#howdy would get seriously injured | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ten-shi-fandoms · 1 year

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Hey neighbour! I don't know if ur still taking request,,

Can I ask for a howdy x human! reader but the reader is seriously injured and they're from our world!

Maybe like, when the reader gets transported into Welcome home they get injured on the way?

Sure! This was actually pretty fun to do! I love this kind of trope! I didn't know if you wanted it platonic or romantic so I only made it platonic, I can always make it a romantic fic for Howdy later for you! I hope you enjoy!

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Treated Injuries

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Cw: Howdy Pillar x Injured Human!Reader, gender neutral reader, reader is from our world, getting transported, reader is seriously injured, mentions of blood, serious wounds, mentions of being attacked, reader gets stabbed, angst to fluff, platonic

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You don't remember much about what happened or what was even going on, all you remember was someone blindfolding you from behind before getting attacked on your way home. Your were stomped on, kicked, punched, you even felt a knife dig itself into your skin forcing crimson red liquid to pour from your body.

By the end of the assault you were covered in wounds, blood and dirt. Dirt clung to your now messy (h/c) hair, and (s/c) skin. Blood stained your clothes, mixing with the dirt that laid on your skin and smudged across wounds. You could barely move. You felt like your dominant wrist was damaged, your leg was definitely broken from the odd bent it had, there was a large stab wound along your side, you could even feel bruising forming on your ribs. Blisters and bruises laced your lip as the blood ran down it dripping onto your clothes. You were in no position to get up. You couldn't even talk, most likely having messed up your vocal chords from how much you screamed. It felt like everything was out to get you.

Why did this have to happen to you of all people?

Why were you always the one in some form of pain?

As the questions of why this happened to you, you begun thinking back to your childhood when your life was at least a bit peaceful. You use to run around with friends, dance around to the music playing in the streets, eat junk and laugh, but there was one memory that you favored over the rest. It was the memory of you watching a show called "Welcome Home" the first time you met your favorite character, Howdy Pillar.

In the episode you vividly remembered Howdy refusing to let Wally inside due to the smaller male taking his apples the day before. The moment you laid eyes on him you knew he was going to be your favorite. Howdy was quick witted, charismatic and overall a joy to watch. It was always the light of your day watching Howdy scold Wally for knocking over his apples, handing out glitter glue to Sally for her plays, helping Julie pick out hair accessories, joking around with Barnaby and so much more. Tears welled in your (e/c) eyes slowly pouring down leaving wet streaks against your dirtied cheeks. What you would give to watch Howdy on your tv again. To watch him smile so kindly when helping his fellow residence. To be a kid again without a care in the world. As the thoughts of your mind began to grow your eyesight begun to blur, then your vision went black and no more thoughts plagued your mind.

Slowly you were awaken, hearing the sounds of muffled speech and soft mumbles. Bright light forced your eyes to stay mostly shut as you were faced with a red hot pain throughout your limbs. What was going on? Due to the light you couldn't open your eyes fully, but you could tell you were no longer on the street near your house. What even happened? You remembered getting attacked then things turning black, but you didn't remember getting moved or hearing sirens at all. So where were you?

Before you could think more, you heard a door open and soft footsteps coming near you. You braced yourself for the worst but you heard something click and through your most shut eyes you could see the lights had been dimmed. "I'm sorry about that, when Julie heard I brought someone back she immediately cut on the lights. I hope you aren't too upset about it." a gentle voice called out to you. Wait, did you know that voice? It sounded familiar but it was unclear why. Turning your head towards the voice, your eyes slowly opening trying to adjust to your environment.

When you opened your eyes you were met with a familiar face. Oh, so thats why the voice sounded so familiar. The green fleece skin, the blue pompadour, the four arms and legs. It was Howdy, Howdy Pillar from Welcome Home. But how? Where you dreaming? You went to speak, wanting to know what was going on only to feel a sharp pain go through your throat causing you to wince. Howdy's eyebrows furrowed a bit, one of his hands grabbing a glass of water from a table while another one held you up gently in a sitting position. The hand helped you drink the water, a few soft coughs escaped your lips after a few sips before Howdy sat the glass back down still holding you up.

"Your vocal chords are damaged, so I would hold off on talking for a bit." he started, his voiced laced with worry as he begun telling you about your body's current situation. "When I found you behind my shop you were badly hurt. You were covered in blood and unconscious so I brought you inside to get you fixed up. Your leg is broken, your wrist fracture, you have a large gash along your side and your ribs seem to be bruised." Howdy paused, his expression one full of concern. "I was worried, you seemed to have lost a lot of blood so I'm glad your awake. Do you feel any better?" he asked. The question making you nod your head a bit, the action made Howdy smile a bit, one that seemed to be out of relief.

"That's good." Howdy went to say something else before the look of concern quickly returned to his features. "Are you sure? Your crying." his voice was soft as he used one of his free hands to gently wipe your tears. You hadn't even realized you were crying, let alone shaking. Everything that had happened came at you like a brick and your body could make you do nothing but cry. Large globs of tears fell from your eyes at a fast pace as your body shook forcing broken sobs from your lips. Howdy said nothing instead opting to gently wrap his arms around you, holding you in a warm embrace. Your cheek laid against his chest, warm tears staining his apron. Your body hurt, hurt more than it ever had but you really couldn't think of that. Howdy's gentle embrace, soft patting of your head and kind praises filled your mind helping you find peace in such a dangerous and confusing situation.

Even if you couldn't see it, you could bet Howdy was worried that worry most likely showing on his face. Slowly lifting your head up, tears blurring your vision you expected a look of worry but instead you saw a small smile. A smile that held calmness even if you tell by his eyes he was concerned. He was smiling for you. He was trying to make you feel better by smiling. Something about his smile made you break out a wobbly smile of your own. Tears stained your face and from what you could see your bandages. Your nose was running, and you felt awful but Howdy didn't seem to care about your appearance. He only cared that you were safe and that was more than enough for you to feel some sort of relief from the horrid situation. You were attacked cut and dry. You were injured beyond belief but you were able to get something good out of it. You got to see Howdy. Even if it felt like a dream, you got to see the one thing you had always loved.

A gentle hand ran across your hair, pushig messy strands from your face while another one cleaned your tears with a sleeve. You felt a tissue press against your nose as you stared at Howdy. "Blow" he said softly, signalling for you to blow into the tissue which you did reluctantly. He asked this of you a few more times before you shook your head showing him you were fine. You were placed back on what you now knew was a bed, propping your body up with pillows for extra comfort. "I'm Howdy, Howdy Pillar it's nice to meet you (Y/n)." he said softly. Huh? How did he know your name. You must've had a look of confusion because Howdy chuckled pulling out your wallet showing your ID, drivers license and other identification. "I found out because of this." if you could sigh you would've but instead you nodded. Howdy smiled gently at you placing your wallet next to the glass of water on the table. He went to speak only to be cut off by the sound of knocking. Before Howdy could ask who it was, the door opened revealing two others you recognized as Wally Darling and Julie Joyful.

Julie must've opened the door while Wally stood beside her holding a basket. The smell of baked goods filled the room as Julie and Wally walked inside. "Hey Howdy! We brought some snacks Poppy made for our new neighbor!" Julie exclaimed, Wally held up the basket when the energetic girl spoke of snacks. "She wanted to make sure we got to them here before they got too cold!" Howdy nodded one of his hands reaching out for the basket which Wally handed over without much of a fuss. "I will set these with their other things, thanks you two." Howdy spoke kindly to the two individuals who now stood in the room. Julie smiled proudly while Wally turned his attention to you.

Quietly the small male padded his way over, placing a small box of flashcards on your lap. "Howdy told us you can't speak right now so Sally made flashcards for you so you could speak." Wally's soft voice told you about the kind bundle of sunshine; literally, who was nice enough to give you a way to communicate due to not being able to use your dominant hand from it's fracture. You smiled at the small male nodding your head showing your understanding. "That's enough now." Howdy spoke his hands pushing Wally and Julie out the door. "We should leave (Y/N) alone, they need rest." Wally nodded in agreement as Julie waved goodbye to you happily. "Bye bye (Y/N)! We'll come vist you later!" Julie's sweet voice called out from outside the room. "Get some rest." Wally stated, before walking out the room completely. Howdy sighed gently turning back to you. "I'll be back to check on you after I close up shop okay?" you nodded, smiling at Howdy who in turn smiled back once more. "Alright then, get some rest." and with that you were all alone. Even though you were alone you didn't feel lonely. Maybe it was the shock of what happened. Or maybe even the confusion but you felt more loved than you had in a while. If this was a dream you wanted it to last forever. Your eyes slowly closed, black clouding your vision as you rethought of Howdy's soft words from when you were crying.

"Don't cry, your safe now."

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hopepetal · 1 year

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@applestruda @stiffyck

Ah, the chaotic dumbasses return!

It had been about a day since their kidnapping, judging by the cracks in the wagon that let a little light seep through. Scar was honestly beginning to feel a little faint from the lack of food and water, but all thoughts of how hungry or thirsty he was fled his mind whenever Grian let out a soft whimper of pain. It hurt. The fact that Scar couldn’t help his friend or even give him a reassuring hug hurt. He had to settle for whispering kind words to Grian, hoping they reached his friend’s fever-addled brain.

They were almost at the village. The mercenary- Marc, Scar had learned his name was- had stopped the wagon some time ago to tell them. Scar had to keep himself from angrily snapping ‘hurry up’ at the man, his worry over Grian’s state and his inability to do anything about it making him wound up. It looked like the beginnings of an infection, and Scar hoped that they had caught it early enough where it wouldn’t become that big of an issue. Marc seemed to have bought his soulbound bluff, and since Scar was clearly too important to lose, that meant Grian would be taken care of. Hopefully.

The wagon stopped, the sudden lack of motion jostling the passengers. Scar closed his eyes in anticipation of the wagon cover being yanked back, light flooding into the previously dark space. When Marc’s face finally came into focus, Scar noticed he was holding a dark green bundle of fabric that he assumed was clothes. “Well howdy there. Long time no see.” Scar’s face and tone was completely deadpan as he spoke, making the mercenary groan and roll his eyes.

Tossing the bundles at Scar, Marc turned away. “Right. Put those cloaks on. We’ll need them for the village.” He started to walk away, pausing when Scar coughed. “What? What could you possibly need now?”

“I hate to break it to you,” Scar began, “but I’m afraid my hands are tied.” After a moment, he cracked a grin. “Literally.”

Marc took a brief moment to reflect on all the life choices he had made that led him to this point, regretting each and every one of them. Slowly, he turned back. “If you even think of pulling some stupid stunt-” He grabbed Scar’s arm in a vice grip, yanking him around so that he could cut through the ropes before holding his sword to Grian’s neck- “your soulmate gets it.”

Scar grit his teeth, exhaling hard to keep himself from getting too angry. He noticed how the ends of his hair had begun to turn white when his anger spiked, a consequence he assumed came from suppressing his vex magic. It was no problem. He just had to make sure he didn’t get too emotional. He could do that! Totally! Carefully, Scar put the cloak on, moving slowly so as to not anger Marc. Once he had done that, he turned back to Marc, watching with narrowed eyes as he roughly cut the ropes tying Grian’s arms behind his back and practically manhandled him into the cloak.

“Woah now.” Scar was barely able to keep his voice level, to keep the anger from rising in his tone. “Be gentle with him. He’s injured. Remember our deal?”

Marc rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You vexes and your stupid deals.” Pulling Grian out of the wagon, he beckoned Scar out with a jerk of his head. “Put your hood up and get out. We’re walking to the village.”

Scar scrambled out of the back of the wagon, pulling up his hood before reaching for Grian. “Let me carry him. You can’t seriously expect him to walk like that- he’s hardly even conscious.”

Marc held his sword up again, pressing the blade against Grian’s neck. “And how should I trust you not to run off the instant you have him?”

Scar’s shoulders slumped as he looked away. “I don’t know my way around the area. I don’t think I’d make it very far, and even if I did, he’s sick. He needs help, and I can’t give it to him.” He felt too vulnerable at that moment, all of his emotional guards stripped away in the face of the threat. Once again, proving how powerless he actually was. How useless he was.

Okay, now was not the time to be spiraling. He needed to pull himself together. Emotions could come later, when everything was normal and they weren’t in danger of being killed or worse. Dealing with emotions and stress in a healthy manner? Why, he’d never heard of her. No siree.

Marc laughed at that, before shoving Grian against Scar. “Fine. Goddamn lovebirds. Come on, then.” Still laughing, he began walking down the path, his sword at his side.

Carefully picking Grian up and holding him so that his wound wouldn’t be jostled as much, Scar followed Marc. Feeling the avian pressed up against him, feverish and trembling, Scar couldn’t help but feel even more guilty. This whole situation was entirely his fault. His fault for injuring Grian. His fault for running away. His fault for attracting the mercenaries, his fault for being powerless against them, his fault for…

Scar nearly tripped over a root that was sticking out of the ground, cursing under his breath as he steadied himself, keeping his grip on Grian firm but gentle. He had fallen a little behind Marc because of this, and though his legs were weak from the prolonged sitting in the wagon he caught up easily. They continued down the path in relative silence, Grian’s soft whimpers occasionally breaking the quiet.

