#Sandman net

[currently-evil]

Yes I love our dear old "Hob rescue Dream from fishbowl, but Dream is weak after confinement so Hob needs to nurse him back to help, fluff, friends (strangers) to lovers, 200k words fics"

But have you considered the alternative?

Hob rescues Dream from the fishbowl, and the moment glass shatters, the moment the circle is destroyed, Dream releases all his power, all his anger at his capturers.

The ruby? The sand? The helm? That's just  tools, just toys.

The fact that Dream was cut from Dreaming? That his power was weakened? But he is still Endless. The Endless.

He is the power. The Magic. The dreams.... The Nightmares in human form.

And he is furious.

Ready to act on his righteous anger. Ready to let go of his powers, ready to show his worst side, ready to do inhuman things, to everybody in the mansion.

And there is only one person safe from all that, one person standing in the middle of the storm, unharmed and never in any kind of danger.

Hob Gadling finally facing the true nature of his Stranger.

Hob Gadling, watching it all with awe.

[gwendoloves]

Gwendoline Christie - Net - a - Porter fairytale

[raspberryjellybrains]

remember when delirium was worried about destruction being gone and it was rooted in her loneliness and genuine love for her siblings and the other endless wanted to ignore her sudden upset over this because she's delirium and she gets this way sometimes, don't worry about it, she'll forget soon enough so it really doesn't matter at all. I should get to bludgeon all of them with a bat for that.

[starbiography]

Gwendoline Christie Height, Weight, Measurements, Bra Size, Wiki, Bio

Gwendoline Christie Height, Weight, Measurements, Bra Size, Wiki, Bio

Actress Gwendoline Christie Height, Weight, Measurements, Bra Size, Wiki, Bio Details. Gwendoline Christie is a British Professional Actress. She works in British-American Movies and Television Shows. She rose to fame through her acted films such as Flux Gourmet, Out Friend, Welcome to Marwen, In Fabric, The Darkest Minds, Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie, Star Wars: The…

[avoicebehindthestars]

About bootlegging Good Omens...

I don't have the ranges to reach a lot of people, but I'm going to say this nonetheless.

If you feel like you can't bare anything that NG has ever created, you don't want to hear about Good Omens, Sandman, Coraline etc. ever again, that's perfectly fine and a decision to be respected. Quite frankly, I've found myself feeling uneasy while I tried to read Sandman recently because I can't stop perceiving it through what I found out about the author. Hell, even the sex scene in Stardust doesn't sit right with me anymore...

BUT

If you are still a fan of any of Neil's ongoing franchise (GO, Sandman, DBD, Anansi Boys) and choosing to bootleg them just to "punish" him - think again. Neil's current net worth is $18M. Even if he doesn't ever earn another penny, he can spend up to $0.5M a year and live to be nearly a hundred without a care in the world.

What you'll actually be doing is informing the streaming networks (Prime and Netflix) that Neil's franchise isn't worth investing in anymore. And, as a result, you guessed it - the shows you still love WILL get CANCELLED. Make no mistake, just because Prime has greenlit Good Omens s3 doesn't mean that can't pull out on a whim.

Neil hates showrunning, he said as much himself. He's only persevering on Good Omens because he'd made a promise to Pratchett. So let me say it again: by bootlegging, you won't be punishing Neil. You'll be punishing YOURSELVES by literally telling the networks to cancel the show, because they won't get any money out of it. Or, if not cancel - limit the investment, as they did with GO s2, which will result in shorter episodes (in case of GO right now we're looking at 6x45m... would you rather get 6x30m instead?), fewer extras, lower budget on CGI and sets, and overall poorer quality.

In other words - you'll be cutting multiple artists' income. I'm not talking about top-tier actors like MS or DT - they'll do all right either way (although MS will mostly likely be heartbroken, as we know how much he loves Good Omens). I'm talking about all the extras and less known actors who perform minor roles! I'm talking about everyone involved in the production - in making of the sets, in creating the special effects, hell, in carrying equipment and pouring coffee! Those are the people you'll be punishing.

Seriously, aside from his promise to Terry, I'm convinced Neil couldn't care less. Otherwise why would he be so adamant about wrapping it up in just 3 seasons when it's winning distinction after distinction?

Last but not least, watching Good Omens legally and buying franchise doesn't harm the victims. If Neil really committed the atrocities he's accussed of, he'll be punished by the court! Punishing Neil isn't your responsibility!

So before you make a decision, please remember:

if the show you bootleg is cancelled as a result, you will have punished: yourself, the fandom, all the artists and people involved in the production

punishing Neil is NOT your responsibility

wanting the networks to continue the franchise you like doesn't harm the victims

[starbio]

Gwendoline Christie Height, Weight, Measurements, Bra Size, Wiki, Bio

Gwendoline Christie Height, Weight, Measurements, Bra Size, Wiki, Bio

Actress Gwendoline Christie Height, Weight, Measurements, Bra Size, Wiki, Bio Details. Gwendoline Christie is a British Professional Actress. She works in British-American Movies and Television Shows. She rose to fame through her acted films such as Flux Gourmet, Out Friend, Welcome to Marwen, In Fabric, The Darkest Minds, Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Absolutely Fabulous: The Movie, Star Wars: The…

[tianasficrecs168]

The Sandman Fic Recs

Magnolia35: Moonflower (Hob/Dream) • "Hob has to do a double take because Dream is crying; big, ugly, hiccuping sobs that wrack his skeletal frame to the point where Dream looks like a leaf in the wind. The raven that’d been following the man the last time they met— Mike or Martin or Matthew or something— pecks at the guys shoes. The story of how Hob Gadling starts a pub, beats up a god, stares down Death, falls in love with Dream of the Endless, and amasses a small army of fidget cubes. Not necessarily in that order.

TinyButFierce: "Into Darkness and Howling (I'll Keep Him From Drowning)" (Hob/Dream) It was beginning to sound like Roderick Burgess had something or someone trapped in his basement. Hob was starting to wonder if he should do something about that.

MonstrousRegiment: “The Uses of Adversity” (Hob/Dream) What led Hob Gadling — at the time known as Robert Stranger, because he’d been in a permanent state of pettiness from 1889 to about 1904 and now he was stuck with it — to the dank, cold, and dark basement of the Burgess house on March of 1957 was not so much coincidence or fate as it was curiosity. Yeah. Cats isn’t the only thing it kills. Alright, wait. Back up. Let’s start from the beginning. It was 1957 and Hob Gadling was, by no action or choice of his own, sort of — it’s a bit embarrassing — a criminal master. Not mastermind! He hadn’t planned any of it. Honestly.

CeruleanHeart: - “Darker, Still” (...) (Hob/Dream) When Dream doesn't show up for their appointment in 1989, Hob decides to devote a part of his immortality to looking for his mysterious friend. He is dedicated not to wait and hope for another century for the slim chance of seeing him again. Even if he has to bribe, lie and steal, use every trick in the book he's learned in the past 600 years, he will find him. After over a century, Dream has almost given up on the hope of ever escaping his prison when help finally shows up in the form of someone least expected, compelling him to re-evaluate the nature of his interest in an old acquaintance.

Snits: - “Country Roads (Take Me Home)” (Hob/Dream) • Hob and Dream go back to Hob's for a nightcap. While they're there, they address some trauma, and Hob finally learns the name of the man(-shaped being) he's known for seven hundred years.

Sonhoedestrazao: “These days of dust” (Hob/Dream) There is something different about him, though his appearance is identical. The curious part of Hob Gadling, the one that ensures that his wish to live persists through the ages, can’t wait to figure out what it is exactly. (Or: the New Inn encounter continued.)

Sonhoedestrazao: “Stuck in a season” (…) (Hob/Dream) Hob Gadling opens his eyes in the year of our Lord of 1889, in a tavern that he somehow knows no longer exists, among people long dead. Alone at a table for two, he leans over and says to no one in particular, “He’ll be back. You’ll see.” (Or: how to deal when your nameless friends keeps appearing in dreams and a talking bird approaches you with dating advice.)

Majestickasztan: “Painted by sorrow” (Hob/Dream) • When Hob looked up and found his oldest friend looking back, he was, one could say, taken aback. But when you're immortal and things go according to your expectations, life gets very boring very quickly, so he couldn't bring himself to complain. Not that he wanted to. He was pining for this guy since 1489, after all.

KatieKat527: “Perchance to” (Dream/Hob) • Hob Gadling muses on modern advancements. Only as they pertain to a sleepy morning in bed with his “stranger.”

Newfandomnewpseud (Broodthaers): “A Mug’s Game” (Dream/Hob) Hob Gadling teaches history, flirts with Death, gets a boyfriend, and accidentally breaks the laws of the universe.

Brackets (…) means it's still being updated/not done/WIP – and I'm paying close attention to it

Zeros with a strikethrough (000) Disappeared off the net (I still have a doc of it saved somewhere)

A black dot • means it's a one-shot

Ship with + means it's either time travel or dimension hopping – something along those lines

A heart ♡ means it's focused on Sexy times (it's pure filth PWP)

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

DC

Persistence Is A Sin by PlotlessWanderer

Part 1 of Persistence Verse

He stared Bruce Wayne in his dead blank eyes with the full force of his conditional training behind him and told Batman exactly what he was doing wrong. Clenching shaking hands, praying he wouldn't vomit, Tim faced the demon his hero had become and refused to be moved.

Persistence won out over apathy in the end. Tim wore Batman down through sheer stubbornness and blunt honesty. He wasn't looking to replace what Bruce had lost, wasn't trying to be the stand in for a dead boy. Sometimes he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, exactly, but he always knew that whatever it was, it was necessary.

(Tim won't let his heroes fade away without a fight. Even if he has to bring it right to their doorstep and insist they fight too)

Slipping by incogneat_oh

'There is a small plaster on his arm where Bruce had taken a blood sample. It itches. And the computer runs tests.

They don’t believe him when he says he’s fine.

“It was Ivy,” Dick says, tossing Tim a ball.

Tim just shrugs, says, “I feel fine.” '

(Tim is not fine.)

Catch and Release by snackbaskets

There's a tradition among the family: when in danger, you grab the smallest Robin and hang on tight. But like all traditions, this one had to start somewhere, right?

Alternately: three times Dick bodily attacks his father (with love)

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K

Local Gods by EsteriaSilversmith

Saiki may have been able to keep anyone from finding out about his psychic abilities, but enough wierd things have happened around PK Academy that the students had to come up with /some/ kind of explanation.

(Aka Saiki's love of sweets comes back to haunt him in the strangest of ways)

Shades of abnormality by TimesBeingWhatTheyAre

Some days Saiki didn’t feel comfortable in his skin.

Canon-compliant AU in which Saiki is genderfluid

The Sandman

The Cat of the Endless by Salmaka

Hob sighs, content to see the cat there and closes his eyes, ready to fall asleep again. He is not quite willing to wake up fully just yet.

But then it hits him.

He doesn’t have a cat.

Clone Wars

The Trouble with Tookas by thosenearandfarwars

Never trust somebody a tooka dislikes.

despite all (despite everything) by never_going_home

Cody is a mess. Obi-Wan is also a mess. They should probably kiss about it at some point.

Featuring: awful horrible terrible siblings, multiple people being So Fucking Done with codywan's pining, an all-inclusive couples' resort, and shenanigans to the extreme.

//

Sometimes, Cody lies awake in the ship’s night-cycle and thinks about the holo Waxer had found in some forgotten article in the depths of a ‘net archive. It had been grainy and out of focus and half-corrupted, but still clearly the general, comforting some wounded child, twenty years younger, hair long and matted, chin bare of beard, cheeks hollow with hunger and grief. His eyes, though, haunted and full of flinty resolve—his eyes had been the same, the only recognisable part of that child-stranger’s face.

(Nobody could fault Obi-Wan Kenobi for his leadership. The problem, then, lies with Cody.)

hear the silence in your head by firelord_zutara

Despite how wrong wrong wrong his Commander feels in the Force, it’s still a relief when Obi-Wan rounds the corner and sees Cody running towards him, there and whole and alive. That is, until Obi-Wan’s entire universe crumbles in an instant when Cody starts shooting at him.

Or: Instead of Tup being the one with the malfunctioning inhibitor chip, it's Cody.

[ladykailitha]

No chapter today because even though yesterday netted over 1000 words, it was 1000 over five stories and that wasn't enough for a full chapter. So today you get another AU.

Steve is the foundling child of Titania and Oberon. You know, that thing that little issue they fighting over at the beginning of "A Midsummer's Night's Dream"? They make a habit of it over the years and Steve is their latest.

And like before, Titania is gifted the baby when the mother dies in child birth, and Oberon wants him to be his servant. They set up house in Hawkins because that's where Steve was born. Father is who knows. Didn't care enough to stick around.

Steve's childhood isn't exactly idyllic, not with them still fighting over him, but it's a good life nonetheless, never really wanting for anything. And even though he's still human, hanging out with the king and queen of the faeries is going to rub off you in a lot of ways.

So once he hits puberty, it's like he was hit with the pretty stick. Everyone starts fawning over him.

He gets to high school and clocks Eddie. He walks right up to him and says, "I know what you are, who you are. And you better stay the hell away from me unless you want to die." And walks off.

Eddie is confused as hell.

Fast forward to Vecna and they defeat him. Only Titania is pissed. Because if there is anything that could entice the Queen of Faeries and that's a pretty young man. Like say...Henry Creel?

A non-munched on Eddie and the rest of the party is staring at the king and queen in shock. Because (and let's sprinkle in a little "The Sandman" in here for funsies) Titania gifted Henry control over the abandoned realm of Destruction to play in when El banished him there by accident.

Steve's pissed and picks up his nail bat. He tells them that he's human enough for the iron nails not to hurt him, but he can't say the same for them.

He takes off his shirt and sprouts wings, god damned, honest to God, faerie wings. He walks over to Eddie presses a kiss on his lips and says, "I hope you forgive me." And he leaps into battle with them.

The party is confused as hell. Well almost everyone. Eddie and Robin are cursing up a storm.

The party has no idea who the two new problems are.

"Oberon and Titania," Eddie breathes. "That son of bitch."

Dustin is "What!"

Everyone else is "Who?"

And so he explains "A Midsummer's Nights Dream" to them and they all get it now.

"Faeries don't exist!" Mike sneers.

"Yes they do!" Robin says. "My great, great, great grandmother was a faerie!"

Eddie face palms. "Let me guess, a lot of bird and flower names in your family?"

She nods excitedly.

"How did you find out about Steve? Because you weren't surprised when he faeried out," Eddie says.

"Russian truth serum," she says proudly. "Not so great on humans, works surprisingly well on the fae. Who knew?"

There is a lot of yelling at that, but Eddie shuts them up. "And you're okay with that?"

She shrugs and holds up her hands. "Apparently me being gay wasn't the biggest reveal on the floor of the bathroom."

The party erupts again.

Eddie looks over their shoulders to see that Steve is struggling against his foster parents.

"Robin, I need you to boost me," he says seriously.

"Oh hell no!" she screams at him. "I know who you are, and they will kill you."

He thumbs over his shoulder at Steve. "You want him to fight them by himself?"

Robin sighs. "No."

He backs up to run, but she stops him.

"Take off your boots!"

Eddie frowns. "Why?"

"You're not going to need them," she replies, "and I'm not touching those muddy monstrosities."

Eddie throws his hands in the air and immediately starts yanking at his laces. He pulls them off and thrusts them at Dustin. He takes Steve's ax from him.

"Is this cold iron?" Eddie asks.

"It's steel," Dustin says.

