mostly run by everyone in the 104th because A. Plo doesn’t have a password and B. That’s how they get a bunch of footage. The phone is passed around throughout the day, but all of the content focuses on the Plo’s Bros relationships. Anything that he does, from giving a shiny a thumbs up when he comes up with a new plan, to teaching some of the older clones who are a little overworked how to take deep breaths. All the followers also a learn the Plo is absolutely terrible at any kind of card games, which is shown when they post video after video of the bets he looses.

Next for Star Wars I’ll be doing Bad Batch, then, because this got so long, I’ll do one with some more characters! Sorry it’s so long, this ran away from me a bit.

Some clone wars beautiful mutuals @radbatch (Who is the absolute best person to talk to about Ahsoka ever period end of story) of course and @maiseey (Who is now my my mutual? How?)

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gothhisoka · 3 years

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𝑨 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌𝑵𝒆𝒘

100 follower special!! Thank you everyone <3

Pairing: Chrollo x fem!reader

Tags: College AU, rich Chrollo, Gossip Girl vibes, this is my first draft so sorry about the errors

Word count: 4.8k

Summary: The infamous October party is all the talk at YorkNew University. It takes place at a huge penthouse in the heart of the city, owned by a mysterious man that few know the true identity of.

You attend the party just having entered your freshman year. There, you meet all sorts of people. But one, in particular, intrigues you the most. His name is Chrollo Lucilfer. He is an expensive suit-wearing, whisky-smelling, suspiciously rich graduate student.

And you are going to try to get him to dance.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+, Do not drink underage. You should not use any of the actions displayed in the following story as examples for your own life.

Playlist: click here to listen while reading

Ao3: click here to read on ao3

Chapter 1/?

As you walked through the streets of YorkNew City you felt gusts of wind push past you so strongly that they nearly knocked you over. It was already miserable to be outside, and it was only October. The sky was growing dark, the city growing brighter. Fall decorations adorned the buildings you passed. The Southernpiece Auction House looked the most magnificent of them all– with bright colored lights trailing the pathway and walls.

No time to wonder at your surroundings, you thought. You would have four more years to gawk at the city. You pulled your scarf tighter around you as you walked faster. Although you looked cute in your tights, it was definitely not the appropriate clothing choice for this weather.

Your decision to go to YNU seemed perfect in every way. It was one of the top schools in YorkNew and was in the heart of the city. Unfortunately, you failed to realize that the wind would be whipping for three-quarters of the year.

While it wasn’t the biggest “party school,” there was a single big party in October held by one of the fraternities. That party was the one you happened to be heading to right now. Everyone knew of it and talked about it non-stop. You were reluctant to attend. You hadn’t had many real party experiences at high school. For the most part, they consisted of sitting around drinking cheap beer while your classmates humiliated themselves. Your friends had high hopes for this one, though.

For one, it appeared to be in the penthouse of a high-rise building. You checked your phone to see if the location matched the one on your map. This wasn’t the frat house you had been expecting. Although your and the system’s arrows matched, you really couldn’t trust your directional skills, anyway.

Your hands were near frozen, but you managed to press the call button on your friends’ contact.

“Hey Canary?” you don’t hear her reply as music floods through your phone speaker. Seconds later, it becomes quieter, signaling she moved into another room.

“Hey, it’s absolutely crazy up here, sorry.”

You ask her about the address, and she confirms it. She tells you her location at the party so you can find her later. She hangs up before you can say bye or express more of your listless anxieties. Why were you so worried? You had Canary and Amane and… well, you didn’t know many others. And of course Canary and Amane would be all over each other so really you had no one. That was a valid source of anxiety, was it not?

Either way, you needed to step into the building to escape the cold. Perhaps after you warmed up you could make your escape. I knew this was a bad idea.

The entryway was already magnificent, with tall arches and marble floors. A fire blazed near a seating area on the opposite wall. You rushed over to find it unoccupied, thank goodness. You sat as close as safely possible and felt the warmth creep back into your body.

Your head cleared a bit, thoughts straightening out into coherency. You were at your first party. Your friends were all up there already, so you wouldn’t need to wait for them awkwardly. Everything would go smoothly as long as–

Just then, a group of around six people entered the hall. You couldn’t help but stare. One was over six feet tall, another shorter than five. And some were unbelievably gorgeous. One of them particularly caught your eye. He was wearing all black, styled in an expensive coat and dress shirt. His hair was black as well, hanging loose around his pale face. Dark eyes looked towards a man at his right. He walked with such an intimidating stride that you nearly hid behind the sofa. Luckily, they didn’t appear to be heading in your direction.

