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phanlight · 4 years ago

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Imagine Living Like A King Someday

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

theres something so funny to me abt having written all of this over a matter of months and then picking it up 4 entire years later like nothing happened

still thinking of the enormous steaming mess past left future me to clear up in terms of plot but i think we're finally there THANKS 2016 SHELLEY

[AO3 LINK]

Twenty-Three (fINALLY)

By far the best thing about this job, Dan decides, is the Thursday afternoons. They allow for a lull in the week, a window wherein Phil is enveloped in a research project and Noah equally as swallowed up in rehearsals. December being only a breath away had made for a sudden increase in workload for both of them; it seems leaving the holiday season for an actual holiday is far too big an ask for the education system. Dan feels sorry for them. He remembers his burning resentment toward academic responsibilities; how much he’d loathed being made to study while the sky loses its light. He’d taken pity on the pair of them and stocked up on various study supplies – all edible and a few drinkable, much to their delight. He’d left them with all the Kit-Kats, Doritos and Jaffa Cakes they’d possibly be able to cram into a four-hour session. He’s becoming something of a mother figure, he giggles when he tells Lawrence.

There’s something about conversations with someone as wise as the head caretaker, the nicest boss he’s ever had, that jolts everything back into perspective again. Sometimes, when anxiety gnaws and every breath feels uneasy, the only thing that helps is a few words of wisdom. Of true compassion. And as caring and as gentle as Phil is, sometimes it’s worth listening to someone over triple his age; with triple his life experience.

And way over triple his collection of mugs. They stand in rows in a cabinet next to the desk, a glass door keeping them on proud display (there’s no way he doesn’t polish that regularly). He can’t count the teas they’ve had together, but he’s never had the same mug twice. It makes the overall experience just that little bit more enjoyable; a guaranteed smile no matter how bleak the day.

“Wallace, or Gromit?” is the first thing Lawrence says when Dan creaks open the door.

He frowns. Bit of an odd way to say hello, but he’s had weirder.

“Sorry?”

“If you had to pick?”

Dan chuckles, his frown melting away. Months of this place has made him warmly familiar with Lawrence’s eccentricities and quick-fire questions upon entering. The only one who works here with a personality, Phil often calls him, before quickly adding Below fifty, of course.

“Gromit,” he says decidedly. “He’s cute.”

“Gromit it is,” he whips around, presenting Dan with a steaming ceramic version of the dog, his left ear protruding into a handle.

“How did I not see that coming?” Dan chuckles, taking the mug and nearly burning his fingertips. “Thanks,” he sips a little too quickly. “Let me guess; you have a Wallace one too?”

“A-ha!” Lawrence spins around again holding with an identically sized mug, the other character still grinning despite having a head full of boiling hot liquid.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Dan grins, shaking his head in disbelief. He plops himself down on Lawrence’s enormous armchair, shifting a jacket off of the seat. Despite his repeated insistence that he really doesn’t mind and the stool looks really comfy, actually; Lawrence insists he takes his chair every single time he comes over.

‘It’s just lovely to have a chat with you, kid,’ he’d say. ‘I don’t get many visitors.’

The whole thing swamps Dan’s small frame, the upholstery devouring most of him, but the comfort is unbeatable. He could fall asleep here.

“Look at his nose! His- look at that! Hey- you’re missing it!”

Dan’s eyes dart around the room. “Wait- what?”

“The mug!” he urges.

Dan frowns, peering at the steaming Wallace. His grin looks like the taste of Brie.

“It’s-…” he squints. “Big?”

“Not mine you daft thing- yours!” he points.

“Mine?” Dan looks down. Gromit stares forward, his black button now a cherry red. “Oh!”

“Clever, that, ain’t it?” Lawrence enthuses, his eyes shimmering. “Must be a heat detector! I don’t know how they do it, these things,” he beams. “It’s like they’re finding something new every day.”

Dan’s heart glows. It would come as no surprise if he’d been waiting all week to show him that.

“I’ll keep an eye out for it next time,” Dan smiles, looking down. “I used to have a Pac-Man mug that did a similar thing, actually.”

“Pac-Man, eh?” Lawrence says as if it’s the eleventh Grand Theft Auto. “What used to happen? Did he do his little routine?”

“Not quite,” Dan giggles, assuming his ‘little routine’ constituted flying around a maze uncontrollably. “The ghosts just appeared. Nothing moved, though.”

“That’ll be the next step, I tell you,” Lawrence says. “Goodness knows what they’ll be able to do even one year from now. Come next Christmas you’ll be buying me a mug that can sing.”

Dan’s grin doesn’t stop. How someone so many times his age can still bear such child-like enthusiasm for the small things really is something treasurable. The gem of Southview, he decides as he takes another sip and studies the bottle opener collection beside him. Lawrence makes this job bearable. Worthwhile.

He doesn’t tell him such mugs actually exist; doesn’t let on the Cherusker stein is a particular favourite of his. The cabinet full of them was in fact possibly the only tolerable aspect of the May Fair experience; – he’d forever spend lounge duty dusting them, lifting every one and smiling as gentle lullabies spilled out until barked at to ‘stop wasting time’. He makes a mental note to make another addition to his Christmas shopping list. He’s certain Lawrence is aware of their existence, but he’s sure he wouldn’t be expecting to unwrap one only three weeks from now. Seeing those eyes crinkle with joy under years of laughter lines is a gift in itself.

He only realizes he’s smiling when Lawrence matches his grin.

“You’re at a funny age,” he sighs, clinking the spoon against the china. He places it on an Abbey Road coaster. “That’s what my mother used to say,” he pauses, forehead lined with thought. “Mind you, she’s been saying that at every age I’ve been,” there’s a silence. “Even now.”

Dan grins, imagining a woman twenty-odd years older but about a metre shorter. It warms his heart to hear she’s still with him, with them. Here.

“What does that say, eh?” he continues. “There’s never an age you’re going to look back and everything around you will have fallen into place. Never a moment you’ll dust off your hands and think ‘well, that was easy’. Because that isn’t life.”

The final sentence resounds all around the hemisphere of his consciousness. What absolute truth there is to be found in that.

This is precisely what he loves about his conversations with Lawrence. It isn’t just the tea. Not even the comfort both physical and emotional alike; the guarantee that whatever he confesses to doing won’t go any further than the office walls. It isn’t even the advice- which he’d go so far as to admit is more beneficial than Phil’s, at certain times (there’s just something about hearing it from someone who’s double their combined age).