Eddie purses his lips. "Is. This. Cold. Iron?"

Dustin shrugs. "As close as you can get in this day and age, I guess."

Eddie nods. He's muttering to himself about how long it's been since he's done this and how the wood of the ax handle should protect him.

Nancy rushes forward and places her hand on his chest. "Just what are you planning?"

Eddie pushes her off him. "Helping Steve."

He looks to Robin and she nods. He takes off his leather jacket and hands it to Nancy. Then he runs at Robin. He leaps on her interlaced hands and she boosts him into the air.

He whirls and spins in mid-air, sprouting blood red wings. His hands and feet, taint black. Horns unfurl from the top of his head.

"Whoa!" Lucas says. "Is Eddie a faerie, too?"

Robin shakes her head. "No. No one knows for sure what he is. Sometimes he's on the side of the king and queen, sometimes he's not. Right now and for the last few centuries decidedly, not."

"So who is he?" Will asks in awe as he watches Eddie make turns and weaves as he joins the fight against Oberon and Titania.

"He has many names," Robin says solemnly. "Hobgoblin, Robin Goodfellow, or more commonly? Puck."

Dustin's eyes go wide and his mouth drops.

"You guys are so fucking lucky that he likes you," Robin says bitterly.

Dustin can only agree.

*

Steve and Eddie win and everyone is back at the Wheeler basement and they all have questions. Lots and lots.

The first thing anyone says is Eddie. "You being a foundling of the fae makes all of Steve in high school make so much sense."

Steve looks down and blushes.

"How so?" Max asks.

Eddie starts counting off on his fingers, "The douchebag persona, the house parties usually at someone else's house, and if they were at his house, Tommy would buy the weed, the everyone fawning over you, and that hell of a warning, it was all so that I wouldn't come over to your house, wasn't it?"

"What now?" Mike asks.

Steve clears his throat. "He's right. If Pu-I mean Eddie came over to my house, he would immediately know who my parents were, and they would be able to sense who Eddie was. And since Eddie was going through high school I wasn't about to narc on him and get him killed."

"Oh my god, I dated a fucking faerie!" Nancy cries.

And the room goes silent. Will looks at his shoes and Jonathan glares at her.

She stops for a second. "Oh god! Not like that. Although maybe a little like that considering Steve kissed Eddie, but I meant a literal faerie."

Steve shrugs. "I like either."

Jonathan frowns. "Wait, how did Nancy escape the faerieness? Because seriously, compared to that--" he waves at Steve, "I'm nothing."

Steve shrugs again. "Grief. Or trauma. I'm only a human raised by faeries, I'm not really one myself. Yeah, I've got the wings and the glamour of a faerie but I'm not one."

"Is there an Eddie Munson?" Dustin asks.

Eddie half shrugs. "Yeah, him and his father are out boosting cars in Texas."

Erica eyes him skeptically. "And the guy you've been saying is your uncle, what is he?"

"A lonely man who wanted kids of his own," Eddie says softly, "who knew that if Eddie stayed in his father's care would turn out just like him. So I pretended to be Eddie for him. I made sure there was always enough food to go on the table and roof over our heads. If he got low on money, a shift at the plant would open up for him to take or the reversing of a bank error."

Everyone fell silent.

*

And that's all I have for the moment, this is just me info dumping. But maybe some day I'll expand on this.

Tagging because for some reason not a lot of people saw this yesterday.

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​ @renaissan-vvitch @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst

[thehomophobe]

When they get hurt 🤕 (Part 5 of 6)

☀️ Sun ☀️: Today was a rough day. Since once again the plex was understaffed, you had to double up on the work load. Cleaning up vomit, handling Karens, fixing the sound system in the arcade, helping the Glamrocks with their makeup (That was ok.), repairing STAFF bots, searching for a lost child. 

Yeah, it was exhausting.

So you thought after all that chaos, you would reward yourself with a visit to the daycare. It was close to closing, so most of the kids must’ve already left with their parents. Meaning you would have the rest of the time alone with your favorite twin brothers. Well maybe not Sun since he’s probably sleeping.

Sun, god did you love him.

Being the ever sweetheart he is, always checking in on you whenever you visit due to his stupid restrictions and early curfew. Thanking you for helping around in the daycare with Moon or just some causal arts & crafts together when you’re alone. Maybe even with a side of kissing, cuddles and praise. You loved his smile, his laugh, that bright, fun loving attitude, even his anxiety and worries; that’s how you know he truly loves and cares for you. Awww. Just thinking about him makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Knowing that he sleeping now makes you remember how you would read him bedtime stories or sing lullabies before he goes into rest mode for the next day. A sweet goodnight kiss to seal the night with as Sun “dreams”. He says he dreams; you’re not too sure how but he supposedly keeps a dream journal so you guess he does. 

Your arrival to the daycare presented you with a familiar lunar android climbing the netting of one of the play structures through the glass. As if he’s looking for something inside. Sun wasn’t in sight so you thought they were playing tag or hide and seek. The brothers weren’t competitive, but usually the game ends with tickle fights. Mainly on Sun but hey, Moon can be pretty fast. You knocked on the tall Lincoln Log doors. 

*Knock Knock*  

One of the doors open slightly as a hand latches on to you and quickly pulls you inside. Moon, as if he somehow acquired instant transmission, calms his grip on your forearm and holds your hand. “I’m glad you’re here, starlight.” Moon smiles softly. “Apologies for grabbing your arm like that.”

“Well you’re forgiven, but why the fuss Mr. Sandman?” You liked using that nickname for Moon. Reminds you of the song. Both the one from the Chordettes and the one from Metallica. 

“Sun.”

”Isn’t he sleeping in your room?”

”No, he’s hiding in that play structure.” He pointed to the one he was searching around. “I tried to get him out, but…” He sighed. “He wanted to “wait” for you to come here.”

”What happened?” You started to get worried

.”Parts of him torn up from the children today. And he completely missed the jump from the balcony.” Moon stated bluntly. “Luckily, that happened at the end of the day. But once the children left, Sun hid himself in the play structure.” 

Oh dear. Today must’ve been rough for Sun as well. Children are known to be rambunctious, but not that destructive. You would have totally helped if it wasn’t for half of the staff leaving on a busy day. There must’ve been a lot more kids here than usual today. You walked around the perimeter of the play structure, trying to find your little ray of sunshine. Well, you see a dark shadow; a blob if you will. The sound of sobbing can be heard from the blob. 

Yeah, that’s him.

You went back to the tube slide, a hand slightly drumming it to signal your presence. 

“Sunny~.” You called out. “I’m here~.”

“S-Sunshine…?!” You see a set of spindly fingers clutch a portion of netting. A single glowing white eye gleams from the dark.

“Hi sweetheart.” You smiled. The sound of scrambling from the play structure startled you. A surprised face emerged from the tube slide. Well, half a face. You crouch down to meet his eyes, but Sun cowers as he crawls away from the exit. 

“I heard you got hurt today.” 

Sun didn’t respond. 

“Do you want me to fix your boo-boos?” 

…

He nodded.

”Well you’re going have to come out from the slide if I need to fix.” You cooed.

Sun slowly crawled out the slide. Looking up at you with a single white eye since the other was gone. His entire mouth was ripped off, revealing clenched teeth. Portions of his skin was flaky and coming off. With one hand he holds himself up as he tries to balance on one foot. The other leg was ripped from the clothing, skin, and foot. His left arm was severed and a piece of his torso chipped off. He tripped but you and Moon caught him. 

“I-I…I wanted you to come. B-But I d-d-d-d-d-didn’t want to scare you.” He glitched.

“There there.” You rubbed his back. “You could never scare me, Sunny. You’re too cute for that.” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck. 

“I told you they wouldn’t be afraid of you.” Moon commented. With both your help, you straighten Sun upright. His remaining arm hooked around shoulder as you walk him down to Parts & Services. 

Sun never liked Parts & Services like a child in the doctor’s office. You luckily calmed him down after all the rambling he let out. Squeezing his hand, kissing his temples, giving him praise. Without real lips, he can’t kiss back. And with jammed jaw functions, he can’t speak loudly enough. Before you shut him down fully, Sun lets you know about how his jaw will clamp shut after you open it. And if you can hold his hand during the procedure. You said yes and took precautions. 

Besides his foot and hand, which was very concerning, he wasn’t too bad. Removing his clothes, you had the unplug the wires to transfer them into a replacement endo. Thank goodness the company bought extra endos. You hauled the lanky, heavy skeleton over and started to shape Sun’s body. 

Oh shoot! You almost forgot his code. Can’t have all his memories wiped. Popping open the skull, you imported Sun’s code to the nearby computer as a place holder. 

Finishing the wire shaping, you apply a new layer of skin over the body. Since it’s a new endo, the jaw functions work properly. All you have to do is attach the teeth, eyes, code and new clothes.

You power him on.

”Oh thank you thank you thank you sunshine!” Sun squeezed a hug as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You gently rubbed his back. 

“Aw. No problem sweetie.” You smile as you pull away from him. “I know you’re not tired, but do you want to cuddle with me and Moon?” 

“Oh yes! That would be lovely sunshine.”

[powpowpunchout]

Just Checking!

Joe leaned against his sleek, maple-wood kitchen counter, fingers tapping along the edges as he scrolled through his phone. The coffee machine behind him sputtered every few seconds, while the wonderful, rich aroma of his dark chocolate coffee roast filled the air. The perfect drink to start his day.

He was quite certain he had already made a cup for himself earlier, but he had no idea where he put it, so he was making another.

As he waited in the kitchen, he tried to lean back and get comfortable. His black socks slid across the beige tiled floor, but they stopped when they hit one of the wheels of his butcher block.

He frowned.

That blasted butcher block.

If it didn’t pair so nicely with the rest of his kitchen—having a top the same color as his counters, and a lower half the same shade of ginger brown like his cabinets—he would’ve moved it elsewhere by now.

His kitchen was already cramped enough, and having this bulky block in the middle wasn’t helping in the slightest, but he liked it. It had some small shelves below that were able to hold a couple of his pots, pans, and even some of his smaller house plants.

Honestly, even if he did decide to remove the butcher block, his kitchen still wouldn’t have enough space for him to stretch his legs out.

Joe swears he’s seen apartments with bigger kitchens than his.

It didn’t even feel like a proper kitchen, more like a small portion of a hallway that had been boxed in with counters and cabinets.

On his left was his sink with a little window above it for him to place a few more plants by, and below that was his dishwasher. Pressed against his dishwasher was a lovely wooden spice rack that went up to his hips. There was a silver oven that was pushed against his back, white wall, along with a fridge about his height.

To his right was his pantry. Whoever designed this house didn’t give him a built in pantry, no, that would’ve given him extra space and storage, and that would have been too convenient, so he had to buy his own.

His pantry was taller than him by a good foot, and it was the same color as the rest of his cabinets in the kitchen. It’s doors were covered in thin, white netting that allowed him to take a peek at all the cooking supplies he had.

Parts of it’s exterior was chipped, and the carvings of leaves and flowers that aligned it’s bottom were faded, but they looked elegant nonetheless.

“It looks old.” Sandman’s voice rang through his head. That’s what he told Joe when he had first seen his pantry.

“It’s antique!” Joe had exclaimed

“That’s fancy people talk for ‘old’.” Sandman snickered, “It looks nice, though. Yeah.”

Speaking of Sandman…

Joe quickly scrolled through his contacts and clicked on Sandman’s name.

“Good morning! I will be going to a cafe today, do you want me to pick up anything for you?” Joe had texted his friend earlier this morning. He thought Sandman wouldn’t respond for a while, especially since he tends to oversleep, but to Joe’s surprise, he actually got a reply not even an hour later.

“maybe a cool leaf”

Joe chuckled as he reread the message.

“I’ll keep an eye out. Anything else?”

Sandman never responded back.

Joe could only assume he had dozed off. He did text Sandman quite late, didn’t he?

Joe quickly checked what time he had messaged--

His eyes snapped open.

‘5 in the morning?!’

Oh dear, he hopes he didn’t wake Sandman up with his first message.

Joe let out a yawn as he thought to himself.

5 AM…

That must’ve been the time he woke up.

And he didn’t fall asleep last night until… Gosh, Joe couldn’t even remember.

What he did remember was the fact he had spent most of his evening texting Disco Kid, and his body absolutely loathed him for it.

It didn’t matter how tired he was, though. He couldn’t risk going back to bed to try and squeeze in a few extra minutes of sleep. He had breakfast with the rest of the Minor Circuit this morning, and he’d hate to miss it.

The exhaustion was well worth it, however. The things Disco told him, all those juicy snippets of what he went through last night, the anticipation alone was enough of a payoff for Joe.

He clicked out of his texts from Sandman, and went to the texts he got from Disco Kid. He scrolled to the very top and started to reread them.

“joe”

“joe”

“jo”

“je im in the barwiht aran right??????”

“Yes?” Joe had sent back. He had been laying in bed reading a book when he received these.

“guess wh o shwoed up”

Joe didn’t even have the chance to respond before Disco sent his next text.

“octave!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Joe remembered how he shot out of his bed, accidentally sending his book flying across the room, and stared at his phone with wide eyes.

“What?” Was all Joe could text back.

“i know rihght??? I didnt k now he was comignaran said he wasnt”

Joe was completely glued to his screen. He was as captivated as he was frustrated.

“Keep me updated, please.” He had told Disco.

“was already plannign on it”

“Don’t take any of Aran or Octave’s mistreatment. Leave whenever you need to.” Joe pressed his lips together when he reread that message. That sounded like such a ‘parent’ thing to say, didn’t it? But Joe was genuinely worried.

It’s bad enough to be stuck in a bar with Aran, but for Octave to suddenly come in unannounced? Joe couldn’t even begin to imagine the sort of nightmare Disco went through.

Joe’s grip on his phone tightened.

What was with Overload and attending events he wasn’t invited to? What—was ruining the Major Circuit’s dinner not enough? He had to go for a second round? He had to bother Disco again, as if he doesn’t do that enough? Was it in his blood to make everyone in this stadium miserable? Or could he not stand the fact that everyone else could have fun with their friends except him?

Joe brought his coffee cup to his lips, ready to take a sip--

He stopped.

He looked at the white cup in his hands.

How long has he had this cup?

Has he been holding it this entire time?

He blinked.

Well, looks like he’ll be having two cups of coffee this morning. He probably needs it.

Joe took a sip and scrolled through his phone some more.

“he and aran are arugign now” Disco texted.

“Are they saying anything to you? They aren’t bothering you too much?”

“im good its just real akwwarrd”

Joe’s eyes flickered over to the top of his phone and checked the time. It was almost 9:30 AM, he has to meet his friends around 10:15. The cafe wasn’t too far from here, but still, he didn’t want to be late.

Joe glanced over to his coffee machine before he pushed himself off the counter, placed his cup down, and made his way out of the kitchen.

He kept his eyes on his phone as he entered a narrow hallway. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do, he’ll probably end up running into a wall or hitting his hip, but he found himself too engaged with last night’s events to care.

He placed one hand on the white wall beside him and lightly dragged it across its cold surface. He felt the occasional small bump or two as his fingers carefully maneuvered around the framed photos and pressed plants he had hung on the walls, all while his other hand kept scrolling through his phone.

“think im gonna try and talk to octave” Disco’s next message read.

A small wince escaped Joe’s lips.

“I’ll be honest, I don’t think you should.”

“i know but”

Joe remembered waiting in anticipation for Disco to finish that sentence, to elaborate—even just a little—but he never did.