They probably were all college students, why else would they be dressed up at a random apartment on this specific day? The thought sent butterflies to your stomach. If the group really was full of college students, maybe you should be going to that party.

Not to gawk at them or anything. Based on their looks, you could tell that they were the rich YorkNew city elite-type students, not the federal loan international-type student as you were. In other words, they had power and you did not. It was best to avoid these types of people. You knew that much just from living in the city for a couple of months.

The group was still waiting outside of the elevators. You made possibly the stupidest decision that you could’ve at that moment. You rose from your seat and flattened your hair. You then proceeded to trot right over to the elevator, behind the group. You had to go upstairs somehow, and reaching the top floor through the stairs didn’t seem like the ideal choice.

Clearly still distracted by the image of that man’s face that was now tattoed onto your brain, you didn’t even notice when the elevator doors opened. A voice sounded from inside that snapped you out of your daydream.

“There’s enough room if you want to come in…” it was the same man that you noticed from before.

An amused expression shone on his face– it was as if he was trying to hide a smirk. He placed his hand on the elevator door so it wouldn’t close. You noticed thick silver rings on a couple of his fingers. It was clear from his appearance that he was wealthy. Not to mention, his mannerisms had an undertone of superiority. Despite yourself, this only enticed you more. Who was this man?

Apparently, you were about to find out.

A blush rose on your face as you quickly gave him your thanks and scrambled inside the elevator. He stood directly next to you, with his friends on the sides. The sudden closeness made your stomach flip.

“What floor?” he asked, hand hovering above the numbers on the elevator wall.

You checked the keypad although you already knew that you would all be headed to the same place.

You tried not to look at him as you responded. “Same as you.”

“Oh,” he replied simply.

The rest of the ride was accompanied by a rising tension. The girls behind you made the only conversation, talking in low voices to one another. You were grateful when the elevator finally stopped on the top floor. You quickly walked out and made your way to anywhere but where that group was. On a second glance, you could see that the rest of them also had that air of wealth and superiority that the man had. That was definitely not the crowd you wanted to get acquainted with tonight.

Besides the music thumping through the walls and people waiting around the entrance, the hall outside of the elevator looked like it could be in any other apartment building. There was a large rack full of coats and hangers to your right. As you walked through the long hall you took off your coat and scarf, happy to get rid of the bulky clothes.

Going into the party was still nerve-wracking, but your outfit gave you a bit of courage. You chose a black silk minidress that accentuated your curves perfectly. You wore fishnet tights and combat boots to complete the look. You did your makeup to near perfection, with a bold red lip and your signature eyeliner. Needless to say, you were feeling good.

You almost forgot that the group that was still in the hall until you felt their eyes bearing into you. In your peripheral vision, you saw them take off their coats just as you finished hanging yours. Without another moment of hesitation, you walked quickly to the door.

The music grew louder and you grew slightly nauseous. This night has already been far too much. Is it really the best idea to continue on? It was too late to turn back, as you would be turning to face those who you wished to avoid.

So, you opened the door. You were immediately flooded with lights and sounds and people. The interior was huge. You guessed that this single apartment took up the majority of the floor, and apparently the one above it too. A staircase on the right side led to a balcony overlooking the main room. Couches and furniture lined the walls, pushed away to form a space in the middle. From what you could see, the entire back wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city below. If you hadn’t felt so dizzy, you would’ve noticed that the room stunning and grand, unlike any you have seen before.

Students were everywhere, crowding on the couches and the dance floor. You couldn’t make out many faces as the neon lights were dim. You guessed that there were at least seventy people in this room alone.

The music thumped in your bones. You tried to focus on the lines of the song playing instead of your rising panic. “Oh god can you make my heart stop… killshot baby.”

After assessing your surroundings, you made a quick beeline to the kitchen, where Canary said she would be when you called her earlier. The walk was only quick in theory. It took you around five minutes to make your way across the room. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience, weaving through drunk bodies dancing with fervor. You smelt the sweet smell of vape smoke mixed in with the sweat. Heads turned to look at you but you did not look back. Nothing interested you more than finding your friends. Meeting other people could come after you were settled.

You bitterly realized that it had been a bad idea not to come with Canary and Amane an hour earlier. You thought as little time as possible spent there would be ideal, as it was your first time at a college party. Little did you know that arriving late would mean a frantic search for your friends amidst the chaos.

At last, you came upon an opening in the wall that seemed to lead to the kitchen. There were neon lights in there as well, lining the counters and cabinets. White marble countertops glinted underneath bottles of alcohol.