Soon, the village came into view, and Scar’s whole body relaxed. Relief flooded through him, and Marc shot him an amused glance. “Yeah, yeah. We’re gonna get that bird brain some bandages and medicine, so calm down.”

Scar had to really keep himself from snapping angrily at Marc. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his hair beginning to lighten in color again. How dare he act so friendly? How dare he-!

Deep breaths. In… and out. Just like Grian had done. Scar couldn’t risk his vex magic running wild again. Couldn’t risk the only chance he had at getting Grian the help he needed. He could at least do this one thing right.

Walking through the village, Scar noticed they were getting some strange looks but nothing further than that. He supposed things could’ve been worse. Marc led them to a shop that looked as though it had been built decades ago, but still well-used among the villagers.

“Stay out of the way, in a corner or something,” Marc instructed, “I’ll be quick. And don’t even think about trying to leave. I’m not above hurting you.”

Scar sighed. “I know. I’m not putting him in danger.” Stepping back, Scar watched as Marc began to browse, picking out arrows, potions, bandages, and other various things Scar couldn’t be bothered to really pay attention to.

A few minutes later, Grian began mumbling deliriously, pressing against Scar as his words became ever more garbled and frantic. Frowning, Scar did his best to calm his friend, though there wasn’t much he could do other than murmur “it’s okay”, and “I’m here”.

A gentle cough interrupted his panic, and Scar looked up to see a younger woman holding a bag. “Is he alright?” she asked, looking at Grian before glancing back up at Scar. “He shouldn’t be out if he’s sick.”

Scar opened his mouth to answer, but Marc was already walking over, having finished his little shopping trip. “Ah, so sorry to bother you, miss. We’re travelers, you see, and our friend was injured. We were just making a stop to pick up some medicine.” As he spoke, he grabbed Scar’s arm and began pulling him away from the woman. “Thank you, though!”

As Scar stumbled out after Marc, still holding Grian close, none of them noticed a figure in a red cloak watching them from the shadows. Pulling a small piece of parchment out of her pocket, the woman simply wrote two words.

Found them.

She carefully folded the parchment into an intricate origami moth, before bringing it up to her lips and giving it a soft kiss. Magic flowed through the paper, bringing the moth to life. “To the knights,” she whispered, and the message took flight on the wind of her breath. She watched it go before turning back and gazing off in the direction Marc had taken Grian and Scar.

For now, she’d stay hidden in the shadows. Until the others arrived, and they could get their friends back.

Until the night came, and under the light of the pearlescent moon, revenge would be served.

#boatem knights au #my writing #angst #grian #goodtimeswithscar #marc the placeholder bastard #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft fanfic

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anonymouslymadebydesign · 1 year

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Hello neighbour! :D

I saw ur Howdy x little!GN!Reader and it’s adorable!!

But I want angst. Could I request a Howdy x gn!reader but the reader from our world + seriously injured.

Kinda feel like if the reader was dragged into Welcome home, Home would trap reader inside and start injuring them. Maybe,, the reader arm/leg(s) ripped off???

Oh but if u don’t do those! Reader can get scratches from home like deep wounds? :)

I’m sorry if this wasn’t in ur pinned post!! I didn’t understand some and I hope u take care of urself and plz, get some sleep/hydration! :D

Hello Neighbor ! Thank you for your ask, it reminded me I should probably include my dos and don’ts for this blog, huh ? I’ll update that soon ✿(> ‿ ◕)✿

I don’t write heavy gore but more lighthearted stuff, so how ‘bout a puppet reader with a few scrapes ? While everyone in the Neighborhood IS of puppet nature, I like to imagine they’d still feel pain, maybe just a bit different than we do

(╯ ‿ ╰,)

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Content Warning ! : Mentions of detached arm and sewing needles

Characters : You ! , Wally, and Home

Word Count : 1468

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Nobody had heard from Wally all day. It wasn’t uncommon for the smaller puppet to be hidden away for days on end, busy in his own little world until he either remembered the outside world or needed something. But, as the days turned into a week, you and your friends began to worry for him. Few had gone to check up on him, but due to Homes creeks of protest, most everyone gave up with a sigh or a shrug. If home wasn’t willing to open its doors, then it was virtually impossible to get in.

You had watched your neighbors in the past couple days leave Home looking defeated. Even Eddie, with his mail, watched in disdain as letters piled up outside.

These past events replayed in your mind as you brought your fist up and gave a heart knock on Homes door. Their window eyes seemed to open dazily, rolling back from the side before landing down on you.

“Good evening, Home.” You smiled and rubbed the brick tiles gently.

‘Creeeeak.’ Home moaned in response, which you surely hoped was a greeting in return.

“Can Wally come out to play today?” You asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice nice and light despite the nervousness that wracked your plush body. “I wanted to go to the old stone dam creek in the woods, where the grove starts, and thought he’d like to join. Please, oh please, let him join me?”

Silence. Silence and dread is what filled the air in the Neighborhood as you and Home seemed to have an intense stare down. Neither of you spoke for what seemed like an eternity before Homes front door slowly but surely opened.

A gasp tore through your throat as you glanced at the barely open door then back to Homes massive eyes. “Really? Oh, really? Home, I’m,” You grinned feeling giddy. “I’m so happy! Thank you!”

‘Bam! Creeeeak….creeak.’ Was Homes response. No one could understand them as well as Wally, but the response seemed to be one of acceptance, tired acceptance. With a final thank you, you pushed the big yellow door open and stepped inside.

“Wally? Are ya here?” You called out.

“(Y/N)?” Wally’s surprised voice greeted you in turn.

“Home says you can come exploring with me!” You clapped excitedly.

Wally had been in the kitchen, staring out the window that sat above the sink. From there, he could just see Julie’s house through the thick trees that sat right behind his house. Some days it felt like spying, other days, when he hadn’t left for days, it felt like he was telepathically reaching out asking someone to notice and get him out.

And here you were.

“Is that so?” He asked as he made his way towards the front door. “How generous of you, Home.” He smiled his natural lazy grin but it was obvious he was tired. You could see it in his eyes.

‘Bam! Bam! Bam!’ House responded to Wally. Whatever they said, it made your smile waiver seeing his expression drop so quickly.

“Wally?”

“C-Come on,” Wally reached forwards and grabbed your hand, quickly pulling the two of you out of Home. “Before they change their mind..” He mumbled to himself.

As the two of you exited the house, with the door now fully open, you reached down and tossed the pile of mail that was beside the front door inside. It wasn’t a lot, but enough for any passer by to see from the street and recognize it was untouched and piling.

“Ah, thank you, (Y/N),” Wally seemed to breathe in deeply before sighed deeply. God, there was nothing like fresh air after being holed up for a solid week. “You’re so kind to-“ He was going to tell you how kind and sweet it was of you to rescue him from his own Home, whether or not you really wanted to go play. Instead, his voice was caught in the back of his throat, and all he could do was stare at you.

Well, specifically, your arm. As you had tossed Wally’s mail into his house, the front door had closed completely on your outstretched arm. The two of you stare as the door vibrated before unlocking, opening once again, and what felt like spitting your arm up.

You stared in shock and horror. Mortified, you looked over to Wally, who met your gaze with his own version of shock and fear.

There, between the two of you, hanging by a few threads and an inch of fabric, was your mangled arm. Twitching, fingers flexing as you realized you could still move them, just barely. ‘I can feel em’ You thought briefly.

While, yes, everyone in the Neighborhood was of puppet origin, that didn’t mean you or anyone else was immune to pain or the occasional boo-boo. Although, from past experience, this required stitches.

As the initial shock slowly wore off, which in actuality only lasted a measly five seconds, a blood curdling scream left your body. Well, cotton curdling, that is. Tears filled your eyes as you began to sob uncontrollably.

“IT ATE MY ARM!” You screamed like your life depended on it. “OH GOD, OH GOD, MY ARM!”

Wally felt the same panic you were experiencing possess his body as he gripped your hand he had been holding even harder now.

“We…we gotta…” He was wracking his brain for a solution. “HOWDY! HOWDY CAN FIX IT..A SEWING KIT, HE'S GOT A SEWING KIT!” He tried to meet your panicked eyes with a smile but it came off as panic like mania instead. He grabbed your nearly detached arm, pushed it back into position, and pulled you towards the bodega.

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“Now, how did this happen?” Howdy asked after setting you atop the front counter and pulling out a portable sewing kit from one of the many shelves that sat behind him.

You sniffled as you rubbed your eyes with your fully working arm. What a sight you two had been, a disheveled Wally, hair askew with wild eyes panting heavily, dragging you in. You, with your head hung low, sobbing so hard it sounded like a wounded animal had made its way in seeking sanctuary.

In a way you were.

“Home,” You spat out as your tried regulating your breathing. “Home close-closed it’s doo-oor on…on my arm when,” You couldn’t look Howdy in his eyes, scared of what you’d see. Anger? Disappointment? Pity? You could only guess as you stuttered out an explanation.

“Home shut its door on (Y/N)s arm when they were tossing in all the piled up mail Eddie left.” Wally finished for you, his own hands twisting what used to be his ascot anxiously. It was so stretched and torn from messing with it, you were certain it’d have to be replaced. “When Home noticed, it opened the door again but….the damage was done.” He finished quietly, pitifully.

Howdy sighed deeply before turning you fully. “You can still move your fingers, aye?” He asked. You nodded and wiggled your fingers in demonstration. “Alrighty then, I’ll sew you up, give you some medicine, and send y’all on y’all’s way. Though, I suggest,” He began glancing behind him at Wally. “That the two of you stay away from Home for a good while, ya hear?”

“Yes Sir.” You and Wally agreed at the same time.

“Sleep over at (Y/N)s or, if you don’t wanna do that, stay with Poppy. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind watching over you two for a while. Sure she’d like the company.”

Howdy got to work on sewing up your arm. You weren’t sure if it was the sheer amount of adrenaline that had flooded your body that made it feel nothing more than getting a shot at the doctors. Howdy had put what looked like antiseptic around the wound and silently began putting your arm back where it belonged.

As he dutifully did his work, Wally stood adjacent to you, rubbing one of your legs that hung over the counter comfortingly. Every time he tried whispering an apology you shook your head and told him it wasn’t his fault, it was Homes. That maybe it had been an accident, truly.

Or maybe it wasn’t.

“There, all patched up now.” Howdy had said, giving your shoulder a hearty pat. “How we feeling?”

“Better, thank you, Howdy.” You looked up to him finally, giving him your best grateful smile.

He looked like he had more to say but shook his head, a sad smile gracing his soft features, before scooping you up and setting you back on the ground.

“Be careful out there, okay?

And don’t let the sun set on you here.”

#welcome home arg #wally darling #julie joyful #sally starlet #barnaby b beagle #eddie dear #frank frankly #poppy partridge #howdy pillar #welcome home #horror #puppet dismemberment #I think howdy has a southern accent #maybe that’s self projection #as a Texan I feel in my boots Howdy has a southern accent okay #body horror cw

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sunflowerandstrawberryspice · 10 months

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Character's Ankle Injury (lmk):

(Remember before we being this is all for fun and the haha sillies, okay? Good! Carry on!)

Howdy motherfuckers guess who spent a good while sitting on a call with her friend trying to figure out the medical condition of a fictional character: This gal!

So Tang from lmk: What's wrong with him? Medically that is, well I'm not certain cause like the show hasn't confirmed anything and I'm not a doctor, but I am very experienced in getting injured, so I decided that I want to try and figure out what's up with Tang's bad ankles.

So there is a lot that goes into this like I said so please hold on while I go through this, okay? 1) We know that there was a war at some point that both Sandy and Pigsy were in (comments and Sandy's flash back kinda confirm this and maybe they'll address it?) that for some reason Tang was NOT in 2) Tang has bad ankles specifically from a childhood injury that flares up 3) He specifically has scrawny ankles which has been mentioned by I think 2 separate characters?

So using this information I eventually came to the conclusion that I think Tang dislocated or partially dislocated his ankles and probably needed surgery to fix them.

A) This would explain why Pigsy and Sandy were in the war but Tang wasn't, he could have gotten out on disability and because he had a surgery (That's how it works in the US idk if it's different elsewhere)

B) If he had surgery it could also explain the flare ups, cause fun fact even if you get surgery to correct different problems with your limbs there are still lovely things such as arthritis (common with dislocations, yours truly would know) phantom pain and chronic pain isn't completely uncommon

C) This stuff flares up with activity and when does Tang complain: When he's been walking, hiking or doing whatever for long periods of time

And last but not least

D) Ankle dislocations are often caused by a structural differences in the ankle with those who have the differences having "Small ankles" how have Tangs ankles been described? Scrawny!

