#Black Audio Film Collective

[shihlun]

John Akomfrah / Black Audio Film Collective

- Handsworth Songs

1986

#Handsworth Songs #John Akomfrah #Black Audio Film Collective #british film #documentary #experimental film #1986 #hauntology #Mark Fisher

[2255115522]

still from Twilight City by Reece Auguiste

#black audio film collective #film

[tranakin-skywalker]

The padawans found out about it first, as padawans are wont to do. Getting into trouble without realizing the full extent of it, stumbling right into something so much larger than they could understand. In any other scenario it would have been fodder for their masters to tease their apprentices over and -later- rib one another with. But not with something like this.

Jedi, as a whole, didn’t tend to concern themselves with things such as the holonet. When there was a crisis somewhere out in the galaxy, they were typically brought into the know before even the news outlets were told, their response being what led the rest of the Republic forward.

There were of course those who would tune in to certain channels to watch their favorite soap operas, or catch up on the goings on in the parts of the galaxy outside of the Jedi’s jurisdiction, but it was really the younger generation who had any sort of presence on the ‘net.

So really, it shouldn’t have come as any surprise when a crowd of junior padawans and older initiates had gone running in search of Master Nu during their recreational time in the archives (or the several dozen senior padawans with their own personal access to the holonet who’d screamed across their quarters for their masters to come and see). 

It did not take long for the news to reach the Council members, who immediately called an impromptu session to watch and review. There were many angry holocalls sent out inquiring why the Jedi hadn’t been informed of this development sooner, mostly by Adi Gallia. There were also many headaches developed, also by Adi Gallia who both dealt and received.

Mace Windu also had one such headache, brought on by watching the recording for the fifth time- or was it the sixth now?

The image was grainy, implying poor equipment, but the shot held remarkably steady throughout which spoke to some level of familiarity with filming. The grandiose excess of a Hutt residence decorated the space, covering over hard packed adobe walls and tiled floors covered in a thin layer of sand. It was apparent that this was no Nal Hutta, but the exile planet of Tatooine. This was the domain of Jabba Desilijic Tiure and- to a lesser extent- Gardulla Besadii the Elder. 

Or it used to be.

The holo paned slowly over the large interior of the palace, lingering on the forms of a number of sentients, many of them scantily dressed, some of them no more than children, all of them with heavy collars around their necks. Some looked healthy, deceptively so, but there are others- thin with protruding bones, or open gaping wounds leaking out bodily fluids, and those missing whole limbs. The first few minutes were nothing but the camera moving through the inside of the palace, taking in the misery and the horror, from up in the audience hall all the way down to slave quarters deep below the palace.

There were other figures too- those dressed in dark desert weave and wearing a wide collection of masks over their faces. Some of them had what looked suspiciously like lightsaber hilts hanging from their belts.

They worked to remove the chains from the slaves while a voice spoke over the recording in Huttese. Mace wasn’t much familiar with the language, only understood a handful of words spoken. They were still working on getting the poor audio translated, but from what they were able to gather it was a rallying cry for other enslaved worlds to fight back.

The holo lingered a long moment on an opened metal collar, dried blood and bits of flesh stuck to the inside where it had rubbed skin raw. Then it cut suddenly, the screen black for a fraction of a second before suddenly illuminated with the blinding light of two suns.

The new perspective showed a town center of some sort, huge crowds of people gathered in streets and on the roofs of buildings, the camera panning down to capture the thousands of faces looking up toward the platform.

A slave auction block, they found out later.

The camera turned from the crowd to instead film the group standing atop the platform. There were more figures in black and brown, but unlike when they were within the palace, these had brightly colored cloth thrown over the rest of their attire, ponchos and scarves and wraps. Mace assumed there was some sort of cultural significance to it, but he didn’t know enough about the planet’s people to know for certain.

These, too, wore metal masks.

Beneath the desert suns it was easier to make out that most were fashioned into abstract animal faces, with fangs and horns and sweeping pieces that might have been feathers. All of them carried metal cylinders at their hips.

In the middle of the platform, surrounded by more masked guards with lit sabers in hand- colors a wash of oranges and yellows and greens and even one that looked pink- was Jabba the Hutt. Large gashes and lesions covered the expanse of his body, a heavy chain wrapped several times around his neck. It didn’t seem to be connected to anything- seemingly more of a humiliation rather than something to keep the Hutt confined.

The lightsabers pointed at him likely did well enough a job of that.

Standing between Jabba and the crowd was a lone figure in all black. If they were sweltering in the heat, they gave no indication of it, their long layers and heavy helmet seemingly inconsequential. It was a tall figure, humanoid and seemingly male in stature- though that was hard to tell beneath the dark clothing that seemed almost a parody of Jedi robes. The helmet they wore was dog-like, or at least that of a canine skull, with jaws that looked less like jaws and more like a muzzle. There was something altogether disquieting about the figure.

Tilting its head like a curious predator, the figure turned to look the camera lens dead on. It didn’t feel like someone looking into a camera, but like something looking straight through and into the view beyond.

Each time Mace had watched the recording, that single look managed to make hair prickle up on the back of his neck. An animal response.

The figure in black spoke in Basic, addressing the holo’s audience and not the crowd actually present. The voice that came out was distorted through a vocoder into something that was more hard and mechanical than organic, it was still distinctly male, and distinctly authoritative. The rest of the video would prove that this was likely the leader of the whole affair, but even in the opening minutes, it was easy to tell here stood the catalyst for all that would crumble down after.

“You say that slavery is illegal in your Republic,” the voice growled from behind the melted teeth of the dog’s jaw. “And you say that Tatooine is part of your Republic. Then what is this we stand on? What is it that the Hutt empire has made its fortunes off of? What your own halls hide and Senators pedal behind closed doors. Look at what you have turned your blind eyes away from.”

With a gloved hand, he reached to his belt and unclipped a black and gray hilt. “We will not let you look away.” He then turned to the crowd and raised the saber hilt high over his head, calling out something in a language that sounded nothing like Huttese. The crowd thundered back in unison.

The saber lit with a wash of red as violent as a wildfire.

Lowering his arm slowly, the man turned to finally face Jabba, his blade hungry and crackling at his side. He spoke again- softer this time- but still loud enough for the gathered populace to hear. Huttese again, Mace was pretty certain, something about punishment- or maybe it was justice.

For a split second on Jabba’s face there was a look of pure unfiltered terror- the sudden fear in falling with the knowledge that the ground was coming and coming up fast. 

Then that hungry blade slid easily into thick Hutt skin that couldn’t be cut by any other means, sinking into the hilt, fat bubbling and cooking with the heat of it.

Jabba made a noise that Mace never, ever wanted to hear again.

The man dragged the blade down- slowly- guts spilling out from where the Hutt was being unzipped like a field-dressed carcass, still wriggling. Jabba moved a lot less than someone being methodically disemboweled should, but that might have something to do with the dog-skulled man’s left hand being raised up like an open claw. Like he was pinning the crime lord in place with sheer will or- more concerningly- with the Force.

That obsidian black mask seemed to give a jackal grin as the red blade was pulled from the Hutt’s body and Jabba Desilijic Tiure was unceremoniously dropped to slowly die on the same platform where thousands of people had been bought and sold.

Stepping away from the smoking body, the Sith- for what else could this monster be but a Sith?- flicked his blade to the side as if trying to rid it of gore. A useless endeavor for a plasma blade, but there was something almost poignant about the move.

He stood facing the screaming, cheering crowd, but his head was tilted sideways just slight enough to look back at the camera from the inky black socket of the dog’s eye.

“You’ve spent long enough ignoring us. I suggest you start paying attention now.”

The feed cut to black.

#my writing #fic: groundwater #fic excerpt #ignore any spelling mistakes it's 2:30 am and i have not edited any of this

[ruminiscence]

Paris: A Year Abroad in a short film

Audio: "Burnt Norton" by Lana Del Rey, a rendition of the original poem "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot.

Where do I even start? Paris has wholly shaped me in ways I never imagined. We refer to Paris as the city of love, but I'm now more inclined to call it the city of art - which only leaves more room for love in your heart. There is so much to contemplate and appreciate in frequenting the vast array of art museums here - from the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and many more. Not only has my perspective on art expanded, but so has my worldview. That’s because art is truly everywhere in this city; art can be found in the walkable streets amidst the rich architecture, the fashionable outfits seen in daily life, and even the exquisite decor in stores and when you cheekily peek into Parisian appartments!

There's always something new to discover in Paris, I'm almost saddened at the thought of the things I've yet to discover or missed. The treasures to unveil in Paris move far beyond the typical tourist hotspots we all know and love. I am obsessed with Parisian boutiques; they are chic and unique (that unintentionally rhymed) in the best way possible. One of my favourites is La Tonkinoise à Paris, located in the 11th arrondissement. This particular arrondissmenet is the best in Paris to be honest, it holds a special place in my heart as I had the wonderful opportunity of living there, so perhaps you can say that I am somewhat biased. Still, I can confidently say that this animated, hip and creative neighbourhood is one everyone should have the chance to explore.

La Tonkinoise à Paris, owned by the lovely Chantal, is my favourite hidden gem in Paris. I had the pleasure of befriending Chantal as I ended up frequenting her store one too many times; I've garnered quite a collection over time. This boutique offers a wide range of eccentric and sustainable jewellery, with her earring creations being the show stoppers, in my opinion. Her jewellery is composed of rings, pearls, brooches, charms, and watches, all unearthed in flea markets and recycled. I love that every piece of jewellery indeed is a unique piece. The decor changes based on the season and theme of her new collections, making it an ever-changing and exciting shopping experience. This is honestly the best jewellery store I have ever been to in my life! I wish the pictures I took could do the jewellery and the boutique's decor justice, but it simply won't, I'm afraid.

Now, onto food, I genuinely need to figure out where to start here. My favourite authentic French restaurant would have to be 'Le Potager du Père Thierry', located in Montmartre. Although it's incredibly small, I love the cosy vibe; I feel like I can enjoy delicious food with friends without feeling surrounded by strangers. Surprisingly, it's also very quiet (yet packed) - I guess the food is just too distracting.

As of late, my favourite non-french restaurant has to be 'Big Black Cook' (let's ignore how inappropriate that pun is, though funny). It's located in the 2nd arrondissement and serves Caribbean food, my friend claims that it was the best meat she's had!

For brunch, I recommend Café Méricourt in the 11th arrondissement. Their green Eggs & Feta are absolutely incredible and quite innovative as far as brunch places go.

As for a boulangerie - seriously, anywhere, literally anywhere in Paris, go to your nearest bakery; there need not be a big fuss - you're in for a scrumptious baked treat regardless!

I'm ever so grateful for the chance to have lived in Paris for an extended period; you cannot appreciate Paris in its entire splendour from a mere short-term visit. The city is an actual work of art; art is everywhere in the city, from the street performers and musicians, the light filters through the trees, the city's many architecturally rich bridges, the picturesque cafés and boulangeries, the beautifully presented food, the way that the city's many different neighbourhoods each have their own distinct character and vibe. In Paris, art is everywhere.

#paris #short film #year abroad #france #travel #paris france #lana del rey #burnt norton #my film #film #fragments #memoirs #art #french art #boutiqueshopping #arrondissement #architecture #interior design #decor #decoration #parisian style #fashion #tour eiffel #montmartre #street art #parisian #louvre #musee d'orsay #french food #foodie

[toxicnotebook]

Full list of work SAG-AFTRA members will not do during the strike:

●Principal on camera work, such as: ○ Acting ○ Singing ○ Dancing ○ Performing stunts ○ Piloting on-camera aircraft ○ Puppeteering ○ Performance capture or motion capture work;

● Principal off camera work, such as: ○ ADR/Looping ○ TV Trailers (promos) and Theatrical Trailers ○ Voice Acting ○ Singing ○ Narration, including audio descriptive services except as the services may be covered by another collective bargaining agreement referred in the Notice to Members Regarding Non-Struck Work ○ Stunt coordinating and related services

● Background work ● Stand-in work ● Photo and/or body doubles ● Fittings, wardrobe tests, and makeup tests ● Rehearsals and camera tests ● Scanning ● Interviews and auditions (including via self-tape)

● Promotion of/publicity services for work under the TV/Theatrical Contracts, such as: ○ Tours ○ Personal appearances ○ Interviews ○ Conventions ○ Fan expos ○ Festivals ○ For your consideration events ○ Panels ○ Premieres/screenings ○ Award shows ○ Junkets ○ Podcast appearances ○ Social media ○ Studio showcases

● Negotiating and/or entering into and/or consenting to: ○ An agreement to perform covered services in the future ○ Any new agreement related to merchandising connected to a covered project ○ The creation and use of digital replicas, including through the reuse of prior work

● Performing on a trailer for a struck production or other ancillary content connected to a struck production

This strike effectively stops the ENTIRE entertainment industry. No shows. No movies. No premieres. No award shows. No fun little interviews. No signings at con. Nothing. Even the tabloids are going to be affected by this.