There were significantly fewer people crowded into this tiny space. About fifteen people stood around, drinking and talking with one another over the music. Without thinking, you grab a bottle of beer as you pass by the counter on your way to the other side of the room. There was an empty corner that was calling your name. From there you could observe the faces of the people around you. And possibly get a bit drunk while you were at it. You figured it was the only way you could survive the rest of the night.

As you scanned the faces your heart sank. You didn’t see your friends anywhere. Maybe they already moved to the dancefloor. You take another swig of the beer and pull out your phone.

The dial tone for Canary sounded just as you spotted a familiar face. He was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room with his arms crossed, talking to an attractive red-haired man standing next to him. Your mind was slowly growing hazier, but that didn’t mean you forgot about the man from before.

You quickly averted your eyes. Canary didn’t pick up your call so you decided to text her. All the while you felt your heart begin to thrum. Did that man intimidate you? Or was it just because you thought he was incredibly hot?

You couldn’t say for sure, as you have never felt this way about a person before. He looked older than you, a graduate student perhaps. Anyway, he was far out of your reach in terms of people you could talk to. So, you decided right there and then to stop thinking about him.

You wait a few more minutes for Canary’s response. She doesn’t reply to your text. You grit your teeth and pick up another bottle of beer from the counter. Unfortunately, the bottle opener was nowhere to be seen. Just my luck, you thought. Rather than going without the beer, you pulled out your keys and tried to pry the lid off with your sheer force. But your hand kept slipping and you were beginning to feel a bit embarrassed. You cursed yourself under your breath and looked around to see if anyone noticed your clumsiness.

Accidentally peering towards the wall where the man was before, you notice that he was no longer there. You didn’t know why you cared so much about the opinion of a stranger.

You were about to put the bottle down when you sensed someone next to you. A voice that smelt of whisky and cigarettes spoke, “Need some help there?”

You retracted at the sound and sensation until you noticed who spoke. It was him. You froze, unsure of what to do next. Slowly, your eyes trailed up to his face.

You tried not to stare as you took him in full, now that you were finally face to face. The low neon lights highlighted his strong nose and sharp jawline. His black hair was messily swept from his face, displaying a cross tattoo on his forehead that you hadn’t noticed before. He wore small silver hoops in both ears. Shadows formed across his deep-set eyes as he regarded you, emotionless and still.

He asked you again, pointing to the unopened bottle, “The beer?”

You gave him a nervous laugh, “Oh, yes. I don’t know where the bottle opener went…”

He still stood unusually close to you. Obviously, it was only so that you could hear him better over the loud music. Still, it made your heart flutter. You averted your eyes from his only to see the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up, displaying strong arms and hands.

You tried to tell yourself that he was just being nice. And you were making a fool of yourself, just as you were before at the elevator. You knew you had no chance with him, even though a party was a more relaxed environment than most. He would want nothing to do with you after he helped you again. These intimidating upperclassmen were the same.

The man said nothing as he placed the edge of the bottle on the counter, with the cap at the edge. Those beautiful, white marble countertops. Surely he isn’t going to…

With a slam of his palm, the cap came clear off.

“Here,” he said simply.

Why, you wondered, was that so attractive. You couldn’t possibly be getting turned on by the opening of a bottle. Maybe it was only due to the way he did it, displaying his strength so boldly.

He noticed your expression and laughed lightly. “It’s fine, I own the place.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at his statement. If he was a graduate student, how could he possibly be making enough for this entire place? And you were told it was a frat house, not a single apartment?

A little bit of talking wouldn’t hurt, no matter his status. So you decide to allow the questions to flow. Perhaps the beer was finally loosening your lips and easing your anxiety. You really should’ve been searching for your friends, but it seemed that your body thought differently. Something about the man drew you in. Whether it was his flawless appearance or genuine kindness towards you, you weren’t sure.

“You own this place?” you questioned, leaning a hip on the counter with your beer in hand.

He gave you a small smile, clearly trying to appear humble. “Yes.”

All you managed to say was, “How?”

Was it genuine interest in his face that you saw? Or was he simply happy to boast about his tremendous earnings?

“My company. The dealings bring in solid money, so I decided to purchase this place.” He waved a hand, gesturing towards the general direction of his massive living area.

“Your company? Do you go to YNU?”

He couldn’t be that old to have established his own company. And if he was, surely you would’ve heard about it, as he would be famous. Perhaps he was like many of the other kids at this school, enjoying a trust fund to their name and claiming it all to be their sheer success.

He grabbed a beer from the table and opened it the same way as he did before. He seemed to almost be growing bored of the conversation, needing to drink to distract himself. He became more distant as the small talk continued.

“Yes. I’m in the first year of my graduate program. And you?”