Joe’s fingers hovered over his keypad--

He hit a corner.

Joe quickly grabbed his hip and hissed to himself. He’s definitely going to get a bruise there, and he had no one but himself to blame.

Joe entered the room to his left, his bedroom.

He turned to his ivory-colored desk by the door. Also an antique piece of furniture he owned, with drawers that had novelty knobs attached to them, and once sharp edges that were now worn corners. Some of its paint had chipped off as well, but Joe thought that gave it all the more charm. Though he will admit, he’s been meaning to clean off the top for some time.

It was mostly covered in bills, fancy notepads that he’s only filled a couple pages of, fan letters, and in the very back corner of the table, small mason jars with water in them for his plant clippings.

He’ll clean it another time, though.

When he’s less tired.

He set his phone in the middle of the table, right next to his black glasses case, and then walked over to the tall, slender mirror that was propped against the corner of his room.

He struck a pose, straightening his posture and combing his fingers through his hair before putting a hand on his hip. He raised his chin ever so slightly and felt a wave of confidence push through his exhaustion.

His attire this morning was a bit different compared to what he’s been wearing these last couple of days. He’s noticed he’s been wearing much more black, white, and grays than he usually does, and while those certainly weren’t bad colors, it never hurts to change things up. So today, he decided to wear a much needed varied palette.

His shirt was covered in thin, white and pine-green stripes, and he had its ends tucked into his pants, which were a deep cadmium green. They almost looked black at a glance, but they weren’t. Joe thought such shades complimented his hair, but he wouldn’t be wearing just this, oh no.

He spun around and faced his neatly made bed. Right in front of it was a swivel oak chair for his desk, which had his coat draped atop of it.

He plucked the coat off and slipped it on.

It stopped just above his knees, it’s sleeves were a little too large for him, it was a bit on the thinner side—not that Joe minded, it was supposed to be a bit warmer today anyways—and it was a gentle hue of pink that reminded him of blush. Its color paired wonderfully with his top.

He fiddled with the coat’s collar, smoothed out any wrinkles he could see, and struck another pose.

He put both hands on his hips, bent a leg ever so slightly, and flashed a smile. It was stilted, crooked, and it was perfect. He couldn’t have asked for a better smile.

Now his eyes, on the other hand…

He definitely needed to do something about them. He had some very heavy bags.

Joe reached over to his desk and popped open the glasses case. He slid his small, round-framed sunglasses on, looked in the mirror again, and let out a satisfied sigh.

There. Now he’s set for the day.

Joe grabbed his phone and stared at the screen for a moment.

Slowly, he found himself starting to scroll through Disco’s texts again.

Texts he got when he was a blink away from sleep.

“well that went great”

“Is everything alright?” Joe had asked.

“got insulted”

“shouldve seen that coming. feel like an idiot”

Joe lowered his brows, a twinge of guilt shot through him. He wished he could’ve done more for Disco. He wished he could’ve been there to help. Who knows what Overload and Aran had said to himt.

“Don’t say that about yourself.” Joe texted him. Disco didn’t respond again for another several minutes.

The loud beeps of the coffee machine snapped Joe out of his thoughts.

He nearly forgot about that!

Joe hurried out of his room and back into the kitchen.

He swung open one of his cabinets and dug through his cups until he managed to get his hands on one of his travel mugs.

He quickly poured the coffee into the mug, hissing to himself whenever some splattered onto his hand, and put a lid on.

He rushed to the door, slipped his dark brown shoes on, and just before he put his phone in his pocket, he looked at the very last messages he and Disco exchanged.

“finally going home. tonight kinda sucked”

“I’m sorry. Please be careful.” Joe told him.

Disco never replied.

Joe could only hope he had gotten home safely.

He also hoped last night’s events didn’t drag Disco’s spirits down too much.

Joe closed his phone, slipped it away, and finally left his house.

~ ~ ~ ~

Tiger slept soundly in one of the many hammocks that hung from his ceiling.

The hammock rocked ever so slightly, making his slumber all the more relaxing, as did the rays of sunshine that filled his living room.

Tiger shifted around, trying to get comfortable. The fabric creaked as he moved, he felt his long hair get wrapped around one of his legs, and he nearly kicked his thin, orange blanket out of the hammock, but once he brought his knees to his bare chest, feeling the soft fabric of his dark gray, silk pants press against his skin, he let out a content sigh.

He then grabbed the purple pillow he was resting on and buried his face into it, not caring for how messy his mustache and beard would get. No, all he cared for was this moment of pure, blissful peace.

He let an arm hang outside the hammock. There was a subtle smell of cinnamon that filled the air, most likely coming from the spice rack in his kitchen. And the quietness of his house? It was splendid. How he wished this heavenly sleep could last forever--

A loud ‘THUD’ suddenly made Tiger shoot up.

He clutched at his chest and whipped his head over to his apricot-orange door.

He narrowed his eyes at the tall, thin, stained glass window right next to it and watched a silhouette rush by.

‘Who dared?’ Tiger thought to himself

Who dared to disturb him?

Who dared to ruin his slumber?

Was it a fan? Or one of those fancily dressed men who always loved to waste his time trying to sell him something? Or perhaps it was the mailman?

Tiger tipped his purple hammock over and leaned forward, the front half of his body spilling off the side and into another hammock below. This one a bit smaller, and a rich, royal blue with yellow swirls stitched across it.

As he landed into the hammock, the frustration within him started to boil.

It better not have been that blasted mailman.

How many times has he told them to stop leaving letters at his door? He has a mailbox for a reason.

Tiger leaned forward again, dropping from the blue hammock into a larger, looser, magenta one.

Had he slept in his bedroom, he simply would’ve gotten out of bed, walked over to the door, and see what was outside, but his bedroom was nowhere near as comfortable as the hammocks, nor did it look as fascinating.

Tiger has gotten plenty of comments about his living room before. Both friends and strangers who happened to get a glimpse inside his house always made a comment about how ‘strange’ it looked, and while he won’t deny it was certainly a bizarre sight for newcomers, he also couldn’t deny that he loved its layout so much.

Besides having typical ‘living room’ furniture—couches, a coffee table, a TV stand—all arranged in a typical living room fashion, the room also had an unusually high ceiling.

He had no idea what was going through the builders’ minds when they were working on this house. Perhaps it was supposed to be a chimney, or maybe it was some botched attempt at a second floor, or perhaps it was supposed to be some sort of tower… Tiger will never know. They made the width of the ceiling the same as the living room’s, while it’s length seemed to stretch on for a good several feet, making it the perfect place for Tiger to decorate and fly through.

It was also the main reason Tiger got this house at such a low price.

He believed he did quite an excellent job at covering those tall, barren, honeyed-orange walls with all sorts of things he loved. From colorful, patterned sheets that stretched from corner to corner, to ropes that criss-crossed over each other and had bells, beads, and ripped cloths tied to them, giving them that extra bit of ‘flare’, to the black-cherry wooden shelves that were tethered to the ceiling and carried some of his favorite items. Some of those items being his magic books, photographs of him and his friends, little trinkets that reminded him of his home country, and now, one of the paper rats he had made with Overload.

It was the best room in his entire house, and it was his favorite place to nap at.

Before he got the hammocks, he used to fall asleep while hovering in the air, and he had a tendency to… Drift around. Sometimes he’d bump into a wall, sometimes he’d wake up in a completely different room, and there were the very rare instances when he’d wake up and find himself outside.

The hammocks were a much nicer alternative, plus, whenever he’d wake up in them, he’d be greeted with the wonderful scenery of his living room.

A wonderful scenery he could’ve been enjoying right now had it not been for some heathen knocking at his door.

Tiger tipped over the magenta hammock and carefully extended a leg out. Once he felt his foot touch the silk carpet below—which was a much duller shade of magenta with a pinkish hue, and had intricate flower patterns embroidered into it—he hopped out and trudged over to the door.

He swung it open and looked around.

No one.

He then looked down and saw a rolled up newspaper. He sneered.

The mailman.

Of course.

Who else would have the gall to ruin his slumber?

Tiger grabbed that horrid paper and slammed the door.

He then tossed it onto his earthy-orange, camelback couch that was pressed against the back wall of the living room, which had a couple of pink and purple pillows sitting on it.

Tiger arched his back and stretched his arms high into the air, feeling the frustration drain away as rays of sun graced his skin.

He let out a yawn, satisfied, and relaxed his body.

He walked over to the couch, stepping over his brown slip-on shoes, some rolled up socks, a book that must’ve fallen from one of his hanging shelves, and his shirt from last night that he tossed out from his hammock.

He sat down and sunk into the cushions. His eyes slowly drifted to the right where his small, burnt umber end table was. To the left of the table, sitting diagonally from Tiger, was another camel-back couch, which had a pastel-blue blanket carelessly thrown on it. Atop the end table was a half drunken cup of black tea that sat on a little plate, and next to that was his light purple, metallic flip phone.

It was certainly a bit of a mess in here. He usually liked to clean up before he went to sleep, that way he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up to a mess, but he must’ve been too tired to do so last night.

Tiger rested his head against the cushion. He wasn’t fretting too much, he’ll simply poof all of this away as soon as his magic wakes up.

He looked back to the end table.

He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, eyebrows raising slightly when he saw he had a voicemail from Bear… And no messages from Hondo.

He lowered his brows.

He had texted Hondo yesterday, and the fact he hasn’t heard back from him yet did send a twinge of anger through Tiger.

It wasn’t like he texted Hondo at an absurdly late hour. No, he did it in the afternoon while he was making dinner.

And it wasn’t like Tiger’s message was rude, or threatening, or anything of the sort. It was formal and straight to the point.

‘Hondo, whenever you’re available, I’d like to talk with you.’

What—was Hondo still too upset with him over what happened at their dinner night to respond? Or was he too busy training to answer him? Tiger knew training was the closest thing Hondo had to a hobby, but would it kill him to send a single word back? Or did he think he was too good for that?

Tiger’s thumbs hovered over the keypad, tempted to send Hondo another message, but he closed the phone.

He’ll text Hondo again later. He was in no mood to ruin his day this early.

Tiger stared at the cover of his phone before his eyes lazily drifted to the nearby newspaper. He skimmed its title--

His eyes widened.

‘BALD BULL THREATENS FANS.’

Tiger shot out of his seat and shoved the paper into his face. He frantically read the article, picking up whatever bits of the story he could.

Someone tried to break into Bull’s house.

‘I just wanted a chance to interview him.’ The person claimed, ‘He wouldn’t come out, and we’ve been waiting for so long.’ Oh, Tiger could practically hear their whiny voice through the page.

Of course that’s what those deranged people love to tell journalists, of course they love to paint themselves as innocent, curious fans who just want to hear one word from their favorite boxer as if they were owed it.

And the words used to describe Bull? It made Tiger’s blood boil.

‘Cruel’, ‘Careless,’ ‘Irrational’, those were only a small handful of what Tiger could spot, and he was certain if he found anymore, he’d tear the paper into shreds.

Tiger threw the paper down and dialed Bull’s number.

Why didn’t Bull tell him about this?

Was he planning to?

When did this even happen?

Was Bull hurt?

As his phone rang, Tiger flicked his wrist in an attempt to summon whatever clean clothes he could.

He didn’t care how ‘tired’ his magic was, he needed to check on Bull now.

The phone rang again. Tiger’s worries worsened.

He let go of the phone and used a little bit of his magic to keep it in the air as he started putting on his shoes.

The phone kept ringing. Tiger flicked his wrist again, patience wearing thin.

He suddenly felt a shirt land on his shoulder, followed by his unraveled turban.

He hurriedly put the dark purple shirt on before putting his hair into a messy bun.

The phone kept ringing.

Tiger used his magic to wrap his turban around his head.

The phone finally clicked.

Tiger grabbed it and opened his mouth—but his face dropped when he heard Bull’s voicemail play instead.

“Bull—Bull, I’m sorry, but I have to come over. I saw what happened and—and I’ll be there in a minute!” Tiger snapped his phone shut, and it disappeared to who knows where.

His magic finished tying his turban.

It was sloppy, crooked, and he had several strands of hair poking out, but it was done.

Tiger’s gem flashed, and he teleported away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Joe took a sip of his coffee as he strolled through the neighborhood.

It was a perfect morning. The sun was shining, there was a pleasant breeze that carried the smell of dew-ridden grass and pollen, and there were plenty of people out and about.

Some were watering their gardens that were filled to the brim with bright, colorful, flowers, while some were setting up sprinklers for their lawn and for children to run through, while others were sitting on their porch and talking with their neighbors.

A smile spread on Joe’s face.

He found himself enjoying every little thing around him.

From the squirrels that ran along the tree branches, to the little nuts and berries sprinkled across the sidewalk, to the distant chatter of friends, there were plenty of small joys that made this morning all the better.

Joe went to take another sip of coffee--

When a sudden car horn made him jump.

He fumbled with his cup, catching it at the last second and holding onto it with his dear life.

Oh, he’s going to give that driver a piece of his mind--

“Joe! Is that you?!”

Joe whipped his head around, face immediately lighting up when he saw Disco Kid sitting in his fancy-looking yellow car with its roof down. He beamed and waved at Joe.

Joe hurried over, hand over the lid of his mug so it wouldn’t spill, “Good morning! Fancy running into you so soon, how are you?”

Disco rested his arm against the side of his car, the sleeves of his loose, white satin shirt had been rolled up to his elbows, “Not too shabby, you?”

“Oh, fine, fine.” Joe hummed, then he leaned closer to Disco, “Now I love you to bits, but you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Disco shrunk back, “Awh, shoot, sorry Joe. Just got excited. Hey--!” He perked back up, “Wanna ride?”

“Absolutely.” Joe went over to the passenger seat.

Disco fiddled with the radio while Joe got comfortable. He then watched Joe slip his coffee into the cup holder. He smirked.

“Dang Joe, we aren’t even at th’cafe yet and you already got yourself a cup of joe?” He slapped his knee and wheezed, as if that was the funniest thing he’s ever said.

Disco kept laughing, but when he glanced over and saw Joe’s tired, deadpanned expression, he immediately stopped.

He fixed his composure and cleared his throat.

“Anyways, so, uh…” Disco tapped his fingers along the wheel, trying to ignore the disappointed look Joe was giving him. He put his car into drive, “Cafe time!”

He hit the gas and off they went.

Cheesy 70’s music filled the awkward silence between them. Disco stayed quiet, lips pressed together and eyes staring straight ahead, clearly still embarrassed over that little joke of his. Joe on the other hand, despite how much that joke drove him crazy, couldn’t stay mad at him. In all honesty, hearing that joke actually brightened his mood.

Not because it was funny, but because that meant Disco was feeling happy enough to actually tell a joke despite what happened last night.

Joe looked at himself in the side view mirror and brushed his fingers through his hair. His eyes flickered over to Disco.

“Did you sleep well last night?” He asked.

Disco shrugged, “I guess. Got home kinda late, wasn’t feeling all that tired. Probably got like a couple hours at best, but it’s whatever.”

“You could always get some coffee at the cafe.” Joe suggested.

Disco gave a nod and tilted his head towards his friend, “Maybe, but I’m thinkin’ of trying something different. Don’t they make teas over there? Might try one of ‘em.” He slowly pressed on the brakes and they lingered at a stop sign for a moment. He drummed his fingers against his dark violet shorts and bobbed his head, enjoying whatever outdated tune was playing.

He started to drive again, “How bout you?”

“Oh, I hardly got any sleep.” Joe chuckled, “I am looking forward to seeing Kaiser and Hippo, though.”