So yeah I put way to much effort into figuring that out, like seriously I went through online medical textbooks! Like yeah this is what I waste my time on, on trying to figure out fictional characters medical problems lol. Again I could have gotten things wrong since I'm not a doctor and have never dislocated my ankles specifically so I perfectly well could have gotten things wrong, I was just giving it a shot.

Also this opens itself up to some very silly or angsty scenarios depending on what you prefer! Like I think it's very cute that people will just casually scoop Tang up and carry him on their backs/shoulders, like it's so silly!

Anyway that's all from me! Back to dying and trying to get my hands to function! (I swear I'm working on art I've just got massive art block T-T) Hope y'all have a great day/night! Bye!

#lego monkie kid #lmk #tang sanzang #tang lmk #lego monkie kid headcanon #lmk pigsy #lmk sandy #The lmk war no one talks about #Like seriously Pigsy mentions a war and Sandy literally has PTSD flash backs so what gives? Are they EVER gonna address it?#fan theory #fan thoughts #i put too much effort into this #gay legos

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kakubun · 3 years

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Can you do seijoh and nekoma with a manger that is a voice actor for a lot of popular games and anime’s

teams: seijoh x gen!reader, nekoma x gen!reader

hell yea, i actually had this in my list, thanks for actually making me do it

(i’ve made up the games and anime in here, please cope with me)

Seijoh

“willow’s hot” matsukawa blurted out and hanamaki burst out laughing but later agreed

these two pals would have a lot of merch of ‘Willow’, a character that had an alluring aura with a voice to fit their cryptic attitude built with an hourglass figure

you gulped, feeling shy that hanamaki and matsukawa were talking about the character you voiced in ‘Genius!’, a mystery game with a lot of action

every guy on the block would talk about ‘River’, the mythical creature that stumble on her words with her little hat slipping off her head or ‘Ray’, the gal who would scold the protagonist for being an idiot (for the masochistic men)

you sweat when you remember, the new chapter you voiced in the game had Willow helping or in other words seducing the protagonist that was supposed to be doing their task

both of them found out that you also knew Genius! when your profile was Willow that was because it was more easier for your boss to decipher which voice actor is which when voice acting on call since you really can’t go to the studio all the time

you could hear the boys talking about Willow whenever on break but you adored your older co worker who voice acted ‘Elois’ who was a technician that was most likely going to get killed off but you adored his voice, the way he could pitch his voice to a shrilly female to a obnoxious kid

you can’t tell me otherwise kindaichi and yahaba adores River because of her 'character design' and 'powers' (no, she just reminds them of you)

watari didn’t really have that much knowledge of the game but kunimi tried showing him more of the game, kunimi wouldn’t have a favourite yet he would just wait

he’s waiting for a perfect someone to be his favourite

all the third years are simping for Willow, they’re just so mysterious, oikawa loved making theories about each one of them and which would be killed off next

oikawa: my theory is that Willow’s gonna be the next to die-”

makki and mattsun: hah no

kyoutani would also love Willow because he can be a horndog- because they’re really cool to him and leaves a lot of prizes

you felt so giggly one day when everyone was freaking about the last chapter because Willow got injured and they were groaning of how much pain they were in and the chapter left on a cliffhanger

so you decided to not prevent chaos but be the source of chaos

y/n: y’know i’m the voice actor of Willow

oikawa: hehe y/n, you’re really funny~

y/n: really now babe? be a good boy and believe me~

the third years froze and here’s how it went down

oikawa: s c re ee e a aa a m mm

iwaizumi: *turns really pink and is in shock from how you could get in character so quick*

hanamaki: *faints*

matsukawa: *in shock*

you sounded so much like Willow, how would they not believe you????

your pure gremlin giggles did not match the sultry voice you did seconds ago

Nekoma

starting right off, kenma would love the creatures in ‘Date Me’ especially the yellow blob named Octagon that would follow the protagonist around

Date Me is basically a game like DDLC but it’s a romance otome game turned dark, it was a mix of action as well and mystery, kenma really liked making theories about it

but kuroo preferred the anime adaption where it really fcked up with its adaption and it’s nothing serious like the game

he loved this one character named ‘Ace’ that never took things seriously and strangely was a fan of boars, they had a boar hat as well (kinda like inosuke)

kuroo preferred to keep things light and not see his favourite character die

you voiced Ace in the anime and voiced Octagon in the game

yaku loves the game but is kinda terrified on how quick it goes really dark

kai won’t be that interested but he loved the character designs

yamamoto loved every girl in the game, from narcissistic, smug to quivering, shy ones, he loved both game and anime

fukunaga relates to blue blob named ‘Cirlce’ since there was a specific line on where it complains about not getting enough attention

inuoka also loves Octagon and shares his opinions with kenma

shibayama would be confused that there was a game before the anime

lev would just be interested in either and love the cute designs of the characters

tamahiko is clueless

kenma would randomly hear you ‘imitating’ Octagon’s lines, you looked weird.. but not in a mean way he means it, it looked so funny seeing you recite lines while accidently hurting yourself or dropping something

Octagon’s voice was high pitched and when you said a line in the same pitch, he let out a small giggle

y/n: what’s wrong??

kenma: you sound like Octagon~

y/n: cause i am octagon, howdy kenma!!

kenma: *in shock*

yamamoto: holy sht y/n! you’re Octagon??!”

y/n: yeah and i’m also Ace, you got a problem with that??!?”

you pointed at kuroo who stared at you in awe and he nearly choked on his water when you rolled on the ground laughing like a madman

yall bond with them with your voice acting skills and inuoka and lev joined in as well

bye, i’m tired but i kinda enjoyed this as well :DD

#seijoh x reader #seijoh x manager #seijoh #haikyuu x self insert #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x manager #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu #nekoma x manager #nekoma #nekoma x reader

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fallintitan · 4 years

Text

@tenaciouswritingdragon asked for whump with BT talkin to jack to keep him awake and boy howdy i got carried away lmao

[ao3 link]

Cooper is stricken for a moment, looking down dumbly at where the knife protrudes from his gut. The image registers in his brain, but the pain that he knows and expects to feel is surprisingly absent.

“Pilot Cooper?” BT’s voice rumbles over the comm link. “Your vitals jumped for a moment. Are you alright?”

It takes a second for the man to regain his wits enough to respond. “Uh,” he elegantly starts, his words faltering as his Pilot suit grows wetter and wetter. How does he answer this in a way that won’t worry his Titan?

“Tell the truth,” BT cuts in. “I already sense that something is wrong. Please, be honest.”

His head swims, his vision skewing as he stumbles against a wall. “It’s not good, I don’t think.”

BT is worryingly silent for a pause before he continues to speak. “Affirmative. Carefully extricate yourself from the building. I will provide a distraction to allow you safe passage.” Moments after, Cooper hears the sound of a volley of Acolyte rockets tear into the sturdy walls of the facility, a cacophony of yelling rising up in response. “Be safe. Please.”

He almost numbly spits out ‘no promises’ in a half-hearted quip before catching himself. There’s no need to stress BT out more than he already is. Though, to be fair, BT can probably already tell what has gone wrong, even if Cooper is reluctant to tell him outright. Sometimes he forgets the Link is as powerful as it is.

He clamps one hand over the wound, knowing that staunching the bleeding is the best --and only-- thing he can do right now. His free hand fumbles for his pistol, awkwardly unholstering it from his opposite hip. His accuracy is likely garbage right now, but if someone’s in close enough proximity to use the pistol, then they’re close enough for a shot from the hip.

BT’s rampage continues outside, gradually thinning the IMC forces that haul over to confront him. Bullets ping harmlessly off of the metal of his body and he continues his murderous spree.

It’s shocking, in a way: BT is typically calm and reserved. Jack knows the Titan is capable of destruction and death on a massive scale, but being in an altered state of vulnerability brings it to the forefront of his mind. He leans heavily against an unoccupied door frame as he waits for the coast to clear enough for him to get to the Vanguard.

BT looks over, noting his position and his deteriorating state, sweeping one giant arm through a gaggle of grunts and sending them haphazardly flying. He trots over to the Pilot, footfalls rumbling the earth beneath Cooper’s feet. Kneeling down to Cooper’s level, BT’s cyan optic locks on to his beloved Pilot as he assesses the situation.

“Pilot,” BT frets, “you have suffered a puncture wound to the abdomen.”

“Yeah,” he croaks as the pain finally bleeds into his mind. His stomach is wet and sticky under his armor, far more uncomfortable than anything else he’s ever felt.

“Immediate action should be taken,” BT continues. “Risk of internal bleeding and puncture to abdominal organs are priority.” He stoops to lay his hand down for his Pilot to step onto. “Come. I will get you to shelter to address the wound.”

In a daze, Cooper stumbles up into the provided palm, leaning heavily on BT’s fingers to keep himself upright. The tackiness spreads, leaving him dizzy and nauseous.

“Hold tight.” At the last second, the Titan snags an idle Specter from the battlefield, grasping it in one large palm as it wriggles uselessly. BT sets off at a brisk jog, away from the IMC base, now filled with chaos. Hopefully, none of them would think to follow the Titan.

The thick forests of the planet provide excellent cover for the two of them as they dart away. BT twists and turns to avoid any more damage than necessary. Fauna and wildlife skitter out of the charging Titan’s path, scurrying away into the overgrowth.

Even through the vigorous jostling he undergoes as BT moves, he still feels himself slipping closer and closer to losing consciousness. Dumbly, a blood-soaked hand reaches for the hilt of the knife still protruding from his middle.

Delicately, one of BT’s fingers intercepts. “It is unwise to remove the protrusion until medical action can be taken,” he informs. “Removing it would only speed up blood loss.”

His skin feels clammy by now, nausea and dizziness dominating his mind. He can tell BT is doing his best to bleed off some of the feeling. Soon enough, BT finds suitable cover, hunkering down and laying Jack on the ground as gently as he could. Jack groans as he’s moved, the aching pain radiating out from where the knife sits. The Specter stays in BT’s grip.

“Pilot,” BT offers, “I know you are in immense pain, but I require your assistance.” He sounds almost guilty as he finishes the sentence. Blearily, Cooper focuses on his Titan, doing his best to pay attention. “I have secured a Specter for my use. It will allow finer motor skills. However, it must be hacked, and my core must be installed. Do you think you can assist me in doing that?”

Jack wheezes, delicately shifting onto his side to unsheath his dataknife and hold it out. BT takes it from his grasp, setting the Specter down and getting to work. The knife slips into its circuitry smoothly, the body going limp in BT’s hand.

BT’s hand rises to his optic. “Ejecting data core. Cooper, you will have to install it,” BT seems to apologize. Are you able to do that?“ The core hisses as it disengages, falling into his waiting palm. It slowly slumps to the ground, though the Titan chassis remains in sentry mode.

Cooper struggles to sit up. Each movement causes lances of pain to bolt through his body, but he knows he needs to help BT to get medical attention. Taking the core from the now-idle palm, he scoots over to the Specter frame to insert it in place of the frame’s original core. It slides in easily, hissing and settling in with a ‘pop!’

Immediately, BT’s trademark cyan shows through the frame’s optic, looking over to where Cooper returns to slumping on the ground.

“Pilot,” BT’s voice rumbles out of the Specter, “you are going into shock. Proceeding with immediate medical care.” The Specter--BT, this is BT, just a different body--reaches into the hatch on the Vanguard chassis and retrieves a medkit, hopping down and kneeling next to Cooper. As he rummages around, Cooper feels himself drifting off once more.

A gentle shake to his shoulder rouses him.

“Cooper, you must stay awake,” BT begs.

His eyes crack open tiredly, attempting to focus on his friend as he works.

“I will continue to speak to you to keep you aware, if you would like,” BT continues. “Would that help?”

Blearily, Jack nods slowly.

“Alright.” He feels BT’s hand move to his stomach near the wound. “I have already activated the emergency beacon,” he rambles. “Evac should be here shortly. That is good news. The quicker you can get help, the higher the odds you will recover with no adverse effects.”

The hand gently moves the knife as BT spreads biofoam around the puncture, making the now-familiar ache spread once more. He groans, one hand mindlessly going to swat BT away.

“Now is not the time to get defiant,” BT scolds. “I am doing what needs to be done. Plus, I overpower you by a great margin.”

A feeble huff escapes the pilot in lieu of a laugh. Distantly, he feels BT prop his legs up with something. He feels himself drifting off again, looking to BT desperately as he fights it off.

BT fumbles for a topic. “Think of Moot,” he offers. “She will likely be waiting for us when we return.”

A smile splits his face at the thought of the canine. Her loyalty and antics have picked him up on his darkest days, even days where BT couldn’t rouse him from his dwelling.

“Stay awake for her,” BT says. “Stay awake for me.”

He fights through it. Darkness pulls at the corners of his mind, and he is tempted to give in. However, BT’s voice does what he intends: it keeps him aware and awake, focused on his words.