It’s the lack of judgement. The listening ear. The only person he can truly guarantee is without a single trace of bias or underlying ulterior motive. The ‘I’ve experienced, lived, truly knocked down but bounced back every time’ tone that resonates through every pebble of advice, each wise word he gifts away.

And he feels safe, talking to him. He feels comfortable. It’s everything every single past job wasn’t, and even now, when Dan drags a scalding sip to his lips and listens to Lawrence’s stories, his pellets of wisdom and anecdote after anecdote involving life in the Sixties, he realizes he’s truly safe here. Happy, almost.

“How old is she? Your mother?” The question escapes his lips before he can exercise any control over what he’s asking. Shit, he hopes that wasn’t too personal. Not a lot of things are off-limits when it comes to conversations with Lawrence, but boundaries are still unclear.

Lawrence remains unfazed, his expression still thoughtfully soft.

“She’ll be ninety-eight this June.”

“Eighty-eight?” Dan frowns. He must have heard that wrong.

Lawrence points a finger to the ceiling. “Up ten.”

His jaw drops.

“Wow.”

“Yep,” Lawrence contradicts with a warm head nod. “She’s lived through a lot, has our Maggie.”

“I can imagine,” Dan breathes, leaning against the desk. His respective lifespan has already thrown enough in his direction. He can’t imagine what four times that would be.

“Lived through two world wars, bless her,” he sighs, his eyes studying the windowsill. “Lord alone knows what the woman must have witnessed,” his eyes flicker to Dan. “Then bringing up three kids on top of that,” he shakes his head, slurping the steam. “I don’t know how she does it. Still going strong, mind. She’s an angel.”

“Truly,” Dan sighs, his gaze leaning further and further out of the window. A crow comes to a soaring descent onto one of the branches, leaving a flutter of yellow leaves in its wake. If he narrows his eyes he can make out the very outline of a nest somewhere further in. “You’re lucky to have her,” he says before his thoughts can catch up.

Lawrence huffs out a chuckle. “You sound almost as old as I do, kid,” he hesitates. “Though you’re right. I am. I love her.” There’s a silence. “And I make sure I tell her every single day.”

Something tightens in the back of Dan’s throat. He blinks a couple of times, sipping carefully. “That’s lovely,” he mumbles into the mug, masking the crack he knew was going to appear in his voice.

“It’s important to say it as often as you can, you know,” he says, tearing open a box of Leibniz and giving Dan the first pick. They’re orange – his favourite. Last week’s rant over the white chocolate ones had clearly been taken on board. “However you say it. In whichever respect you mean it. You have to tell them how much they mean to you. You have to tell them you love them.”

A crumb goes down the wrong way.

“Careful, kid,” Lawrence gives him a firm thump on the back. Dan erupts into coughs, pausing to choke on his own breath a handful of times.

“You okay?”

It’s an amusing question given he’s a shade of scarlet and can only gasp in response, but he nods anyway, reaching for the tea.

All good, he mouths.

A couple of scalding sips later his lungs finally begin to recalibrate.

“Fuck-…” he huffs out a sigh. “I don’t know where that came from- I-…” he chokes again. “You’re right, though, about the-” another cough interrupts him.

“You’re meant to eat it, not inhale it,” Lawrence chuckles. “You donut. Here-“ he pulls out a drawer, scrabbling through loose sheets of kitchen roll and various CDs (without cases, much to Dan’s anxiety) before thrusting a half-opened packet of Soothers into his hand. “Finish them off, kid.”

“Oh, Lawrence,” Dan’s heart all but melts. “Thank you.”

He only takes one, but Lawrence insists he keeps them.

“Just in case you inhale your dinner tonight,” he chuckles, before adding, “Don’t you go choking on that, for God’s sake.”

“The irony of choking on a Soother,” Dan giggles. his speech a little indistinct. They’re a little on the sticky side but they still taste good. The peach ones have always been his favourite.

“Remember what I said,” he reminds him as Dan chews.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“Not at all, pet,” he smiles. “They need eating up.”

Dan chuckles. “I meant for the-…” he trails off when he spots the gleam in the older man’s eye. He doesn’t even need to finish his sentence to know he knows.

“It’s my pleasure. As long as I can be useful for something,” he raises his chipped mug to his lips as if it’s a champagne glass. “Always remember to give your energy to the right things. And the right people.”

Dan smiles, twining a loose thread around his pinkie. Another pellet of wisdom to come back to when he feels his mind darkening.

“I never used to be much good at that,” he admits. “The right people were always the wrong.”

“Ah, but never forget how far you’ve come,” Lawrence says. “You’re telling me things you wouldn’t have even been able to even think about months ago.”

Dan looks up. “Seriously?” Shit, he hadn’t even noticed.

“Would I be joking?” Lawrence simply says, furrowing a large silver eyebrow. Dan looks down at his tea, sipping carefully. It’s reached a perfect temperature, the liquid hugging his lips. “You tend not to be able to see your own progress, but others can. Others do,” he insists, grey eyes promising.

Dan feels like he’s going to cry.

“Thank you,” he breathes, disguising his mouth with the mug again.

“You don’t need to thank me, kid,” he chuckles.

“It’s unbelievably hard not to,” Dan admits, chuckling too. His eyes threaten tears but he can’t stop grinning.

“If anything, I should be thanking you,” he says.

Dan stares at him.

“Me? What for?”

“Oh, kid,” Lawrence sighs, his eyes glittering. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you. We’ve had some real characters in and out of here, I’m telling you – between you and me, and don’t even let this get to Phil, but-…” he shakes his head, his eyes following another crow headed in the same direction. He’s probably watching the same tree; Dan briefly thinks before he continues. “Some were okay,” he says almost as if to convince himself if anyone. “Mary, she was lovely. But some,” he closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Look- I really shouldn’t be telling you this- Lord alone knows how unprofessional it is to be-“

“I wouldn’t worry,” Dan interjects, immediately apologizing for interrupting. “Workplaces harbor all manner of dark secrets. I’m sure a little venting about a couple of difficult colleagues doesn’t even come close.”

Lawrence chuckles, dusting biscuit crumbs off of the desk. “That I can’t argue with, kid,” he continues wiping, as if to process his next thought. “I’m not one to speak ill of people- of anyone, but-…’ he shakes his head. ‘You have no idea how much easier a time you give me, kid. It’s a joy to have you here,” he lowers his voice. “Some of them didn’t even turn up.”