Disco nodded, eyes glued to the road.

Joe’s happy expression started to falter.

His head drifted to the side, and he watched the neighborhood pass by. The road ahead wasn’t all that interesting, just a straight line with tall trees and streetlights on both sides, but the houses around it? The residents? The little stores and restaurants? Now those were quite pleasant to look at.

Joe took it all in. The people walking their dogs, groups of friends sitting outside small shops and chatting about their plans for the day, and the wonderful decor that surrounded the buildings. Colorful banners, strips of ribbon tied to the outside of windows, flags, pinwheels, and of course, Joe’s favorite, the plants.

From large, terracotta pots filled with vibrant flowers, to the hanging plants that were strung to awnings, even the ‘unintentional’ decor had a sort of beauty to him. The vines that crawled up walls, the dandelions that sprouted from pavement cracks, even the small bits of moss that clung onto the corners of buildings had a sort of charm to them.

Joe couldn’t fully enjoy this moment, however. Not when his mind was plagued with one thing.

“Speaking of friends…”

Joe noticed the corner of Disco’s mouth twitch.

“How did your night with Aran and Overload go?”

“Right, my ‘friends’. My besties.” Disco sung that last word on a cynical note.

“Alright, ‘friends’ is certainly a bit of a stretch. I just wanted to know how—I mean, I know last night went badly, but I wanted to make sure you’re doing alright and--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re good, Joe.” Disco cut him off, “Appreciate it, but uh--” His mouth lingered open as he kept his eyes on the road, “Yeah, no, it sucked.”

“Well, I can imagine!” Joe exclaimed, “You were stuck in a bar with Aran! Heavens knows that man hardly showers. I can only imagine what breathing in his fumes can do to you.” Joe slid his sunglasses down, trying to see if he had managed to lighten Disco’s mood up a little, but all Disco did was let out a dry chuckle.

“Yup, that’s Aran for you.”

Joe took off his glasses and held them close, “And Overload—I’m guessing he was the one insulting you?”

Disco gave a shrug, “Yeah, I mean, not like I wasn’t expectin’ it or something. I tried to talk to him and it went… Okay-ish, but ya know what? He wasn’t half as bad as Aran was.” His grip on the wheel tightened, “Like, oh my gosh, I could go on forever about Aran, but it’s like—I give th’guy a ride, I went with him to the bar—and I don’t even like bars—but I still went cause I didn’t want him to be alone, cause he told me he hated that--”

“You’re too kind to him, do you know that?” Joe cut in.

“Yeah, well, we’re fr—we talk a lot. Sometimes I like to hang around him, right?” Disco said, “And I don’t mind helping th’guy out. Like, if somebody I knew from the stadium needed a hand, I’ll give it to ‘em! But he didn’t even thank me! I know that’s a stupid reason to get mad, but c’mon.”

“No, no, I’d be mad too!” Joe piped up, “What, you go out of your way to drive him to some random bar—free of charge—and stick around, and he can’t even cough up a ‘Thanks’?” Joe folded his glasses, slid them into his jacket’s pocket before he muttered to himself, “It’s common courtesy.”

Disco started to slow the car down as he eyed an open spot by a curb.

Joe eyed it as well.

His face scrunched.

Parallel parking.

A true nightmare.

He then looked back to Disco, “Did Aran do anything to show you a bit of appreciation? Or did Mr. World-Circuit feel too high and mighty for that?”

“He paid for whatever food I got.” Disco said as he carefully pulled into the spot, “Wasn’t good food, but at least I didn’t have to pay for it.”

“Didn’t even text a ‘Thank you’?” Joe asked.

Disco laughed. It was bitter. “Nah, just threats cause I didn't want to drive him home.”

Joe didn’t bother to hide his repulsion, “What did he say?”

“Typical Aran stuff.” Disco said with a click of his tongue as he parked the car, “Told me he was gonna beat me, tear my head off, went off on this whole thing bout how he was soooo much stronger than me ‘n that he’d ruin my life, which--” Disco laughed, “He’s already ruinin’ my life just by being around me.”

His laughter died down, and his smile fell, “That’s Aran for you.”

Disco took the keys out of the ignition and shoved them into the pocket of his shorts. He swung open the door and looked at the path ahead.

“Cafe’s a small walk from here, that work for ya?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” Joe responded as he got out of the car, “Thank you for the ride.”

Disco nodded as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He patted himself down, exhaled, and put a smile back on his face. It looked forced, but Joe decided not to comment.

“Sorry.” Disco said as Joe joined his side.

“What for?”

“Well I was—was kinda soundin’ like a jerk back there, wasn’t I?”

“Oh, stop.” Joe put his hand up, “You were upset, anyone would be after the night you’ve had. If anything, I think you were being too nice.”

That didn’t seem to ease Disco’s worries. Joe put a hand on his shoulder.

“I promise you, you were just fine. If you ever need to let these sort of things off your chest, I’m more than happy to listen.”

Disco relaxed some, “Thanks Joe.” He looked over to the end of the path, “If it’s all good with you, I can tell ya more at the cafe? Don’t wanna leave Kaiser ‘n Hippo outta this.”

“Oh, of course!” Joe clasped his hands together, “Besides, I have my own little stories I want to share with all of you. You won’t believe what I’ve seen these last several days.”

“Oh yeah?” Disco raised his brows as he leaned closer to Joe, hoping to hear a little more.

Joe was about to tell him to be patient, but then his phone rang.

He dug it out of his pocket, hoping it was Sandman finally responding, but confusion flashed across his face when he saw Hondo’s number.

He answered the call and pressed the phone against his ear, “Hello?”

“Good morning.” Hondo greeted, his voice stiff, “I apologize if this is sudden--”

“No, no, don’t be! I always enjoy hearing from you. Is--” Joe’s voice trailed off as he kept walking, “Is everything alright?”

It was silent for a moment.

Despite Disco’s head being turned the other way, Joe could see him trying to watch out of the corner of his eye.

“I…” Hondo finally began, “I had the strangest dream a few nights ago, but now I’m—I’m not so certain it was a dream.”

Joe lowered his brows, “What do mean?”

“Over the weekend, I was training. It was getting late, and I didn’t want to rest yet, so I made myself some tea...” Hondo said, “...And while I was waiting for it to cool, Tiger appeared in front of me. He shouted at me, and I—I don’t even recall what he said. It happened so suddenly, and then he disappeared.”

Joe let out a barely audibly ‘What?’

“It was so bizarre that I—truthfully, I thought I was losing my mind. I thought I had gotten so tired that I was finally starting to see things, so I went to bed.”

“So what makes you think it wasn’t a dream?” Joe asked. He could feel Disco’s eyes on him, but he paid him no mind.

“I received a text from Tiger yesterday. I can't help but feel that and his sudden outburst are connected.” Hondo muttered, “He wants to talk with me. I’m not sure about what, but if he’s going to act so irrational, I don’t know if I want to talk to him.”

“Well, you’re going to have to eventually. You go to the same stadium.”

“I know.”

It felt like Hondo wanted to say more, but after another stretch of silence, Hondo sighed.

“I apologize for this again. I know it was sudden, it’s just—“

“No, please, don’t worry about it. If that happened to me, I know I’d want to tell somebody.” Joe tried to reassure him.

“Thank you. I suppose I didn’t—I--” Hondo fumbled with his words, “I couldn’t bring this up to Bear. As much as I appreciate him, he’d try to get Tiger and I to ‘make up’ over what happened at the dinner. He even tried to convince me of that very thing last night.” There was a hint of annoyance in his tone, “He told me his hand was feeling better, that he’d like to try and spar again, and then he suggested we bring everyone else along. Tiger, Don, even Overload. He said it would be great to ‘have everyone back together’, but I just—I can’t. Not now.”

Joe finally looked over and caught Disco staring. Disco jumped and whipped his head the other way. Joe put his attention back on the phone as they walked on.

“That definitely sounds like something Bear would say.” Joe chuckled, “He means well, but like you said, you’re not all that thrilled at having another get-together, are you?”

“Not for a long time.” Hondo said.

Joe looked up ahead. He could see the cafe waiting for him and Disco. It’s aged, seashell-white bricks were decorated with splashes of light, dusty red hues that faded into a gentle pink the closer they got to the ground, and they helped make the snow-white frame around the rectangular window pop out.

The left side of the small, one story building had been covered with tons of tiny, twisted vines, and resting in the alleyway next to that wall were tens of pots that varied in shapes and sizes, and filled with what looked like hundreds of different flowers, bushes, and even a few little fruit plants. They all mingled together, making an otherwise dull alley into something quite beautiful. They also did an excellent job at blocking off the side door to the cafe.

The mahogany-red front door had been propped open with a rock, letting the heavenly aroma of coffee and fresh pastries out into the world… A heavenly aroma that made Joe and Disco pick up the pace.

“Just let Bear know how you feel, hm? I’m sure he’d understand.” Joe said.

“I will. In due time. I just needed someone else to talk.”

Joe nodded as he stared at the round, gray patio tables that sat outside the cafe. Each of them had a black umbrella in the center, while their aluminum seats had light green, checkered cushions on top of them. Most of the tables had already been taken, and when Joe glanced at the window and saw how crowded it was inside, he started to worry that they might not be able to find a seat--

But as soon as his eyes landed on Kaiser sitting at one of the outdoor tables, with a large tree towering over it, creating the perfect shade for them, he felt a wave of relief hit him.

“Alright,” Joe exhaled, “I hope you’re feeling a little better now.”

“I am. Thank you, once again. Could I…” Hondo hesitated, “Would it be alright if we kept in touch about this? I don’t want to bring Bear’s spirits down, or cause any trouble with--”

“Please, you’re fine!” Joe swatted at the air, “I don’t mind at all.”

“Thank you.” Hondo said, “Have a good day.”

Finally, Joe hung up.

A mix of satisfaction and concern filled him. Not the most comforting feeling to have—and not the most soothing conversation he’s had—but at least he could help Hondo in someway.

Joe felt Disco staring at him again.

Before he could turn around and apologize for the long call, Disco started talking.

“Soooo, what was that bout? Everything all good with Hondo ‘n Bear?”

“Yes, yes, they’re just fine. I’ll tell you in a few, but for now--” Joe slipped his phone into his coat’s pocket and waved his hand, “Hello Kaiser!”

Disco looked straight ahead and spotted Kaiser, who was giving a smaller, slower wave back.

Joe pulled out one of the chairs and flashed his friend a smile.

Kaiser had enough energy to force a grin on his face before he brought his attention back to a stack of papers in front of him. He kept a strong grip on a worn down pen and scribbled away as if his life depended on it. Joe was admittedly impressed to see that despite how fast he was going, Kaiser’s handwriting looked so neat.

“Paperwork? At a cafe?” Disco asked as he rested against a chair.

“Well, it’s the perfect place to get work done, isn’t it? It’s nice, quiet, and there’s some good food.” Joe said with the raise of his head.

“Yeah, but like—we’re supposed to be having a chill morning. Shouldn’t have to be doin’ homework on a day like this.” Disco said.

Joe opened his mouth—but Kaiser spoke instead.

“I will put it away soon.” He said, still writing, “I came here early. Wanted to see how many forums I could complete before you two came. I do not want to ruin our morning.” He sounded exhausted.

He looked exhausted.

Joe held his tongue, refraining from sharing any comments about Kaiser’s attire.

He wore a plain beige shirt with three buttons at the top, but only one of the three was actually buttoned up. Over that, he wore a trench coat about the same length as Joe’s, and it’s color was a rather gross, swampy green—not that Kaiser’s coat was gross, goodness no, it’s what the color reminded him of that was gross.

Joe also couldn’t help but notice how… Worn down the coat seemed. Torn ends, wrinkles, small stains and holes, he wondered how long Kaiser has held onto it.

Kaiser’s khakis had their bottoms half-heartedly tucked into his dark brown, leather combat boots, which it seemed he didn’t even have the time to tie the laces of.

Joe watched Kaiser set the pen down and grabbed a cup of black coffee that had been sitting by his papers.

“The forums are for my students.” Kaiser added unprompted.

Joe and Disco looked at him.

“Safety forums, parental permission, some for removing students because the boxing classes were ‘too violent’.” Kaiser scoffed at that last part, “I understand that it is a harsh sport, but violent? I always make sure my students are safe as they learn. I would never push them to such extremes.”

“The kids are complaining bout that?” Disco asked.

“The parents.” Kaiser answered, “Children love the class, they love giving hits. Parents, however, think it is too much.”

“Jeez.” Disco rolled his eyes before he leaned even closer to Kaiser, “Why don’t ya take a break from those lousy forums and eat some breakfast, huh?”

Joe was about to tell Disco that Kaiser’s work wasn’t ‘lousy’, but Kaiser nodded and slipped his papers into a dark green, beaten-up messenger bag he had hung around the back of his chair.

“Breakfast sounds nice. I will save the seats, and you two will grab the meals?” Kaiser asked.

“Yes, that sounds good. What would you like?” Joe asked as he took off his coat and placed it over his chair.

“The porridge, please.”

“Right,” Disco nodded before he looked around, “and uh, where’s Hippo?”

“He could not make it.” Kaiser said.

Disco jumped, “What?!”

“Visiting his island. 'Royal duties' is what he told me.”

Disco put his hands on his hips, “Awh man, that sucks. We can’t just leave a guy hangin’ like that! We could pick somethin’ up for him while we’re here? Maybe like uh, a cookie or somethin’?”

“I’m sure they have something inside fit for a king.” Joe said with a chuckle, proud of himself for such a quip, “But yes, I’m starving! Let’s get something to eat.”

Disco started to bounce, “Yeah, and then you’re gonna tell us bout Bear Hugger, right?”

Kaiser raised a brow, “Something happened to Bear?”

Joe flicked his wrist, “Oh, just you wait. You two won’t believe the things I’ve seen.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Tiger teleported above Bull’s house.

He didn’t want to be here.

He needed to be inside.

He shook his head.

He wasn’t going to try and teleport again. He might end up somewhere even farther.

He started to fly towards Bull’s backyard.

Wind rushed past his face, and he swore his turban was just seconds away from unraveling--

His body suddenly jerked to the left.

He cursed.

He tried to put his focus back on his flying, only for a sharp, stabbing pain to shoot inside him, cause him to jerk to the side again.

He stopped and immediately hit his gem with the palm of his hand. A pathetic attempt to get his magic to wake up faster.

Tiger looked at the red, clay tile roof of Bull’s house. He slowly brought himself closer to it.

With each agonizing second that passed, his panic only grew worse.

Each second wasted out here was a second he could’ve used to help Bull.

And the group of people he saw outside of Bull’s gates while he was high in the air?

The large crowd gathered out there—some with their cars parked in the middle of the road, and some with own tents? It made Tiger furious.

The sun shone on Tiger and burned his skin.

Don’t those people have lives? Families? Friends? Anything else they could spend their time on rather than constantly harassing his friend?

If only Tiger’s magic was working properly, oh how he’d love to create a horrifying illusion to scare them off.

When Tiger was finally close enough to the roof, he stopped flying and landed on it with a loud thud.

He turned around and eyed the balcony to Bull’s room.

He started walking towards it, the clay tiles rattling under his weight.

He held his breath.

The rattles grew louder.

He swore he heard one make a snapping sound--

Or was that the sound of a camera?

He couldn’t risk bringing more attention towards Bull.

He whipped his head around.

He didn’t see anyone.

And with how tall Bull’s cement fence was, he was certain the paparazzis couldn’t see him.

Still, he couldn’t stay out here for a second longer.