“Think about how it will be when we get back,” he rumbles, retrieving an anesthetic from the medkit. BT removes the cap nimbly, apologetically feeling for a vein and injecting it. Immediately, Cooper feels better. The ache dissipates, his mind stops swimming, though his breathing remains shallow and rapid.

“Can you imagine how worried she will be when we get back?” BT starts. “She has not seen you seriously injured before. Knowing her, she will fret, akin to how she does when you are away. Perhaps the doctors will allow her into your recovery room to keep you company.”

That thought warms him. In his time in the Militia, he’d been wounded many times. Every time, it got uncomfortably lonely, with only BT’s presence through the Neural Link. The idea that Moot may be allowed in the room with him eases his nerves.

“I will admit, I was adverse to bringing her home on that mission, but I have since greatly changed my mind. I adore her, as you do. Her loyalty is inspiring. Even without speaking, she manages to say so much. Remember how she gets so excited, wagging her tail, that she occasionally hits herself in the head?”

The grin widens. His mind shifts from the pain radiating through his body to images of Moot and BT. Moot, bracing herself in BT’s large palm as he lifts her to see if she could handle heights. BT practicing delicacy as he gently pets her furry head with one finger.

In the distance, he can hear the dropship approaching. BT informs him of so, voice rumbling soothingly as he speaks. “Our way out is approaching. You will be out of here soon. Would you be able to assist my transfer back to the chassis?��

BT helps him sit up gingerly. The ship descends to hover above the ground, the pilot expertly guiding it. The transference back goes smoothly, BT rising to wave the aid over.

“Cripes, Coop,” one of the medical assistants grimaces. “Can’t go one week without you gettin’ into trouble.”

Cooper wheezes a laugh as he’s hauled up and carried over to the ship. He hears BT’s thumping footsteps following them reliably. Inside the ship, he’s laid out on a stretcher, where his armor is further stripped off and the fabric of the flight suit on his lower torso is peeled away.

The weight of the situation suddenly registers to him: he had been dangerously close to…

Frantically, he looks around for BT. The Titan seems to materialize over the assistants’ shoulders, optic narrowing in his version of a comforting smile.

“We’re administering a sedative now,” one of them informs. “It’ll knock you out for a while.”

Cooper frowns, croaking out “Moot” feebly.

“She’ll be there when you wake up, promise.”

#jack cooper #bt 7274 #titanfall 2 #mav makes

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weapvnized · 3 years

Text

*falls out of the dumpster behind your local Denny’s* Howdy, everyone! I’m Kip and we’re just not going to talk about how late I am to the party and just jump right into my intro that definitely got out of hand because yours truly is way to excited for this rp!

What’s that scent? The smell of BLOOD SPILT AGAINST COLD METAL, which would explain the appearance of JAVIER CRUZ. Continental records indicate they are known as PHANTOM, a THIRTY year old SPECIALIST. They have the unique ability of INTANGIBILITY. They were specifically selected for enrollment for the ASSASSINATION OF GRANT ANDERSON, where they ASSASSNITED A HIGH RANKING PUBLIC OFFICIAL IN A SUPPOSED SECURE LOCATION WITHOUT ANY SIGNS OF FORCED ENTRY, LEAVING MOST OF THE PUBLIC TO BUY INTO THE CONSPIRACY OF IT BEING AN INSIDE JOB. They can be VOLATILE and CYNICAL, but also ADAPTABLE and DAUNTLESS. We wish them well in their business to come.

BACKSTORY ! (death tw, murder tw, & car accident tw)

The first six years of Javier’s life were about as close to perfect as life could get — raised in a warm home by two doting parents that provided their son with all the love and care in the world. It’s clear his life would’ve been completely different had tragedy not struck. While at home, safe and sound, going on make believe adventures with his babysitter, his parents were killed in a car accident.

With no one to take him in and no place to stay after that night, Javier was placed into foster care. Still trying to process and understand his own grief, he found the transition difficult and behavioral issues began to arise in the young boy. Soon after his behavioral problems popped up, he found himself getting bounced from home to home — never finding the perfect fit.

Unsure of what else to do with him, Javier was moved into a group home when he was fourteen. He initially hated it there, but his opinion changed ever so slightly when he started to bond with two other boys there. As it turned out, the trio had a few similarities to bond over — all three were superhumans that had been juggled and mismanaged in the system from their early childhoods due to behavioral issues and all three of them were overall fed up with it.

Despite trouble brewing, the staff didn’t see Javier bonding with the other two as problematic. In fact, it looked like an improvement for him —like he was finally coming out of his shell and forming meaningful connections for the first time since his parents’ deaths. They didn’t overhear the lengthy conversations where the boys expressed their dissatisfaction with their lives in comparison to the well-off and completely intolerable peers they had at school. And they certainly weren’t aware that Javier was beginning to use his intangibility to sneak the three of them out at night.

Their night’s spent out started as a way to blow off steam — damage a little public property and run off laughing into the night. Slowly, Dustin — the eldest of the trio and unofficial leader of the group — came to the conclusion that there was so much more the boys could do with their powers. It all started with pure intentions — steal from businesses that could afford it and stage the stolen items as anonymous and generous gifts made to the group home. Naturally things started to escalate and they found themselves stealing from wealthy individuals as well — acting as a modern version of Robinhood and his band of merry men.

With the exception of a few close calls, their actions went largely unnoticed until one fateful night. Unbeknownst to the trio, the owner of the estate they were robbing was home and quietly watching the amateur heist take place. Impressed with how well they worked together and used their abilities, the man didn’t report them to the police and instead made plans to adopt the two that hadn’t aged out of the system yet.

Javier and the boy closer to his age were soon adopted seemingly out of nowhere and Dustin was even offered a place to stay with them by the man they stole from. Perhaps this should’ve raised some sort of alarms, but all three were all too delighted to have a place where it felt like they were finally wanted and cared for to pay attention to any red flags.

Shortly after, they started training more rigorously and eventually started participating in more largescale crimes. All the while they were treated like family — never suspecting that they were really nothing more than tools to the person who took them in. It wasn’t until later when Javier was injured in a training mishap and pushed to continue, that Dustin became suspicious of why they were really there.

There was little time to process all this though, as they were quickly dispatched to take care of a job for a “trusted contact.” It was, of course, a setup to get rid of the boys who would become a problem should they turn against the man that took them in. In all the chaos, betrayal, and confusion that came with this job, Dustin was killed while the other two were able to make it back home — only to face more betrayal. The pair managed to escape death for the second time that night, but not without Javier taking a bullet to his shoulder from his adoptive father.

After getting Javier proper medical attention, the pair decided it was for the best that they part ways in hopes that it’d make them harder to track down. Once he fully recovered, he went back to criminal work, this time working independently as a hitman in hopes to better hone his skills so he can absolutely wreck his adoptive father’s shit one day 😌

HEADCANONS !

Forgive and forget? Absolutely not! Javier is very much the resent and remember type. Screw him over at any point and he’ll be hellbent on getting even. Like even over little things — he can be extremely petty.

Very hotheaded — it doesn’t take a lot to get under his skin. And while it is something he’s sort of working on...it’s not uncommon to find him in the middle of a heated argument over something stupid or caught up in a bar brawl.

Is the type to take jobs very seriously and expects the people working with him to do the same. While he’s not going to call you out right then and there for a mistake, you can bet your ass he’ll have a lot to say once the job is over and will be brutally honest about it.

Teamwork is really hit or miss with him. He has experience at working well as a team and should in theory be better at it because of it, but his general distrust for others can get in the way and make things not go quite as smooth as they need to. Despite all his distrust, he is someone who can be relied on in the field and does make it a priority to make sure everyone involved gets out in one piece so there’s that.

Generally prefers to work alone or at least in some sort of leadership role, but he can adapt and take direction well if need be. And while he would prefer missions to go exactly as planned, realistically he knows that’s probably not going to happen and can quickly adjust.

It’s not easy to gain his trust or friendship, but once you do he’s very ride or die (unless you epically screw up and manage to lose his trust).

Not to call him out or anything, but he’s had very few meaningful or significant relationships of any type with other people so he’s lowkey lonely. Of course, he’d never admit it, but yeah definitely lonely.

His sense of humor, when present, is usually sarcastic and dry.

Can frequently be seen rolling his eyes, facepalming, and sporting an annoyed expression.

Immediate death glare to anyone who calls him Javi (if they’re not close).

The first vine that pops into my head when I think about Javier is the one where the dude is hanging off his bed and goes, “Alright, let’s tell each other a secret about ourselves. I’m going to go first, I hate you.”

EXTRAS !

Wanted Connections/Plot Ideas || Stats || Powers Page || Playlist || Pinterest (blood & images of weapons tw in the aesthetic section!!)

#mhq;intro #death tw #murder tw #car accident tw #you can really tell the exact moment my brain said let's just finish this ajfdsyffdhs #javier | intro.

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adrenaline-roulette · 4 years

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Fic ideas that I don’t know if I should continue

Well howdy there folks, so here’s the thing, I’m looking through my saved documents and have found a few fics that I’ve started (And by started I mean, I’ve written like 1 page max for each one) For one reason or another, I never got around to continuing them, and reading over them again now, I’m not sure if I should. I’ll post what I have bellow, but I would really love to know if anyone out there would be interested in reading these?

If you are interested and would like to be tagged in the eventually finished product, just let me know 😊

Soulmate Fic. Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader

Have you found your soulmate yet? If not, don’t panic, they’re out there somewhere! There have been cases of people not finding their soulmate until they turn sixty! But how do you know if you have found, the one? While scientists are still unable to explain exactly how this occurs, the moment you are in close proximity to your soulmate, you are able to hear them whenever they sing. But keep in mind, it is only when they sing, not when they listen to music!

**********

“If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe I'd been married a long time ago Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?”

The moment you first hear your soulmate’s voice singing in your head, you practically had a heart attack. Okay, so not quite, but you did find yourself quite flustered. So much so, that the egg you were in the midst of cracking for the cake you were making, ended up with the egg itself in the trash, while the shell was deposited into the cake mix. “Bloody fucking fuckety fuck!” You hiss, as you scoop the cracked shell out of the flour mix. This was certainly not how you had imagined your first encounter with your soulmate would go. You always heard about couples who had cute first interactions! Like one of them was singing old show tunes, or something of the likes. But oh no, what do you get? God damned Cotton Eye Joe.

You hear a door slam in the apartment, followed but feet pounding down the corridor. “I heard swearing, is everything alright?” Your best friend Ben appears in the kitchen entry, his green eyes scanning the room for any signs of injury.

“I’m fine, don’t stress.” You smile softly, the frown which had enveloped your features only moments ago, quickly vanishing as you take in Ben’s worried expression.

He nods, blonde curls swaying over his forehead. “Alright, if you’re sure Y/N, because I’m more than happy for you to borrow my oven, but I’m not alright with you injuring yourself in my home!”

“Duly noted. Thank you Benjamin.” You poke your tongue out at him, before turning back to the recipe, scanning over the paper for the next step. Ben had been more than willing for you to borrow his oven for the afternoon, the baking bug had bitten you, but you had recently found yourself without a functioning oven, which is how you found yourself stood in his apartment now, baking a monstrosity of a chocolate cake, complete with four layers.

Ben slides up next to you, leaning his back against the kitchen counter, looking over at you quizzically. “No, but really, what was the swearing all about?”

You shrug half-heartedly, keeping your eyes focused on the mundane task of whisking the ingredients together. “It was nothing, just heard something surprising is all.”

Ben nods, and for a split second you truly believe he will drop the subject, but you sadly have no such luck. “As in, you heard something surprising on the radio, or you heard something surprising in your head….”

Turning in his direction, you shoot a glare his way, hoping it would convey your desire for him to no longer pursue his line of questioning. “Y/N Y/L/N, I swear to any and all higher powers, if you mean to tell me that you just heard your soulmate while standing in my fucking kitchen, I will murder you!”

Your silence seems to be answer enough, and Ben lets out a screech, before planting his large hands over your shoulders, and pushing you towards the front door. “Ben! What to hell are you doing?” You squawk, as he marches you out of his apartment, and down the three flights of stairs that lead to the main entrance. “Seriously Ben, the oven is still on, you shouldn’t leave an oven unattended!”

Ben ignores you, removing one hand from your shoulder, for just long enough to open the double glass doors, before pushing you out and onto the street. “You will stand out here singing, until your soulmate finds you.”

Your mouth hangs open, as you turn to look at the triumphant grin on your best friend’s face. He genuinely looks proud of this plan he has come up with, and it worries you that he doesn’t seem to recognise the many, MANY flaws in this plan. “So what, I’m just supposed to stand out here for the rest of my life then? Ben your apartment is on a bloody main road! Whoever it was, was probably just driving past!”

“Well here’s a good way to figure that out, can you still hear singing?”

You stop dead in your tracks, scowling at the blonde. You had been so preoccupied with being physically dragged outside, that you had stopped paying any attention to the song playing in your head. “Well, the song’s changed.” You mutter, listening to the chorus of the Phantom of the Opera theme. You had to give your soulmate credit where it was due, whoever they were, they could certainly carry a tune. Though perhaps opera wasn’t their strong suit….