Dan feels his face burn a little. Something warm floods through his veins. Shit, he’s never been told anything like that before. Never anything even remotely close. There’s also something particularly wholesome about Lawrence giving a recount of lousy employees like it’s a business-shattering affair, all hushed tones and closed doors.

“It’s great to be here,” he says quickly, his heart thumping. “It really is. It-…” he stops himself, interrupted by the abundance of possible phrases. Saved me, is the only one that adheres.

“I know,” Lawrence says before he can even open his mouth. He reaches forward and gives his knee a quick pat, and Dan wonders how such a small motion can harbour such reassurance. He doesn’t even need to finish his sentences he’s this understanding. “You’re a delight of an employee, I hope you realize,” he grins. “Everything you do is so appreciated here, kid. I ought to tell you that more often,” he pauses. “Sometimes the advice we give is advice we need to take ourselves, eh?

“And vice-versa,” Dan smiles, before hesitating. “Maybe I ought to express myself more.”

“Oh, you already do, kid,” Lawrence says. “We know.”

Dan’s grinning at his tea when he catches the end of his sentence.

“Especially Phil, did you say?”

“Oh, tell me about it. He can’t speak too highly of you, can our Phil. He can’t stop talking about you altogether, mind. ‘The Dan Button’, we call it.”

This conversation isn’t doing Dan’s sensitive blush reflex any favours whatsoever, but he’s past caring. He’s something of an open book to Lawrence anyway.

He stares at the row of vintage Cadbury mugs lining the top shelf of the cabinet (the 1970s Caramel edition is his favourite – there’s just something about the golden writing) as he continues. He wonders if he has a Phil Button. Does he talk about him a lot? Fuck, he hasn’t even thought about it. Usually there’s so much to say; whether it be an anecdote from the passing day or a conversation they’d had or something they’d watched or witnessed or read. It’s difficult to keep track of his own train of thought whenever anyone mentions him. The topic usually leads itself, his own mouth merely a guide. He’ll have to ask Noah if it’s getting excessive.

His eyes stay with the branch. The two crows huddle around the nest-like cluster. By the time this conversation is over the tree will probably be completely leaf-less, he notices as more fall.

“I don’t have a Phil Button, do I?” he says before he can stop himself. Fuck. He just couldn’t resist.

Lawrence only smiles. An eyebrow thinks about twitching upward.

Dan smirks at the silence. Okay. Enough said.

“You kids,” he sighs, swallowing the remains of his tea. “Look out for each other, won’t you? Remember what I said. Tell people how much they mean to you. They aren’t mind-readers.”

Dan smiles, and promises.

“Always.”

Lawrence grins. “I’m glad you ended up here. Doctor Lester is particularly fond of you, y’know.”

Dan stares at him. Surely not. He’s never even seen the man talk, let alone crack anything close to a smile. Any communication between the two had always been by proxy – usually through Lawrence but Phil a lot of the time too. It’s eerily easy to forget they’re even related at all, let alone father and son.

“Oh yes,” he continues, reading his expression. “I shan’t embarrass you with the details, but he says it’s simply a delight to have you on board.”

Dan stares out of the window. Another crow had joined whom he had presumed to be the mother (how can you even tell with birds like that?), both fluttering close to their respective nest. More leaves fall with every judder.

“Well, that-…” he giggles, already feeling his face flush again. He’s going to have to invest in some makeup at this point. “That means a lot. To say the very least, I guess,” he widens his eyes, staring into space. “Wow. God, that’s-…” disbelief silences him. He shakes his head. “That’s the first time like-…” his eyes flicker wider. “Ever.”

“Yeah,” Lawrence remains tactfully quiet. Any allusions toward past jobs are always met with nothing other than gentle sympathy – never questions, never any further comments. Dan can’t thank him enough for that – the past is to be referred to, not relived. If its only reflective purpose is to one day be used as a comparison, something highlighting the incline of quality of life thereafter, then so be it. “You’re appreciated here, kid. By all of us,” he leans forward. “Between you and me, I think he can see how happy you’re making Phil. Y’didn’t hear that from me though, alright?” he nudges his foot with his own and throws him a quick wink.

Dan goes from pink to peony. He makes sure to chew his biscuit properly this time, dunking it in the remains of the tea. Another choking fit at his point would probably send him head-first into the recovery position. He doesn’t reckon being carried out of Mr. Headforth’s office on a stretcher would be his finest hour. Not when he’s finally made it onto the good side of the school, of the staff and communities therein; unusually tight-knit for such a vast population.

He looks up. He smiles.

“No, I didn’t.”

Lawrence’s eyes flicker down to his cheeks. He doesn’t need to say anything.

And I make sure I tell her every single day.

It resides with him for the rest of the afternoon, the phrase burning itself into his consciousness like a tattoo behind the eyes. He can’t let it go, not when he’s studying that pineapple streak the sunset left behind, Phil a breezy nuzzle to the cheek. Not when they’re pacing through the corridors somewhere in the evening, somewhere between the fall of the sun and the rise of the moon. Not even when their hair becomes a confusion of two shades and every breath is shared.

However you say it. In whichever respect you mean it.

He wonders how Lawrence tells her; his mother. When. Where. Does it depend on the day? The hour? Circumstance? He knows there are more than eight letters involved in the action, more than three words to its weight. Does the meaning bleed through his everyday phrases? When he asks her about her day? Whether she’s eaten?

He gulps, his heart thudding.

“Have you had lunch?” was how he’d greeted Phil this noon. “I have loads of pasta in the fridge. I made too much again.”

He stares at the ceiling.

“Text me when you get there,” was how he’d said goodbye this evening. It had started as a joke between the three of them – the campus, although spanning acre-upon-acre of land is still nothing but a speck when compared to the rest of the outside world – but had quickly become something of a tradition (to the extent Dan would often find himself receiving ‘i’m ok <3’ texts from someone in the next room as him).

“Take care,” is how he punctuates most ending conversations with the other boy in hindsight. Still eight letters. A different combination of such, albeit, but a mirrored meaning.

Oh god. He’s fucked.

You’re at a funny age, grey eyes remind him.

Every cell in his body agrees with that, and apparently it’s something they’ll have to get used to. It looks like that’ll never stop, not even after ninety-eight trips around the Sun.