I just CANNOT imagine how greedy and short-sighted the AMPTP must be to think a dual strike is something they can outlast when many of the major studios are already experiencing serious financial trouble. You really think you can ride this out when the 2023 box office is already weak? When the 2020-2022 box offices were even weaker? When streaming services are just not growing anymore?

Who the fuck is going to watch whatever trash you come up with when there are no real names attached and no meaningful way to promote it?

It's just baffling.

Another excellent article: “Orange Is the New Black” Signalled the Rot Inside the Streaming Economy from The New Yorker

#SAG-AFTRA

[brokehorrorfan]

The Universal Classic Monsters Collection will be released on 4K Ultra HD (with Digital) in digibook packaging on October 3 via Universal. Designed by Tristan Eaton, the eight-disc set is limited to 5,500.

It includes 1931's Dracula, 1931’s Frankenstein, 1932’s The Mummy, 1933’s The Invisible Man, 1935’s The Bride of Frankenstein, 1941’s The Wolf Man, 1943’s Phantom of the Opera, and 1954’s Creature from the Black Lagoon.

All eight films are presented in 4K with HDR10. The Spanish version of Dracula is also included. Special features are listed below, where you can also see more of the packaging.

Dracula is directed by Tod Browning (Freaks) and written by Garrett Fort (Frankenstein), based on Bram Stoker’s 1897 novel. Bela Lugosi, David Manners, Helen Chandler, Dwight Frye, and Edward Van Sloan star.

Dracula special features:

Alternate score version by Philip Glass

Dracula (1931) Spanish version directed by George Melford

The Road to Dracula

Lugosi: The Dark Prince

Dracula: The Restoration

Dracula Archives

Monster Tracks

Trailer gallery

Transylvanian vampire Count Dracula bends a naive real estate agent to his will, then takes up residence at a London estate where he sleeps in his coffin by day and searches for potential victims by night.

Frankenstein is directed by James Whale (The Indivisible Man) and written by Garrett Fort (Dracula) and Francis Edward Faragoh (Little Caesar), based on Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel. Colin Clive, Mae Clarke, John Boles, and Boris Karloff star.

Frankenstein special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Rudy Behlmer

Audio commentary by historian Sir Christopher Frayling

The Frankenstein Files: How Hollywood Made A Monster

Karloff: The Gentle Monster

Universal Horror

Frankenstein Archives

Boo!: A Short Film

100 Years of Universal: Restoring the Classics

Monster Tracks

Trailer gallery

Dr. Frankenstein dares to tamper with life and death by creating a human monster out of lifeless body parts.

The Mummy is directed by Karl Freund (Dracula) and written by John L. Balderston (Dracula). Boris Karloff, Zita Johann, David Manners, Edward Van Sloan, and Arthur Byron star.

The Mummy special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Paul M. Jensen

Audio commentary by Rick Baker, Scott Essman, Steve Haberman, Bob Burns, and Brent Armstrong

Mummy Dearest: A Horror Tradition Unearthed

He Who Made Monsters: The Life and Art of Jack Pierce

Unraveling the Legacy of The Mummy

The Mummy Archives

100 Years of Universal: The Carl Laemmle Era

Trailer gallery

An Egyptian mummy searches Cairo for the girl he believes is his long-lost princess.

The Invisible Man is directed by James Whale (Frankenstein) and written by R.C. Sherriff (Goodbye, Mr. Chips), based on H.G. Wells’ 1897 novel. Gloria Stuart, Claude Rains, William Harrigan, Dudley Digges, and Una O'Connor star.

The Invisible Man special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Rudy Behlmer

Now You See Him: The Invisible Man Revealed

Production Photographs

100 Years of Universal: Unforgettable Characters

Trailer gallery

A scientist finds a way of becoming invisible, but in doing so, he becomes murderously insane.

The Bride of Frankenstein is directed by James Whale (Frankenstein) and written by William Hurlbut. Boris Karloff, Colin Clive, Valerie Hobson, and Elsa Lanchester star.

The Bride of Frankenstein special features: 

Audio commentary by film historian Scott MacQueen

She’s Alive! Creating The Bride of Frankenstein

The Bride Of Frankenstein Archive

100 Years of Universal: Restoring the Classics

Trailer gallery

Dr. Frankenstein, goaded by an even madder scientist, builds his monster a mate.

The Wolf Man is directed by George Waggner (Operation Pacific) and written by Curt Siodmak (I Walked with a Zombie). Claude Rains, Warren William, Ralph Bellamy, Patric Knowles, Bela Lugosi, and Lon Chaney Jr. star.

The Wolf Man special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Tom Weaver

Monster by Moonlight

The Wolf Man: From Ancient Curse to Modern Myth

Pure in Heart: The Life and Legacy of Lon Chaney Jr.

He Who Made Monsters: The Life and Art of Jack Pierce

The Wolf Man Archives

100 Years of Universal: The Lot

Trailer gallery

Larry Talbot returns to his father's castle in Wales and meets a beautiful woman. One fateful night, Talbot escorts her to a local carnival where they meet a mysterious gypsy fortune teller.

Phantom of the Opera is directed by Arthur Lubin and written by Eric Taylor (The Ghost of Frankenstein) and Samuel Hoffenstein (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde). Claude Rains, Nelson Eddy, Susanna Foster, and Edgar Barrier star.

Phantom of the Opera special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Scott MacQueen

The Opera Ghost: A Phantom Unmasked

Production Photographs

100 Years of Universal: The Lot

Theatrical trailer

An acid-scarred composer rises from the Paris sewers to boost his favorite opera understudy’s career.

Creature from the Black Lagoon is directed by Jack Arnold (The Incredible Shrinking Man) and written by Harry Essex and Arthur A. Ross. Richard Carlson, Julia Adams, Richard Denning, Antonio Moreno, Nestor Paiva, and Whit Bissell star.

Creature from the Black Lagoon special features:

Audio commentary by film historian Tom Weaver

Back to the Black Lagoon

Production Photographs

100 Years of Universal: The Lot

Trailer gallery

A group of scientists try to capture a prehistoric creature luring in the depths of the Amazonian jungle and bring it back to civilization for study.

Pre-order Universal Classic Monsters Collection.

#universal monsters #dracula #frankenstein #the mummy #creature from the black lagoon #the wolf man #bride of frankenstein #phantom of the opera #the invisible man #horror #classic horror #dvd #gift #the bride of frankenstein #tristan eaton #wolf man

[ateleen]

Characters And Listeners Headcanons - Scythe Audios Edition.

━━━━━━━ •♬• ━━━━━━━

Some headcanons I have in mind and wanted to share until Scythe releases a new video.

(The incorrect quotes are in progress.)

━━━━━━━ •♬• ━━━━━━━

I have a strong feeling that Livana has a knife collection. (Which Alpha bought it as a gift.)

Dark Rose and Vallakay totally had a black cat back 20 years ago when they started dating. (can't change my mind.)

Cheeky is learning Spanish from Wilder (after lots of beggings) just so they could gossip or talk shit about others. L is also tired of it.

Demon Girl is highly interested in the world of alchemy and potions but has never had the opportunity to explore her curiosity in this field.

I don't know, but I have a feeling that Goddess hates every listener (except for Dark Rose) for no reason.

JayJay would copy Twinkle's moves, again, for no reason.

Siren would spoil Sweet Cheeks with his cooking and would make sure she had three meals a day.

Floofster, Kreed, The Chosen, Marcus, and Cole would have a film marathon, only for Kreed to comment every time while Marcus and Floofster curse him out. (The Chosen would be indifferent and Cole sleeps the entire time.)

L, V, Wilder, and Cheeky would play Uno, just so V can cause drama.

Witch (from the Incubus series) likes to write poems for herself and would give some of them to her boyfriend.

When Gray has a break from training, they stay in the forest and gaze around for hours.

━━━━━━━ •♬• ━━━━━━━

If you have any headcanons in mind, I would love to hear them. Please feel free to share them with me in my inbox.

#scythe audio #v #siren #hunter #jay jay #atrocity #headcanon

[jungk0oksthighs]

Over The Odds | The Argument 

Pairing - jungkook x reader

Genre - angst, smut, fluff, S2L, ceo!jungkook, sugardaddy!jungkook

Word count - 1.4k

Drabble 10 - (As requested by multiple readers hehe) The last time you saw Jungkook

warnings: angsty, swearing, mentions of sex

FULL SERIES COLLECTION

Three Weeks Ago 

Jungkook stands in front of you in the open space of his dark lounge, you’re sitting on the sofa cross-legged and teary eyed as you both watch the news in horror. Toying with the hem of your white t shirt you can’t stop the cries from cascading down your cheek, the tape has been leaked to the public.

“Taehyung will fix this, he’ll get it deleted,” Jungkook nods as he reassures himself, eyes glued to the television, news reporters going into vivid details about your final night in Bora Bora - including an audio clip of the conversation that followed some of the most intimate moments of your life, “He’s the best attorney money can buy, I’m not just saying it because he’s my friend he’s going to fix this—”

“How could you do this to me?” You whisper, gaze finally meeting his.

“You think I did this?” He’s hugely offended, his hooded eyes animatedly large and round, contrasting to his sharp set jaw, “You actually think I did this?” His voice is raised.

Standing from the sofa you frown, “Did you send the video to one of your friends? Is that it? Is that how this has happened?” You want to believe he’s not capable of something like this but all the evidence is against him – he filmed the video, on his camera, he was the only one with a copy. “Was it just something to send to your group chats? Is that what it was to you?”

“That video was for me and you, nobody else—”

“Then how has this happened?! Explain to me why it’s all over the internet!” Your heart hammers inside your chest as you scream, thrashing your arms about as adrenaline courses your veins.

At this Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself down, “I-, I don’t know.” He exhales, ridding himself of his grey hoodie before he throws it on the sofa, leaving him stood wearing a plain black t shirt.

“Bullshit.” You spit, “You’re the only one who had the video, you expect me to believe you didn’t have something to do this?”

“Why would I do something like this? Hm? Financial gain? Last time I checked I don’t need the money. So what other reason would I have to do this?”

“You tell me.” You scoff, shrugging as you wipe away your tears.

The realisation that you genuinely believe he’s the one to blame suddenly dawns on him, he’s shocked and insulted to say the least, “Y/N I didn’t fucking do this, why would I want anybody to see that video? I’m on it too.”

“Right,” You laugh, though there’s no humour in your tone, “Because this is going to end so badly for you. The only thing that’s going to happen to you is now everybody knows that you’ve got a big cock, guys are going to high-five you and congratulate—”

“Stop it.” Jungkook bites, “I didn’t leak the video.”

“You know what will happen to me?” You’re furious as you continue ranting, wiping your cheeks with shaky hands, “I’ll be known as the slut that billionaire playboy Jungkook fucked. I’m just another name in your little black book! The sugar baby that he spanked in a beach hut—”

“I said stop it!” His voice is louder, “You’re my girlfriend, I’m not going to let that happen.”

“It’s already happened!” You shriek, “I wasn’t your girlfriend in Bora Bora, the media already know what our situation was back then it’s all anybody’s been talking about for the past two days. It’s all over the fucking news Jungkook! The news!”

“You don’t think I know that?!” He growls, “You think this is easy for me? Knowing that people have watched that video?” He’s pacing the room now, fingers pushing his hair back in a hurry.

“Oh I’m so sorry that you’re having a hard time, it must be so difficult knowing that the whole world knows you’re good in bed!” You know you’re being irrational with him, you know it’s hard for him to digest the events of the past three days but you can’t bring yourself to look past the fact he’s the one who’s done this.

“Y/N.” He laughs unamused, shaking his head in disbelief, “Nobody feels worse about this than me.”

“What about me?” You’re quiet, “Do my feelings mean nothing to you?”

“Of course not! That’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean Jungkook? You think that you’re worse off than me in this situation? Knowing that men have watched that thing and… I feel violated. I feel sick. I haven’t slept because I know that it’s spreading like wild fire, I can’t even get into my apartment building without the paparazzi asking me for more adult content.” You’re sobbing now, your breath shaky and shallow.

“You think I don’t feel violated?!” His voice is hoarse as he yells, staring down at you with a face of thunder, “Somebody has leaked a video of me having sex with my girlfriend, not some random girl I don’t care about - my girlfriend. I feel disgusted that people are watching that thing and ogling you without your consent. My fucking parents are devastated, I’m devastated, why don’t you understand that this is hard for me too?!”

“You really expect me to believe that you’re not responsible—”

“You know what? Yeah. I do expect my girlfriend to believe me when I say that I didn’t do this, and the fact you don’t says a lot about what you think of me.”