Tiger reached the edge of the roof and jumped onto the balcony.

He turned towards the purple curtains that covered the door way to the room and poked his head through.

“Bull?!” He hollered, his voice echoing through the large, empty bedroom. He took a step in, “Bull, I’m here to check on you! It’s just me—Tiger!”

No response.

Bull must still be in that spare room downstairs.

At least, Tiger hoped so.

Tiger hurried past the curtains and towards the burnt umber, round framed door that led to the rest of the house. He quickly scanned the room as he ran through it.

A pile of pillows sat on Bull's bed. It looked like they hadn’t been touched in days, nor did the neatly folded blankets beside them.

The rest of the room was perfectly still, and marvelously decorated as always, and the way the sun poured through the large, arched windows and shone onto the colorful fabrics on Bull’s ceiling? It was gorgeous, to the point it almost felt like a mockery to what his friend was going through.

Tiger slipped out of the bedroom and stepped out onto the interior bridge that connected to the staircase. He grabbed onto the wooden railings and leaned over, facing towards the front door. He sharply inhaled.

The two tall, narrow windows that sat on both sides of Bull’s door had been shattered.

What looked like millions of glass shards were scattered across the light, mahogany wooden floor.

Tiger quickly looked to the left where Bull’s living room stood.

There were probably even more shards hidden under the furniture and in between the threads of his rug, and he noticed the window there had several large cracks on it as well.

He hurried down the stairs.

As soon as he hit the last step, he leapt into the air and flew over the glass.

He stared at the mess, wincing at how many jagged pieces there were.

He also noticed multiple large rocks scattered amongst them.

He looked back to the broken windows and noticed ripped pieces of cloth stuck on some of the edges. Someone must’ve been trying to reach for the doorknob.

He peered through the windows and noticed the mosaic lamps Bull had hung outside and been knocked down and shattered.

Sun filled the house and bounced off the shards, decorating Bull’s walls with hundreds of fractured light. Some were tainted in gentle hues of greens from nearby plants, some were vibrant purples and blues due to the pieces of the mosaic lamps they hit, while many others had been tinted a soft orange.

Their warped, sharp shapes reminded Tiger of scattered puzzle pieces, or broken parts of a painting that needed to be mended.

In a horrible way, it was beautiful, but Tiger had to get rid of it.

‘Perhaps…’ He thought to himself, ‘It’d be better to wait a few moments?’

His magic has already been so difficult to work with. He didn’t want to risk trying to teleport the broken glass elsewhere only for something bad to happen. They could end up in a place they shouldn’t be, or land on some innocent bystander, or--

Frantic footsteps shook the house.

Tiger looked ahead to the small hallway that lead to the guestroom.

The steps grew faster and faster, as did the heavy breathing accompanying them.

Tiger’s gem flashed rapidly, “Bull--?!”

A large hand suddenly shot past the tan wall and gripped onto the corner.

A frightened, defensive Bull followed after.

“You will not--!” Bull shouted, but his wild expression dropped when he saw Tiger.

Tiger darted higher into the air and hugged his knees to his chest—which he quickly let go of.

“Bull, I am so sorry for scaring you.” Tiger said as he gradually lowered himself.

“No, I’m–I didn’t know you were…” Bull’s voice dwindled, “...Why are you here?”

“I had to check on you!” Tiger exclaimed, “I saw what happened to you—I saw the paper, and I had to make sure you were doing alright and—oh!” Tiger hissed to himself, “Those blasted paparazzi. What a pathetic excuse of a job.” He glared down at the glass shards below him, catching glimpses of his fractured reflections.

Bull peered past the corner and took a quick glance through a broken window. Despite seeing no one outside, he stayed hidden behind the wall.

Bull tugged at his sideburns, face occasionally scrunching whenever his fingers touched one of his bruises.

Tiger swore he didn’t have nearly as many the last time he saw him.

But he kept quiet.

He also kept quiet about any concerns he had towards Bull’s appearance, as he was quite certain Bull was well aware of how dreadful he looked.

The tear streaks on his face, his messy sideburns, the uncomfortable shifting of his feet… And it looked like Bull has worn that taupe-colored shorts and that drab, beige t-shirt for days. They were horrifically wrinkled, and the shirt had a few stains.

“I wish you had--” Bull began, but his brittle voice dwindled again. He folded his arms and gripped onto the sleeves of his shirt. His uneasiness grew. “I know you mean well. I appreciate you, but I--”

“If this is about my sudden arrival, again, I sincerely apologize.” Tiger cut in, “I left you a voicemail, but I know you’ve probably had your phone off since you—since the fight, but I wanted to let you know in advance because--”

“I wish you had not come.” Bull said.

Tiger stopped.

He waited for a moment. He waited for Bull to take that back, or to apologize, but the longer the silence went on, the worse he felt.

“What?” He finally whispered.

Bull couldn’t look him in the eyes, “I know you mean well, but you should not have come. I didn’t want you to get stuck in the middle of this.”

“In the middle of what?” Tiger asked, “In the middle of some frantic—chaotic mess that you’re stuck in? Do you really think I’d go out of my way to call you—visit you—if I didn’t want to get into this? Why do you think I’ve told you to call me if you needed anything?” He flew closer to his friend, “You’re dealing with your horrible fans--for heavens sake, they tried to break in just to talk to you! You think I wouldn’t--”

“That is one of the reasons why I have not called you for help.” Bull said, his voice stiff.

Tiger was taken aback.

Bull still couldn’t look at him.

“But you--” Tiger mumbled, “I thought you weren’t able to call to me because of how many fans were bothering you?” He felt beads of sweat starting to form where the sun was hitting him.

“That is true. I would not lie to you about that. It has been a lot.” Bull dug his nails deeper into his skin, “But I did not want to call you because this--” He gestured at the broken glass before pointing towards one of the windows, “—Because they are dangerous, and you have dealt with me enough already.”

“Dealt?” Tiger repeated in a hush.

Bull finally looked at him, only for his eyes to quickly flicker away again.

“Dealt? What, like us being friends is just some little hassle I have to go through? An errand? Or do you see me helping you as some sort of babysitting duty?” Tiger shot himself higher into the air, now towering above Bull.

“Tiger, that is not what I said--”

“No, but it certainly felt like it!” Tiger snapped. He took a deep breath and lowered himself a few inches, “Are you referring to the night of your fight? Is that when I ‘dealt’ with you?”

“Yes.” Bull kept his mouth open to say more, but Tiger talked over him.

“Please, you were going through a hard time! You lost a fight, you were hurt, I wanted to help you! That’s not some sort of chore for me, I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He got closer to Bull’s face. Bull inched away.

“Is it so wrong for me to want to do the same now?” Tiger asked, “I don’t want to find out what’s happening to you through the paper. I want to be there as soon as I can, just like the night of your--”

“That night was different.” Bull said. He stepped forward, “There were only the two of us. Nobody else. I am still thankful for your help, but when my fans are around, it--”

“I’ve dealt with fans before!” Tiger exclaimed, “You don’t think I’ve had my fair share of deranged fans?!”

Bull lowered his brows, “You have not dealt with mine.”

“Yes I have!”

“No, you have not.” Bull raised a foot, ready to take another step, but when he saw the glass shards below, he stopped, “You have helped teleport me away from them, yes—and I am grateful for that—but those were all from a distance. You have not dealt with fans surrounding your house, or trying to break in to get close to you. That is very different.”

Tiger grit his teeth.

“So?” He asked, “So they’re a different kind of deranged, what of it? What makes you think I can’t help you with this?” His voice was filled with desperation and frustration. He leaned even closer to Bull, the front half of his body now in the hall, while the lower half still hovered above the shards.

Bull finally brought his eyes back to Tiger’s, “I do not doubt you can help me, but I do not want you to get hurt trying. I would never forgive myself.”

“Oh, hurt. Hurt!” Tiger scoffed as he threw himself away from Bull. He started to pace around in the air, anger growing inside of him, “What a fantastic point. I could get hurt. A Major Circuit boxer—who’s been punched a million of times—might get scratched up by some people with a camera!”

“It is not only about the physical injuries.” Bull said, but before he could add on, Tiger gave him a furious look.

His gem flashed brightly and a clone appeared between them. Half of it’s face had been fused with it’s turban, their colors bleeding and swirling together, while the other half looked as though it was melting, and slowly merging with his neck.

“What else--?” The clone asked, it’s voice distorted and painful to listen to, making Bull recoil.

Tiger swatted it away and took it’s place, “What else is there? If you tell me, I promise you, I could help you with it!”

“They will follow you!” Bull snapped back, finally raising his voice, “No matter where you go, they will follow you! You will not get a second to yourself. Every moment of your life will be on the paper or on the screen.” Bull got as close as he could to his friend without stepping on the glass, “You will be stuck hiding in your house, and even then, you will not be safe! They will always try to find you, or rip off a piece of you to keep to themselves. Tiger it would be far too much for you too handle. I have been dealing with it for years--”

“And you’re still not used to it!” A clone that appeared between the two men snapped. Tiger sliced it’s head off with one swift motion, making it disappear into a cloud of smoke.

“Then why can’t I use my magic to block out your windows? Or scare them away? I could even let you stay at my place!” Tiger clutched at his chest as his gem flashed rapidly.

Bull turned away and muttered, “I am already the ‘scariest’ boxer, yet they keep coming back. I do not want you wasting your energy on me—on these sort of people, and I will not risk putting you in the middle of this. I can handle it.”

Tiger’s hands curled to tight fists. He pressed his lips together and scowled.

There were a million things he wanted to say.

A million things that could possibly change Bull’s mind, or could do more harm than good.

He felt those words try to pry his mouth open--

Another clone flickered in the middle of the glass shards.

Tiger and Bull watched as the clone crouched down and stared at the pieces. It’s body was jagged, it’s arms jutted out in odd, sharp angles, as did it’s torso, and it’s legs looked a little too long to be normal.

It then turned it’s head over to Bull, showing off how most of it’s face appeared stretched, as if someone had grabbed it’s skin and pulled it away, leaving only a set of teeth visible, “As if you’re handling this well.” It whispered.

Tiger quickly whipped his head back over to Bull and hurt flash across his face.

Before he had the chance to waft the clone away, it disappeared.

It was Tiger’s turn to avoid looking at his friend.

He just stayed floating in the air, head down, looking at his reflections in the broken glass.

He could feel Bull staring at him, and that only made the sour pit in his stomach grow.

Bull finally sighed.

“Tiger,” He said, his voice low, “I appreciate you visiting, but I need you to leave.”

Tiger’s brows lowered.

He raised a hand in the air and curled it into a fist.

The shards of glass started to slowly hover off the ground. Speckles of lights danced around the house.

“I am doing this because—because I care about you. Because I love you.” Bull said.

Tiger then opened his fist, and the shards disappeared, “It certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

Even with the glass gone, he still kept his eyes on the floor.

Tiger opened his mouth, hesitating for a moment before he spoke again, “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m offering to help you because I also care about you?”

The sunlight felt as though it was burning Tiger’s skin off.

“I know I’ve been getting… Upset, but it’s because I also want you to be alright.” He drifted a few inches closer to his friend, his voice weaved with worry, “This is me telling you that I can help you.”

Bull stared back at him, a broken expression on his battered face… And then he took a step back.

“And this is me telling you I do not need it.”

Tiger stayed there, watching as Bull backed further away, until he eventually turned away and disappeared into the hallway.

He listened as his friend’s footsteps grew quieter.

Tiger’s hands trembled.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, “If you ever--!”

The footsteps stopped.

Tiger took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “If you ever change your mind, know that I will still give you my help.”

The silence lingered.

Then he heard the footsteps start again, followed by a door clicking shut.

Tiger waited for a few more moments, hoping Bull would rush out and tell him he does need his help, or to pull him into a hug and apologize, and then they could figure out how to work through this together, but that never happened.

Bull stayed in the guestroom, and Tiger stayed in the entryway.

With nothing more to do, and with no one needing him, his gem flashed, and he teleported away.

~ ~ ~ ~

“What?!” Disco blurted out, “And was there blood? Lotsa blood?”

“Thankfully not too much, but one of his nails nearly came off, and it looked awful.” Joe said as he gestured with his fork. He sat with his legs crossed, leaning back far enough that the chair looked like it was about to tip over, yet he somehow remained balanced.

Disco squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, not too fond of the imagery that popped up, and even though Kaiser looked stoic—his arms folded and posture rigid—Joe noticed the subtle scrunch of disgust on his face.

“What happened after that?! Was Bear alright? Nothing got infected, did it?” Disco asked as he jabbed his fork into one of his waffles and shoved it into his mouth. There was so much whipped cream and fruit piled on top that they were practically hidden.

“The poor man was in agony.” Joe threw his head back, “Thank the stars this happened in the locker room though, because I was able to grab some paper towels and help clean him up.” Joe set his fork down by his salad bowl, “And thankfully Tiger heard the commotion as well and offered to get a first aid kit, but he was also…” Joe rolled his eyes.

Disco and Kaiser exchanged confused glances.

“Did… Tiger help Aran and Overload with the mousetraps?” Kaiser asked, his brows lowering.

Joe jolted, “No! Absolutely not. He was just frustrating to deal with that day.”

That didn’t seem to satisfy Kaiser, “Frustrating how?”

Joe’s cheeks turned a light pink, “I suppose ‘frustrating’ wasn’t the best word to go with, but—actually I need to explain a little more.” He grabbed his cup of mocha and held it close, “So after Tiger left, Bear wanted me to text Hondo about what was going on, so I did. Then before I knew it, Hondo suddenly appeared! I don’t know how he gets around so fast, but anyways--” He took a sip, “He checked up on Bear, asked who had set up those traps, then Tiger reappeared, and that’s when things got frustrating.”

Kaiser and Disco continued eating their breakfast as Joe explained what happened on that dreaded day.

He rambled about how everyone in the locker room realized Aran had been the one to place those traps inside the locker, how Octave most likely helped, how defensive Tiger got at the ‘accusation’, even though it was so obviously true.

Disco listened intensely, wrapped up in every detail of the story, never taking his eyes off of Joe, not even to make sure his fork was actually hitting his waffles.

Kaiser, despite listening attentively to everything Joe was saying, found his eyes occasionally drifting away. He’d glance at families that’d walk by with kids happily holding onto the parents’ hands, or at the occasional leaf or crumpled newspaper that flew with the wind. He ate a spoonful of porridge and put his focus back on Joe.

“Tiger and Overload…” Kaiser mumbled as he pat his mouth with a napkin, “I have never pictured the two of them becoming friends.”

“I’ve heard a bit bout ‘em through Aran.” Disco added as he took a sip of the strawberry-mango tea he ordered. It smelled so sweet to the point Joe was almost certain the baristas had given him a glass of fruit punch instead.

“They must be getting along well if Tiger is willing to defend him.” Joe said with another roll of his eyes.

“Pah, if I was friends with a man who was constantly cruel, I would not hesitate to call out their behavior.” Kaiser frowned as he straightened his posture even more.

“Exactly!” Joe said, “I don’t care how close I am with someone, if they’re being a pain, I won’t tolerate it. I don’t know why Tiger thought we were ‘antagonizing’ him, even though he knows Overload constantly acts this way.” He sunk down further into his seat, “A part of me just worries that he’ll get get wrapped up in Aran and Overload’s messes.”

“Nah, maybe not.” Disco said.

Joe and Kaiser stared at him.