Remember what I said.

Dan does.

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan au #dan and phil #mywriting #writing #chaptered #im still refamiliarising myself w this so it might take a couple chapters to properly settle in #but i hope this is ok omg

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ughgclden · 3 years ago

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bee, love, i am so happy you had a good first day, you deserve calm and loving days, and you deserve people, deserve friends. i’m so happy for you.

as for apologising, i’m a terrible hypocrite every time i tell you not to worry about it, as i also apologise for anything, most notably existing, but i want you to know you don’t have to apologise to me, i understand the impulse but there’s no obligation or anything.

i’m glad you’re feeling better, and that it was just a little ick, well not glad that you were ick but glad it wasn’t too bad.

when it comes to being in welton, i fantasise a lot about these things, i think something especially about boarding schools is appealing to me. being away. that’s why my plans are new york or wales or if my friend is to be believed, quebec. sometimes though, those realities all feel more and more like tissue paper soaked in water, just waiting for a reason to fall apart

i read really quickly, it’s probably an issue, i read red white and royal blue in about an hour and fifteen minutes. neil and i. kindred spirits. today at lunch i watched the last thirty minutes of dead poets society, going back to rewatch “i was good, i was really good.” like ten times.

imposter syndrome is slowly getting the better of me.

i actually dressed up as leia for the midnight premiere of the force awakens. i’m that person. if i’d been with you in the cinema i would have cried too, you’re not alone there, i cried watching it on the floor.

i don’t deserve the nice words you give me, but i’m happy i make you feel comfy and cosy, and ironically enough, writing with a quill or fountain pen never ends in pristine and unsmudged ink, you can thank my being left handed for that. i think there’s something nice about writing with fancy pens, maybe that makes me seem pretentious as well. oh well.

as for dps tattoos, if i can ever get any tattoos, i want the neil crown, “i was good, i was really good.” somewhere, probably my wrist who knows, and some art that alludes to the first unmanned flying desk set. among others. the “and still we sleep” thought, and the outline of meeks and pitts both sound so lovely. so so lovely. i really hope you can get every tattoo you wish. although your bank account may hate me for saying so /j i want more piercings, mainly on my ears, i have something of an earring addiction, my favourite pair at the moment is probably my howl drop earrings that look like howls from howls moving castle.

honestly the outfit/hair colour distraction rule is dumb. it’s dumb. i just don’t get it. abuse of power ig. and yeah. we were like hugging and sorta just leaning on each other while talking and the administrator got angry, for whatever reason. the straight couple making out behind us, she didn’t seem to mind, however. it’s dumb, and im glad i don’t go there anymore.

im clearly very articulate today (sarcasm) my mind is ehhhhhhhhhhh and feels like a squirrel laying on its stomach.

maybe i will call you ramona flowers, bee /j did you know the original name for pac man was puck man… /j hiding in the back of the music room to avoid a maths test sounds like something i would do. i say this, knowing full well that i’m such a neil kinnie that i end up feeling like a teachers pet because i want to do well, both for myself and simply to avoid trouble with my mum.

a new york times best seller, huh? well if i ever publish anything i’ll dedicate it to you, both for being the only person who thought i could be a storyteller, but also for being a lovely person in general.

sometimes one day after another feels impossible. tomorrow feels impossible. but oh well. i think younger me would be disappointed, to some degree. on the other hand, i think they’d think it’s cool how much i know. if nothing else, they’d love that i have a typewriter. also, i’m sure young you would be proud of you, i am. i’m so proud of you.

i mean bee, i could teach you to shoot a bow /hj YOU CAN WIELD A SWORD????? here i was thinking you could not possibly get cooler or hotter omg i’m in love /hj

thank you for being proud of me, really bee, thank you. and thank you for being the only one. i’m hardly changing the world, but i guess if i don’t burn out and lose this fight, changing a few points of views in the process of growing wouldn’t be terrible.

p.s. it’s certainly something, i feel bad because i always pull away from people when i get numb and it’s so new that me doing that could be detrimental to everything, but me forcing myself not to could have a bad effect on me. who knows what’ll happen. i’m just gonna try and keep them happy no matter what.

p. p. s. bee you brought this upon yourself /lh

all my love, bee, and that pun was the out of this world part of that sentence. you’re so cute omg.

that quote is beautiful, and since i, once again, had to translate french and smile about it, i’ll leave you with this

no importa que nos separe la distancia, siempre habrá un mismo cielo que nos una.

p.p.p.s. thank you for saying what you do, and i know that i don’t owe you anything, but writing to you is easy, and makes me happy, when i manage to get myself to sit down and think about it. i’m sending you back hugs, gentle forehead kisses and mugs of tea, a soft blanket and a narnia movie marathon, where we argue about how i am definitely not better than susan pevensie, but you almost certainly might be.

i’m so happy uni is going well thus far, love. and i hope you love your classes. learning.

thank you for everything bee.

yours, always,

star✨

star sweetheart, thank you so so much, honestly. i can't tell you how much that means - i know you said not to apologise, but an apology seems in order for the lateness of this message- im terrible i know /lh thank you sm though.

i'm writing this whilst listening to one of my favourite albums (hypersonic missiles by sam fender, if you were curious) and curled up in bed, so this really adds to the comforting vibes.

i'm with you on that, boarding schools do have a certain something about them, don't they? i hope you can get to one or all of these places in your life - i can speak from experience wales is especially beautiful, but i can really see you in new york, too. wherever you end up star, i truly hope you're happy there.

an hour and fifteen mins?!!? the fastest i've read something was a clockwork orange in two and a half hours or so- you are so strong star, i've watched that film 20+ times and only watched the last half an hour maybe 4 /lh

that is SO CUTE oh my god- i will admit, for it chapter two i did channel my inner bill denbrough and wore some flannel (i luv that limbo <3)

you deserve all of these words and more, i promise you. you deserve something a lot less clumsy, but i offer you my best. left handed.. you rly are neil huh? /j

all of those ideas; absolutely lovely. the i was good tattoo breaks my heart in the best way possible. im hoping you get all of these tattoos, love. you'd suit them more than anyone, i'm sure. those earrings sound like the coolest fucking things ever? i did have a pair that had a little vodka bottle on, but i lost one in a club and haven't gotten round to replacing them. i definitely want more piercings too,, my conch is looking pretty bare as of late...

that is just. so disgusting? im so- god that makes me so angry i can't even explain. i think i should punch all homophobes straight in the mouth, actually /hj

love, i bet younger you would be so so proud of all you've achieved. from only what you've told me, i am. they'd be over the moon at how intellectual, kind and strong you are, i know it.