God, those eyes. It was hard to maintain eye contact with him for too long. It felt as if he was simultaneously calculating you as if you were a complex math problem while trying to appear as emotionless as possible.

He was the one who needed calculating. His appearance was already bizarre, with the cross tattoo displayed so boldly on his forehead. But the fact that he was only in his first year of graduate school and already running his own company was too much to comprehend. All you wished for was to know more about this strangely alluring man.

You were about to reply when you heard your name being called from the crowd in the large room. Giggles followed the shout.

Canary and Amane were thrust out of the mass of bodies in the living area. Canary wore a minidress and Amane wore a dress shirt and pants, now significantly disheveled. They were smiling like mad.

Your heart jumped at the sight of them. Finally, you were safe. That was your immediate thought until you saw the stumble in their walks. They were drunk.

Canary slurred your name again. “We’ve missed you! Where were you?”

“I was here in the kitchen, where you told me to wait. Remember?”

Canary and Amane simply gave each other a knowing look and giggled. You had almost forgotten the man who still stood behind you.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Amane said, making it obvious that she was referencing him.

They were about to leave when you called out. “Wait!”

It wasn’t that you weren’t absolutely entranced by the man and wouldn’t give everything to talk to him for even one more minute, it was just that your friends needed you.

You turned to see the man now farther down the counter, talking to the red-haired man again. He noticed your apologetic look and walked towards you.

“Sorry I have to–”

Your sentence trails off as he looks down on you with a slight smile, arms crossed. You almost want to take a step back, his look too penetrating and revealing.

“What is your name?”

You widened your eyes. He wants to know your name. What were you supposed to make of that?

You give him your name.

“I’m Chrollo,” he replies, sticking his hand out for you to shake as if you were making a business deal. You try to hide your laugh.

He simply smirks back at you as you take his hand. The cold metal of his rings contrasted with the warmth the both of you were emitting. The front of his hand was smooth, with light veins running towards his knuckles. A sign of strength. Moreover, his palm rough. His grip was firm and confident as if he had something he wanted to convey with this handshake. What that was, though, you couldn’t be sure.

You felt a tap on your soldier and knew it was time to go with your friends. You just couldn’t manage to turn away. You already began to think, what if I never see him again? What if he doesn’t want to see me again anyway?

“Nice to meet you, Chrollo,” you said before finally turning your back. You felt his eyes bearing into your back as you left. At least, you hoped it was your back. You weren’t used to the tightness of your dresses’ material and the looks that coupled it.

You silently praise yourself for your unusual boldness toward Chrollo. Maybe you were bold enough to make an impression. An impression was really all you could hope for, at this point. That man was impossible to read.

Before you left the kitchen, Amane held out a small cup for you containing a clear liquid. You hardly hear what she says it is before you knock it back. The taste burns your throat. You figured you would need whatever it was before heading out to the dance floor. Amane and Canary do the same as you (as if they needed it, as drunk as they were).

As Canary grabbed your hand, Chrollo’s name echoed in your mind. Where have you heard it before? You probably could remember if you hadn’t drunk that last shot.

“Who the fuck was that?!” Amane nearly screamed into your ear. You were nearing the main dance floor. The sound was deafening and you felt the thump of music in your bones.

“Chrollo. He owns this place, apparently,” your voice gets lost in the noise.

“WHAT?” Canary yells. You were deep into the mass of people so talking was virtually impossible. There was space to move once you reached the center. It was far enough from the speakers that you could hear fragments of speech from the other people beside you. The sound still bounced off of the tall ceilings, echoing through the large room.

A new song started to play and you began to dance. You, Canary, and Amane danced stupidly, movements sluggish yet wild from the alcohol. It was the most fun you had in a long while. Maybe going to the party wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At that point, the anxiety all but left your body.

After a couple more songs, you decided to try to find your way out of the crowd to take a break. Your body ached with all the movement and sensation. Amane and Canary remained on the floor, although they insisted on following you. It was a slower song, anyway. You couldn’t be caught on the floor with no partner.

At last, after much shoving, you found a wall you could rest against. It just happened to be the wall with the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was far less crowded here. The cold glass felt incredible after the mass of sweat that was the dance floor.

The city lights reflected in the glass

You were close enough to the kitchen to peer through the entrance. When you did so, you couldn’t see Chrollo or his friend. Rather, they were talking to one another next to the kitchen, along the plane of windows.

Suddenly, the glass didn’t feel so cold anymore. You began to heat up just at the sight of him. It was too late by the time you looked away, they had noticed your gaze. Chrollo caught your eyes and your heart skipped a beat. But it wasn’t Chrollo who came over to you. It was his friend. You looked towards the red-haired man with apprehension. This wasn’t middle school, was it? Was Chrollo getting his friend to act as their in-between? No , you told yourself. This sly-looking man is clearly here for something else.