“I think Tiger’s probably only gonna hang round Octave cause like--” Disco took another bite of his waffles and kept talking, “Tiger hates Aran, ‘n Aran? Guy can’t stand him either. He’s told me bout it before, and don’t tell the other guys at the stadium this, but…” His eyes flickered between the men before he leaned in, “I think Octave ‘n Aran hadda big fight.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up, “Really now?”

Even Kaiser seemed surprised.

“Yeah! I texted Aran last night, right? Wanted to make sure he made it home—mostly cause his sister needs him—but when I asked, he started goin’ off about how fed up he was with Octave. Tried to get more outta him, but he stopped responding.” Disco then propped his head up with his hands and batted his eyelashes, “Maybe they were fightin’ over li’l ol’ me.”

That managed to get a chuckle out of Kaiser.

“Well…” Joe brought his coffee to his lips again, “It’s not like they haven’t fought before.”

“Yeah but like—I dunno. Aran gets into fights all the time, but he never complains bout it. Usually he just jokes and brags bout it or whatever, but like, this felt different, you know?” Disco said.

“And what about Tiger?” Kaiser asked.

Joe took a sip, “What about him?”

Kaiser’s expression grew serious, “He is with Overload. If Overload is not afraid to hurt Aran, who is to say he won’t hurt Tiger as well?”

Disco and Joe’s eyes went to anywhere but Kaiser as they pondered that question.

Joe’s mind was already filling with hundreds of horrible things Overload could do to Tiger—or to anyone for that matter. Heaven knows he’s probably furious over his little relationship drama with Aran, and it’s only a matter of time before he lashes out and gets someone severely hurt—

Joe quickly took another sip of coffee to try and drown out his thoughts.

He then cleared his throat, “I’m sure Tiger would be able to deal with it one way or another. He’s got his magic, he has friends to help him--”

“Like us!” Disco added.

“Right. Though he’s not too happy with me at the moment.” Joe muttered, “Either way, he can always ask for help when the time comes.” He then set his cup down and leaned his head against his hand, “Or he could do us all a favor and teleport Overload far away from here.”

Joe heard Disco laugh, and he could practically feel the eyebrow raise he got from Kaiser, but Joe picked up his fork and put his focus back on his salad.

Joe then heard Kaiser mumble to himself. He looked up ever so slightly

“Overload and Aran…” Kaiser grumbled as he stared into his black coffee, “I swear I have taught children with better manners than them.”

Joe hummed, a small grin on his face.

“Please, I don’t think that’s a very high bar for—oh!” Something on the ground caught his attention.

Joe carefully tipped his chair back further and reached towards the sidewalk.

“Dropped something?” Kaiser tilted his head.

“No, no, I found a leaf.” Joe plucked the leaf off the ground and sat right back up, “Sandman wanted me to find a nice one for him. I think this should do, hm?”

He twirled it’s red stem between his fingers, showing off a brilliant green leaf that had been adorned with bright yellow speckles that faded to orange at the bottom.

Kaiser paused, “I suppose, though I am not a leaf expert.”

“I like it!” Disco said with a mouth full of food, “Oh, speakin’ of Sandman, you see that little column bout him in the paper this morning?”

Joe perked up, “No, I haven’t. I think I saw a little bit about something going on with Bull--”

Disco cut him off, excited, “Yeah! It was on the page right after that. He might be havin’ another fight soon! I gotta keep my eyes open for it, I wanna buy my parents tickets to it—they love his fights and I wanna surprise ‘em.”

“Really?” Joe was about to ask ‘With who?’ But he closed his mouth when he remembered that miserable other champion that’s been trash talking his friend for the last couple of weeks. He let a twinge of annoyance show through as he thought about that boxer for a moment.

Did that champion really have nothing better to do than waste journalists’ time with his constant trash talk?

Doesn’t he have training to do?

People to punch?

Joe huffed. He wasn’t looking forward to dealing with that champion in the near future, but if it meant seeing Sandman eventually knock his lights out, then he’ll put up with it.

Joe exhaled before he put a smile back on his face, “Well, I’m sure whenever that fight arrives, it’ll be fantastic.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Tiger was back in one his hammocks, arms folded, a leg dangling off the side, and a scowl on his face.

He wished he had never gotten up this morning.

He wished he had ignored that blasted newspaper when it hit his door.

He could’ve slept in and woken up refreshed, but no.

He had to be a good friend and check on Bull.

And look where that’s gotten him.

Tiger’s flip phone orbited his hammock.

Tiger gave a halfhearted snap of his fingers, his gem flashed, and his phone let out a beep.

“Heya Tiger…” Bear’s voicemail played, “I was tryna call ya, but ya must’ve been asleep, hope I didn’t wake ya up on accident or somethin’.”

Tiger sunk deeper into his hammock as he listened on.

“Hope yer doin’ well for starters! My hand’s feelin’ loads better, still gotta be careful of course, but I was wonderin’ if yer gonna be free in a couple’o days? I was thinkin’ of goin’ back to th’stadium to work out, ‘n it’d be great to have ya around! We can practice in that li’l ring together, or ya can just sit ‘n watch, I don’t mind either way...”

Tiger sneered as the recording kept going.

Look at that, a friend that’s actually asking for his help, and he didn’t need to drag himself out of bed and teleport out of his house just to hear it.

It’s nice to know someone likes to have him around.

“...Ya good if Hondo tags along as well? Don might be comin’ too…” That last part was barely audible, but Tiger heard just enough to make his scowl grow.

Hondo still hasn’t responded to his message.

If Hondo refused to acknowledge Tiger’s attempts to reach out, then so be it, Tiger will gladly confront him in the stadium. Hondo couldn’t hide forever.

”...But he said he might be busy with uh—with stuff. He didn’t tell me with what, but hey! Maybe ya can ask Octave to tag along as well!” Even through the recording, Tiger could hear Bear’s smile.

Tiger doubted Overload would want to come after what’s happened, and he could only imagine the fit Hondo would throw if he saw him again.

“...I know that uh… That things have been kinda weird since, ya know, but…” Bear’s voice dwindled.

Tiger took a deep breath.

“...I guess I just want my buds to stay buds, ya know?”

It was quiet for a moment.

Tiger’s eyes lingered at the end of his hammock. For a second, he thought the voicemail had ended, but Bear spoke again.

“Anyways! Just, uh, just lemme know if ya’d like to come! Hope to see ya--”

Tiger’s phone started to ring.

He sat up and quickly flicked his wrist, teleporting the phone into his hand. Perhaps it was Bear checking to see if he’s able to train, or perhaps Hondo finally decided to respond—but Tiger stopped when he saw it was Overload calling instead.

Tiger answered, “Yes--? Hello, good morning!”

“Hey, Tiger.” Octave said, his voice muffled.

“Is everything alright? I’m so used to our little chats in the evening that this feels a little odd.” Tiger chuckled as he brought the phone closer.

“Yeah, yeah, I was uh…” Octave trailed off, “Hey, we’re uh—we’re friends, right?”

Worry and confusion started to fill Tiger's chest as he pressed the phone against his ear, “Why of course.” He let out another chuckle, nervous, “What brought this on? Is everything alright?”

“Nah, yeah, everythin’s fine.” Octave said, “Just checkin’.”

[dino-cattivo]

Pray for me, cos I won't pray for you

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang!

The amazing art for this fic was done by @jeniidrawsshit and oh my god I love it so so much. It is just so amazing.

LINK TO THE ART!!! GO CHECK IT OUT!!

Pairing: Hob/Dream

Rating: mature

Word Count: 40,657

Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, gore like the dinner episode, The Corinthian is His Own Warning (The Sandman), Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Alternate Universe - Mob, Organized Crime, Hob joins the mafia, Self Confidence Issues, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, POV Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Needs A Hug, Misunderstandings

Summery: After their fight in 1889 Hob falls in with a bad crowd thanks to a boy that reminds him of Robyn. He tries to stop his descent into crime not wanting to be reduced to being nothing more than a murderer again. But eh fails. Compared to all the live he ends helping to guard a basement is tame. If only Corinthian, the right hand man of his employer, would stop flirting with him despite being turned down multiple times already.

Chapter 1 under the cut. Will repost the next chapters as reblog because of word limit.

~1889~

“You knew Lady Johanna. You know, Lushing Lou. You know everyone, don't you?” Hob asked in wonder. He may not know who or rather what his stranger was, but he could never help but be amazed by everything he could do. Sometimes when he laid awake, unable to catch sleep, he came up with the wildest theories about the man. He imagines him being a vampire, a fae, and even considered an old god from Greece. But he would never know, as his stranger never revealed anything about himself, not even his name. 

It felt unfair in a way. Him knowing everything about Hob, while Hob got nothing. It had crossed his mind to be petty, to keep things to himself, go against their deal in a way. But Hob couldn’t stop himself from telling the man whatever he could when they saw each other, eager to be able to share.  

“I saw her again, you know.”

“Who? Lady Johanna?” Worry flared up. He knew his stranger was fine, sitting across the table from him. He also knew the man was strong enough to protect himself. But he couldn’t help wanting to be there, to protect, to keep his stranger safe, even at the cost of his own freedom.

“She undertook a task for me and succeeded admirably, I might add.”

Jealousy, burning hot, filling his veins. He tried to tamper it down, to net let it get to him, but he couldn’t help himself. All the time he had wanted nothing more than to get close to his stranger, to prove his worth, and now he had offered that chance to someone else. He had chosen someone who had hunted them down and tried to do harm instead of someone he shared centuries of friendship with.

It hurt. 

Although, could he hold it against his stranger? The man knew Hob for so long, knew what he has done, knew all his failures during his long life. So it was no wonder he didn’t trust Hob enough to ask him for a favor. His voice was filled with self-loathing as he spoke. “That might be the only thing I've learned after 500 years. People are almost always better than you think they are. Not me, though. Still the same as ever.”

“I think perhaps you've changed.” Hob’s heart started beating faster at the other’s words. Did he really think so? Hob wished it was true. He wants to change, to be good, worthy of his stranger.

“Well, I may have learned a bit from my mistakes. But, uh… doesn't seem to stop me from making them. I think it's you that's changed.”

“How so?”

Hob should shut up now and be content with what he had, seeing the man he had fallen for every hundred years. He should not press the issue, no matter how desperate he was to be acknowledged by the other. But Hob had never been smart when it came to things he desired.

“I think I know why we still meet here, century after century. It's not because you want to see whether or not I'm ready to seek death. I don't think I'll ever seek death. By now, you know that about me. So, I think you're here for something else.”

“And what might that be?” His stranger looked curious at that. Hob liked the look as it meant he had done something to surprise the man.

“Friendship. I think you're lonely.” And in true Hob fashion, he managed to put his foot in his mouth. He knew the moment he had spoken, he had made a mistake. It was the truth, but the wording was just unfortunate and way too blunt. And not at all how he had planned to breach the topic.

“You dare…”

“No, look, I'm not saying–,” Hob tried to backpedal, but it was too late. “You… dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Maybe despite Hob’s foolish approach, there was a chance all of this still had a good outcome, and they would get closer. “Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong.” Or maybe not. Hob sprang up from his chair and chased after his stranger as the man strode out of the tavern. The man couldn’t do this. If he wanted or not, they were friends. You didn’t just storm off and leave your friends behind.

“I'll tell you what, I'll be here in 100 years' time. If you're here then, too, it'll be because we're friends. No other reason, right?” He was met by silence as his stranger didn’t seem fit to answer and just disappeared. 

“Fսck.” 

~1897~

He was pissed, absolutely livid. Who did he think he was? He had no right to speak to Hob like this, no matter how powerful he was. That was not how things worked. You couldn’t be an asshole like that and expect people to stick around. Hob didn’t need him. They saw each other only every hundredth years, and even then the stranger often didn’t have time for Hob and fucked off with someone else. So what if Shakespeare was famous now? Hob would still have been better company back then. No, he didn’t need the man. He would make new friends. Better ones.

~1936~

Okay, so maybe mistakes had been made and Hob should have chosen his words more carefully. That was on him. His stranger still shouldn’t have exploded like this and should rather have tried to talk things out like a grown up, but still – Hob hadn’t been entirely blameless in the situation.

When they saw each other the next time he would have to apologize and maybe then they could laugh together about the stupid fight. Or well, Hob had never seen his stranger laugh, couldn’t even imagine it. He would settle for a smirk then.

~1983~

Anxiety was settled deep in his chest. What if his stranger proved him wrong. What if he didn’t show, determined to not give in. Hob had no way of finding him. He didn’t even know who he was looking for. What would Hob even do? Nothing besides showing up in the White Horse every hundred years and praying at some point his stranger would forgive him and come for him. 

Once more, he felt powerless in their relationship. It was the whole reason why he had even started the fight, wanting to know more, anything about his stranger. He didn’t want to be on equal footing, knowing it would never be, but he wanted something that was his. He didn’t want to be just another amusement the man had, but to mean at least something to the other. 

Tears sprung to his eyes as he hit his desk in frustration. It was unfair. The stranger meant too much to him, was such a big part of his life, and Hob didn’t even know if he was the only immortal he kept. Maybe Shakespeare was out there under a new name, living his best life and meeting his stranger more often than every hundredth years. And there was nothing Hob could do about it, no way for him to even find out.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any more work, he gathered his documents and put them in a briefcase before leaving the empty office and making his way through the dark street. They were in the progress of having the gas street-lamps replaced by electrical once, but it was slow progress. And during it many streets stayed dark, since repairing gaslights when they were about to be replaced was a waste of resources according to the major. Hob didn’t care too much, he didn’t fear the dark.

He should have.

A dark figure stepped in front of him, barely noticeable in the moonlight. Turning around to run, he saw another figure blocking the other exit of the street and walking towards Hob. A flash of metal in the dark, a weapon. Hob swallowed, not because he was scared, he had survived much worse, but because it spelled trouble, and he couldn’t risk anyone finding out he was immortal. Not with times changing and hiding who he was becoming more and more difficult.

“Your money or your life,” Hob had to suppress a snort at the nasal voice. Ah, criminals, always the same no matter how many centuries passed. He remembered the time well, when he was in the other's position, stopping the carriages of rich folks and demanding the valuables. He had used the exact same words. Although, he guessed there was no much need for flair when it came to such simple matters.

“Alright, I will give you what I have. Please don’t hurt me,” Hob held up his hands, talking calm and trying not to provoke them. He couldn’t die, sure, but being stabbed hurt like a freaking bitch. Hob would rather part with some cash he had on hand and his watch. Nothing holding real value to him, and easy enough to replace. 

So very slowly and telegraphing his movement clearly, he reached inside his coat and pulled out his wallet, holding it out until it was snatched from his fingers. Next was his watch that got the same treatment. And still Hob was well-behaved, not struggling, calm and cooperating. He gave no reason for the situation to escalate, giving his robbers all chances to just leave now with their loot.

Which was why Hob was so surprised when pain exploded at the side of his head. He stumbled, his knee hitting the pavement, his palm getting scratched as he caught himself. Blinking, he tried to lift the haze from his thoughts as he looked up at the two shapes hovering above him. 

It was only instincts, honed through centuries with conflicts, that saved him, his head ducking automatically as he heard the swish of metal through the air. But just because the knife didn't slash his face didn't mean he was safe, as he was not as fortunate in avoiding the kick to his side. He cried out as pain exploded in his ribs. Every fiber of his being wanted him to curl up and protect his soft belly, but he forced down this instinct with gritted teeth. 

No, if you wanted to survive, you had to fight with everything you got. Using the momentum of the kick, he stumbled back to his feet, and got some distance between himself and the attackers. Despite the throbbing in his head, he now could see them more clearly, that was not the face of someone just messing around. No, they wore big smiles, and were enjoying his pain. They wouldn't stop. At least not on their own. 