I CAN!!! ITS ONE OF MY MOST ESTEEMED TALENTS!!! lets make a deal. you teach me to shoot a bow, i teach you to wield a sword.. we're giving very narnia power couple if i may say.. /hj

i will always be proud of you star, for even the smallest of things you achieve. you're actively making a difference and a change, take bringing this positivity into my life for example. you've got this, star. i know you have.

ps; im wishing you all the best my love, seriously. take every day as it comes, and listen to your mind and wellbeing. im sending you so much love

pps; that quote. is so fucking cute. god im breaking down,, its so pretty and so DHJHFJKNFKKN yeah.

this is me, making you a cup of coffee and your favourite comfort meal, with a kiss on the top of the head. we will have this argument - as much as i love susan, she's no match for you <33

all of my love and happiness, star. you truly are one of a kind.

if i may, i'd like to leave you with an excerpt from a poem i saw earlier that i fell in love with;

"and you laugh. / loudly- / head tipping back. / and while your eyes / are on the ceiling, / i am mouthing / something too heavy even / for this steady night to shoulder. / "this is not a joke." i mouth. / "love me. love me." - letters from medea, salma deera

#asks <3 #anon asks!#star anon #long post

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boba-xing · 5 years ago

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Captivating {Chapter 8}

Fem!Reader x Werewolf!Choi Seungcheol (SVT)

Warnings: none

Taglist: @suhappysuho @captain-brie @seekerbabygirl @moon8894 @yippee-kay-yay @sehunnies-hunnie96 @lovinggalaxies @brokenbutchocolate @amixoferrthang @onewoowonderboy @3rachatraingoeschoochoo @sksk-x @haluim17 @jelly-fishy-babie @sakura-uji @psshwa

“I don’t want to think about it, I just want to sleep, okay?” you cross your arms at the sulky boy standing in front of you. He’s so far managed to resist the urge to pull you into his arms, and instead is resting himself against the kitchen counter, leaning back on his palms.

He nods, “Okay, I’ll take the sofa. You can have my room.”

You want to argue otherwise but you can tell he’s not in the mood for that, and to be honest neither are you.

It’s such a strange atmosphere. You’re not sure how to feel, or whether you made the right decision at all. Even with Joshua looking at you encouragingly you can’t find words to say to Seungcheol.

“Thank you for coming back.” Cheol mumbles, looking up at you.

You shrug, “Thank Joshua.”

It only takes a moment of silence before you head upstairs, collapsing onto Seungcheol’s bed and embarrassingly enjoying his scent. You frown, if he’s part wolf does that mean he can smell you? Shouldn’t you know that from your obsessive reading of folklore tales...but then again Josh basically made half that stuff out to be untrue.

Your eyes fall on the picture of Seungcheol’s sister on the bedside table. She’s young, pretty and the look on her face is of pure joy. You wonder what happened to her, why she died. And in your chest, you feel your heart sink slightly.

---

You’re woken by the sound of shouting only metres from the bedroom door, and with some struggle you manage to roll over and check the time on your phone.

7 am.

You let out a groan, rolling back over only to scream at the face of an intruder. You somehow leap backwards, foot twisted in the duvet and just manage not to fall off the bed.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” Jeonghan stands up from his seat on the desk chair and looks awkwardly at you.

“What are you doing in here? Holy shit, you scared me so much!” you breathe, frowning at the man,

“Seungcheol asked me to keep an eye on you to make sure you’re okay-”

“-While I sleep?” you furrow your eyebrows, “That’s so creepy!”

“No, I’ve only been here for like five minutes! He knew the boys would wake you up so he didn’t want you to get scared.” Jeonghan sits back down.

“Oh yeah, he really succeeded there.” You roll your eyes, positioning yourself back on the bed steadily. “Are they like this every morning?”

“No, it was an eventful night so they ended up arguing.”

“An eventful night?”

“Yeah a lot of fighting for territory, another pac- sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about this.” he scratches the back of his neck.

“No, I do, go on.”

“Well, I don’t think Seungcheol would want me to tell you either.”

“How am I supposed to trust any of you if you won’t tell me anything?” you roll your eyes again, earning a slightly judgemental look from Jeonghan. “Whatever, I’m gonna get changed. So if you don’t mind...”

He nods before heading out of the room.

You get changed quickly and by the time you’re done the shouting has stopped and an eery silence has taken over the house. There’s the occasional footstep or clatter of utensils from the kitchen but it seems as though all the energy has been sucked out of the building.

You find Seungcheol in his study, peering over the edge of the door to see his figure observing some sheets on the desk. He seems to have changed a lot from last night...he’s no longer the broken man who cried at your rejection, but rather an intimidating leader who means business.

“You can come in, love.” you’re slightly startled by his gruff tone but enter the room anyway. He nods at the seat in front of the desk, eyes not leaving the paperwork just as yours don’t leave the floor. “I heard Jeonghan scared you.”

You look up at his now softened voice, and his dark brown orbs gaze back at you. You’re not sure what to say so instead you fidget under his observation. “Mhmm.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know he would startle you like that.” He glances back down to his work, “Have you had breakfast?”

“No.” you bite your lip, “A-are we just going to act...normal?”

“What do you mean?” He looks at you again, this time putting his pen down and focusing on you properly.

“Like, are we just going to act like nothing happened?” your gaze falls to the floor, nervous again.

“I don’t see why not.” His voice is so soft now, softer than you’ve ever heard it, and you’re thankful because otherwise you’d probably rush out of the room in anxiousness. “It’s-it’s a normal thing for the rest of us, so maybe if you just act like it’s normal and like you’re used to it then everything will be just fine. It will only take a little time and a little learning to feel fully comfortable around us, okay?”

“Okay.” Your teeth pull at your lip.

“Are you mad at me, ___?” he sighs, “Please tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I-I don’t know how I’m feeling, okay?” you frown, “I thought this was the perfect relationship and I was really getting to know you and like you. But then it’s all changed and I’m confused and I don’t know what to believe and what not to believe. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not going crazy.” He reaches his hand out and you take it, letting him run his thumb soothingly over your fingers. “You just need some time, okay? Don’t think about it too much, and just relax. You’re safe, you’re cared for, you don’t need to worry, okay?”