“Why else would you want to film us in the first place?” You can barely make out his face through your tears, he’s standing two feet away with an expression that can only be described as hurt. “Did you plan for this to happen?”

“Don’t,” He warns, refusing your questions, “In hind sight, it was a fucking stupid idea. If I could go back and change it trust me I would.” There’s a moment of tense silence before he opens his mouth to speak again, “Y/N this wasn’t me, I didn’t do this, I could never do something so… disgusting and inappropriate to you.”

“Disgusting and inappropriate…” You repeat, swallowing the lump in the back of your throat, “You mean like when you wanted to pay me for sex thirty minutes after meeting me?”

At this Jungkook stills entirely, it’s his turn to cry now – he stands in front of you with watery eyes, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth as though that will catch his emotions before they escape, “That’s enough.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence, you’re rightfully upset and angry but even you know that was too far. You try to steady your breathing, toying with the idea of apologising before his words interrupt your thoughts.

“You really think I did it don’t you? That I leaked the video?”

No words are exchanged, instead you nod slowly and look away from his desperate profile, settling your gaze back to the television which is still reporting the story about you both. For obvious reasons the video can’t be aired on TV, so the news stations have settled for a screenshot of you laying beside each other in bed, his arm draped over your waist as he was about to confess his feelings for you, dazed and fucked-out beneath the sheets.

“But what I don’t understand is why…” Your voice is merely a whisper, “Why you would string me along for so long, just to publicly humiliate me break my heart.”

“If you genuinely believe I’m capable of this, you really don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” You grab your bag from the sofa and throw it over your shoulder, looking him dead in the eye for what you assume will be the last time, “I guess I don’t.”

“Y/N wait.”

You don’t look back.

Jungkook watches you leave his apartment with an aching heart, no sooner than you’re hidden behind the golden doors of the elevator he breaks down, sinking to the ground in floods of salty tears. Unbeknownst to him you too are bawling your eyes out as you exit the building, hiding your face from the dozen camera men that wait for you outside.

It’s over.

x

#oto #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook series #jungkook fic #jungkook ff #jungkook reaction #jungkook scenarioes #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader angst #jjk angst #jjk series #jjk ff #bts angst #bts series #bts fluff #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook bts #boyfriend jungkook #ceo!jungkook #sugardaddy!jungkook #sugar daddy bts

[batmannotes]

Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom 4K Ultra HD Review

Jason Momoa reprises his role as the King of the Seven Seas in Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, which comes 5 years after the original film was released. Once again Aquaman’s most notable rogue, Black Manta, is back seeking revenge for his deceased father. This time, Manta wields the power of the mythic Black Trident to unleash an ancient and sinister force. Hoping to end his reign of terror, Aquaman makes an unlikely alliance with his brother, Orm, the former king of Atlantis. Setting aside their differences, they join forces to protect their kingdom and save the world from irreversible destruction. 

I must admit, even though I consider myself a superhero aficionado, it has been 5 years since the first solo Aquaman flick hit the theaters and remembering certain details regarding the movie were hazy for me at best. Fortunately, there are flashbacks to some of the pertinent moments from the first outing. As in the original movie, there is a healthy dose of action and adventure sprinkled with some hit and miss humor. I enjoyed the unlikely bond between the brothers, and it is hard to argue that Black Manta is one of the most iconic super villains to hit the silver screen in a comic book flick in recent memory. Unfortunately, Manta is paired with a far less interesting character named Dr. Shin (Randall Park) and a collection of henchmen and women with little to no depth in this underwater adventure.  

The visuals of this film are the real treat, and with the 4K format they really shine. The underwater computer-generated sequences are particularly aesthetically pleasing, but I really wish this movie stuck to scenes beneath the sea. There are tons of incredibly interesting creatures in the ocean that an Aquaman movie has yet to tap into. A number of times the movie gets caught trying to copy other films, particularly Star Wars, however, this movie lacks the interesting intertwining plot points and character development of the sci-fi classic. Even with the beautiful 4K eye candy most of its visuals project, there are the occasional, (Joss Whedon) Justice League-esque CGI that leaves you wondering, “where did that come from?”. I also did not care for Aquaman being out of his classic orange and green costume for most of the movie, as I felt that it robbed me of that superhero feel.

VIDEO QUALITY 📽️ :  A 

The 2160p transfer looks glorious, even with the aforementioned lackluster CGI in a few limited sequences. This liquid beauty really carry the visual end of this film. 

AUDIO QUALITY 🔈 : A 

The Dolby Atmos English: Dolby TrueHD 7.1 (48kHz, 24-bit) really is a treat for the listener at home. The dialogue is clear, and the action sequences are bombastic as you are immersed deep into the sea of this film. 

EXTRAS 📀 :  B 

Included with this single disc release is a Digital Copy and several video extras listed below: 

Finding the Lost Kingdom (21:22) - Jason Momoa, director James Wan, DC honcho Jim Lee, production design Bill Brzeski, and other key members of the cast and crew are your guides at this usually scenic behind-the-scenes featurette, which includes bits and pieces of on-set footage and others supportive clips. 

Aquaman: Worlds Above and Below (9:39) - A like-minded look at various locales on both sides of the surface that covers special effects, location shoots, and Aquaman lore by way of a few vintage comics. 

Atlantean Blood is Thicker than Water (4:17) - A short but sweet look at the history of Arthur and his half-brother Orm, again with some comics history and short interviews with Momoa and Patrick Wilson. 

It's a Manta World (10:08) - Another character-focused featurette, this short piece sits down with Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and others to speak about David Kane, Black Manta, the power suit, and more. 

Necrus, the Lost Black City (5:51) - James Wan, producer Peter Safran, Bill Brzeski, and others chat briefly about the titular lost kingdom, its visual creation, and its history in the franchise. 

Escape from the Deserter World (8:05) - Another like-minded featurette about the location -- or in this case, sequence -- featured in the film, a handful of familiar faces share about its creation and execution while being supported by behind-the-scenes footage, concept art, rehearsals, costume and set design, and more. 

Brawling at Kingfish's Lair (4:07) - A quick look at one of the film's many visually overloaded action scenes and some of the goofier details and supporting characters featured in it. 

Oh, Topo! (2:12) - And speaking of goofy supporting characters, this short and light-hearted tribute acts as an appreciation and highlight reel for everyone's favorite comedy relief cephalopod. 

FINAL GRADE: C- 

The only real emotions drawn from this bloated outing are the reconciliation between two brothers and the love for their mother. Aquaman should have submerged deeper into the sea, instead of trying to mimic the tales of old from the land above. 

Order now from Amazon.

#aquaman #movie #review

[antimonyandthyme]

maxiel snippet

set in the same verse as spring cleaning

Take It Easy’s playing in the background. Old people music, Max complained, even though he’s singing along in the video, as clear as day. The lighting’s a little shit, and Daniel hadn’t bothered to clean the lenses before filming. The scene focuses on the blank wall behind them, then Max’s hair, all mussed up as if someone had just run their fingers through it, then the blank wall again. When Daniel’s drunk (he is), he likes to think of himself as quite the cinematographer.

“Put that down,” comes Max’s grumpy voice. Three beers in and his smile is all lopsided. He’s got the most adorable alcohol flush going, though Max will get all huffy if Daniel says it to his face. It’s a look that comes out only when the rest of the world blurs away. Daniel zooms in on it.

“No way,” Daniel hears himself say. He doesn’t even remember why he says this. “If I sell this to the tabloids, do you know how much money I’ll make?”

“Fuck off.” Max is laughing, giggling, making grabby hands at the phone. All of this is still part of the video. “You’d have to be in this for it to make any kind of money.”

Max does this, says things like this. He stops Daniel from getting out of the car to collect takeout from the restaurant, because—

“You’d be recognized.”

“Me?” Daniel will roll his eyes, try to ignore the discomfort that comes with that implication. Not forgotten yet, not by Max’s standards at least. “You, I think.”

“No, you.” They’ve had this argument countless of times. “I’m just a driver.” There’s that small, silly smile again. “You’re special.” Like it’s a fact.

So Daniel keeps filming. “Come on, baby,” he hollers along to the Eagles, loud enough for the iPhone to register it as a squawk. “Don’t say maybe. I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.”

All to see Max curl up and flush raspberry dark. All to see him unfurl like a sunflower. He wants to show this to Max later. When they’re just a little more sober. Say, See how special?  

Too bad. Daniel’s thumb hovers over the delete button. He’s a better actor than a director anyway.

Max is bulldozing onward through the song, the only way he knows how. We may lose, we may win. Though we will never be here again.

“So open up, I’m climbin’ in,” Daniel says. The rest of it is lost as the phone is knocked to the ground. The screen goes black. It lies there, forgotten. The audio picks up the distant, soft sounds of kissing, and the video keeps running, and running, and running.

Daniel brings his thumb down. Click, gone.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #maxiel

[burlveneer-music]

Mort Garson - Journey to the Moon and Beyond - Sacred Bones' new collection of the synth pioneer's odds and ends

Like a perennial that returns with each new spring, the Mort Garson archives (Plantasia, Ataraxia, Lucifer) have brought to bear yet another awe-inspiring bloom. Journey to the Moon and Beyond finds even more new facets to the man’s sound. There’s the soundtrack to the 1974 blaxploitation film Black Eye (starring Fred Williamson), some previously unreleased and newly unearthed music for advertising. Just as regal is ���Zoos of the World,” where Garson soundtracks the wild, preening, slumbering animals from a 1970 National Geographic special of the same name. The mind reels at just what project would have yielded a scintillating title like “Western Dragon,” but these three selections were found on tapes in the archive with no further information. The crown jewel of the set is no doubt Garson’s soundtrack to the live broadcast of the 1969 Apollo 11 moon landing, as first heard on CBS News. That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for Moogkind. For decades, this audio was presumed lost, the only trace of it appearing to be from an old YouTube clip. Thankfully, diligent audio archivist Andy Zax came across a copy of the master tape while going through the massive Rod McKuen archive. So now we get to hear it in all its glory. Across six minutes, Garson conjures broad fantasias, whirring mooncraft sounds, zero-gravity squelches, and twinkling études. It showcases Mort’s many moods: sweet, exploratory, whimsical, a little bit corny, weaving it all together in a glorious whole.

#mort garson #electronic #synthesizer #sacred bones #2023 #70s #Bandcamp

[shihlun]

Jah Shaka in the Black Audio Film Collective's 1986 film "Handsworth Songs".

#John Akomfrah #Black Audio Film Collective #Jah Shaka #Handsworth Songs #documentary #experimental film #1986

[yetihideout]

Favorite Albums

Music Composed And Performed By Goblin: Their Rare Tracks & Outtakes Collection, 1975-1989, Goblin

My favorite compilation from Goblin, the prog rock, synthesizer masters who became famous thanks to their contributions to the soundtracks for Dario Argento’s Deep Red and Suspiria as well as George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead. Often super-charged and kinetic, but also possessing the ability to be slow, atmospheric and moody, this group epitomizes the nature and energy of horror: from the otherworldly and terrifying soundscapes of Suspiria to the beautiful, thoughtful love theme from the obscure St. Helens (not a horror film, but dramatic nonetheless.)

Goblin is, without argument, one of the most influential artists to the world of horror music – no doubt influencing John Carpenter’s simple piano-driven theme to Halloween (listen to Goblin’s title track from Deep Red and compare) to the current crop of synthesized themes in films and series like Turbo Kid, It Follows, Drive, Stranger Things and many others.

These are all babies born of Goblin!

Silk & Soul, Nina Simone

My favorite album by my favorite vocalist for reasons that are inexplicable to me. This is the album that I play most often – perhaps it’s the odd variety of songs chosen (although all of the material in the Simone archives are from an astonishing range of disparate and unique sources). Historians would consider “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free” to be the signature song from this album, but I find her brief tale of simple, matter-of-fact racism explained in “The Turning Point” to be much more devastating, perhaps since it’s told from the point of view of a child.

All of the songs are wrenching and even her revisions of Burt Bacharach’s “Look of Love” and The Association’s “Cherish” are re-ignited with a more appropriate longing and yearning that only Simone can express.

Creepshow, John Harrison

My favorite horror soundtrack of all time. There is something about the opening piano theme that appealed to me even when I first saw ads for the film on HBO as a child (I was much too scared to watch the entire film, but I would torture myself by at least watching the opening credits). The child-like piano tune with the taunting children voices was spooky, fun and surprisingly catchy. This album was a sort of Holy Grail of mine growing up and I would often watch the film just to hear the music. It wasn't until many years later that I was finally able to get a copy of the record. Each story in the film is brought to life by a signature sound – from the Gothic, piano-pounding revenge motif of “Father’s Day”, the melodic and secretive tone of “The Crate” to the minimal synth soundscape that perfectly applied to E.G. Marshall’s roach phobia and germ-free apartment from the “They’re Creeping Up on You” segment.