One of them, heavy dark coat, spindly frame, soon ran towards Hob, knife in hand. Amateur movements. Hob stepped forward, getting close, deflected the blade by smacking the other's arm. His knee meets the other's stomach, sending him down. Before he could make sure he stayed down the other man, this one smaller but wider, jumped on him, and they tumbled to the ground.

That was fine. Hob knew how to wrestle and had the other in a chokehold in seconds. Still two against one, but he kicked out the legs of the man running towards him to tear him off his friend.

The body was suddenly in free-fall, arms whirling trying to get back balance. 

Then a sickening crunch and Hob froze.  

He had heard it often during his lifetime. He had sworn he would no longer be the cause of it. 

Looking over, he didn't need to see the neck bend in an awkward position to know the man was gone. 

Hob had killed him. He hadn't meant to, it had been an accident. But he had killed someone. 

After all the lifetime he had lead and all the killing and dying he had done, he had wanted to be done with it. He just wanted to live in peace and do let others do the same. But now he had ripped someone else out of their life. How could he live with himself knowing what he had just done. 

“Chris,” the man, Hob was still entangled on the ground with, cried out and struggled to free himself. Hob helped him as best as he could now that he was no longer in danger of being attacked. 

Getting up himself, he saw the man kneeling next to the body crying, shaking it and begging for Chris to open his eyes. The man didn’t. They never did. Once someone was gone, there was nothing you can do, no matter how you cried out to your stranger to spare them. 

Suddenly the man got up, swinging at Hob, but in his grief it had become uncoordinated and Hob easily stopped the punch. 

“You murderer! You killed him!”

He hadn’t meant to. And it wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t attacked him. But pointing that out wouldn’t help, as the man would not listen to reason. He wanted someone to be angry at, to blame, to lessen his own guilt. And Hob was the perfect target. Hob stopped the other punch and just held on as the man cried. It was the least Hob could do.

There was the sound of footsteps in the distance, spooking the man, and he ripped himself free and started stumbling away. Hob didn’t stop him, just sitting down on the ground next to the cooling body and waited. He should probably call the police, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, so he just waited. How long he didn’t know, but at some point steps came closer and when he looked up Hob could see men in uniform entering the alley. The police has arrived. 

Hob didn’t resist when he was dragged up and cold iron snapped around his wrist. Neither when he was pulled away. Everything was a blur. He didn’t remember how they made it to the station, just that he found himself in a chair, an officer sitting on the other side of the desk staring him down.

He was asked questions he can’t answer, the full name of the victim, their relationship and most of all why he did it. All Hob can say is, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, they attacked me first, I just tried to defend myself, then he fell. Over and over, he repeats it like a mantra. Something to hang on when everyone wants to make him believe he did it on purpose. When their words make him question himself. 

I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I was just defending myself.

He didn’t know how much time has passed, there was no clock in the room nor window. His voice was rough and black spots dance on the edge of his vision, they hadn’t bothered giving him a glass of water. The blood in his hair from the first swing he took was dry and flaking off every time he shakes his head in denial. His ribs throb with every breath.

He was about to just nod, accept whatever they said if it meant he will be thrown into a cell where he could lay down and close his eyes. It would ruin his life, but wouldn’t that be right after what he had done? A few years of suffering was the least he deserved. Especially since he unlike others had the option to start anew after faking his death.

His downward spiral was stopped by a man bargain in, under loud protests of some officers. The man’s briefcase hit the desk hard, and Hob flinched back at the loud noise.

“Don’t say anything,” sharp blue eyes drilled into Hob’s making him cower at the imposing figure in front of him. The man commanded respect, not because of the nice suit he was wearing or the expensive jewelry or because he was even taller than Hob, but in the way he held himself, his presence filling the whole room. 

So Hob shut his mouth. It was not like anyone was really listening to what he had to say anyway. And not speaking would be good for the scratching in his throat. His fate now would be decided if the new person was a friend or someone wanting to drag him down. Hob didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

“You,” the man whirled on the officer, making him duck on instinct, only to puff up and try to make himself more imposing when he noticed. “Tell me how it comes that you had him in here for 8 hours and couldn’t even be bothered to give him a glass of water nor give him medical attention? Where are we? At the witch trials,” Hob flinched hard at the words, remembering the trials only too well. Back then he had broken as well, admitting to anything as long as it meant the pain would end. 

To his surprise, the stranger pushed his briefcase further on the desk, blocking Hob’s slumped form from view and gave him at least a bit of privacy as he fought with his demons.

“He killed a man! What do you expect? A fluffed up pillow and a three-course meal?”

“Human decency!” The officer was now absolutely cowering under the pressure, despite his best efforts. “Or are you that desperate you couldn’t take the 10 minutes to have him checked over? Maybe because you know you don’t have a case?”

“Bullshit! I know you love to put your nose where it doesn’t belong, Mr. Henderson. He killed the guy. We found him next to the corpse, and he admitted it was him who made the deceased fall.”

“And wasn’t he also quite persistence that the deceased and another man were the once attacking him, and he was just defending himself? Or are you just going to ignore that? So I suggest instead of harassing the victim, you should rather be out there looking for the second attacker.”

And the officer, despite his complaints and grumbling, got up and left the room. There was no way to know if he was really searching for the other attacker, and if there was even a chance to find the man with how little information Hob had been able to give, but getting a breather was enough for Hob.

His head laid on the desk, the cold helping against his headache, and he just rested his eyes for a moment. He heard movement but ignored Mr. Henderson for now. Or at least he tried to, but the man kneeled down next to Hob’s chair and his hand laid on Hob’s knee. 

Blinking his eyes back open was an effort, but Hob managed and looked down at the concerned eyes looking up at him.

“Mr. Gadling, I wish could say it will be alright, but your situation doesn’t look good. But rest assured, I will do anything in my power to get you out of this.”

“I don’t think I have the money to pay your commission,” Hob was not poor. But the last years after he had fought with his friend, he had let himself go. Gambling, and throwing money at unnecessary luxuries just because he could. When he had pulled his head out of his ass, he had already spent most of his fortune and was now living like the middle class. Not bad, but not enough to pay a man wearing jewelry that could feed a family for at least a year.

“Don’t worry about money. Just focus on getting through this.”

Hob snorted, so either once he was out the man would make demands to be paid back another way, forcing Hob into his servitude, or he was just plain stupid. Saying that straight to the man’s face was not the best idea, but the man just laughed.

“Personally, I see myself as someone just trying to do the right thing, reforming the misdeeds in the justice system.”

So, delusional. But Hob could work with that. And having a delusional lawyer was better than not having one at all, so accepting the help would be best.

“The biggest problem is all we have to confirm your story is your word. Even if the police showed an ounce of competence and finds the other robber, he will tell his own story.” Hob knew all that. He didn’t know why the other even bothered, since there was no way he would get out of here. Not with everyone in the station being hellbent on making sure he went to prison. But at least he got to go to a holding cell for now and take a nap until Mr. Henderson would return the next day. 

And return he did with a big smile on his face. The police had not found the other robber, but they had found a woman hanging around the alleyway, and with a bit of pressure she had admitted to seeing the whole thing backing up Hob’s story. The officers complained and tried to poke holes in his defense, but in the end they had no other option but to accept that his actions had been to defend his own life. 

Things dragged on, Hob being pushed from one cell to the other as people discussed his fate. Mr. Henderson, please call me Edward, was there every step of the way and the only reason why Hob didn’t fell apart. 

Still, Hob couldn’t believe it when the judge finally spoke the words not guilty, and he was stepping into the sun. Till the last moment he had waited for the second shoe to drop, for someone to jump out and present new evidence sending him to jail.

Turning to Edward standing beside him, smiling brightly, he couldn’t help himself, but pulling the man into his arms and thanking him under tears. The man had been there for him, like a true friend, and if he ever needed it, Hob would be there for him in return.

He had lost his stranger, but he was not alone. There were good people out there, just waiting for him. All Hobs had to do was open his heart and accept them. 

With this being over, Hob could move on with his life. Things finally looked up. Or they did until he found out he had no longer a job because of his long absence and his old boss was unwilling to hire a killer despite Hob being proclaimed not guilty. Hob didn’t understand it, but he was unwilling to start a fight. He could find someplace else. Only words of his case had spread through the whole city, and no one was willing to hire him. And without a job there was no money which meant he would be unable to pay his upcoming rent.

But nothing he tried worked. The only positions willing to hire him wouldn’t even make a dent in his rent, even if he had three jobs. And with the housing shortage, there was no place else he could live that would be cheaper. He could move, somewhere no one knew him. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave London. This was his home, where his only friend lived. And he had to be here in a few years to be at the White Horse in case his stranger returned. 

He could ask Edward for help, but he didn’t want it to seem he was just after the other's money. Especially with Edwards business taking a major hit after a person he was defending was proven guilty. Hob tried to help as best as he could behind closed doors but knew he couldn’t do more since it wouldn’t look good on Edward if he was seen with Hob. 

It was a major point of friction. Edward didn’t care about his reputation and had no trouble inviting Hob out for dinner or even hiring him. But Hob refusing frustrated him, especially when Hob even declined his money, despite Edward knowing how much Hob was struggling. He just wanted to support his best friend and being unable to do so and just having to watch how he made himself smaller and smaller, shrinking under all negative attention focused on him angered him.

Their love for each other made them want the best for each other. And it tore their friendship apart. They were unable to spend time together without a disagreement, and then their friendship ended in a big fight. 

And it was Hob fault. He always said the wrong thing, turning away the people he cared about. First his stranger now Edward. Maybe he was meant to be alone.

But the world didn’t stop for his emotional turmoil. The rent needed to be paid, now especially since there was no longer a friend who would have a place on their sofa for Hob to sleep on. And Hob really needed to keep a roof over his head. 

He was terrified of ending back on the street. He did it once, and it was the worst time of his life. Just a nightmare of pain, suffering, anger, blood, and a desperate fight for survival. He knew getting back up once you were so far down was almost impossible. He couldn’t let it get this far. Not if there was something he could do. Even if it means he had to let go of his pride.

The first time wasn’t planed. Was just walking, trying to clear his head and finding a way out. The window was open, everything else dark, and no car in the driveway. He knew it was wrong, he should be better than this. 

He climbed the fence and slipped through the window, heart beating fast as he listened for any sign of life inside the house. Nothing. Sneaking around, he grabbed anything of value. 

Ten minutes later he was out, pockets heavy, and on his way to the pawnshop. It was not enough to pay the rent but enough to satisfy his landlord getting another week before he would be kicked out. 

It made him think about how easy it had been. And how little effort had taken to get the money. And it was not as if he hadn’t tried other options. It was them, society, not giving him a choice. If they had just given him a job, he wouldn’t be in this position. It was their fault, not his. 

And it was not as if he had hurt anyone. A few valuables were gone. And? They could replace it, their house had been nice enough they could afford a small loss like that.

Yes. It was the least all of them deserved for letting him down like this. He would just take what he needed to survive. And it was only temporary until he was back on his feet. They all thought he was a murderer, a bit of stealing was nothing in comparison.

It became a routine, going on nightly strolls and returning with his pocket full. He was good at it. Always knew when someone was home or not, avoided being seen when he made his way inside, and didn’t spend a second longer inside than he had to.

No one had to know what Hob did. Well except, the pawnshop owner, but he didn’t say anything and just gave Hob a price much under the actual value of the items. Hob was fine with that. Paying hush money was better than being ratted out to the police. Especially since the police so far had no idea he even existed. There was always breaking and entering, and he chose his targets so far apart there was no connection. The cops had better things to do than chasing a criminal that didn’t cause real harm. And Hob liked things that way. He had managed to avoid prison once, he didn’t want to risk it, especially since this time there would be no Edward bailing him out.

His rent was paid, he had food in his belly and a new coat. Life was good. Or it should be. There was still the guilt nagging at him that all of this wasn’t his. That he had stolen it and it was wrong. But with every failed attempt to find another source of income, he fell deeper into his ways. It was just too easy. Until weeks passed by without him searching for a legitimate job. 

~1989~

He started hating the man he was becoming. Or rather, he was returning to. He had thought he had become better, had changed. But now he was back at square one. Just a lowlife surviving by harming others. He didn’t want to be like this.

But there was still hope. One last chance to turn things around. Hob may not have the best moral compass – if he had any at all- but his stranger always knew right from wrong. Even before society or law. It had taken him to tell Hob for Hob to realize slavery was wrong. Today it was unthinkable, but back then it has just been how things were. And even then his stranger had known it was wrong. Hob just had to tell him, and his stranger would set him right and correct Hob’s course for the next 100 years.

Yes, all Hob had to do was meet his friend and things would be okay. So he drove to the White Horse in a car he had stolen, full of excitement in the prospect of the weight leaving his chest. He would do better, become good. To get his stranger approval.

But the longer he sat there, alone, the worse he felt. It looked like this was his stranger's answer. They were never and never would be friends. Hob was alone, on his own. There was no one who cared. No one who had any expectations, everyone had given up on him. Why should he even try? If there was no one to judge him, why not make things easy for himself?

Things escalate from there, as there is nothing holding Hob back. So what if the houses he breaks into now are not from some rich fucks but middle class as well? They had shunned him just as well. And their security was a lot laxer. Also, less to steal, but it was enough. And then there was someone home, but the house was way too good to pass up on. But it was okay, he would just be quiet. 

A good plan if not for the man of the house stepping out of his bed to get a glass of water just as Hob was clearing out their silver drawer. They looked at each other frozen, and Hob was glad for the hat and the scarf hiding most of his face. 

Before the other could too much than let out a shocked shout, Hob had jumped over the counter and tackled him to the ground, choking him until he lost conscious. When the wife appeared in the doorway, he was prepared, knocking her unconscious.

He used things found around the house to bind them to two chairs and gag them, before taking his time emptying their whole house. They would call the police anyway, Hob could at least make it worth it. And worth it, it was. He left the pawnshop with a big bundle of cash.

And if he spotted some rich folks taking a shortcut through a dark allay, well then it was their own fault, since they had begged for it. You couldn’t blame Hob for standing there with a knife demanding their valuables in a sick play on the situation that had started this whole thing. But other than his attackers back then, he was just after the money. Once he had what he wanted, he let his victims go unharmed. 

He didn’t kill. That was a line he would never cross again. And if he had to attack someone or render them unconscious, he did it with causing as little harm as possible. It was something which baffled the police and press alike, as they couldn’t decide if he was a monster or a gentleman thief. It was kinda amusing reading about people losing their mind trying to figure him out. Especially since it was that easy. He was just someone no longer following societies rules and just living by his own codex, doing whatever he pleased.

Even if this codex was completely screwed. Like right now, still blood on his knuckles from having to knock someone out who resisted, but being offended by a bunch of teens ganging up on a gangly little thing. It just strokes him wrong, seeing something like this. 

But it is not his problem. There is no need to get involved.

Or at least it wasn’t until the boy rose his head and looked straight at Hob. Dark brown eyes, with hair of the same color. But that was not what stopped Hob in his tracks. He looked just like Robyn. Well, not exactly, it was more the vibes he was giving up. But Hob couldn’t stop seeing his son laying there on the ground beaten and bloody, his tormentors surrounding him.

He moved before he really thought about it. 