“Okay.” You nod.

“Why don’t you text Jihyun and ask if she wants to come over? We can order some pizza or something.” Seungcheol suggests, “I think it’ll help you get more comfortable.”

You nod again, pulling out your phone and curling into the seat. Seungcheol’s eyes softly analyse your features, admiring the way your lips pout and your eyebrows furrow as you concentrate. He finds you absolutely adorable, beautiful but more adorable.

“She’ll probably reply later,” You lick your dry lips, looking back at him, “It’s a bit early.”

“Mmm.” His eyes travel to your lips and back before his gaze settles back at your eyes. “Why don’t you go and get something to eat, sweetheart? If you need anything I’ll be in here.”

“Okay, thank you.” You quickly make your way out and hop your way to the kitchen.

“Morning.” Shua smiles at you as come in, cutting a piece of waffle and stabbing it with the fork, “Here, try this.”

“Oka-” you don’t even get to finish your sentence before he’s shoved the breakfast food into your mouth, watching you eagerly.

“What do you think?”

You take a moment to swallow. “It’s good.”

“Just good?”

“It’s a waffle, Joshua, it’s not going to be mind blowing.”

“I made it myself.” he says, “Normally Mingyu makes everything.”

“Well then, it’s the best waffle I’ve had in my life.” you smile, “Mingyu could never make one as good as this.”

“___, he can definitely hear you, and he’ll probably be down in a minute to show us his cooking skills.” Chan wonders over, snatching the waffle plate from Joshua and gulping it down in record speed.

As if on queue, Mingyu appears in the kitchen, arms crossed and a pout on his face as he stares directly at you.

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rose-coloured-angel · 4 years ago

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Got this in the mail. I don't support Donald Trump, but my mother does. Her name and our address appear on the letter. I read it, and I am disgusted and terrified by what it says. This is fearmongering, conspiracy, and outright dishonesty plain and simple. I don't even know where to start.

Let's examine photograph 1, the first part of this letter. It lists names of people that Trump/Trump's administration claims will threaten the latter's recipient(s). The wording of the first claim, that Elizabeth Warren will be Secretary of the Treasury, really bothers me. "Kiss your retirement savings goodbye". That is a threat linked to E.W.'s name, and a claim of a future that is not elaborated upon in the letter. HOW would she threaten someone's retirement savings?

The next claims are worded in threatening, hyperbolic ways, but they are also directly insinuating that the people named are going to implement policies that are in direct opposition to key beliefs held by Republicans. These bullet points are specifically made to create fear in Conservatives that their government will be made socialist, that the economy will be destroyed by the "Green New Deal", and that there will be strict gun control (none of which are supported with evidence in the letter). At the end of this portion of the letter, seen at the bottom of the first photo, the letter claims that "it is a nightmare scenario that puts the 'Far-Left Elite' in charge [of the government]", and that "socialism would replace capitalism". This is all speculation at best and conspiracy at worst, especially given the idea of "Far-Left Elite", which sounds close to major conspiracy theories (such as the antisemitic "lizard people" conspiracy theory). Again, there is nothing in this letter to support these wild and hyperbolic claims.

The next portion of the letter, shown in photograph 2, is worded in a threatening way that claims to be fact when it is also unsupported speculation specifically written to make it opposed to the values common of Republicans/Conservatives. It makes the claim that taxes for the average American would be so high that they would have next to no money left for them or their families. It claims that the Biden administration has a hard-on for handing out benefits to "illegal immigrants", benefits which the letter claims to include "taxpayer-funded abortions", a direct punch at his target demographic's popularly held religious beliefs.

Turning the letter over, we get photographs 3 and 4. The very first words are underlined and bolded for emphasis: "The American Dream would die". Words like "declare war", "wither", and "gutted" are used to create a fear response in readers. Trump claims Biden will target small businesses and farmers, and that this would cause the economy to be desolate. There is also a shoe-horned threat of military weakness at the end of the paragraph, claiming that other world superpowers like China and Russia would see America as a "paper tiger" that they would "neither fear nor respect". It is implied that, in this way, those other superpowers would try to attack the USA.

The next sentence does not give the reader a choice, but rather TELLS the reader to "imagine the worst" when thinking of a Biden presidency. A few sentences later, it is claimed that "fake news" is going to write Biden's inauguration speech FOR him. Again, conspiracy not backed by any facts, at the very least not supported in-letter.

Finally, we have Trump claiming that he will personally "protect your family, your faith, your Second Amendment rights, and your hard-earned paychecks", that he will "be the guardian of all of your rights and the American ideals we hold dear". I would like to foremost address the SECOND point that he claims he will protect, being FAITH. Not only is it religion based fearmongering to say that the "faith" of an individual is threatened by any political candidate, but it is also obvious that he means Christianity here. What about Americans who aren't Christians? Will he defend Muslims? Judaism? Buddism? Pagans? No, he will defend the Conservative CHRISTIANS who SUPPORT HIM only. There is also the wording of "your hard-earned paychecks", and as we all know, flattery will get you anywhere.

Given the sentence in photograph 4, "Your past support...", I can only assume my mother has given money before. Tell me why a man as rich as Donald Trump needs money for a campaign? The letter mentions nothing about HOW the money is going to be used to help Trump or his campaign only that the contributions will "make America great". It is also written that "we will...overcome the hundreds of millions of 'dark' money and Super PAC dollars that are doing Joe Biden's 'dirty work'." Does the letter clarify WHERE this supposed "dark money" comes from? And what is "dark money"? The implication here is that Joe Biden and his company are "evil"; this also feeds into religious paranoia about an "Antichrist" or "New World Order", a belief amongst many Christian Conservatives that Satan and compatriots are trying to take over the world through a unified government. It is subtle, but definitely implied, and given that my mother is one who believes in "a New World Order" and has it DIRECTLY impact her political choices, I am NOT just pulling subtext and speculation out of my ass.

Many Conservatives see Religion and Politics as intertwined. This letter makes claims that religious faith (specifically Christian given the target audience) is being threatened by Democrats and Joe Biden's campaign. But in reality, Donald Trump is closer to an antichrist than Biden. I will not go into specifics here, but anyone who is religious or familiar with Christian religious texts (or who is unfamiliar but willing to put in a little time and research) will see exactly what I mean. I find it hilarious that the same people who claimed Obama was an antichrist figure are the same people who support Donald Trump and his heinous fear mongering and lies.