Each and every note is deliberate, brilliant and visual.

Bone Machine, Tom Waits

My favorite Waits album, probably for the simple reason that each song is like a tiny, separate horror tale embodied with an extremely visual style and brought to life by Waits’ rough, often inhuman voice. Each song is painted in charcoal black and tell stories about the hopelessness of...well...everything. “The Earth Died Screaming” is perhaps the most famous track from this album, but my personal favorite is the slow and mysterious “Black Wings” – a familiar tale of a neutral angel (or demon?) and his exploits, both good and bad. “Murder in the Red Barn” is an equally intriguing tale that one can easily visualize and it's peppered with ambiguous lyrics like, “there’s nothing strange about an axe with bloodstains in the barn - there's always some killin' you got to do around the farm.”

I like to look at Bone Machine as a sort of audio short story collection of tales that Roald Dahl, Richard Matheson or Robert Bloch might have conjured up.

Thighs and Whispers, Bette Midler

A rare album that I actually listen to all the way through. This 1979 album has a diverse range of songs, including a great version of “Millworker” from the Broadway play, “Working”, and some cute disco-fueled tunes like “Married Men” and “My Knight in Black Leather”. Each song has some moment that gives me shivers, or at least slight goose bumps. One of those moments is in the song, “Big Noise from Winnetka” when they sing the line, “Once she was picking up the big boys…now I’m pickin’ up my little kids’ toys”.

The whole album makes me feel really good with all of its emotional ups and downs...which, afterall, is basically what makes a perfect album. Right?

Cow Fingers & Mosquito Pie, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins

My favorite compilation of songs from the incredibly insane catalog of Hawkins. All of the favorites are here – “Alligator Wine”, “Hong Kong”, “Little Demon”, “There’s Something Wrong with You” and, of course, his most famous track – “I Put a Spell On You”. Every song is unleashed in his inimitable way, through screaming, shouting and lip-smacking gibberish. His work makes me scream with laughter. I find that listening to his albums is the perfect remedy to road rage…just “singing” along with Jay is incredibly cathartic and relaxing! Take him along with you on your next commute.

Who knew that spouting out silly words and making fart noises would become such a huge part of someone’s career? I’m totally in the wrong profession.

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), Eurythmics

Definitely the first official “album” I ever owned. Like most people of my generation, Annie Lennox mesmerized me in the music video for “Sweet Dreams” (which aired on MTV practically every few minutes). I was equally fascinated, terrified and hopelessly drawn to the pounding computerized beat, the throwback classical strings and Annie’s low, monotone delivery contrasting with her higher-pitched, "choir of angels"-type refrains. And who could forget her bizarre appearance? This is the perfect example of the power of the early 1980s music video: The song and accompanying video compelled me to purchase the entire album. I loved every single song on it – a rarity that I have not often found with other albums.

With the eerie “Love is a Stranger” and the hypnotic “Jennifer” to the ethereal, jungle beat of “I’ve Got an Angel” and the fun and goofy “Wrap it Up”, I had unknowingly set the stage for my musical tastes. 


Hooked on Classics, Louis Clark conducting The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

This was an album I remember being in love with as a young boy when I would play the cassette tape of it over and over again. It was a great entry point for classical music. The often goofy, pseudo-disco element that was added to the medleys of famous classical music provided a fun and punchy rhythm to the proceedings that was perfect for a child. I found a copy of the CD recently and discovered that the album is still a fun listen. The quick, “clapping hands” backbeat now reads very silly and one can envision the album being played during low-impact cardio exercises at a YMCA.

Though this album (as well as its sequels and spin-offs) has its vehement detractors, the album has a sweet innocence to it. It’s merely trying to make classical music a bit more accessible while not taking itself too seriously.

The Haunted Mansion, Disneyland Records

Though not officially an album by any means, this was a record I played quite often as a child. Accompanied by a terrific illustrated book that detailed the exploration of the famous Haunted Mansion of the Disneyland world, your narrator leads you through the famous scenarios from the ride. Though only running approximately five minutes or so, the adventure leaves your brain with indelible memories, probably the most startling being the bride with the visible, beating heart.

The B-side is what I remember the most from this album – a simple collection of sound effects, from moaning ghosts to the absolutely terrifying and intense sequence of a pack of dogs barking in the distance and getting louder...and ever so closer…

#Goblin #Nina Simone #Bette Midler #Eurythmics #Creepshow #John Harrison #The Haunted Mansion #Disney #Tom Waits #albums #Hooked on Classics #screamin jay hawkins

[biggestsimponhere]

I just heard an audio that goes like this:

Guy 1: Where are all the masculine men?

Guy 2 *dressed as a princess*: we are making a princess party.

And I think Kent would totally go to one,Enid would be totally down for it and would invite Ajax and he would be like: okay...?,Bianca would like wtf and maybe she laughs, Divina and Yoko would laugh and be like say whaaaat?, probably Xavier would join if Wednesday goes, Wednesday would bring a doll with no head or probably would cut one and maybe she drinks poison instead of tea, what do you think?

100 %, Kent definitely suggested the idea

He asked Enid first who agreed immediately and then ran to convince others

Enid asked Ajax first who was a little confused on why exactly that had her bouncing up and down

Bianca stood in the corner filming videos of the boys in princess dresses and crowns to use as blackmail (specifically on Xavier)

Divina definitely took less convincing than Yoko

Divina was the one who convinced Yoko

Xavier definitely only agreed because Enid said Wednesday was gonna be there though Enids puppy dog eyes work on anyone

Somehow Enid convinced Wednesday, Wednesday agreed as long as she could bring dolls (definitely not cause shes in love with her) (and she didn’t mention the dolls not having heads 😟)

Everyone was gathered around the small table Enid set up. It had placements for everyone and the tablecloth as long as silverware and napkins were all pink. Enid was already sat down in a pastel pink dress when Kent walked down the stairs to the nightshades library in a Easter shade of Blue. Divina followed shortly after in a teal. Then came Xavier who was in a dark green (everyone was surprised he even wore one). Xavier was followed by Bianca in a Scarlet and Yoko in a deep purple. Finally Wednesday came down in a black dress looking as amazing as ever.

Once everyone was sat down Enid poured “tea” it was really just some alcohol (someone had manages to sneak on campus) mixed with Strawberry lemonade. She also put out cookies she had made. Once everyone was a little buzzed they started playing card games. Starting with uno, Wednesday won four times. Enid won once, Xavier won twice, and Bianca won three times. Then moving onto Catan (if you’ve never played its basically a “resource” collecting game and you try to build your settlement up) Wednesday won that everytime.

Moving into Coup (its a very fun game, there’s multiple roles and tokens, it gets very competitive) Surprisingly Enid won that everytime. Ending with Monopoly, they played four times, Kent won first, then Yoko, then Divina and then Ajax. That last match ended with Xavier flipping the board. They stayed down in the library for quite a long time. Enid took a ton of photos before they all turned on a movie through the projector and then laid on the pillows, blankets and bean bag chairs Enid managed to bring down.

They turned on Moulin rouge which just turned into Karaoke with every song. Xavier, Ajax and Kent sang the Christians part, while all the girls sang Satines part (excluding Wednesday who said singing was “A childish form of passing time”). Once the movie was nearing the end all the girls except Wednesday weds crying, Xavier was crying too which had Ajax laughing at him. Enid hid in Ajax’s shoulder during the final couple of scenes. Kent was passing around the boxes of tissues (this movie has such a sad ending 😭).

Eventually they all decided they needed to get back to their dorms. As Xavier was the most sober he walked the girls back two at a time before going back to get Ajax and Kent. He also somehow ended up being the one cleaning the library but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he was gonna sleep anyways.

#wednesday kent #kent fisher #kent wednesday #wednesday #wednesday addams #xavier thorpe #bianca barclay #enid sinclair #divina wednesday #divina fisher #yoko tanaka #ajax petropolus

[magnetarmadda]

Rules: List Five Comfort Characters And Tag Five People. This is in no particular order.

Thanks to @dathen for the tag! We have two comfort characters in common, so I’m list them as the first two!

1. Sherlock Holmes - My dad and I started watching the old black and white films together when I was kid, and he gave me my first Sherlock Holmes collection when I was young. Holmes has always been a safe place for me, really, and now as an adult, I’m like...”yeah, no wonder I identified with this character a lot” lol. I regularly reread the ACD stories and semi-recently got an audiobook with the complete collected works, and someday my dad says he’ll let me have his collection of Holmes films lol

2. Murderbot - I would kill and die for Murderbot. It is one of my favorite characters of all time, and I am relistening to the whole series for the 10th time right now (and I regularly relisten to All Systems Red without returning to the whole series). if you haven’t read the books, please please please do and then come shout in my inbox about it, we will be best friends forever 💜

3. Hercule Poirot - my Belgian detective blorbo, I would kill for Poirot but he would be so disappointed in me. I also regularly relisten to the books, and I love that recent audiobooks have Hugh Fraser and David Suchet (Hasting and Poirot from BBC’s Poirot) narrating the books. I have a collected edition of the Poirot show, and I’m hoping to collect all the books in both audio and paperback so I can always have my blorbo nearby 💜

4. Jane Marple - are you seeing a theme here? I’m being called out by my own choices here lol. but she’s like nosy grandma core without actually being a grandma, and she’s whip smart and loves knitting and her people. I love her to pieces, and if anything happened to me, I’d want her to investigate (I’m also collecting her books and audiobooks. I have all of the BBC Marple show seasons, and next I’m going for the ones with Joan Hickson)

5. Jonathan Sims - my darling, my love, my ultimate blorbo. like dath, I considered not including him, but ultimately, I return to him over and over again, and when pressed, couldn’t think of someone else to put on this list instead of him. I keep putting him in situations so he can get a hug and a blankie 💜💜

Tagging @probsnothawkeye @exactly-myself @shinyopals @artificialdaydreamer @bluejayblueskies but no pressure darlings 💜💜

#typing out this list #I realized that at least I see everyone of these characters as aro and/or ace and neurodivergent #jon is ace in canon yes #and murderbot is hella aroace #and I know Holmes is regularly headcanoned as aroace and autistic #but like #holy shit all of my top five??? #and I didn't notice this about myself until right this moment???? #tag game #about me

[powpowpunchout]

Spending Time Together

Octave laid across the dark brown couch in his living room. His bare chest was pressed against the cushions, his feet hung off the armrest, and his face was buried in a pale yellow pillow. He shifted his legs around, trying to get comfortable, but his bruises flared up.

He dug his fingers into the cushion as he hissed to himself.

He doesn't care how much pain he’s in, he’s been lying in this position for hours, he can’t stay like this forever.

Octave pushed himself up. His arms felt like they were about to snap. His legs felt like they’d been set on fire. His whole body felt so, so heavy. Despite it all, he managed to turn around and lay on his back.

He let out quiet curses in between his slow, heavy breaths. He hated that. His body hated that. But he’ll take a few minutes of pain over staring at that stupid pillow for another second.

As he waited for the pain to fade, he turned his head and stared at the TV that stood across from him. His ‘old, clunky piece of junk’ as the seller he bought from called it. The shape of it was odd, sure, especially compared to the TV he’s seen at Aran’s place or the ones hanging on the walls at WVBA’s bar. It was boxier. Longer. It went just past his hips in terms of height, and a small screen took up the top half, while the built-in speaker took up the bottom. Despite how ‘clunky’ it looked, it still worked fine.

He could watch his old movies without a problem, he could turn it on and off no issue, the audio was almost alway clear, but those knobs…

He narrowed his eyes, trying to get them adjusted to the darkness.

He needed to fix those knobs. Eventually.

They weren’t completely broken, yet, but it was getting harder to use. He had to walk over, spin them around some, press them in, spin them around some more, then he’d get frustrated and shake the entire TV before he went back to spinning them again. Just thinking about all those steps was annoying him. He needed those knobs. He needed them to adjust the size of the picture on the screen so he could see the films normally.

Octave let out a long sigh.

If he had the strength, he’d turn the TV on right now, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

His stomach was still killing him.

He wasn’t sure if it was from the boxing match, or because he hadn’t eaten since he’d gotten home–oh, jeez, that match was yesterday. It felt much longer than that.

Octave clutched at his stomach.

It felt like someone was twisting a knife inside of him.

When was the last time he ate?

He remembered coming home, throwing his stuff aside and wanting to take a shower, but he only had enough energy to change into a pair of black shorts before collapsing on the couch.

Has he really been laying here for an entire day?

He probably reeks.

His stomach’s probably hurting because he’s hungry, but he wasn’t in the mood to get up and drag himself to the kitchen.

He let an arm dangle off the couch and touch the light beige carpet below.

Beige.