“I promise to put everything for your cake in the fridge alright? You can finish it off later on, but for now, I don’t want to see you back in my apartment for at least the next hour alright?”

---

Getting caught in the rain after work. Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

The phone rings, once, twice, three times. Neither you nor your fellow receptionist feel the desire to answer the incoming call, both of you knowing what the person on the other end of the line is after. It’s always the same, a patient will call up, desperate the see a Doctor immediately, paying no mind to the fact that they have just called on a Monday morning, three hours after the GP clinic had opened. You couldn’t count how many times you had been yelled at today by patients who couldn’t get their way.

“I got the last one.” Jean smirks, gesturing to the incoming call with a pen.

“Oh, I didn’t realise we were keeping tally of how many calls we had answered today.” You grin back, swivelling in your chair to face the phone. Despite the constantly ringing phones, there had been an unexpected, but not unwanted lull in patients these past ten minutes, allowing yourself and Jean to take a bit of a breather from the chaos the morning had brought with it.

“Good morning, general practitioners’ clinic, Y/N speaking.” You greet, as you pick up the receiver, a friendly smile pasted over your lips. Rule one of working in a Doctor’s clinic, always speak with a smile in your voice.

“I’m dying.” A soft melodic voice wails through the line, causing you to pause mid-sentence. You would recognise that voice anywhere, whether you necessarily wanted to or not.

“Mister Taylor, I can assure you, you are not dying.” Jean turns to face you, raising a knowing eyebrow. She had played witness to what she called, yours and Mister Taylor’s ‘flirting’ for months now.

“And how do you know that?”

“Well, according to you Mister Taylor-“

“It’s Roger.”

“Sorry, Roger. According to you, you have been dying for the past week and a half. Either you had better hurry up and die, or recover immediately.”

The line goes silent for a moment, and you almost think that perhaps Roger had hung up. “Do you talk to all your patients like this?”

“No, only you.”

“Oh, well I’m honoured then.” There’s a soft laugh that breaks through Roger’s voice, and you can almost picture the cocky grin he’s sporting. He thinks he’s won, he always does. You know exactly how this conversation will end, it’s the same way your conversations have always ended. “So, will you let me take you out sometime soon? There’s a new pub that’s opened up on main, looks like it’s a little less dodgy than some of the others around.”

You pull the phone away from your lips to groan.

---

John Deacon has a new room-mate who doesn’t understand that paying the drums late at night is NOT socially acceptable. Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

You press your face into your pillow with almost too much force, just escaping from bruising your nose, while your hands clamp down over your ears, a second pillow arched over the back of your head, the sides pressed firmly against the shell of your ear. Three weeks this had been going on, for three whole weeks, you found yourself attempting to fall asleep every night, with a pile of pillows threatening to suffocate you. Why, you may be asking? Well for three weeks straight, your usually quiet next-door neighbour had had someone staying with him, and that someone had clearly decided bringing a drum kit with him, was a phenomenal idea! Of course, you wouldn’t mind the drumming if it occurred during the day, but for some reason, this person had decided the ideal time to practise, was from ten in the evening onwards. Surely you couldn’t be the only one in your apartment building who had an issue with the late night percussionist? Though maybe they were all the same as you, unsure how to approach the subject of asking them to stop? You had known John Deacon for a few months now, he had moved in back in July, and you had had a few fleeting conversations with the gentle man, mostly when you happened to cross paths while collecting mail, or taking out the garbage. during those chats, he never seemed like the type of person to condone such ungodly behaviour. Though you suppose, looks can be deceiving. So, after three weeks and two days of only sleeping for close to three hours a night, you decided to finally take matters into your own hands. By writing a well worded letter.

“Dear Mr John Deacon’s housemate. If you could please refrain from playing your drums in the evening, during the time period where most people are attempting to sleep, that would be greatly appreciated. While I have no issues with your drumming in general, I do have an issue with you practising so late in the day. Perhaps you would consider playing in the afternoon instead, whilst most occupants of this apartment building, are at work? Kind regards, Y/N.”

You smile triumphantly down at the letter, folding it neatly before placing it into an envelope, leaving it unsealed, then resting it on your kitchen counter, you would drop it off on your way to work. Curling up back on your bed, you turn a pointed glare towards your bedroom wall, the thin plaster being all that separated you from the obnoxious drummer. “One way or another, I will make you stop drumming.” You grumble, before returning to your original position, of being buried beneath your pillows.

By the time your alarm clock sprang to life, you had managed to squeeze in another two hours of sleep, which made for a record four and a half hours of sleep for the night! You groan, as you pull yourself out from the comfort of your bed, scrubbing your palms over your face. As you pad into the bathroom, you scarcely want to look at yourself in the mirror, the bags beneath your eyes having grown progressively darker these past few weeks. Even your workmates had begun to notice how sleep deprived you were, you’re typically cheerful demeanour was being drowned out by your constant yawning, and continuous coffee consumption. You make quick work of getting ready for the day, throwing your hair up into a bun at the crown of your head, before applying a light coverage of makeup, just enough to try and hide the purple shadows of your eyes. It does little to help, and as the fluorescent light of your bathroom shines down on you, it occurs to you that you like just a tad corpse like. “Sexist dead girl there is…” You smirk, as you swipe a red lipstick across you lower lip.

Back in your bedroom, you rummage through your closet for a clean shirt and skirt, before making a mental note to do laundry when you get home. Hopping on the spot, you simultaneously kick on one of your brown heels, whilst also buttoning up the pale pink blouse you had chosen for the day. You swap legs for the other shoe, as you tuck your shirt into your cream coloured skirt, fastening the zipper, before adjusting the waist band so the decorative brown buttons sat at your hips. Finally, after a couple of minutes of searching, you retrieve your purse from under your bed, frowning at yourself for placing it in such an awkward place.

Your shoes click against the tiled floor of your kitchen as you contemplate making a cup of coffee before leaving for the day, glancing up at the clock hung high on the wall, you realise you don’t have the time, and dart towards the front door. You skid to a stop just before the front door swings shut, holding your hand out to keep the door open, as you use your free hand to rummage through your purse, ensuring your key was there. It wouldn’t be the first time you had allowed the door to shut, with your key on the complete opposite side of where you needed it to be, just last week you had allowed this to happen while you went grocery shopping. It had ended up being a hard lesson learned, not to mention expensive, once the locksmith had made his appearance.

Upon finding your key safely hidden at the bottom of your bag, you turn towards your neighbour, marching the short distance to his apartment. Stopping in front of John’s door, you tighten your grip on the envelope in your right hand. Perhaps half an hour or so ago, you had heard the door slam shut, but you had no way of knowing if both occupants had left, or just one. You contemplate knocking, to hand the letter to whoever may be inside, but quickly think better of it, and slip the think envelope between the door and the doorframe, either someone would find it when they arrived home, of it would fall to the floor in front of whoever opened the door from inside the apartment. With a spring in your step, you made your way downstairs, and out to the street walking towards the Doctor’s clinic where you worked. A smile tugging at your lips, as you imagined a peaceful night, with absolutely no drumming.

*****

A deep frown had settled over Roger’s brow, as he held the letter between fisted hands, sitting at the dining table inside Deaky’s apartment. “What the fuck is this?” He snarled, as he read, then reread the letter. He payed little mind to the front door opening, an only bothered to look up when he heard John’s voice break the silence which had filled the room.

“Looks like a letter Rog.” Deaky smirks, as he kicked his shoes off by the door, before folding his arms across his chest and looking at the fuming drummer. “What’s going on?”

Roger tore his gaze away from the neat script he had been staring at for a solid twenty minutes, focusing now on his flatmate. “Nothing, it’s nothing Deaky. Don’t worry about it.” He finally sighed out, folding the letter back into the envelope, and pushing away from the table. He could vaguely recall John mentioning someone who lived in the building by your name, but he hadn’t actually met you, which made the letter you had sent, cut just the little bit more. You had said you didn’t mind his drumming, yet you didn’t want to hear it? Why not! Roger though of himself as a bloody good drummer! Anyone should feel honoured to hear him play, especially for free! “Hey, do you know where Y/N lives?” He called over his shoulder, as he made is way towards the sofa, where he had left his music journal and pencil.

John raised a curious eyebrow, has he moved around the kitchen, setting about to put together some cheese on toast. “Uh yeah, she lives next door, to the right. Why?” It wasn’t like Roger to ask where a woman lived, typically he found that sort of information out for himself.

“No reason, just heard the name around while I was checking for mail today, and realised I didn’t know here is all.”

John narrowed his eyes into a glare, which went unnoticed by Roger, as he began to scribble away in his journal. Roger hadn’t collected the mail today, he had…. Deciding it best to not question Roger’s motives, John continued around the kitchen, the only noises to be heard throughout the apartment were those of the frying pan heating up on the stove, and Roger’s fast moving pencil over paper.

“Deaky, I’m just ducking out for a few minutes, I’ll be back yeah?” Roger didn’t wait for a reply, before darting out into the hall, the paper he had been writing on, folded into quarters. Turning right, just as John had said, Roger steps up to what assumes must be your door. Just as you had done mere hours earlier, he slips the folded paper between the door and door frame.

---

Roger endeavours to sleep with a woman from every country before his 30th birthday. However the woman he picks from France proves to be more of a challenge than originally expected. Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

The dingy patchwork sofa bounced precariously as Freddie flopped onto it, pressing himself firmly in between Roger and Brian who had originally been the sole occupants of the sofa. The knitted blanket that was draped over the back slides to the ground, as its resting place is disturbed by the jostling lead singer. Finally, Freddie settles himself, crossing one leg over his knee, and turning his attention entirely on Roger. “How’s your body count looking these days?”

Roger flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette, before taking another drag, blowing the smoke up towards the sky. “Are we talking fucks, or murders?” He asks casually. John peers over at his band mates from his seat on the armchair, frowning somewhat at Roger’s response.

Brian smirks gently, shaking his head at the blonde’s antics, while Freddie lifts an eyebrow up at him. “For interests’ sake, let’s say both…” He finally decides, lighting a smoke between his lips, breathing in deeply.

“25, 67.” He states simply, stretching his legs out on the rug beneath the sofa, digging his toes into the soft material. This time, John’s expression changes from that of mild interest, to one of pure intrigue, a smirk forming over his lips.

“I can’t tell if that’s an unusually high number of murders or strangely low number of fucks.” Brian teases, reaching his arm around Freddie to punch Roger’s shoulder playfully.

Roger rolls his eyes, taking another long drag from his dwindling cigarette. “One of those numbers will be going up this weekend too.”

Freddie squints at the drummer, as he assesses which number they were currently discussing. Deciding to give the blonde the benefit of the doubt, he figured he was about raise his ‘fuck’ number, rather than ‘murder’ number. “And do tell dear Roger, who is the lucky lady to be?”

John lets out a loud chuckle, causing the three men to look over at him, all with equal questioning looks adorning their features. “Oh don’t look at me like that. Especially you Rog, I know damned well who you’re talking about!”

A pair of piercing blue eyes squint at John from across the room, the bassist grinning at the drummer. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page, who are you talking about Deaky?”

John rolls his eyes, before begrudgingly pushing himself up and out of the armchair he had made himself comfortable in, strutting his way over to the back of the rehearsal studio. Pinned to the far wall is a world map, currently with pins stuck all across Europe, signifying where Queen would be next touring. “If my suspicions are correct, I believe Roger will be taking a bit of a drive across the border tonight.” John grins wickedly, gesturing with his index finger to France

---

Song fic - Jet Lag by Simple plan Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader (Could easily be changed to another Queen member if that what y’all would like to see!)

You collapse on your bed, sinking into the plush blankets, and massive pile of decorative pillows, it had been a long, and lonely week. It felt as if the standard five-day work week you had just endured, had been going on for at least a month. Though according to the red crosses on your calendar, it really was Friday the 1st, and not in fact Friday the 29th like it felt. The lonely part stemmed from the lack of company in your apartment over this past week, your boyfriend/ partner in crime, Roger Taylor was currently on tour with the rest of Queen, somewhere in Australia. While he had been away, your old school friend had come to stay while you had the house to yourself, but she had left for a business trip on Monday leaving you once again alone. You settle yourself more comfortably against your pillows, tilting your head back and to the side, keeping your eyes on the phone on your bedside table, just waiting for it to ring. Any minute now, you knew it would ring, and the anticipation of who would be calling had your heart racing.

The cool metal of Roger’s watch lay in your palm, and you clasped your fingers around the gold, circular face, rubbing your thumb gently against the glass. Just as you go to glance down at the time, the phone lets out a shrill ring. Once, twice, there isn’t a third. You dart your arm out quickly, and pick up the receiver, a wide grin spreading over your lips, showing off all your teeth. “Hello…” You ask softly with a bated breath.