It is gravely important that we vote 💙BLUE💙 in November. Donald Trump CANNOT be allowed to have a second term. He claims that Biden will destroy freedom and the economy when Trump himself is already doing the same. Biden may not be a perfect candidate, but he is certainly better than the asshole who created this letter. I will try to speak with my mother about it and change her mind, though it may be a fruitless task. I hate conflict and try to avoid it, but this letter genuinely terrifies me. If any of your family members receive something like this, DESTROY IT. It is just a greedy, fascist man using fear and empty threats to manipulate his followers into giving him more money. Stay Safe.

#trump #biden #politics #Republican #democrat #trump 2020 #biden 2020 #vote blue #black lives matter #blm #christian #fascist #conservative #religion #donald trump #joe biden

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whumptasticwednesday · 5 years ago

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Insult to Injury ft. Dadneto (Peter Maximoff - X-Men)

Author’s Note: Hey, ya’ll. I’ve been burning the midnight oil to get this fic out on time, AKA 2 consecutive nights of staying up till’ 3 am. I’ve had the idea for a Peter-centric Dadneto whump fic for a decent amount of time, and after receiving a lovely anonymous prompt, I decided to incorporate both my idea and theirs. Here we’ve got Peter after the events of Apocalypse, debilitated, and accidentally giving himself a nasty case of salmonella, before Erik comes to help. I’m pretty proud of this one, so I hope you enjoy it! This fic is unedited, sorry, so please let me know if there’s any glaring issues. For my next fic, I’m shifting away from X-Men for a hot sec so I can write a nice Detroit: Become Human whump fic with our favorite android son, Connor. I’ve been super excited about my plot concept, so I’m ecstatic to start writing it. Anyways, I hope you like this one, I worked very hard on it, and I hope you’re all excited for the DBH fic coming soon!

-Ash

Word Count: 6299

Warning: Emeto and decently graphic descriptions of physical illness

Setting: Post-Apocalypse/Pre-Dark Phoenix

If there's anything Peter Maximoff knew in this moment, it was that not being able to do the one thing your body was genetically enhanced to do, sucked. A lot.

It had been only a few days since the X-Mansion had been rebuilt and things all fell back into this synonymous routine as if the entire building hadn't exploded a short while ago. In Peter's opinion, it was all kind of creepy how easy it seemed for these kids to all just go back to learning when their home and school just got eviscerated in a hellfire, but he didn't think much of it.

All he could think about in this moment, was how immensely bored he was. Peter always had something going on with him; he was either thinking about his impending dad-related issues, plotting a prank, or deciding to go off and steal an entire Walmart's worth of Twinkies in the blink of an eye, there was always something.

Yet now, the rest of the X-Men were off with Charles helping cover up heat from the international press by cleaning up all the damage and destruction in Cairo and showing what Charles had dubbed: "diplomacy", which was too huge of a word for Peter to ever use in an everyday sentence; too many letters, and Peter was left back at the mansion since he really couldn't use his powers effectively at the moment, so it would be pretty useless for him to be tagging along.

Peter normally wouldn't have given a damn, maybe even excited at the prospect of being able to rig his friends' rooms with elaborate traps with Jello and staplers or something of the sorts while they weren't around, yet now, when faced with inescapable boredom that followed him wherever his broken leg did (everywhere), he was dying to have anything to do. As the team was suiting up to get on the jet to go back to Cairo, Peter had pathetically hobbled down to the X-Men bunker on his crutches, begging to be taken with. But they'd simply gassed up the plane and flew off, leaving Peter alone, and oh so very bored.

Which brings us to Peter now, attempting to create an omelette with 6 different cheeses, 8 different and poorly-diced peppers, a heaping assortment of minced tomatoes, and a sprinkling of those off-brand fruit snacks that are always better than the on-brand ones for some reason. It wouldn't be a Peter breakfast without some form of sweet, and in his eyes, it stuck to the healthy-ish theme. It had fruit in the name for a reason, didn't it?

The kid always had a massive appetite, and everyone that knew Peter knew this as well. You'd be hard pressed to find him without some snack or form of sustenance in his hand, scarfing it down like there was no tomorrow. It was all a byproduct of his enhanced metabolism. All that energy to run had to come from somewhere, didn't it? Little did he know, this super stomach of his would come to kick him in the ass in a few short hours. But for now, the silver-haired man child of a mutant was limping around the mansion's kitchen making a very... exotic breakfast for dinner meal.

Peter plopped the strange looking (decently gooey) excuse for an omelette into a large plate with some Twinkies and orange juice on the side. As he devoured his dinner, Peter thought anxiously about Erik. It had taken him 10 years to connect the dots, work up the courage, and even think of confronting the man to tell him of his true parentage, yet wimped out at the last minute, leaving the ambiguous: "I'm here for my family too." Peter groaned audibly to himself as his mind once again replayed the events he'd already replayed a million times before. It was embarrassing as all hell. Luckily, nobody that did know told Erik anything, which Peter was very grateful for.

Imagine learning about a woman you left 2 and a half decades ago actually birthing a son you had no idea existed and just now learned of... but not from him, despite several encounters beforehand where he had ample opportunities to do so. It'd make Peter feel like even more of a loser than a 27 year old who still lived in his mother's basement. But, to be fair, Peter was no longer a grown man living with his mom, he was a grown man living in a school where he was many years past the oldest enrolled student, while not teaching a single class; it was a step up from the basement, trust me.

Once finished with his omelette, Peter quickly washed his dishes and made his trek up the small flight of stairs to reach his room on the second floor. Over the past few days, Peter had learned just how high a set of stairs could be, especially when you end up falling down them on several attempts to slide down the handrail (and failing miserably while being laughed at by dozens of impressionable pre-teen children.) What a loser.

After reaching his room, particularly winded from this dinner excursion, Peter was grateful to see that he hadn't unplugged his television from the wall after his embarrassing fall in an attempt to get to the bathroom by himself, without his crutches, or the lights on. A simple recipe for disaster in nearly all circumstances, yet for some reason, the universe held pity for Peter and his debilitated state, and decided to not make his day any worse than it already was.