Browns and beiges. That’s all his living room consisted of.

The walls were beige, his carpet was beige, the tiles in his kitchen were beige, the counters? Beige. The small dining table was brown, its chairs were brown as well, as was the coffee table that sat between him and the tv. The end table pressed against the left side of his couch was brown, heck, every piece of furniture he had were all some shade of browns and beiges.

The only things that had any pop of color were his collections of old vinyls slipped into shelves, whatever decor he hung around the house, and the stack of old books and record covers atop his TV that looked seconds away from toppling over. Everything else though? Browns and beiges.

Tonight, though, his house had been consumed by the deep, cold violet of the evening.

It wasn’t often he got to see his living room washed in another color.

He brought his eyes up and saw a bright yellow streak of light going across his wall, hitting the string of decoration he had put up some time ago. They weren’t anything too fancy. Just pennon flags of boxers’ initials, old movie tickets, newspaper clippings of his past victories, simple things, but he liked them. He then glanced at the window beside the dark brown front door. It was cracked open, as were the blinds, allowing the headlights of his neighbor’s car to shine through. Idiot must’ve forgotten to turn the dang thing off–

The phone on his end table started to ring. Octave rolled his eyes and stayed put.

He’s not answering that.

Whoever’s calling this late can go rot.

He stayed still. His black candlestick phone shook with each loud ring.

It kept ringing and ringing and ringing.

And then it stopped.

And then it was quiet again.

He laid still, a cold but pleasing breeze hitting his face.

He looked at his body.

His poor, bruised body.

Even with how dark it was, he could still make out the disgusting purple marks across his chest. He–

The phone started to ring again.

Octave groaned and shoved the pillow into his face.

He stretched his arm out and felt around for the phone. He cussed when his fingers hit a sharp corner of the table. Great. Wasn’t like they were hurting enough.

His hand managed to find the table top. He continued to feel around, knocking off crumpled papers, an empty cup, and whatever else was on there before he finally felt the base of his phone.

His fingers traveled up before curling around the thin, cylindrical spine. He sat up, brought the phone to his face, tore the cone-shaped receiver away from its hooks, then pressed it against his ear.

“Yeah?” He said, tightly wrapping the phone’s cord around his finger in an attempt to ignore the surge of pain rushing through his body.

“Aye, Overload.” Aran said, his voice grainy, “Ye busy?”

“Yeah.” Octave tilted the phone so that the mouthpiece on top was closer to his mouth.

Aran clicked his tongue, “Awh, that’s too bad. I was hopin’ we could spend some quality time t’gether.”

Aran’s voice kept getting overpowered by… Something loud.

Octave ignored whatever Aran was saying and listened closely. It sounded like he was in a car, but that can’t be right, Aran’s license got revoked.

He kept listening.

Was that…

Was that cheesy 70s music?

“Aran–Aran are ya with Disco?”

“That obvious?”

“I can hear his stupid music through here. Why th’heck are ya with him?”

There was some shuffling around on the other side before Aran spoke again.

“He was jus’ drivin’ me back home is all. Wan’ me to tell ‘im ye said hi?”

“No.”

There was a bit more shuffling.

“O’erload says hi.” Aran’s voice was quiet, but Octave heard every word perfectly. Along with Disco Kid’s little ‘Hi!’

Octave groaned. Aran’s staticed snickered creeped through his ears.

“So, wan’ go out for a bite?”

“I’m hurtin’, Aran.”

“Sure y’are.” Aran said. Octave could hear the grin growing on his face. “C’mon, when’s th’last time we hung out?”

“I ain’t goin’.”

Octave heard Disco speak again, but he could hardly make out a word.  

“How bout tomorrow night then? Y’pick th’place, I’ll pay. My treat. It’ll be fun. See ye then.”

Aran hung up.

Octave sat there, hunched over, staring into the mouthpiece of his phone.  

He tightened the cord around his finger.

Whatever.

He can’t stay on this couch forever, and he needs to eat eventually.

It’ll be a good reason to finally shower too, maybe he could even dress decently. Maybe he does need a night out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Great Tiger lifted his head off a pillow. He opened his eyes and was nearly blinded by the sunlight. He hissed and looked away, only to see he was surrounded by more colorful pillows.

He slowly blinked.

Did he fall asleep during Bald Bull’s training last night? That’s embarrassing.

But this was Bull’s room. He doesn’t remember stepping foot into Bull’s room last night.

Did Bull carry him here? That’s even more embarrassing.

Tiger sat up, but a lock of his dark brown hair snagged onto something. He looked down and saw it got tangled around the beaded edges of a pink pillow. He grumbled as he placed the pillow on his lap and carefully pulled his hair free. After that was done, he ran his fingers through his hair–his face scrunched when he felt how tangled it was. That’ll be a joy to brush through.

Tiger then patted down his low, white v-neck long sleeve shirt. It looked horribly wrinkled. His loose, sand-colored, wide-legged pants weren’t as bad, thankfully–

His eyes scanned the bed.

Where in the world was his turban?

Where in the world was Bull?

His turban was surely… Somewhere… On this bed, but what about Bull?

He looked ahead and saw the thick, pastel purple curtains that surrounded the bed were parted at the very front. That allowed Tiger to peek into the bedroom. It also allowed that accursed sunlight to shine through and assault his poor eyes.

Tiger crawled towards the curtains and poked his head through. His brows lowered when he saw there were still no signs of Bull.

Bull wasn’t by his redwood dresser that was pressed against the wall getting clothes out, he wasn’t sitting on one of the colorful, patterned orange couches and cushions placed in the far right corner of the room, and when Tiger leaned a bit further to get a better look through the archway that led to the balcony, he couldn’t see Bull there either.

Tiger pressed his lips together. Perhaps Bull was already downstairs preparing breakfast? The sort of breakfast that was always far too sweet for Tiger to ever finish? The sort that always left a giant mess behind? That left behind a syrupy scent that lingered in the air for hours? It’s possible.  

However, before he checks down there, he needs to find his turban.

Tiger started digging through the pile of pink, yellow, purple, and who knows how many other colored pillows that buried Bull’s bed.

You know, Tiger could tell you every little thing about Bull’s room. He could tell you about the large, arched windows on both sides of the room, how you could get an excellent view of the garden and city on one side, while getting a wonderful look at the rich, neighboring forest and the wildlife that passed on the other. He could talk about the decorations for hours, from the mosaic lamps that hung from the ceiling on brass chains, to the strings of beads and cut paper that dangled from the walls. He could talk about the giant, round red rug in the center of the room with tiny, intricate, embroided patterns that could mesmerize you for hours. Oh, and the fabrics that were tied around the four large, elegantly carved, light-peach columns that were placed in each corner of the room? Magnificent.

He could ramble for hours about the fabric alone, honestly. The way they were tied to the tops of the columns and stretched across the ceiling? The way they met in the middle where a big mosaic lamp hung and circled around it? The way each fabric had such different colors and patterns from one another yet still harmonized? From magentas to purples to pinks, from stripes to speckles to plain, each one was splendid, and even more so when they were all tied together. And the way the sun bounced off them and tinted the tan floors and walls in a gentle hue of pink? The only word that he could use to truly describe the look of it all was: ‘Magnificent’.

The lamp in the center of the ceiling was broken, unfortunately. It’s been broken for as long as he can remember. He keeps offering to fix it, to fly over and change to bulb, but Bull always says he’ll change it himself. Eventually.

And Tiger may or may not have influenced Bull to hang up a tiger-patterned fabric.

He didn’t mean to!

He just made a comment one day, jokingly saying: ‘Oh? No tiger stripes? How disheartening.’ Or something along those lines, and the next time he came over, Bull happily pointed out his latest purchase. It honestly did make Tiger’s day. Even looking at the fabric now, a feeling of delight fluttered inside of him.

So many of Bull’s things had all sorts of stories to them, stories he’s told Tiger all about, and Tiger could spend all day sharing every single one of them with you, but if you asked him about Bull’s bed? Tiger would have no idea what to tell you.

He’s never seen Bald Bull’s bed before. It’s always been covered with pillows and thick, patterned blankets.

The bed sheet might be purple? But that could’ve been another pillow for all he knew.

And sure, even though the pile of pillows were comfortable, it’d be nice to sleep on an actual mattress. Something that didn’t snag his hair every time he tossed and turned. Bull always tells him that the pillows don’t tangle up hair that badly, but he’s not the one with hair going past his back.

Tiger sat up and put his hands on his hips. No luck finding his turban so far, and he did not want to spend the entire day looking for it.

He snapped his fingers. Then waited.

And waited.

Suddenly, his unraveled white turban teleported onto his lap. He smiled. A little bit of a delay,, but it still appeared! Perhaps his magic won’t be too much of a hassle this morning.

He got to his feet and started shuffling through the pillows as he carried his turban, wondering what Bull made for breakfast. Pancakes? Muffins? Did he order donuts again? Whatever it was, Tiger knew it was going to be delicious, and that he'd only have enough stomach to eat a single bite.  

Tiger felt his foot get caught underneath a blanket. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his balance, but as he fell closer and closer to the floor, he squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Teleport me back onto my feet!’ He told himself.

That’s all he needed.

To be back on his feet.

That’s all.

The sensation of magic sparked inside of him.

That familiar, sharp, cold sensation that started at the tips of his hands and feet and shot right into his chest.

Then the feeling of high winds started to hit his face, and though his eyes were closed, his vision was filled with an array of colors that swirled together and whirled past him.

His hair flew. His grip on the turban tightened. Everything got faster and faster–

And then it stopped.

His hair fell down to his back. The fabric drooped. And his feet touch the ground.

He breathed out then cracked an eye open.

“Ah.” He said as he saw he was no longer in the bedroom, but the kitchen. He’d be mad at this teleportation mess-up had it not been for the fact he wanted to be here in the first place.

Tiger’s mustache twitched. Plenty of sunlight came through the small window above the kitchen sink, and through the sliding glass doors nearby that lead to the backyard, leaving the kitchen perfectly lit and warm, the perfect conditions Bull loved to cook in, but despite that, the kitchen was completely spotless.

The umber countertops weren’t covered in batter or flour, none of the cream-colored drawers were open, the sink wasn’t filled with a mountain of dirty dishes–heck–all the clean dishes from yesterday were still untouched on the drying rack, and there weren’t any pots or pans sitting on the black stove. In fact, they were all still hanging on the metal rack above the kitchen island, which was also perfectly clean.

His eyes flickered to the light tawny shelves placed along the white tiled walls. The small bags of sugar, the little containers of baking soda and powder were unopened, the thin, cylinder baskets that held Bull’s cooking utensils looked unmoved. The only sign that Bull had ever stepped foot in here were the houseplants sitting on those same shelves; fresh water droplets adorning their leaves.

He caught a glimpse at the timer on the stove. 8 AM.

Tiger mindlessly started to circle around the kitchen island, the wooden floor creaked with each step he took as he stroked his beard and wondered where Bull could’ve gone off to.

He wrapped his turban into a tight ball and placed it inside the pocket of his pants as he slowed and brought his attention to the white pantry pressed against the wall. His eyes trailed down and landed on the small, chestnut-colored prep table sitting beside it. Bull was originally going to put it in the living room, but he kept forgetting, so here it remains, holding stacks of boxed snacks and an assortment of fruit.

He stared at the fruit, specifically at a red apple.

He flicked his wrist. The apple poofed away then reappeared in his hands. He smiled.

Then a banana teleported into his hands.

No, no, no he doesn’t want that vile thing. Put it away.

He glared at the banana. It teleported back onto the prep table.

The apple suddenly teleported back as well.

He huffed and flicked his wrist again. The fruit disappeared and…

Tiger’s head darted around.

Where the heck did they go?

He stopped when he spotted them sitting on top of the sleek, gray fridge, but before he had the chance to reach out for them, they poofed back onto the table. Again.

Tiger looked at the apple. He folded his arms, sighed, then hung his head in defeat as he did the walk-of-shame over to the table and picked up the fruit like a normal person.

‘Blasted magic.’ He thought to himself as he went over to the sink and washed the apple, ‘Hopefully it decides to wake up sooner than later.’

As soon as he went to bite the apple, he heard a phone ring. It sounded rather… Muffled.

Tiger’s eyes darted about. Was it coming from outside?

He turned to the small window above the sink and leaned close to it. He cracked open the blinds and peered through–Oh, Bald Bull! He’s out there!

Tiger set the apple aside and hurried to the glass doors.

“Good morning, Bull!” Tiger said as slid them open and stepped out onto the patio, the feeling of cold concrete against his bare feet was more than enough to wake him up.

“Ah–” Bull looked away from the chained punching bag that hung from the balcony overhead, “Morning.”