“Y/N? Hi luv.” Roger’s smooth voice sends chills down your spine, goose bumps appearing over your arms.

“What time is it where you are?”

“I’m in Sydney currently, and it is 9:15am. How about you?”

“6:15pm here, I just got home from work.”

“God, trying to figure out these time zones is making me crazy.”

“Hey, at least we’re doing better than at the beginning of the week. You were saying good morning, when it was midnight!”

“I just hate the thought of you alone. Five more days then I’ll be home.”

As if on cue, a rotund tortoiseshell cat leaps onto the end of the bed, purring loudly as she rubbed up against your toes. “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m alone. Misty just joined me, I think she misses you too.”

You can hear Roger’s smile through the phone, and you grin softly yourself. Misty had been a rather unexpected addition to your household. One of Freddie’s cats had escaped his home one afternoon and had gone missing for an entire night. She returned the next day, and soon after, Freddie found himself a grandfather, and having to re-home five kittens. Never one to turn a stray away, you had leapt at the chance of adopting the kitten.

---

John Deacon forgets the bass line to Under Pressure, but who is the cause of his forgetfulness? Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Miami found himself with four identical faces of shock staring at him as he stood in the recording studio, none of the band members were blinking, he wasn’t even entirely sure they were breathing either to be honest.

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to repeat that darling.” Freddie was the first to break the silence, lifting a quizzical eyebrow at the manager before him.

Miami shook his head, an exasperated huff escaping his lips. “I said, David Bowie wants to record with you lot, he’ll be dropping by the studio in a week with some suggestions of his own, and I think it would be a good idea if you lot try to come up with something too.” He was met with more staring, and frankly it was becoming rather off putting. “Would you rather I call him back and say you don’t want to record with him?”

“No!” The four men shouted at once, no longer the statues they had been before.

“What we mean is, we would hate for you to disturb Mr Bowie, and would love to record with him.” John pipes up, ever the diplomat.

Brian nods along in agreement, while Roger and Freddie quickly begin discussing what it would be like to meet David. “We’ll come up some lyrics and tunes to show him.” Brian offers, grinning at their manager. It does little to reassure Miami, though all he can do is hope they don’t show up empty handed when Bowie arrives.

“I could do a massive drum solo halfway through the song.” Roger declares, waving his arms around like a crazed man. It was obvious to John that Roger was unimpressed with the album they were currently recording, though he couldn’t help but think that one drum solo wasn’t quite enough to get him to stop bitching about the other songs. “Or a bongo solo! Everyone likes bongo’s, right?”

“Darling, I refuse to have bongos on this song.” Freddie interjects, and John can’t help but grin as Roger’s face falls, he looks like a sulking child, which is more or less what he currently is.

“How do you know Bowie doesn’t like bongos?”

“Roger, shut up about the bongos.” John groans, as he turns on his heel to collect his bass where he had left it near one of the amps. It was one thing to listen to Roger complain, it was another to listen to him complain while not doing anything productive. John’s fingers slide over the strings of his bass, plucking a few chords at random as he closes his eyes, trying to picture a rhythm of some sort. There had been a few chords playing around in his head lately, though he hadn’t gotten the chance to play them as of yet.

‘Dun dun dun dadada dun’ his bass echoes the notes, as he plays them on repeat, bobbing his head along to the jazzy beat. The tune seemed to bleed into his soul as he played, and he soon found himself lost in the music. It was a simple rhythm, only a few chords, but he felt it had potential.

“That’s really good Deaky.” Brian grins, coming over to stand beside him, watching John’s fingers play across the strings. Freddie joins soon after, holding one of Roger’s drumsticks in his left hand. A smile plays across his lips, hidden behind his bushy moustache.

“It certainly has potential.” He offers, as he snaps his fingers on the second and fourth beat. Brian does the same, and soon Roger is joining in on his kick drum. “Next step, come up with a lyric.” Freddie chuckles, as John places his bass back down, a smug smile on his lips.

“Wait, you guys think this is actually decent?” He asks stunned, his eyebrows creasing together, waiting for someone to start laughing, and to state it was all just a joke.

“Really John, if we can get the lyrics down, then I want to show this to Bowie.” Freddie grins broadly, as he returns his stolen drumstick to its rightful owner.

“I’m with Fred, just imagine having David, and Freddie’s voices singing along with that bass line, it’ll be an instant hit!” Brian supplies with an equally large smile. John takes a moment to take in what his bandmates were telling him, they truly liked what he had come up with, even if it was rather simple.

“I have one condition.” He declares, folding his arms across his chest. “And it isn’t negotiable.” All eyes are on him again, awaiting his next words in anticipation. “There will be absolutely no bongos on this song!”

“Fuck you Deacon!” Roger cries in outrage, throwing his drumstick with acute precision towards John’s head. Luckily, John knew what to expect from Roger these days, and easily stepped out of his firing line.

“If we agree with John, do we run the risk of having the drums thrown at us?” Brian chuckles quietly to Freddie, who instantly looks fearfully towards the drum kit.

“How about we go get some lunch?” Freddie sings out, waltzing his way towards the doors to the studio. Roger mutters under his breath as he follows him out, John can’t quite hear what he’s saying, though he’s sure it’s about bongos. Brian leaves next, and John takes up the rear. Freddie leads the group for a few minutes, in search of somewhere for lunch, they pass by their go to pub, with Freddie insisting he knew of somewhere far better and that it was just around the corner.

*********

Just around the corner turned out to mean a twenty-minute walk, which had Roger grumbling the entire way.

“Just turn back if you’re going to complain the whole time.” Brian groans, which only increases Roger’s complaining. It was starting to grate on John’s nerves, he often forgot just how petulant the man could be.

“I’m gonna head-“ He began, before being interrupted by Freddie’s loud declaration of them having arrived at their destination.

“Go on, get in you’ll love this place!” Freddie grins, as he ushers the three others inside. The entire front wall of the café is windows, allowing the midday sun to stream in, warming everyone up on the cold winter’s day. Wooden chairs, with patchwork cushions sit nestled among wooden tables, each with a different mosaic design on top. The floor is covered in mismatched rugs, some more faded than others, but overall giving the café a warm and inviting feel. A young woman, with flaming red ringlets smiles brightly at the group, picking up four leather bound menus.

“Good afternoon! Will you be dining with us today?” She asks sweetly, her eyes falling on Roger almost instantly. “Roger Taylor, I don’t know if I should let you in. Y/N wouldn’t want you here.”

Roger has the decency to blush at her words, ducking his head low, allowing his hair to flop over his forehead. “Is Y/N here today?”

The hostess frowns, placing a hand on her hip. “Of course she’s here! She owns the bloody place!”

Roger gulps, shuffling his feet on the floor awkwardly. “We can go somewhere else, it’s not a problem.” John suggests, shrugging his shoulders slightly. They were all hungry, but there were other places to eat. Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what Roger had done to the owner, knowing him, probably a one-night stand or something of the likes.

The hostess frowns once more, before sighing. “Follow me, I’ll tell Y/N that you’re here Roger.” She instructs as she leads them all to a four-seater table, placing the menus down in the centre before walking to the bar. Roger buries his head in one of the menus, ignoring the outside world as best he can. The few patrons of the café stare and whisper, pointing to the band. Nothing they weren’t used to at this stage of fame, though they could go without it some days, especially when trying to get a bite to eat.

John, Brian and Freddie each take a quick glance at their menus, before looking between one another, all of them with the same question running through their minds. “Roger Darling, what did you do to the owner of this fine establishment?” Freddie finally asks.

He looks up from his menu, biting his lower lip nervously, if it weren’t for the fact there was a strict no smoking sign on the entrance, John was sure Roger would be rolling a cigarette instead. “Oh, you know. She’s just another one of my college conquests is all.”

“Conquest my ass! You can shove that excuse up your ass Taylor.” You grumble, as you stand beside the table, glaring solely at the blonde man before you. You turn your attention to the other men at the table, you weren’t ignorant, you knew who they were, you had kept track of what Roger was up to over the years, it was hard not to, given how much publicity Queen got. “I knew this idiot in college, while he was studying to be a dentist still. I complained to him I had a toothache once, so he decided to punch me square in the jaw, in an effort to remove the painful tooth. He took out one of my bloody molars, which was great expect for the fact that it was a canine that hurt!” You grumble, taking out a notepad and pen to take their orders. “Then, he runs off with you lot, and never returns, leaving me with the dental bill!”

Roger has his head resting against the table now, Freddie and Brain are laughing, and John isn’t sure whether to kick Roger for his idiocy or to comfort the woman. He had spent the time she was telling her tale, to study her. She was beautiful, a quiet subdued sort of beauty, that really shone through when she was passionate about something, just as she was now. “I told you I was drunk at the time, you said it was fine for me to take a look at your mouth!” Roger protested loudly.

“There is a difference between taking a look at my mouth, and punching me!” You cry out, before lowering your voice, not wanting to cause a scene in front of your patrons. You take a deep breath in, before plastering a smile on your lips, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Welcome to The Hideout, what can I get you today?”

John grinned up at you, finding your ability to jump between casual and professional rather impressive. You caught his eye and winked, as you tapped your pen against your notepad, awaiting the band’s orders.

Freddie is the first to speak, smiling up at you. “Could we get a large margarita pizza to share please darling? And, four pints of whatever you have on tap please?”

You raise an eyebrow at Roger, who was attempting to make a fort out of the menus on the table. “I’ll get you three beers. I don’t trust blondie over here to drink.” You smirk, before it turns into a smile directed at John.

“Hey! Why don’t I get to drink!”

Brian chuckles quietly, before gesturing to the menu fort. “It may have something to do with your inability to behave like an adult.” He shrugs, curly hair bouncing over his shoulders as he does so.

---

For everything else that I’ve written, feel fee to check out my MASTERLIST You’ll find a heap of Queen, BohRhap, 6 Underground, Labyrinth and Night at the museum!

#roger taylor fanfic #joe mazzello fanfic #john deacon fanfic #roger taylor #joe mazzello #John Deacon #ben hardy #Brian May #freddie mercury #fanfiction #queen band fanfiction #soulmate fanfic #fanfic ideas #fan fiction suggestions

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writerwaage · 3 years

Text

Entry Two 1:56 pm 10/22

It took a lot of convincing, but Jonnie finally agreed to write down their experience with The Creature. I’m taking them out for dinner tonight as a thank you.

general content warning for horror. warning for images of a school burning down, but not graphic. if you think there needs to be a content warning for something not listed, please let me know!

Let me be clear about this. I DO NOT believe in this “Creature” Adelaide is so certain exists. I’m not trying to be a bad partner or unsupportive, it’s not like that. I just think that everything she’s told me chalks up to be nothing more than a boogeyman, a shadow children get spooked by when they know that they haven't been behaving. Hell, when I first even told Addy about this, it was during a camping trip with our other friends. I didn’t think she’d take it any more seriously than she would take a kid crying about their shadow.

I was a kid myself when I had my “experience.” Ten years old. I was walking home from school - my house was just down the road, so don’t think it was that big of a deal. It was the dead of winter, so the sky was already starting to darken. The branches filtered the low light and casted twisting shadows along the sidewalk, covering all the drawings made by the other kids who doodled over the weekend. I enjoyed looking at all the pictures when it was earlier in the year, but the lighting and shadows made them look off, somehow.

One drawing in particular seemed to be highlighted, or rather framed by the dark. It was a lot more sinister than the others. Below my feet was a kind of shit drawing of the school on fire. You know how young kids don’t really have the finest of control over their hands, so lines never appear straight and colors bleed out of the lines drawn for them. The oddest bit, looking back on it, was that I never could cast a shadow on the picture. The branches above me did, but not me. Just two feet away, there was a dark halo on the sidewalk where my hair would be, but the drawing was just as lit as the rest of the sidewalk. As a kid I never paid that much attention, and I hesitate bringing it up here because Addy will make it a bigger deal than it actually is. It was just a weird moment, and it could have totally been from light reflecting off something metal and showing up on the sidewalk in that particular spot.

I went straight home and didn’t give it too much thought after that. I was a kid, and it was cold. I was just happy to be home and watch cartoons while mom fixed dinner. When dad got home, we put some logs into the fireplace and I curled up against his chest as he read me part of my newest favorite book. I remember being the most comfortable there, reading by the fire. The warmth of the flame and comfort of being held by my dad is still something I look back on and remember as the best moments of my childhood.

The next morning, I got up and it was freezing cold. Colder than most days. I was practically shivering all morning as I got ready for school, even though the heating was on and I was bundled up warm. Mom almost kept me home, thinking I was sick. But I insisted I felt fine, that I was just cold. I wish I had listened to her.

Mom walked me to school, just like she always did, taking me down the same path I took to go home. Although I wasn’t actively looking for it, the picture of the school burning down had completely disappeared. It hadn’t rained overnight, and all the others were still perfectly intact. Maybe someone had come by to wash that one off, I don’t know. People, grown-ups, probably would have found it just as creepy as I had. And with it being so close to the school… It wasn’t the best look.