His fist connected with the nose of the guy to the left. The bone crunched under the impact and the guy stumbled back, shouting in pain. That got the attention of the rest of his group, who instantly stepped in to avenge their friend. With no option to back out of this anymore, Hob just went with the flow and beat everyone getting into punching distance. They had the numbers, but they were untrained and rather stood in each other's way than taken advantage and overpowering Hob. Which leads to Hob standing between fallen bodies, breathing heavy and blood on his shirt but mostly unharmed beside a few bruises. 

Walking over to the fallen boy, he saw him flinch. Hob hadn’t meant to scare him, although the display of violence must have been frightening. But he didn’t feel comfortable leaving him sitting on the ground with unknown injuries, especially since his attackers would get up soon. 

He wanted to gain the boy's trust, but Hob had forgotten how to be comforting and soft. Hadn’t had need for it in years. Even for Edward, he had not managed to bring back that part of himself. Which was just as well because Edward liked his brash and direct way.

But now he tried, crouching down, holding out his hands and speaking softly. “It's okay. I took care of them,” well, he tried. He failed miserably, sounding more threatening than reassuring, but he had tried. How had he managed to deal with Robyn without frightening the child? He couldn’t remember. And wasn’t that sad? Not remembering this everyday life with his son, only holding some special memories close to his heart while the rest faded?

Knowing that his presence would only distress the boy more, he got up and turned to leave. He would just call the police to check things out, once he was far enough away. Only there was a tug on his pant leg and turning he saw the boy grasping the fabric with shaking fingers. The big teary eyes looking up at Hob broke his heart, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down again and pulling the boy into his arms. Crying and wailing filled the alley, but the boy clung to Hob desperately. 

Carrying him into his arm and towards Hob’s apartment, reminded Hob of the times Robyn had been unable to sleep and Hob had walked through the whole house with the child in his arm to keep him calm, while Elenore watched them with a smile. He had forgotten it until his actions pulled the memory back up.

Entering his building, he sat the boy on his sofa and retrieved his extensive med-kit. Being unable to die meant treating injuries yourself that would bring up questions, going to the hospital. He didn’t need much of it to treat the boy. The injuries had looked worse than they actually were. A bloody nose, bruising, scratched hands and knees, a gash close to his hairline that luckily didn’t need stitches, and a cracked wrist. 

Once the task was done, Hob looked at the boy awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

“You want tea?” You could never go wrong with tea. The boy nodded and Hob set to work, returning with two mugs of tea.

“Thank you,” the voice was shy and soft. But at least the shaking had stopped as the kid started to relax.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hob meant it. Neither the tea nor stepping in had been much trouble, and Hob had done it for his own piece of mind. There was no need t thank him.

Hob swirled the tea in his mug, not knowing what to say. Should he give the kid money for a taxi? Take him home? Offer him the sofa for tonight? Hob didn’t know. 

Luckily for him, the boy was not as incapable of social interaction as he was.

“My name is Georgie Baldwin. What about you.”

“Hob,” he didn’t give a last name. The less the boy knew, the better it was for him with the life Hob lived.

“Thank you for saving me, Hob,” the boy put down his empty mug, hugged Hob and then left the apartment before Hob could compose himself. He looked at the closed door not understanding what exactly had happened, but then he just shrugged. Another weird day in his weird life. No need to think deeper about it. It was not as if hew would see the boy ever again.

After cleaning up the medical equipment, he laid in bed, unable to sleep. 

The encounter had brought up memories of a happier time. It made him realize just how lonely he felt. There was a gnawing emptiness in his chest, where his heart once was. He wanted someone to be there for him, to greet him when he got home, to care if he made it home. He didn’t want t be alone anymore. But every time he tried he messed up and ended up back alone. It was better to not try, and be disappointed rather than to suffer.

But knowing that didn’t fill the emptiness in his chest and no matter how much he tried he didn’t find any rest. Which left him cranky and short temperate when he stomped to the door, mug with extra strong coffee in hand, to tell whoever was on the other side to fuck off. Throwing the door open, he came face to face with the kid from yesterday.

The door banged close, as Hob didn’t have the patience to deal with whatever bullshit this was. Instead, he took a big swing of his coffee, cursed as it burned his tongue, and debated if a nice fluffy omelet was worth the effort of actually making it. 

His doorbell chimed again.

Hadn’t he been clear enough in his dismissal? But no, when he opened the door, the boy was still standing there smiling at him. What a prick. But not stupid, as he held out a bag that smelled heavenly of backed goods as bribery. 

With his stomach grumbling, Hob admitted defeat and took the bag, leaving the door open as he stepped inside. The boy had already been here, it wouldn’t do any harm to let him in. But Hob was not in the mood to play good host right now and didn’t offer any tea or coffee. Ripping open the bag, he found muffins and chocolate croissants. All things considered, it was a good bribe.

Humming happily, he dug in as the boy sat down watching him carefully. 

“So what so you want kid?” 

“It’s Georgie,” the way the kid pouted was kinda cute. He must have old ladies want to feed him all over town. “I want you to teach me how to fight.” Hob choked on the bit of croissant. He couldn’t say if it was his immortality or Georgie slapping his back that prevented him from entering the sunless lands. Whipping tears out of his eyes, he looked at the kid as if he had lost his mind.

“Are you completely crazy? Why would you ask me?”

 “The way you fought was amazing. Please, I want to be able to do it too.”

“Hard pass. Why the heck should I teach a brat?”

“I can pay you,” the kid dove for his pocket and placed a stack of bills on the table. It was no small amount. So, a rich brat. Well, it was not as Hob really needed money with how well his business was going. And he would rather not involve the kid by accident. If he went down for his actions it was one thing but dragging a kid down with him was completely different. And if he gave in now, he just knew the kid would one day rob houses side by side with him.

“Pass. Go home kid. You are young and have a bright life ahead of you. There is no need to get involved with the likes of me.”

“But what if they come back?! I need to be able to defend myself,” Hob just groaned as this was just playing unfair. Especially since it was a fair point. The bullies had found him once, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t do worse when Hob was not close by to step in. It was just unfair. Hob was not responsible for the kid, could barely remember his name. But he had made it his responsibility when he stepped in. The least he could do was see things through now.

“Okay fine. I will teach you self-defense. Nothing more. And you will stay out of my business.”

“Deal,” the kid smiled brightly as he held out his hand for Hob to shake. Knowing that one day he would regret this Hob took the offered hand.

[cuubism]

Do you think dreamcatchers work in the Sandman universe and, if so, what would that look like? Like, does Dream just swoop in every now and again and rescue every single one of his captured nightmares?

Hmm, I actually thought about this a fair bit after receiving this and went and read the original stories about dreamcatchers-- but ultimately, I think my thoughts on it are probably broader. If Dream encompasses all dreams, unconscious minds, etc., then all cultures' understandings of dreams should be equally true at the same time. Which would mean dreamcatchers would work, but I think only if you believed that they would.

According to some of the stories I found, the dreamcatcher only catches the bad dreams for the duration of the night, and then they're banished by the sun rising. So I think the nightmares would just return, grumbling, to the Dreaming once morning came, irritable that they couldn't perform their function, and Dream wouldn't have to actually rescue them. More concerning for Dream might be the risk that people wouldn't receive the nightmares that were meant to teach them something or help them process something internally--since the nightmares do have a function, not just terror. Within the Sandman universe, you could maybe interpret it that the dreamcatcher doesn't actually trap the nightmare, but rather forces it not to linger--so the nightmare still does its work in the subconscious, but the dreamer wakes peacefully with no direct memory of it or emotional disturbance in the waking.

Though the image of the nightmares snared in the dreamcatcher's net, and Dream having to pluck them out, is very amusing 😂

[sparkiekong]

Tag Game Questionnaire!

Ty for the tag @pixel-bloom!

🎵 Last song I listened to: Little Red Corvette - Prince

🌊 Favorite place: Hatteras NC - Every time I go I feel like I'm home.... but that's not where I actually live. It's just where I feel most like I should be.

📚 Currently reading: Nada - Haven't seen a book yet that interests me enough to read today. I usually scour the net for archaeology and science articles.

🧾Favorite book(s): The Sword of Truth (I got about 8 books in before I lost interest. The first 5 were amazing.)

📺 Favorite TV show: Supernatural, Resident Alien, What We Do In The Shadows, The Sandman, Deadboy Detectives .... also I'm an absolutely in love with Paranormal shows. Especially Paranormal Caught on Camera. It's a guilty pleasure.

💗 Favorite food: Anything POTATO... and Bananas... ask me what I want to eat on a deserted island.. those are my picks.

I'll tag @helenofsimblr @cawthorntales @holocene-sims @wannabecatwriter @miss-may-i - Anyone else who wants to and please feel free to ignore me.

[thirrith]

9 Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better

thanks for the tag @putdownthecatitscratches !!

3 Ships You Like: Dream of the Endless (Morpheus)/Hob Gadling/Calliope (Sandman), Sadia/Cristal (Starmania), Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Kent "Parse" Parson (Check Please!)

First Ship Ever: probably either the two protagonists in the Chinese webnovel 撒野 (SAYE Act Wildly) (rip my 晉江 days wasting my youth away on jjwxc dot net) or two characters from a Chinese webcomic about four roommates in the same university dorm room?? (I don't even remember its title, it's probably something something 宿舍, I found them on wechat for some reason) I joined fandom earlier than when I started shipping characters though. I remember not being interested in ships but very obsessed with Maglor in Silmarillion when I was in middle school...

Last Song You Heard: RUNA "La Ziguezon" from When the Light Gets In (I happen to be listening to the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast, and it's the song that's on right now)

Favourite Childhood Book: Anne of Green Gables. I reread this book SO many times.

Currently Reading: A collection of Scar Literature published in Taiwan in the 80s.

Currently watching: will be watching Les Crevettes Pailletées in a few hours :DD

Currently consuming: an inadvisable number of biscuits. (also dairylea dunkers without the dip - apparently that's scandalous)

Currently craving: a fucking break & hugs

Tagging: @dixkens @rooftopwreck @vkenoa @picturemecountingcards @mure-sauvage @elirazantys @riinsanity @asyncamestel @chubsthehamster

[gwydionmisha]

‘80′s Goths (aka Trad Goths)

A thing I wrote about '80's Goth style in response to a comment from an obviously younger person commenting on the '80's make up video from the previous aggregate.

Early Goth basically grew out of Punk with a lot of metal and some new wave thrown in.  Goth had no sub-genres yet because those didn't develop until some point in the '90's.  It was all just Goth.  You can see the cross pollination in the music of the period.  Sisters of Mercy is as quintessentially as '80's Goth as it gets, and you can hear how heavy their sound is compared to the also very Goth Smiths at the other end of the sound spectrum.  Goths of my era listened to an eclectic mix of stuff.  It was totally reasonable to be a Goth and also like Metallica (Metal), and classic Punk and poppier new wave influenced things like Depeche Mode.

Glam hadn't really been a thing since we were kids.  Bowie wasn't Glam himself by the time Goth was happening, remember, though some of us DID look back stylistically to his Ziggy Stardust Era which you can see in the corsets and make up choices, but you can also see a lot of new wave in hair and make up mixed in with the original punk and some metal influence.  Clothing was often where punk and metal really mixed.  

My first Mohawk was black, but my second in early '89 was a dark purple.  Goths were allowed to have whatever hair.  Not everyone could afford hair dye in the era before the brighter cheaper colours came in.  Again, it's a matter of what you could afford and what you had access to.  I saved up to get mine done professionally, but we were in the era of bleach and Koolaid options as well as people repurposing DIY hair products.  If you had dark hair, you could get bright orange with Sun In for example.  Yes, black was most common and you actually could buy black Clairol or the like, which made it the most popular option, but most popular doesn't mean only option.

You can't really separate the 80's Goth Look from the '80's Goth Music because the two things were so intertwined and so much what early Goth was as a culture.

Something it is super hard to make people who didn't start dressing this way until after commodification really grasp is just how DIY early Goth was.  You couldn't just go to a store and buy Goth clothes and jewelry at first.  By the end of the decade you could buy an ankh necklace because of things like sandman, but most of the jewelry was handmade by the people wearing it or other Goths, selling it, often on blankets while they made more, or it was vintage stuff that had be repurposed, bought from second hand stores or raided from older relatives.  Building a goth wardrobe was exhausting and time consuming and often involved patience.

Finding clothes was an endless round of scavenger hunting and DIY and repurposing.  Most of us were very poor and again, nothing was made for us except a few things other impoverished Goths made at the end of the decade.  Basically, think etsy only without the internet, so consignment stores and craft fairs and little pop up carts next to those people selling their jewelry on blankets and really that's more an early '90's thing.

We would scouer second hand shops.  Luckily places like Good Will were not as picked over then.  We looked through old boxes of elder relative's clothes.  We learned to do it yourself dye things that were a good cut but the wrong color.  We used to make things or repurpose things or patch things together out of multiple pieces and maybe some netting.  We learned to add trims and frills if we were into that.  We bodged things together with safety pins like the punks we grew out of.  We made do.

Yes really, some people had things with glittery fabrics some times or beading or lace or sequins.  It depended entirely on your taste and what you could find or knew how to make.  Some of the nuance is lost in the photos because this was an era of Polaroids and film photography and some stuff aged better than others.

There was no uniform.  No one true style.  No mass production.  Everything was individual.  I can not describe '80's goth in terms of strict criteria because that criteria didn't exist.  It should NOT exist now.  We knew Goth when we saw or heard it.  That was enough.

I think this is why so many of us Elder Goths go ballistic when someone starts trying to police or gate keep Goth.  (Except for literal NAZIs who can fuck right off.  We don't want them, whatever they are calling themselves that decade.  It's the same thing as the Punk community self-policeing over that).  Anything else? It's like Gender: you are Goth if you say you are Goth.  Work out your own version of what that means.  

So yes, purple hair in the late '80's is historically accurate.  Yes, you could have things like a glittery or sequined or beaded shirt or sweater or dress for those who wore dresses or skirts.  (Some Goth clothing was gendered; some was super androgynous.  A lot of '80's and '90's goths were some brand of queer, gender-nonconforming, trans, and or what we'd now call non-binary, but back then we mostly called ourselves androgynous.  Some cis men wore skirts because they liked how they looked or found them comfortable.  A lot of them switched to kilts later on, but not always.  In the late '80's-early '90's Goth culture was full of people playing with gender expression for a host of reasons).  

There was a mainstream trend for fancy tights and pantyhose with designs or glitter or different colours in them.  Goths could actually find black pantyhose and tights and fishnets at a reasonable price in mainstream stores.  Some of the panty hose had cute little patterns on them, usually at the ankles or up the back, but also all over sometimes.  some were glittery or extra shiny.  It was fine!  It was the same with lace and fishnet and long satin elbow gloves mostly thanks to Madonna.  This is why you see old trad goths wearing these types of accessories.  You could afford them!  You didn't have to hand make them!  The bead and cross and rosary thing was because you could buy those cheap at stores because mainstream people also wore them.   Thanks to people like Cyndi Lauper and Madonna creating a mainstream market for accessories we could use too.

Our subculture hasn't been properly captured in media it's easy to access.  Most of Goths in movie or TV in the '80's and early '90's were stereotypes made or chosen by people who weren't goth either to demonize us as part of a moral panic or as a punchline or a freak show.  The fair representation is in the photographs taken of goths by goths at the time and in the memories of Elder Goths like me.

Trust me, the Karolina Żebrowska makeover looks just fine to me, within the range of what people were wearing then.  She could have walked into a club or a house party and fit right the fuck in.  Looking at her made me a little nostalgic for the scent of clove cigarettes even though I'm allergic.  She did just fine.