He wasn’t wearing a shirt–that was tossed over one of the many magenta cushions that surrounded the pale, wooden round table placed under the patio. His shorts a shade of warm purple that reminded Tiger of the jars of fig jam Bull kept in his pantry. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. Or socks. But seeing how the grass he stood on was glistening with dew, it was probably for the best.

“I was looking all over for you, you know.” Tiger put his hand on his chest. The subtle smell of pollen and just-watered flowers was growing stronger with each passing second. “Why–”

A loud, obnoxious phone ring interrupted him.

He shot a nasty glare at Bull’s maroon flip phone. He grabbed it off of the table, being careful not to knock over the water bottle beside it, and raised it in the air.

“Would you like–” Tiger stopped and quickly stepped onto the large, red, pink, and blue striped mat beneath the table. He couldn’t bear to stand on the frigid stone floor for another second. “--would you like me to answer the phone for you?”

“No, no. Probably another photographer.” Bull’s voice trailed off as he gave the punching bag a half hearted swing.

“Another…?” Tiger tilted his head. His mind blocked out the constant rings as he… Well… He was a bit worried about Bull. He didn’t sound nearly as energetic as he usually does. Usually Bull was always the first one to give a loud, hearty ‘Good morning!’, then he’d ask how Tiger slept, if there’s anything he’d like for breakfast, but here he was–

The caller hung up. Tiger flipped the phone open and gasped.

“Good heavens, over 50 missed calls?! What happened?” Tiger exclaimed.

“Macho man.” Bull said as he rubbed his eyes, “He did not show up to the photoshoot like he had promised.”

Tiger raised a brow, “I didn’t know Macho had your number.”

“Neither did I.”

“Are all these calls from Macho Man?”

“No, he–”

A voicemail started to play. Tiger hit a button and put it on speaker.

“Hey Bull buddy! Ya accidentally blocked me again.” Super Macho Man’s voice came through. Tiger glanced at Bull, who looked absolutely exhausted.

The voicemail continued, “Anyways, Super-Macho Sorry bout th’photo thing again. And th’guys constantly callin’ ya. Totally didn’t think that’d happen. Any way I can make it up t’ya? Drinks? Couple hundred bucks? A wig? Cake? Ya like cakes, right? Jus’ lemme know when ya get th’chance. Later.”

Tiger stood there. Mouth hanging open. Before he slowly turned to Bull.

“Super… Macho… Sorry?”

Bull groaned and rested his head against the punching bag, “Tiger.”

“Yes?”

“Scroll down.” He made a little motion with his finger.

“Alright?”

“Do you see the small red box at the bottom of the screen?”

“The one that says ‘Block Caller’?”

“Yes. Click it.”

Tiger did so. A little ‘blip’ came from the phone.

Bull nodded then brought his focus back to his training.

“So,” Tiger twirled the tip of his mustache, “who else has been calling you?”

“Photographers, journalists, fans.” Bull said as he struck the bag, “Macho told me he had given my number to some people on the night of the photoshoot for some reason, and since then things have been getting worse and worse.”

The calls didn’t start coming till yesterday afternoon, while he and Tiger were taking a break from their work out. It started off slow. Every other hour he’d get a call here, a few messages there, nothing to pay much mind to, but before he knew it, those ‘couple of calls’ turned to hundreds.

‘...I just thought that–ya know–if th’fans were so bummed bout not seein’ ya, they could give ya a quick call ‘n say hi!’ One of Macho’s voicemails said. Bull’s face soured at the recollection. Thanks to him, he’ll have to change his number. Again.

Bull gave the bag another punch.

“I could hardly get any sleep last night.” Bull muttered. He remembered laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with wide, aching eyes as the muffled rings of his phone taunted him. Tormented him. Even with it being shoved in the far back shelf of his pantry on the first floor, he could hear it so clearly.

The fears that plagued his mind certainly didn’t help either. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to sleep, the voice in the back of his brain kept screaming at him to check the windows. Lock the doors. Make sure no one was standing in his driveway. Make sure no one was getting closer to them–

“Is that why you got out of bed last night?” Tiger asked.

Bull stopped, “Did I wake you?”

“I felt the bed shift around,” Tiger shrugged, “and I saw you leave the room, but I thought it was a dream.”

“Ah.” Bull’s face grew warm, “I apologize.”

“Oh, don’t be. I fell right back asleep.”

Bull raised his fist and lingered for a moment before hitting the bag, “I took my phone outside, thought if it was not in the house, I’d sleep easier.” He hit it again, “I did not.”

Tiger leaned against one of the thin, pale-peach colored columns that supported the balcony, “Well, if you’re tired, why not rest? You’ve earned it.”

Bull didn’t take his eyes off the punching bag, “I do not want to fall behind.”

“Oh, ‘fall behind’.” Tiger scoffed, “You’ve been training all day yesterday. It’s not a crime to relax! Have you even had breakfast yet?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Tiger folded his arms and frowned, not like Bull could see. He then sharply exhaled and stepped forward, “Well, at the very least let me help you.”

Bull stopped.

“Are you sure? Is your magic awake enough?”

Tiger raised his hands into the air and started making quick, little pulling gestures. His turban slithered out of his pocket and into the air. He then made small, circular motions with one finger, his hair tied itself into a tight bun before the turban wrapped itself around. And with one flick of the wrist, his gem appeared right in the center of his turban, securely placed between the fabric.  

He gave Bull a smile, “I think it’s waking up quite nicely.”

“Showoff.” Bull lightly rolled his eyes. Tiger could see the tiny smile underneath his bushy mustache.

“We’ll start off the way we did yesterday.” Tiger said, pulling out one of the cushions with his magic and sitting on top, “I’ll move the bag around a bit, make it dodge your attacks, all that delightful stuff, and then we’ll pick up the pace. How’s that?”

“Perfect.” Bull said as he walked further out into the backyard, watching as Tiger used his magic to take the bag off its hook and fly it over to his side. Bull’s eyes locked onto the bag. He dug his feet into the ground, swung his arm back, then–

As soon as he went for a hit, the bag quickly moved aside.

Bull tried again. Only for the bag to dodge again.

He watched as the bag jumped from place to place, and once he caught onto the rhythm, he reeled his arm back and socked it square in the center.

The punching bag went flying across the garden–Tiger quickly stopped it before it could crush any of the flowers.

Bull’s smile widened as Tiger teleported the bag back in front of him.

Bull tried to hit it again. The bag moved.

He tried again, only to miss again.

He kept trying over and over to get another punch, but it felt like with every missed swing, Tiger made the bag faster.

After another missed hit, Bull grit his teeth.

He let the bag dart around before he uppercut it.  

A loud ‘BANG’ shot out from the impact. Music to the ears.

Bull put his hands on his hips and let out a confident laugh. He repositioned himself, hands curling to tight fists, energy flowing through him as he was ready to–

Ready to…

Where did the bag go?

Bull scanned the backyard.

That’s strange. No traces of it anywhere–

Bull stopped when his eyes landed on the patio. On Great Tiger.

“Tiger.” Bull folded his arms.

“Oh goodness! It seems the punching bag has vanished into thin air!” Tiger covered his mouth dramatically.

“Tiger.”

Tiger hovered off the seat and gravitated towards his unamused friend, “And it seems the only way to make it reappear is by… Having breakfast!”

“Tiger, where is it.”

“Ah-ah, a magician never reveals his secrets when he’s hungry.” Tiger grinned.

Bull raised his brows.

“Alright. I will make us breakfast.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Octave stood outside, hands shoved into the pockets of his high wasted, dark gray pants as he leaned against a lamppost, waiting at the corner of one of the city’s blocks. The one that was right beside the laundromat he goes to; where he’d help himself to a small handful of candies from the dispensers right beside the counter as his clothes were in the washer, or go for a walk outside as he waited for the dryer to finish.

It was the only laundromat he knew of that was close to his house and open 24/7.

‘Brightest building on th’block. Can’t miss it.’ Octave told Aran over the phone this morning. Heck, it was probably the brightest building in the whole city. That’s what made it the perfect place to meet up.

Sure, the outside wasn’t too flashy, it looked like every other brick building with a worn down sign,, but the inside? The bright, blinding white lights on the inside that shone through the wide, rectangular windows? It was enough to illuminate the entire street. 

It didn’t matter what hour it was, what day, or if a giant storm swept through the city, the laundromat kept its dang lights on at full blast.

Octave took one hand out of his pocket and fiddled with his black tie. He wished he had brought a watch. He was starting to get hungry.

Octave was starting to get hungry.

Aran was taking forever.

Where the heck was he?

Octave’s hand went from his tie to the buttons of his white shirt.

Aran better not be hitching a ride from Disco again. The last thing Octave needed was Disco’s stupid face pulling up in his stupid, flashy car, all while blasting his stupid, obnoxious music.

If Aran’s not here in five minutes, he’ll just go to the diner by himself–

“OY! O’erload!” Octave heard someone shout, “Izzat you?!”

Octave turned and saw Aran hurrying across the street.

“Bout time. Was startin’ to think ya got lost with how long you were takin’.” Octave said, pushing away from the lamppost, “Was ya daddy Disco not able to drive ya tonight or somethin’?”

“Ay, trus’ me,” Aran huffed, “I was thinkin’ bout ditchin’ several times.”

Octave scanned Aran up and down. There wasn’t anything good to look at. His t-shirt was plain and green, his shorts a dark indigo, his shoes were a dark seagreen–he didn’t even bother to tie his laces or brush his hair. Yeah, his hair always looked like a wreck, but it was especially bad tonight. It was more than obvious this outfit had been thrown on at the last second.

“Kinda wished ya did. C’mon.” Octave muttered. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and tilted his head. Aran followed behind.

The diner they were heading to was a straight walk from here, but as Octave stared ahead–stared at the line up of lampposts and buildings–he sorta wished he had picked an earlier time to meet up.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved how quiet the city was at night. He loved how there were hardly any cars rushing through the streets, playing their awful music, he loved how the sidewalks weren’t filled with hundreds of noisy people constantly bumping into him, and he loved how cool the air was, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the colors at sunset.

Instead of the sky being filled with pinks and purples, it was filled with a deep, dull indigo. Usually that wasn’t an issue, usually there’d be stars to look at, but tonight, the sky was consumed by thick clouds. Instead of the city streets being washed with a hue of orange, everything was just dark.

Octave looked to the left, trying to see if he could sneak a peek inside the windows of the stores they passed by, but all of their lights had been turned off, and the lamp posts certainly weren’t any help. They produced just enough light to dimly illuminate the sidewalk. Nothing more, nothing less.

It was kind of a downer, not seeing anything through those windows. He felt stupid for feeling that way, but there was something pleasant about seeing stores wrapping up for the day. Catching a glimpse of them cleaning up, waving goodbye to their last few customers, or locking their doors before they head home? It was strangely pleasant.

But there was nothing tonight. Nothing to look at besides the barren street ahead of them. Nothing to hear except the buzzing of street lamps.

Octave felt Aran tug on his dark gray, cropped suit, “What’s wit th’getup? We gonna have a fine dinin’ experience tonight or somethin’ tog’ther or somethin’?”

Octave pulled it away, “Wanted t’look nice.”

“Ye look bad.”

“Thanks.”

Octave kept staring ahead. Aran’s smirk twitched.

“Y’still mad at me bout a couple’a days ago?”

Octave didn’t answer. He heard Aran sigh.

“C’mon, I was jokin’ bout all that.” Aran rolled his eyes, “Thought it was somethin’ we could laugh at.”

“If I wanted t’laugh I’d lookatcha face.”

Aran cackled then wrapped his arm around Overload’s neck, “See? There’s that bite I love. But if we’re both bein’ honest ‘ere…” He leaned in closer, “We both know y’can’t see past that nose o’yers.”

Octave shoved Aran off. Aran stumbled a bit onto the road before jumping back into place.

Octave twisted a button on his suit. He was thankful he decided to pop in some painkillers before heading off tonight. While his body still ached a tad with each step he took, it was nowhere near as bad as it was yesterday.

He brought his head up. A yellow light coming from one of the apartment buildings’ windows caught his attention. It was rather high up, but when he narrowed his eyes, he could make out the silhouettes of house plants. His eyes darted over to another lit room where a couple was talking to each other. There were several other lit windows scattered across the buildings, all allowing little peeks into the evening lives of those inside. From cats resting atop their cat-trees, to people sitting on their balcony having a smoke, to others leaving their windows open to let the aroma of their dinners out into the world, it was nice. It wasn’t the same as passing by stores at sunset, but it was nice.

When Octave lowered his head, his eyes lit up when he saw a familiar red glow up ahead. He picked up the pace. So did Aran.

At the end of the block, sitting across the road, was his favorite diner.

He felt a small smile make its way on his face.

“Course y’chose this dingy place again.” He heard Aran grumble.

“If ya don’t wanna eat here then there’s a trash can right over there.” Octave motioned to the overflowing bin nearby. Aran elbowed him before rushing across the road. Octave hurried behind.