Most of the day went by without a problem. Completely average. Once it was time for my math lessons, though, I felt strangely warm. It wasn’t like it was coming from having a fever. Instead, it felt more like heat radiating toward me. I was far from the vents, and it was cold only moments earlier. I looked around, to see if anyone had felt the same things I had felt, but no one seemed anything more than just frustrated that it was time to switch to math. I tried to shrug it off, but it was distracting.

I placed the heat as the same sort that I felt when I was extra close to the fireplace, and that was what bothered me the most. I looked up from my worksheet and glanced around the room, even to my own backpack to see if something, if anything, had suddenly caught fire. Some kid even asked if the heating could go any higher. The longer I went, the more the heat became unbearable. I pushed up my sleeves, pulled my hair up off my neck, and sweat dripped down the side of my forehead.

The fire alarm began to ring, and the room went icy. I looked to my teacher, who seemed completely thrown off. This wasn’t a planned drill, apparently. He was good at keeping calm though, and had us line up, just like it was part of the day. I grabbed my coat off the back of my chair and hugged it close. It smelled like smoke.

Outside, the rest of the teachers looked just as confused and concerned as mine did. Us students kept looking back at the building, wondering what we would see, wondering if it was scheduled and no one told us, or if it were a genuine one. Smoke began to billow up from the building, filling the pale blue sky with ashy grey. My stomach sank as I remembered the drawing I had seen the afternoon before. Did someone try to attack the school? Could I have stopped it if I told someone about the picture?

My mind was thrusted back into the moment when the sound of fire trucks came wailing in. After everything was said and done, only a few classrooms had gotten severe damage. What was odd, they said, was that a strange, goopy black had been seen down the halls, connecting the burnt rooms and the entrance, even where there wasn’t any sign of damage. My mom kept me home from school for a while, even after I was sure I was fine. The entire ordeal was ruled an accident. No one could find the source of the fire, though. No fuel, either.

I never said anything about the drawing to anyone, excepting those friends at the campsite when we were sharing our creepy stories. I hadn’t even expected them to take it seriously, and they didn’t, though Addy could see right through it. She brought it up again that night when we were about to go to sleep, then she told her own story about the growling in her closet. I thought it was stupid to connect those two things as anything more than young people imagining things and altering the past, and I told her that. But clearly, she doesn’t agree with me here. She’s convinced that she’s on to something, something more probable than the loch ness monster or whatever monster it is people freak out about.

I never knew the full extent of Jonnie’s experience. They’ve never given this much detail when talking about it before, and I feel more certain now that these two events are connected. They mentioned something about a “black goop” that sounds similar to how I remember The Creature looking in my own experience.

Does it leave behind parts of itself often? Or did it get injured somehow in the fire? Whatever it is, I think it wanted to warn Jonnie, or someone, about the fire. Why? And what capabilities does it have to cause physical damage?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! if you feel so inclined, please leave me a message, ask, or reply with any sort of feedback!

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thesecondcircleofkel · 4 years

Note

Howdy! Gonna toss a few more in before they close~ Could I get Kenpachi + D sfw =D thanks!

anywaffle said: ‘May I also please request Kenpachi + V Sfw :3′

Under the cut for space!

Kenpachi SFW D + V

D: Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

He wants to have kids with you. He loves seeing you interact with Yachiru, and he always imagines what it would be like to have more kids running around. He is more than happy to adopt if you don’t want to/can’t have kids, but you’ll have to keep an eye on him, because he will keep bringing more and more kids home until you’re practically running a village of them.

V: Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)

He’ll show vulnerability around his s/o pretty quickly, but that is mostly out of necessity. Kenny is most vulnerable when he’s injured and his wounds need to be taken care of, and he knows that. That’s one big reason why he doesn’t like to go to the Fourth Division for treatment: he doesn’t know the people there, and he doesn’t trust them. If you can tend to his wounds, guess what? You’ll be his personal doctor from now on, and while that can be tedious, it’s also flattering and endearing to know he trusts you that much. If wounds aren’t your forte, then just go with him to the Fourth Division, because he’ll feel a lot better if you’re there with him.

You always dreaded that long trip to the Fourth Division. You yourself didn't have much of an aversion to the healers there, but Kenpachi did, so whenever you received word that he was there to have his wounds treated, you knew that he was seriously hurt. Because of that, your mind was filled with anxious thoughts as you made your way through the streets of the Seireitei, wondering just how seriously he was injured, how he got injured to begin with, would he pull through, or would this finally be the battle that he didn't make it through?

All of those questions buzzing around your head did nothing to help the rapid beating of your heart, and your breathing had a similar quick tempo as you finally made it to the room that held the captain of the Eleventh Division, and you opened the door expecting the worst. Thankfully, what you got was nothing of the sort.

Kenpachi was already sitting up in his bed, sporting a few bandages here and there, but he looked to be in pretty good shape overall. He was definitely distracted, though, because he didn't notice when you ran over to him, only realizing that you were there when you pressed your hand against his cheek and turned his head so you could kiss his lips. Their roughness was almost calming, as if it was a reminder to you that he was really there and that he wasn't hurt as badly as you had feared, but that did beg the question: why was he in the Fourth Division?

You tried to pull away from him so you could voice your question, but he quickly pulled you in for another kiss, a burning desperation in his hold on you that you couldn't pinpoint the origin from. When he finally did let you pull away from him, he didn't let you go far from him, keeping you close to where he could lean his forehead against yours, looking you directly in the eyes so you could see the guilt in his gaze, shadowed by what seemed to be apprehension.

"Kenny, what-"

"I told them not to bother you."

At least you knew where the guilt was from. He didn't want to worry you, which was sweet in a way, but also frustrating. Thankfully, it seemed like someone in the Fourth Division had disagreed with his sentiment, for whatever reason.

"I always worry about you, you oaf. This doesn’t really look all that bad, though. Why'd you come here instead of letting me take care of you at home?"

He didn't say anything to answer you, instead nodding his head forward, directing your gaze to the opposite end of the room. There was another bed there, occupied by someone much smaller than either of you, and you didn't need much more of a hint to figure out that there was a child sleeping in the extra bed.

"Really, Kenny? Another one?"

"He didn't have anyone looking after him."

With a deep breath, you resigned yourself to your fate.

#kenpachi zaraki #bleach #follower appreciation week #1000 follower event #part 3: drabbles #sfw

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dafukdidiwatch · 4 years

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U.S.S INDIANAPOLIS: MEN OF COURAGE

Nick Cage mixed with WW2 and sharks. What can possible go wrong?

Answer: Everything

Nick Cage has just an attraction to me. I have known him for so long since I was little, I can’t tell if he is a good actor or if it was nostalgia. All I know is if there is a Nick Cage film, it is going to have that Nick Cage charm. And BOY HOWDY, this movie has it.

Let’s go with backstory first.

This movie is based on the incredible and horrific events that happened to the U.S.S Indianapolis, a Naval Ship during World War 2. It was sent on a secret and dangerous mission to deliver parts for the construction of the Atomic Bomb. However, on their way back a Japanese Submarine sunk it with a torpedo, leaving the survivors stranded alone in the middle of the ocean for 4 days filled surrounded by sharks who would attack the dead, injured, and living. Out of the almost 12,000 sailors aboard, only 300 would survive, making this the worst naval tragedy in U.S. Navy history.

And they made this movie.

Not going to lie, I was stupidly judgy through this movie. I mean, I tried goddammit, to watch and enjoy it straight. But I couldn’t help it. I care about this history. I’m fasinated by this bit of history, the horror and pain the sailors when through. This is THE Greatest Shark Attack in history. I was judgy because I wanted this movie to respect the event and tragedy that had happened, to do the survivors justice. And they tried.

God did they tried.

The problem is that they didn’t do it well.

Let me start with the good things about this movie.

1) Nick Cage was pretty Good

He plays Captain Charles B. McVay of the Indianapolis. There is still a bit of hokiness that comes from Nick Cage being Nick Cage. One is him talking to himself while writing a letter to his wife in the weirdest way possible. Another is the fact that his sunglasses makes it look like his eyes are closer to his forehead. But he does the role well I think. He makes sure to show that Captain McVay cared for his men, put their safety ahead of his own, did everything he can to help. I thought he did a good job.

2) They were respectful in the representation of the Japanese Submarine Crew.

The movie could have just not even show the submarine until the ship sinks, but no, we actually get to see the crew. We see the Captain Hashimoto dealing with the struggles of fighting their side of the war. How he cares for his crew, and how they will lay down their lives for the fight. The ship was sunk by Kaiten Torpedoes, basically an underwater version of Kamakazi pilots. They were manned torpedoes, so you see the men loading themselves in to be launched. So while the main focus is on the Indianapolis, it is nice they tried to be empathetic to the Japanese crew as well.

3) The side-characters were interesting enough.

With a historical story like this, the best way is show the movie is to let the audience see all the possible people that were serving on the ship. You see two best friends fall in love with the same girl. Two guys who were enemies and in jail together. A guy with a gambling addiction. The lovable engineers that you see up above. The brand new green commander who is a bit of a dick. My favorite one is the writer sailor. He writes what he sees and tries to bolster people up with his stories. Like, there is a lot of characters so even if you don’t like one plot-line, there are others you can enjoy. They may act goofy/overly dramatic at times, but the actors did a good job for you to root for them.

With that out of the way, things I didn’t like.

A) The cgi was too basic and shit in places

I wish, I WISH I can find a better picture to show what I mean. When we were watching, even my sister were going back and forth on whether it was good or not. Everything that was cgi was just weirdly too smooth. Like really look at it. It looks more like graphics for a video game. Which, is passable. But you can’t have passable for a movie. This movie came out in 2016! We have the technology for a hell of a lot better images than template models. At that was the better cgi. Because when the cgi is bad, it is glaringly obvious bad.

B) The Editing Kills Me.

They have a weird sense of pacing in this movie. When you hit the middle part of the movie, it’s fine. Decent moments of the sailors goofing around, hving drmatic romance, fights, struggles. But there are some parts of the movie where someone in the editing room was like “Oh shit, the people watching this won’t understand. Quickly! Put out that exposition as fast as you can!!”

An Example: the first 3 minutes of the movie. Minute 1: BATTLE! Ok, good, see our historical men in action. Minute 2: We are in a war council room where the Indianapolis has been chosen for a secret mission. “You mean the atomic BOMB?!” -> Basically the line used. And this was BEFORE meeting ANY of our main cast. So it felt like the movie was putting more emphasis on the ship rather than the sailors.

It also didn’t help the movie Felt like it ended when the survivors were rescued, but didn’t Actually end for another 20-30 minutes longer. I appreciate them going in for historical accuracy of showing the actual aftermath to Captain McVay, but by that point I was so done and bored that I didn’t really care.

Plus they keep using the same periscope tracking shot 7 times! Seven! In the same scene. TWICE!! When the Japanese were firing in daytime, we see the same daylight periscope 7 times before launch. Then when they fired a torpedo at night, LET’S DO THE SAME THING since it went so well the first time.

B) The ship sinks titanic style, the fuck is that??

Not going to lie, while I am facinated by the Indianapolis, I do not know everything about what exactly happened. One of them was how the ship sank. But I am pretty sure the ship did not sink in the Exact Same Way as the Titanic. Where one side is lifted up, then got cracked in the middle, and so it was split into two parts. It was, it was bad. Because this tied in to the whole repeating shots thing, because I saw the same man holding onto a pole trying not to drop 5 different times. The Same Exact Scene. No difference. And I’m sure he fell in the exact same way as in the Titanic Movie shots.

(Note:The jail cell sailors during this part were very good, but I still have No Idea how the hell they got out. Let me know if you figured it out)

C) The Sharks were S H I T!

This is basically where the whole meat of the story should have taken place, nd it was AWFUL! Trash! They were stupidly inaccurate, trying to go for Jaws Chomp factor instead of being anywhere near historical. The sharks were all Great Whites, which wasn’t a thing. Because the sharks that historically attacked were Oceanic Whitetips.

But ok, you could get pass. The sharks look similar enough at first glance so it would be an honest mistake. Except that sailors were specifically talking bout “Great White Sharks” with colored pictures of great whites, (which think about that for a minute) so that was bullshit. in making the audience think Great White.

But ok, so what, who cares, the sharks still does it’s things right? Why should we care if they got the type wrong or not?

^Because of Shit like This!! This movie decided to try and shittily mimic Jaws and the Jaws ripoffs by having crappy cgi sharks launch itself out of no where to stupidly chops on the nearest sailors. God you could make a drinking game out of it. Take a shot for every shark you see. Which won’t kill you, because there were NOT ENOUGH SHARKS!!

^The sharks should have been like this. The sailors literally should have been like waist deep in sharks. There were a lot of fucking sharks. And yet! There weren’t any. The sharks only decided to freaking rocket launch themselves out of the water when it’s time for a jump scare, on any old person they can fine. And maybe the reason they decide to throw themselves to the nearest pound of flesh instead of going for the closest dead body is because

D ) THERE WERE BARELY ANY SURVIVORS!!!