“Hello there,” he said in a sultry tone. He leaned against the window just as you did the same.

His red hair hung loosely around his yellow eyes. He wore a loose dark purple dress shirt and black pants.

Your patience was running out. “Who are you?” And why are you not Chrollo?

“Hisoka. And you must be y/n, right?”

Your eyebrows rose as you nodded. Had Chrollo already mentioned you to Hisoka? What made you worth mentioning? Well, apparently you were about to find out.

“I was wondering, dear, would you dance with me?”

That was unexpected. You turned to face him to observe his expression and the one of the man behind him. Chrollo’s face was bank but his eyes looked stormy as if to issue a warning to Hisoka. Something in Chrollo’s look made you want to accept Hisoka’s offer, just to see his reaction. The slight changes in his expression were endlessly entertaining. If doing something as reckless as dancing with a man you had just met would warrant a change, you would happily oblige.

Hisoka’s smirk vanished as you replied, “Sure.”

Now it was your turn to look smug. Chrollo’s eyes widened slightly but he still remained silent, several feet away with his back against the window. If Hisoka was anyone else, say a person who didn’t radiate his dangerously sexual appetite, perhaps Chrollo would’ve been less surprised.

Although you assuredly gave him your answer, you knew you couldn’t trust this man. His sly expression persisted as he snaked a slender hand across your waist. You didn’t turn to see Chrollo’s expression but you could feel a pair of eyes on your back as you walked away. How unfair it was, that Chrollo always got the last look.

Hisoka led you to an opening on the dance floor that was situated near the staircase. He immediately pulled you to his chest. You gasped at the sudden closeness. You felt his torso with your own, his hardened with muscle. He moved his hands tighter against your waist and you nearly melted into the touch.

You were drunk. He wasn’t who you wanted. But you could easily pretend he was.

You tried to peer back to the spot where Chrollo was standing. It was far too dense and dark to make out any faces besides the one of the man before you.

He wasn’t Chrollo, but he was unquestionably attractive. His sharp features were riddled with confidence. He carried himself as a king would, so self-assured that he was borderline unaware.

The slow song had since ended and a faster one began to sound. You began to feel the rhythm and danced along, Hisoka pulling you closer all the while. Although you were significantly intimidated by Hisoka, it was still fun. You couldn’t tell if either of you was dancing well or making a fool of yourselves. All you knew was sound, movement, and the touch of his body to yours.

After another song or two suddenly Hisoka pulled apart. He wore a malicious expression.

“I have to go,” he said, simply.

He didn’t give you a chance to reply. He waltzed up the stairs to the balcony that you were dancing near. You trailed your eyes to where he stood, hands on the railing talking to the person beside him. It was the blond woman you saw earlier, the one who was with Chrollo’s group…

And next to her was Chrollo. He was holding onto the railing for dear life as if he would fall to his death if he let go. A fear of heights? No, you didn’t think so. Based on his facial expression, he looked almost bitter. You didn’t deem that possible based on his mild mannerism so far. And what reason would he have to be angry?

An idea sparked in your mind. A stupid one, undoubtedly. But Chrollo and his group were far too interesting to ignore for the rest of the night.

It was probably too dark for them to see you amongst the crowd, but you crouched as you moved away anyway. You sensed the tension in their conversation all the way from the floor below. You would wait until Chrollo cooled off a bit and then make your move.

You head back to the kitchen to have another drink. You go for something stronger, a shot of a pale liquid that you didn’t know the name of. Or rather, you were too distracted to care.

You made the perilous journey back to the balcony, dodging limbs and drunken stupors. It was nearing midnight at this point and the crowd was sufficiently rowdy. You think you spot Canary dancing near the back wall, but you couldn’t be sure. You will let her have her own fun tonight since you already found yours.

From below, you could see that Chrollo, Hisoka, and the woman were still leaning against the balcony railing. As you dizzily mounted the steps, you realized that Chrollo looked as perfect and intact as when you first saw him, all those hours ago. He must’ve not danced the whole night, even though it was his own party. How strange. Well, you were about to try and change that.

“Hey,” you said as you waltzed up to Chrollo. There was a bit of a stumble in your step so you quickly made use of the railing.

Chrollo no longer had a death-grip on the bar. He looked at you with a blank face.

“Hello,” he replied.

His friends glared at you so hard that you nearly turned back around. You seem to have interrupted an important conversation.

You lazily move closer to Chrollo and speak under your breath, so that his friends don’t hear, “Want to dance?”

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