As they grew closer to the restaurant, the warm, welcoming red glow of the restaurant’s sign that read “DINER” grew stronger.

They made their way to the white door that jutted out from the otherwise perfectly flat front, white lights from the overhang shining down on them.

Octave has a clipping from an old newspaper that shared the story of when this diner first opened decades ago. The paper was worn down, partially stained and torn, but it was still legible, and the picture was in decent quality too. He has it framed and hung on his wall, along with several other old clippings.

The outside of the diner today looked the same as it did all those years ago. Simple. Not that simple was a bad thing. Its colors were nothing but white and shades of metallic grays, the only pop of color being the red stripes that ran across. The metal roof and its rounded corners still looked as sleek and stainless as it did when it first opened, the only thing that looked aged was the diner’s sign. Its red lights kept flickering, sometimes a letter would fizzle out and stay that way for a couple of weeks before the owners fixed it up.

Octave remembered how many cars were parked in the driveway of that photo, how many people were lined up by the door. Tonight? The parking lot tonight was empty, and from what Octave can see through the windows, so was the inside. Perfect.

Octave held the door open for Aran before slipping inside the diner.

The first thing to greet them were the strong smells of warm butter and pancakes. Enough to make a person’s mouth water, yet somehow overpowering enough to dwindle their appetite.

The second thing to greet them was an orange haired waitress who wore a white apron that stopped just below her knees and covered most of her pastel red, collared t-shirt, along with her tan khakis.

“Hi there!” She hollered from the other side of the diner, cleaning off one of the many white tables pressed against the walls, “You two sit where ya need’ta. I’ll be there to help in a sec!”

Octave walked over to the long, white counter that nearly stretched across the entire checkered floor.

The inside of the diner was on the narrower side and split into three ‘sections’. The first section–the side where the front door stood–was where all the booths laid. Most people liked to sit there as they all had windows beside them. The second section was the white counter with a whole bunch of red bar stools placed on one side–if you’re too tall, your knees’ll keep hitting the edge of the counter–and on the other side was the drink station and the black door that lead to the kitchen. And the third section? That was the area placed between the booths and the counter. The small bit of section of actual, visible floor that you could walk on. The section you need to walk through to get to the bathroom on one end of the diner, or to use the jukebox on the other end. The section you have to be the most careful in because so many people stuck their legs out there, making it incredibly easy to trip and crack your head open.

Octave sat down on one of the barstools at the edge of the counter. Aran sat beside him, but not before spinning around a couple of times in his seat like a five year old, chuckling to himself.

Aran grabbed one of the menus in front of them. Octave didn’t. He already knew what he wanted.

Something simple, something filling. Pancakes, maybe with a side of sausage patties.

As Aran skimmed through the menu, Octave let his eyes wander around the diner.

Only two other people were in here, not including the waitress. They were sitting rather far from the counter as well. Hopefully they won’t smack their lips or slurp too loudly.

Each table and small sections on the counter had their own salt and pepper shaker, napkins, and a couple of condiments that all looked replenished and neatly arranged. They must’ve been restocked recently.  

The old jukebox–which color had always reminded Octave of copper–was playing jazz from a band he didn’t recognize.

“Pah, nothin’ but th’cheap stuff ‘ere.” He heard Aran hiss. Probably complaining about the beer again. He threw down the menu and whipped his head over, “Y’know, th’last time I had th’hashbrowns ‘ere, they made me sick.”

“Yea, ya ate like three plates of ‘em in three seconds. Course ya got sick.”

“They nearly killed me.”

“Too bad they didn’t.”

Aran threw his arms up, “I put up wit th’crappiest food for ye ‘n ye can’t even–”

Octave jabbed him with his elbow, shutting him up.

Aran rubbed his arm as he grumbled strings of curses to himself. He was about ready to ask what that was for, but then he saw the waitress coming over with a notepad.

“Hi, hi! Sorry for th’wait! How’re you two doin’ tonight?” The woman asked, the corner of her eyes crinkling and the wrinkles around her mouth stretching to perfectly fit her big smile.

“Fine.” Octave said.

“Not too shabby.” Aran added.

“Good, good. Have you two decided what ya’d like to drink?” She asked, taking out a pen that was placed between her hair and ear before clicking it.

Octave opened his mouth–but Aran cut him off.

“Ay, two bottles o’ Stellar Soc’er for us.” He said as he placed a hand on Octave’s shoulder. Octave gave him a glare.

“Alrighty,” She nodded as she scribbled away, “and have ya decided what ya wanna eat? Or do ya still need some time?”

“Nah, we’re ready. I’ll have th’--uh–” Aran grabbed the menu again and quickly flipped it over, “Ham ‘n cheese omelet.”

“Any sides?”

“Ay, two things of hashbrowns.”

Octave shot him a ‘Seriously?’ look.

The waitress then turned to Octave, “And for you?”

“Silver dollar pancakes for me.” He said, propping his head up with his hand.

“Any sides?”

“Nah.” He wasn’t feeling as hungry as he was earlier.

The woman finished jotting down their orders before flashing them another smile, “Okay! I’ll be back with ya drinks in a minute!”

Octave watched as she went to the other side of the counter, black shoes squeaking across the floor. She turned to the drink station and bent down. She opened one of the cabinets and took out a bag of coffee, probably for one of the other customers.

Octave’s eyes started to drift away from the waitress and to the drink station itself.

Is that even the right thing to call it? Was there a specific name for it?

It’s an area.

That has drinks.

Well, it had more than just drinks, and it wasn’t an ‘area’, it was another counter on the other side–black–and the same height of the one he and Aran sat at, but it wasn’t as long.

Most of the countertop’s space was taken up by blenders, various coffee machines, and an electric kettle, and while those were all spaced out evenly from each other, the same couldn’t be said for everything else on there. The bags and canisters of different coffee brands? The small boxes of tea bags and leaves? The containers of sugar, cinnamon, and other spices? Those were shoved together in whatever space was left, piled on top of each other in such a way that they looked like their contents were about to spill all over the floor.

The staff would probably have more room to work with if they got rid of the large, clunky coffee dispenser they’ve kept since they first opened, or tore off those old, silver soda tap towers, but Octave would miss them. Sure, the coffee dispensers no longer worked and were decades old, but they looked great, and the tap towers still worked fine. It gave the place charm, what can he say?

Maybe it’d be better if the staff sorted through those dark brown cabinets below. Octave’s caught glimpses of what was inside of them before; the clutter was concerning, but it was honestly impressive how much clutter those cabinet doors could hold back.

There were a couple of shelves above the counter, the same color as the cabinets. The first shelf held stuff the diner actually needed. Stacks of cups, extra silverware, plenty of straws, but the other two? Those were filled with empty bottles of discontinued soda and beers they used to sell over the years. Octave remembered talking to one of the women who works here, he remembered how she took a vibrant, red bottle from the highest shelf to show it off. She made sure he got a good look at the fancy-looking arched logo plastered on the front while she rambled about how the owners used to have this soda shipped from a friend all the way in Russia.

‘Dang thing’s older than Popinski!’ He remembered her laughing.

In between the bottles were pictures of family members, along with souvenirs the owner’s collected over the years, and little toys their kids apparently used to play with.

If the staff shoved everything on the shelves into boxes and stored them away, they’d definitely have more room for their ingredients, but then the drink station would look boring.

Octave heard Aran’s seat squeak. He looked over and saw Aran had hopped out of his chair and wandered to the front door where a newspaper rack was. He squatted down and started sifting through them.

Octave thought back to the newspaper clipping of the diner he had.

He wondered how much the inside has changed over the years.

The article never gave any pictures of the interior when it first opened; ‘As clean as a whistle.’ Was the only description given.

He wondered if these white walls were barren in the beginning, if there weren’t any of these flags with colorful initials on them, photos taken by the owner, record discs of old bands, and business cards of neighboring stores held up by stickers when it was starting out. It’s hard to imagine the place without them.

Octave’s eyes traveled across the crowded walls. Framed pictures took up most of the spaces. Pictures of family, friends, and favorite customers, pictures of special events and holidays, there were even pictures of WVBA boxers who’ve eaten here.

Only the big names, of course.

Some of the men Octave’s only ever seen in old recordings, but there were a few familiar faces. Mr. Sandman has a picture where he’s posing with the owner, who looked absolutely puny standing right next him, there’s a picture of–ugh–Super Macho Man. Octave does his best to never look in that photo’s direction. And apparently there was a picture of Popinski somewhere, but Octave’s yet to find–

Octave stopped when his eyes landed on one of the customers at a booth licking the sauce off their fingers. His body tensed and he scowled.

Disgusting.

Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

What’s so hard about using a napkin?

Aran’s excited laughter cut off his thoughts.

“Ye’ seen this yet?” Aran asked as he hopped back into his seat, shoving a newspaper in front of Octave’s face.

Octave yanked it away and read the front page.

‘Super Macho Man’s Amoooosing New Look?!’  

Octave hated that he actually chuckled at that joke.

The picture below was blurry, but there was no mistaking it was Macho Man in an ink stained robe. Octave skimmed the article. It just talked about how Macho was ‘potentially’ shifting to a new cow-themed appearance, and how Macho refused to answer any questions. Octave noticed there were comments left by fans and actually took the time to read them.

‘I was definitely shocked to see Mr. Macho of all people wearing such a tacky pattern! I don’t know WHAT he was thinking.’ One woman said.

‘I could see Bald Bull wearing it, but THE Super Macho Man? Guy must’ve gotten hit in the head a bit too many times.’ A man stated.

‘Looks bad.’ Another fan said.  

Aran pulled the paper down, “Good stuff, ay? M’sister had a holler when she saw it.”

“Yeah, yeah, good stuff.” Octave tossed the paper onto the counter. The corner of Aran’s mouth curled down

“Thought ye’d be a li’l happier than that. We go through all that effort ‘n for what?!”

“Look, I’m still hung up bout the fight a couple’a days ago, lay off.” Octave grumbled.

“Awh, izzat th’problem?” Aran spoke in a sappy, fake, sympathetic voice, but before he could continue, two blue bottles slid in front of them.

“There ya are! I’ll be back with your food in a few.” The waitress waved then walked off to help another customer.

Aran grabbed a bottle, popped the cap off, and started to down the beer, each gross gulp getting louder than the last. Octave grabbed the other bottle and held it firmly. The cold glass stung his skin.

Aran tore the bottle away and wiped the bit of beer off his face, “Y’gotta git ov’r it. People lose all th’time. Y’think whinin’s gon getcha anywhere?”

“I got 21 losses on top’a gettin’ beaten to a pulp, don’t I get to complain bout that?”

“Ye got 21 wins.”

“Second lowest in th’circuit right next to Bear.” Octave muttered as he twisted the cap off. Aran groaned.

“I wanted t’have a good time t’night. I wanted t’do somethin’ nice ‘n cheer ye up, but no, y’just gotta go ‘n make it some pity party, don’tcha?”

Octave stared at the bright purple ‘STELLAR SOCKER’ logo on the bottle. He then stared at his reflection. At the giant bruise on his face.

“I lost m’last match, ‘n ye don’t see me cryin’ bout it, do ye?”

As Octave brought the bottle to his lips, he remembered how much he hated beer.

He hated the smell.

He hated the taste.

And as he took a sip, he remembered how much he hated the burning feeling it’d give the back of his throat.

“Ye lost 20 times before ‘n survived, this isn’t gon’ be any different.” Aran’s nails started tapping along the side of his bottle.

Octave watched it.  

“If it really bothers y’this much, spend th’rest of th’week trainin’ away. Keep practicin’ till yer on the brink of death.”

Aran’s fingers were getting faster. So was the sound.  

“Or keep mopin’ th’moment ye get back home. Keep feelin’ sorry for y’self, like that’ll do ye any good.”

He kept tapping.

“But not here. Not when we’re suppose t’have good time tog’ther.”

“Knock it off, Aran.” Octave mumbled.

He kept tapping.

“So why don’tcha suck it up for th’night ‘n try to have fun.”

Octave wasn’t listening to Aran’s words anymore. He wasn’t looking at the scowl he was wearing. He wasn’t looking at how close Aran’s face was to his. He just kept watching.

Aran kept tapping.

Clink clink clink. That was the awful sound his nails made.

Clink clink clink.

Octave’s grip around his bottle tightened.

Clink clink clink.

His heart was racing.

Clink clink clink.

His breaths were getting faster and faster.

Clink clink clink.

An urge was starting to fill him.

The urge to raise his bottle in the air.

To bring it down on Aran’s head.

To drive the jagged glass into his skull.

The terrible scene played in his mind so clearly.

The blue shards of glass that’d fly in the air.

The blood that’d fly with it.