Seriously! When the ship sank there were 800 sailors left in the water, We only see 60. TOTAL! Not even random background sailors. It was just Nick Cage’s group, then a separate group of 30 people, and random boats here and there. God how could they have fucked this up! I don’t know if it was just, not in the budged to hire more people or what, but you can still get somebody. Show the survivors dammit!

It pisses me off because this could have easily solved their shark problem. Because if there were more people, you can see the sharks eat/take the dead bodies. Then when there is a ton more sharks, see them go after the injured and dying. Like, having screams constantly while sharks pick people off left and right, even if it is just background characters, would build so much more tension than just “guys have a good laugh, talk, and support each other, send the shark for the jumpscare.”

I will give the movie this though: While I feel like the majority of the ending was unneeded, I do respect that they have little end-cards for what happened to the character’s historical counterparts, as well as come footage of some of the survivors describing the experience.

Overall: Don’t watch it. If you wanted to watch it for the actual historical event, watch something else. They made note of smaller historical facts while completely screwing up the actual main event with the sharks. You can find better documentaries Here, Here, Here, Here, and Here. The last one has a clip of the special that I I saw originally and while you do have to pay to see it (Here), it is very well done.

And If you want to watch a “so bad it’s good movie” then maybe it fits the bill, but I just honestly don’t think it’s worth it. The editing and pacing will give you whiplash. The CGI takes you out of the zone. Nick Cage tried his best, but not even his enjoyable presence could save the film. They make for a great movie to rag on, but having it be on an actual historic event like this just leaves a bad taste in my mouth

#dafukblog #dafuking films #uss indianapolis #uss indianapolis: men of courage #men of courage #shark #sharks #navy #week 4 movie

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staurtrubinguideblog-blog · 4 years

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Cyber Security

In the early long periods of cyberattacks, associations would hold back to be assaulted before they built up a thorough arrangement and reaction to the assailant. The assault would render the associations' system nearness pointless and down for a considerable length of time. A few reasons cyberattacks could seriously injure a system in the beginning of this vindictive conduct are insufficient focused research on shielding and forestalling and the absence of a planned exertion between private industry and the legislature.

Since the main notable and wide spread cyberattack in the mid-1990's, numerous experts in broad daylight and private associations have determinedly been considering and dealing with the issue of cyberattacks. At first security organizations like Norton, McAfee, Trend Micro, and so forth moved toward the issue from a receptive stance. They knew programmers/noxious aggressors were going to strike. The objective of what is currently called Intrusion Detection Systems (IDS) was to recognize a malignant aggressor before an enemy of infection, Trojan pony, or worm was utilized to strike. In the event that the assailant had the option to strike the system, security experts would dismember the code. When the code was dismembered, a reaction or "fix" was applied to the tainted machine(s). The "fix" is currently called a mark and they are reliably downloaded over the system as week by week updates to protect against known assaults. In spite of the fact that IDS is a cautious stance, security experts have gotten substantially more complex in their methodology and it keeps on developing as a component of the munititions stockpile.

Security experts started taking a gander at the issue from a preventive point. This moved the cybersecurity business from cautious to hostile mode. They were currently investigating how to forestall an assault on a framework or system. In light of this line of reasoning, an Intrusion Prevention Systems (IPS) called Snort (2010) was before long presented. Grunt is a mix IDS and IPS open source programming accessible for FREE download. Utilizing IDS/IPS programming like Snort permits security experts to be proactive in the cybersecurity field. In spite of the fact that IPS permits security experts to play offense just as barrier, they don't become complacent nor do they quit observing crafted by malignant assailants which fills inventiveness, creative mind, and development. It additionally permits security experts that shield the cyberworld to remain equivalent or one stride in front of assailants.

Cybersecurity additionally plays a hostile and cautious job in the economy. In its cybersecurity business, The University of Maryland University College (2012) states there will be "fifty-thousand employments accessible in cybersecurity throughout the following ten years." The school has been running this business for over two years. At the point when the business initially started running they cited thirty-thousand employments. They have clearly balanced the figure higher dependent on concentrates just as the administration and private industry distinguishing cybersecurity as a basic need to guard basic framework.

Cybersecurity can play monetary barrier by ensuring these occupations which manage national security concerns and should remain the in the United States. The cybersecurity business is driven by national security in the administration domain and licensed innovation (IP) in the private business space. Numerous U.S. organizations grumble to the administration about outside nations howdy jacking their product thoughts and creations through state supported and composed wrongdoing programmers. Given that remote nations overlook state supported national security and protected innovation assaults, it would be to the advantage of organizations to discover human capital inside the shores of the United States to play out the obligations and assignments required.

In all out attack mode side, Cybersecurity can prod advancement and increment the ranges of abilities of occupants in provinces like Prince George's County, Maryland which sits in the focal point of Cybersecurity for the territory of Maryland and the country. Sovereign George's Community College is the home of Cyberwatch and the focal center point for cybersecurity preparing and best practices that gets pushed out to other junior colleges that are a piece of the consortium. The objective of these junior colleges is to adjust the training offered to understudies with aptitudes that organizations state are should have been "workforce prepared." It is additionally a rich enlisting ground for tech organizations the nation over to recognize and employ human money to put on the forefronts of the U.S. battle in cybersecurity. As Maryland Senator Barbara Mikulski (2012) says, the understudies are prepared to be "cyberwarriors" and thusly workforce prepared.

All in all, cybersecurity has made some amazing progress since the advanced hacking instances of the 1990's (Krebs, 2003). These cases carried attention to the requirement generally advantageous and most splendid to enter the field of PC and system security to devise methodologies and procedures to guard against "awful entertainers" that would utilize innovation to submit vindictive acts. Since PC and system security require STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) aptitudes, the pool of U.S. conceived candidates is directly little. This presents a monetary improvement open door for districts that utilization their junior colleges as innovation preparing grounds that are firmly lined up with innovation organizations who need the human capital. The larger objective of the partners is to create "workforce prepared" understudies.

#staurt rubin

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soft-sea-lanterns · 5 years

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The Portal

Chapter two!

I’m not set on a title yet so I changed it to this for now.

The first thing Grian noticed was that he got incredibly nauseous while in the portal, his mind felt like it was being ripped open and torn to pieces.

But it ended as quickly as it started. He landed on the ground, dry heaving and gasping for breath. He held his head, groaning before looking up.

He couldn’t tell where he was until he saw one of the many shops the hermits had made over time. He smiled but felt slightly embarrassed. He got so nervous about a creepy portal and all it did was send him back to the shopping district. He got free diamonds too! It was a win!

He coughed and sat on his knees, gathering a bit of strength before pushing himself up to stand. He brushed off his pants and looked around, it was pretty quiet. He grabbed his fireworks and launched into the air, looking over the shops.

Something felt..different but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly. That’s until he looked in the direction of his pickle shop and he felt immediate dread.

His pickle shop was gone! All of it! Not even a trace that it was once there. He quickly landed, stumbling a bit and running a hand through his hair!

Was this some sort of prank? It had to be! Yeah, that’s why concorp distracted him with a dumb portal and made it look creepy just to sell it. He huffed, but it didn’t explain it exactly. How did they take it down so quickly? And why? He worked hard on it and they just destroyed it.

He grabbed his fireworks again, preparing to go back to concorp and give them a piece of his mind. He launched off, gliding over the district until another thing shocked him.

Nononono- Sahara was gone too! Nothing was there, just uneven terrain. Why would they grief him? Sure he did pranks on the other hermits all the time, but he never destroyed their builds!

His chest hurt and he didn’t know what to do. He was distracted with the empty terrain until he heard fireworks go off above him. It was Mumbo!

Mumbo didn’t stop in shock at the lack of Sahara, he must’ve already known about it!

Grian jumped and set off with the help of a firework, following Mumbo quickly “MUMBO!!” He yelled.

Mumbo startled at the yell and it would’ve been funny if Grian wasn’t so panicked.

Mumbo landed, looking confused and a bit panicked.

“Mumbo!! Did you see what they did to Sahara?! It’s gone!! All gone!” He yelled and Mumbo winced.

“P-pardon me? Sahara?”

Grian rolled his eyes “of course Sahara what do you me-“

“Who are you?” Mumbo asked, looking uncomfortable. Grian was almost angry, how could Mumbo joke at a time like this?!

“Mumbo stop with the jokes! Sahara's gone- my shop is gone!” He yelled at him, “Take this seriously! Someone got rid of Sahara and we need to figure it out!”

“I Don’t know you!” Mumbo snapped, he felt bad being so rude to an obviously distressed man but they were yelling at him for no reason. Mumbo took a deep breath “I’m sorry er.. I’m not joking. I don’t know you”

Grian felt like he was punched in the gut, he looked at Mumbo with wide eyes before suddenly taking off, he needed to think.

***

Mumbo could only stare as the strange man flew off. He pulled out his communicator, sending a message to the other hermits.

MumboJumbo: I didn’t know there was a new hermit?

It was only a few seconds before he was getting a reply

Xisumavoid: What? There isn’t a new hermit. Why?

MumboJumbo: I just saw someone who I’ve never met before, he looked really distressed

Xisumavoid: What did he look like? This doesn’t sound good

MumboJumbo: Red sweater, messy brown hair and jeans. He knew my name, and was talking about something called Sahara then flew off

***

Xisuma was having a good day, there were no problems until Mumbo messaged the chat.

Now he has a possibly dangerous and distressed person in the server that they didn’t know, but the new person new Mumbo at least. This was awful.

He had to locate this person soon.

Xisumavoid: If anyone sees someone fitting the description Mumbo gave, try to at least talk to them

Xisumavoid: If they’re violent, take care of it how you feel fit

He ran a hand down his helmet and headed out, flying around with his elytra to try and find this person

***

Grian sent messages to the chat, but no one was responding. Was everyone playing some sick joke on him? He headed towards his base, hoping to find comfort in his parrots before another tragedy struck him.

His base wasn’t there, just like his shop and the Sahara. It was as if he had never built it. He looked down towards the water and even Squidward and spongebobs houses were gone! His ship in a bottle wasn’t even there. Well, technically the ship was there but all the glass that took him ages to make was gone.

Everything was gone

He took a sharp turn and was too distracted by his thoughts to realize he was headed for land fast.

He took a quick dip upwards but crashed into a tree. He landed onto the hard grass, gasping for breath as he started sobbing loudly. He didn’t care if he sounded bad, he’s sure he injured his arm on impact and he doesn’t dare move it.

He laid there and cried for a while until he felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped.

***

Joe wasn’t expecting to get such messages during his peaceful afternoon, he knew Xisuma was already stressed so his plan of action was to help find the stranger. Anything he could do to help would hopefully lift the load off his friends shoulders.

He headed out to look for the new person, Searching over the shopping district and around it, even near Mumbo’s base.

He searched for a while and was about the give up when he heard faint sobs. He was immediately heading towards it. He didn’t know if it was one of his friends since he was told the new person was distressed. So it could be them.

As he neared, he realized that it was, in fact the new person, they were laying next to a tree, arm bruised as laying limply beside them as their other arm covered their crying face. He was shocked but headed towards them slowly to not startle them. He bent down to his knees and put his hand on their shoulder.

It was probably not the best course of action as they flinched away but he gave them a calm smile as they looked at him with tears eyes.

“Howdy there! My names Joe Hills! And I uh see you hurt your arm there!”

The person looked up at them, sitting up and rubbed their eyes with their good arm, not even attempting to move the other one “I know who you are. Stop with the stupid prank!” He buried his face into his knees “You went too far! I worked hard on my base and do you know how long we took on The Sahara?!”

Joe didn't know how to respond, but this person needed to be calmed down “I swear this ain't a prank. You’re obviously in pain, let's fix that then we can talk, okay?”

He smiled when he got a hesitant nod in return.

“I think I have a potion of healing in my enderchest, you don’t mind waiting do ya?” When he got a shake of the head as a response he took off towards the shopping district, luckily it wasn’t far off so he could get to an ender chest quickly.

***

Grian watched as Joe took off, he said it wasn’t a prank, but still didn't know him. Joe would keep a prank going if it was hurting someone, right?

He tried to ignore the ache in his arm as he pushed himself to a nearby tree.

Mumbo didn't know him, Joe didn't know him. All the stuff he’s built is gone. What the hell was that portal?

Then it clicked.

The portal wasn’t a normal one. It sent him to a place he didn’t exist!

Wait, that sounded stupid when he thought about it. Was there really a portal that could do that? Apparently.

After a few minutes, Joe was back with the potion, still smiling though a bit nervous. He handed Grian the potion and as the injured man drank it he asked his question.

“Alrighty, Who are you?”

#hermitcraft #grian #xisumavoid #mumbojumbo #joehills #i really hate this chapter but whoopydedoo #its here #minecraft #hermitcraft fanfiction

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