Aran’s body hitting the tiled floor–

Octave squeezed his eyes shut before he grabbed Aran’s bottle and pushed it away.  

Aran spun around in his seat and watched as the bottle slid to the far opposite end of the counter and stopped just before the edge.

He turned back to Overload and glared.

Octave narrowed his eyes back, “I said knock it off.”

Aran pushed himself off the seat and muttered to himself as he went to get his beer.

A plate of small pancakes was suddenly set in front of him. Octave blinked then looked at the waitress.  

“There ya are!” She sang as she placed Aran’s omelete down, “Need anythin’ else?”

Octave shook his head. The woman walked off.

Octave stared down at his pancakes.

He wasn’t that hungry anymore.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ah ha! Look! Macho Man covered in ink!” Tiger exclaimed as he flew a newspaper over to Bald Bull, who was sitting across from him on a tuscan red sofa, “I told you I wasn’t making things up yesterday.”

Bald Bull set the instruction manual for his phone aside, “Huh.” He mumbled as he looked at the photo of an inky Macho Man, gently tugging on the end of his coral-colored shirt, “I am sorry, it sounded so ridiculous that I…” His voice trailed off as he skimmed the article, but he didn’t get the chance to read much as Tiger pulled the paper back towards him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Tiger said as he flipped a page, he shifted around on the other couch–this one having a royal-blue blanket tossed over it–until he was laying on his back. Well, he wasn’t exactly on the couch, more like hovering above it, but regardless, he needed to be comfortable, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. Oh!” His eyes lit up, “Apparently a new face might be arriving to the WVBA soon, isn’t that exciting?”

Bull brought his head up, “Really? Who?”

Tiger read a bit more before he let out a scoff, “No one interesting, that’s for sure.” He looked at the tiny picture provided, “Boring name, boring face, it wouldn’t surprise me if his fighting style was as boring as he is.”

He looked up from the paper, expecting to see Bull pushing himself off the couch so he could walk over and tease him for being oh-so-mean, that the man couldn’t be that boring, let him see! But instead, Bull just sat there. Staring down at the low, sienna colored coffee table that was cluttered with phone manuals, an empty box of sugar cubes, and two drunken cups of tea.

Tiger lowered the paper and drifted down onto the couch. He sunk into the cushions slightly.

Were his jabs a little too cruel?

“Are you alright?” Tiger asked.

Bull didn’t say anything. He looked tense.

Tiger saw that Bull was staring at his phone. His eyes narrowed.

That accursed thing has been going off all day.

Today was supposed to be their day to relax, the day where they’d lounge around and do absolutely nothing after the constant training Bull put himself through yesterday, but instead? They had to deal with the constant calls of fans and paparazzi who couldn’t grasp the basic concept of privacy.

Bull kept telling Tiger the calls weren’t that bothersome, but Tiger’s seen agitation that flickered in his eyes everytime the phone started to ring again. He’s seen the way his smiles faded every time he had to stop whatever he was doing to hang up on the caller. He’s seen how his movements grew stiffer throughout the day. Tiger knew those calls bothered Bull as much as they bothered him.

Tonight they were supposed to sit outside and ramble about their weekday plans, which would slowly change into them exchanging stories from their past for hours as their evening talks always went.

Tonight Bull wanted to bake cookies–whether it was from scratch or those pre-made cookies from the store, Tiger wasn’t sure, but he always enjoyed helping him.

Tonight was the perfect night to sit outside and spend the last few hours of the day together.

But instead, here they are.

In Bald Bull’s living room.

All thanks to Macho Man.

How miserable.

Tiger didn’t have any grudges against Bull’s living room. It looked… Fine.

The couches were fine, the golden and orange pillows scattered around were fine, the house plants placed beside the window–which Bull had cracked open–that was placed behind the couch Bull sat on was fine, the shade of honeyed orange for the walls was fine, the wooden floor was fine, the mosaic lamps hanging from the ceiling was fine, the unlit candles held up by their long, thin holders were fine. It was all fine. Fine, fine, fine, but it wasn’t where they were supposed to be.

“Bull.” Tiger said again, raising his voice. Bull shook his friend and looked at his friend.

“Sorry, sorry.” Bull scratched his sideburn, “I was–perhaps I should apologize to Macho Man.”

Tiger's eyes widened and he immediately sat up.

The moment Bull reached over for his phone, Tiger snapped his fingers and teleported the phone into his hand.

“Absolutely–!” A phone call cut Tiger off. Tiger rolled his eyes and hung up before continuing, “Absolutely not. What on Earth would you even apologize for?”

“Last night he had texted me that he was unable to do the photoshoot because he had been, ah, ‘tarnished’, as he said. I didn’t believe him. At the very least, I can apologize for that.”

Tiger furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, but he stopped himself and took a big, deep breath.

He exhaled, “Macho Man should be apologizing to you.” He started, “Now perhaps I’m being a bit harsh when I say this, but I think anyone with half a brain can understand that handing someone’s number out to strangers is the worst thing to do. Especially for a man of your reputation!” Tiger used his magic to raise the blanket off the couch and twisted it until it was one, long line. He then forced the blanket to create a simple outline of Macho Man’s face, “I think his careless act is far worse than you not believing a story.”

“He has already apologized several times.” Bull said.

“Super. Macho. Sorry.” Tiger chanted, “That doesn’t sound very genuine to me.”

“Trust me, from personal experience, that is as genuine as he can get.” Bull said as he pushed himself off the couch and walked over to Tiger, “He is not completely to blame either. Whole situation could have been avoided if I had gone to that photoshoot.”

“Oh–what? Are you blaming yourself now?!” When Tiger saw Bull try to grab the phone out of his hands, he used his magic and sent it flying to the ceiling, “This whole situation could’ve been avoided if those men in their fancy little suits actually bothered to tell you about the photoshoot ahead of time instead of at the last minute.”

“Tiger, my phone.”

Tiger stared at his friend. He huffed and flicked his wrist. The phone teleported into Bull’s hand. Bull then slipped it into the pocket of his dark blue shorts and picked up the cups from the table.

“I will get us refills.” He started making his way to the kitchen. Tiger followed behind.

Tiger tried to break the strange silence that filled the air, “So, are you planning on relaxing tomorrow? Make up for the time you lost today?”

“No. Not likely.” Bull said as he placed the cups on the counter, “After I finish changing my number, I will… Go to bed, wake up, and train.” Bull grabbed his copper teapot on his stove by the wooden handle. It’s been sitting here for a while. The tea’s probably cold now.

“Again?” Tiger didn’t even bother to hide the woe in his voice, “Bull, you’ve been training for nearly three days now, your fight isn’t for another few weeks, a day of rest isn’t going to kill you!”

“I know, I know, I–” Bull threw a hand up, “It just… It will help take my mind off of–of everything.”  

Bull rubbed his temples before he sighed, “I am sorry. It’s–”

The phone rang again.

Bull quickly set aside the teapot and hung up on whoever was calling.

“I want to rest, believe me, but with this fight coming up so soon after my most recent one, I can't risk falling behind.”

“You won’t!” Tiger said as Bull started to refill the cups, the smell of apple tea not nearly as strong as when it was first poured, “You’re Bald Bull, you’ll do excellent as always.”

Bull didn’t say anything. He just grabbed one of the cups and handed it over to Tiger, who gave him a whispered thanks.

It was quiet again. Tiger took a sip of his drink.

Bull searched around the counters for an extra box of sugar cubes he had taken out earlier.

He dragged his fingers across the umber countertops as he slowly walked around.

“I should have gone to that photoshoot.” He said.

Tiger raised his head.

“If I had shown up and posed for the pictures, I wouldn’t have been dealing with these calls. Macho wouldn’t have gotten covered in ink. We could have had a normal day together.” He let out a heavy sigh. He tugged at one of his sideburns.

It didn’t matter how much he hated having his picture taken, it didn’t matter how much he hated the flashing lights, the constant clicks, how the photographers followed his every step to capture every second of his life, he needed to get over it.

The tugging turned to pulling. It felt like he was about to rip his hair out.

He’s been dealing with paparazzi for years, yet the fear he feels–this childish fear–has never dwindled. How stupid was that? A grown man too afraid to show himself in front of a couple of cameras. Why can’t he just get over it? Other boxers have been dealing with the exact same thing for just as long, why can’t he be like them?

“I’m sorry.” Bull said again, his voice a brittle whisper.

“What for? Things out of your control?” Tiger said, lifting his feet off the ground and flying towards Bull, who was leaning against the counter, facing away. “That photoshoot was announced at such a short notice, there’s only so much you can do in such little time. You have a life outside of the stadium, people need to understand that.”

“I know.” Bull said. He stayed quiet for a moment. “Ah, look at me, making you worry.” He forced a smile on, “How about cookies to make up for it?”

“Oh, there’s nothing to make up for, but that’d be wonderful.”

Bull went over to his fridge and opened the door, “Is the one from the store okay?”

“Of course.”

Tiger watched Bull turn the oven on and tear open the yellow package.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this before…” Tiger said as he slowly drifted towards Bull, “...But I have a rather special magic power I keep hidden.”

Bull stopped and turned his head, “Do you now?”

“Not many people know of it, but I’m able to detect when you’re horribly stressed.”

“Is that so?” Bull spoke in that teasing ‘Oh really?’ tone.

“Yes! And when I do detect it, my gem flashes horribly.” Right on cue, his gem started blinking an array of colors, “Oh dear, would you look at that!”

Bull shielded his eyes, a sliver of a smile gracing his face, “Very strange how it has never done that before.” Traces of a familiar liveliness were weaved in his words.

“Well, you see, I have to suppress it because it is one of my most draining of tricks. It takes all of my mental and physical strength to contain it.” He put his hands over his heart, “And don’t get me started on the side effects.” He inched closer to Bull’s face.

“Oooh no. Even more of those?”

“Oh yes.” Tiger said with a smirk, “As soon as I sense the stress, I teleport immediately to the source. Doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, I’m whisked away against my will.”

“Really?”

“And if you ever want a moment of peace from me,” Tiger wiggled his fingers under his chin, “you’ll have to do nothing but relax tomorrow.”

“I am not really seeing a downside to spending more time with you.” Bull raised a brow.

“No! That’s not what you’re supposed to say!” Tiger shot his arms out. Bull’s smile widened.

“You’re supposed to promise you’ll get plenty of rest tomorrow and take it easy!”

“Ah, that too then.”

Tiger pouted as Bull took out a baking tray from one of drawers, along with a sheet of parchment paper.

“Why don’t you prepare the cookies while I go and turn the patio’s lights on? We can sit outside as we wait for the oven to preheat.” Bull said as he walked over to the sliding glass doors.

“Oh! I’d love that!” Tiger wasted no time using his magic to break the cold cookie dough into even pieces and place them in neat rows on the tray. He heard Bull open the door and–

He froze.

He zipped over.

“Wait Bull, hold on! Don’t slam the–!”

Bull gave him an odd look right as he slammed the door shut. A loud ‘THUD’ was heard right behind him, making both of the men jump.

Bull whipped his head around and turned on one of the lanterns.

Sitting right outside the patio was his punching bag.

Tiger cracked the door back open and poked his head through.

“You–” Bull started, but stopped and stroked his chin, “Did you put the punching bag on the roof?”

Tiger stared at the floor, face getting red, “Yes.”

Bull looked up at his roof, “Were you planning on keeping it up there all day?”

“No, I–I sort of… Forgot. About it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Octave swung his door open and dragged himself inside.

His pain medicine had worn off. He felt sick to his stomach. All he wanted to do now was go to bed.

He held his take out box tightly. The last thing he needed right now was the smell of pancakes creeping into his nose. Just the thought of it made him want to vomit.

He kicked the door shut behind him and trudged over to his kitchen so he could shove the leftovers away and never think about them again.

He didn’t care what junk he was stepping on, he didn’t care that his hips kept running into corners, he didn’t care for the pile of dishes in his sink or the mess on his kitchen table, he just. Wanted. To sleep.

The moment Octave stepped foot in the kitchen, his phone rang.

Octave cussed and threw his box down.

What?

What did Aran want now?!

Octave stomped over to his end table.

This better be good, this better be worth his time.

He snatched his phone and shoved the receiver to his ear, “What? Whaddaya want?!”

“Oh–is this a bad time?” Great Tiger’s voice came through.

The anger in Octave dwindled. He exhaled heavily through his teeth.

“No, jus’ been a long night.” He finally said. He slicked his hair back and sat on the couch. Despite how much his bruises stung, despite how exhausted he was, he kept talking, “How’ve ya been?”

“Fine, I’ve been spending most of today with a friend of mine. You?”

“Yeah.” Octave sunk a bit deeper into the cushions, “Same here.”  

#punch out #punch out!! #punch out wii #punch out oc #punch out aran ryan #punch out great tiger #punch out bald bull #fic #art