Peter ultimately decided to entertain himself with a good night-long play session of Pac-Man on his Atari 2600, also still miraculously undamaged from last night's fall. He booted up the inferior version of the game (seriously though, he'd have to get Kurt to help him teleport his arcade cabinet from his basement to the school, playing this one was getting a bit tiring on the eyes.) It sufficed, he thought as the TV harshly flashed on.

Now normally, Peter would have been up all night with his video games and rock music blaring in the background, yet tonight, something (besides his immobile leg) felt really off. Each distinct 'WOMP' from the console as the yellow circle man consumed the dashes and dots felt like a sledgehammer into Peter's eardrums, leaving a resonating ache at the base of his skull. He didn't think much of it and brushed it off, simply turning down his music a notch and backing away from the TV a few inches.

The next confusing sign that something wasn't quite right was the disconcerting shivers wracking his body. A chilly breeze seemed to sweep the room as if the AC was on full blast with the windows open on a November midnight, yet it was July and all the windows were closed and when he went to check if his AC unit was acting up, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That's whack, Peter thought to himself as he plopped onto his bed, Atari abandoned on the rugged floor.

He didn't know how long he spent staring at the unmoving chandelier hanging lamely from the ceiling, but it felt as if seconds later, the room was not only freezing, but spinning, and suffocating. Everything felt way too close. Peter could feel every fiber of his shirt rubbing against his jacket, the itchy inside of his cast pressing up against the entirety of his right leg, and the presence of his goggles resting on his neck, now seeming like a noose closing in on his throat. He hastily tore off the eyewear and tossed them on his nightstand before deciding to shed his jacket and weakly throwing it across the room. Another move he regretted.

Without the jacket to keep his arms warm, the newfound seemingly frosty atmosphere felt like a icy flurry against his skin. In spite of his mind's confused wishes, Peter ripped the heavy blanket off the end of the bed and closed it around himself like a caterpillar ready to emerge as a butterfly the next time it saw the daylight. Peter sure as hell didn't feel like a caterpillar, but if the feeling of metamorphosis was a growing sense of intense nausea and cramping in the stomach, then hell yeah, he was crushing this butterfly business.

Fuck, what's wrong with me?! He thought to himself as he rolled onto his side. Peter rubbed at his eyes, hoping to clear the dizziness, yet only further irritating them. God damnit, he sighed internally as his face scrunched up in discomfort, releasing one of his hand's hold on the blanket to cradle his aching stomach.

"Is this karma for all that shit I stole when I was younger? That's just mean, man," Peter rasped to nobody in particular. He thought about it more though and responded to his own question, "Then again, I think that's pretty fair. Haha...Shit, man. Never thought I'd say this, but I think... I think I need help."

The sledgehammer-like headache was pounding with every bass drum beat lightly emanating from the sound system Peter hadn't turned off, another move he regretted. He couldn't decide if the pros outweighed the cons: hobbling through the dark to possibly remedy a source of his suffering, but relinquishing his hold on the only thing keeping him from feeling like freezing. Peter played it safe, much to his cranium's dismay.

Peter stared off towards the wall at nothing in particular as he tried oh so hard to draw his mind's focus from how terrible he felt to literally anything else. It wasn't working out so well. And so, Peter laid there, blanket tossed over himself, single leg drawn up to his chest, shivering like a leaf in a rainstorm, as nauseous as a toddler who just rode their first roller coaster, feeling like he was about to cry, and alone. What a miserable way to spend the night.

------

If there's anything Erik Lehnsherr knew in this moment, it was that he was beyond irritated that Charles wasn't at the mansion to run his own school. Despite leaving the school once he'd helped rebuild it to try and seek solitude to wrap his mind around his place in the world and everything that'd happened to him, Erik was back at the mansion once again. He was ready to lay down the foundations for his new mutant hideaway, Genosha, and needed Charles's connections to the government to help smooth over his charges and get clearance to have his isolated society where he might truly find happiness and solace. The universe had spoken, and he obviously wasn't cut out to be a nuclear family kind of guy.

Unbeknownst to him, Erik had once again meandered into a setting with his unrealized son. Also unbeknownst to him, that son was currently cooped up alone in his room, feeling like death.

Erik uncomfortably paced around the mansion, checking Charles's office, the X-Men bunker, and all the other places he might have been, yet the telepath was nowhere to be found. Erik sighed, he knew coming this late was a bargain, one, it turns out, he'd come to lose. The school itself was eerily quiet. It was if the entire mansion was empty or something. Peaceful, yet unsettling for a man who knew nothing but chaos.

Erik was about to borrow a book someone had abandoned in the foyer when he heard the muffled melodies of American rock music echoing from the upstairs floor. It must be that problematic Peter child, Erik thought to himself. From what he told himself was a civil duty to the rest of the sleeping kids in the school (but was actually his own way to cope with his curiosity) Erik decided to check up on the snarky young man to ask if he'd turn down the tunes.

As he approached the door, Erik was bracing himself for something extremely untamed. Perhaps a messy, greasy slophole of a living area, or maybe a drunk and uncontrollably obnoxious man dancing to his music in the nude. You never really knew with Peter, and Erik had come to expect the strangest out of the boy from the few genuine interactions they've had.

Erik gently tapped his knuckles against the door, waiting patiently for a 'come in', or something along the lines of those words, yet it never came. Raising a questioning yet not too surprised eyebrow, Erik knocked again, using slightly harder bangs, not wishing to make a ruckus and wake anyone else in the hallway up. Again, nothing. Although it could have simply boiled down to Peter not hearing him from his loud and abhorrent music, Erik was growing slightly irritated with the lack of a response. So with his last reserves of patience, he knocked one final time, once again listening for a signal or cue to enter. He was met with nothing yet again.

Wondering for the worst and fully expecting to meet a blackout drunk Peter when he opened the door, Erik tentatively jiggled the doorknob, which just so happened to be unlocked, and stepped inside. Thankfully, he was not met with a naked dancing or woefully drunk mutant speedster, but most would probably argue that what he was met with was quite worse. And that being a rancid stench of sick and sour nastiness lingering in the air, a poorly plopped pile of blankets draped over the culprit of the odor, and the culprit himself lying pale and flushed on the floor beside his bed, covered in his own vomit.

Erik's nose crinkled up from being met by the strongly nauseating smell of the room, reaching for the light switch on the wall to aid the sad little table lamp and glow of the TV in illuminating the room. Now he truly saw the pity-worthy situation for what it was. Peter laid in a heap on the ground next to his bed; he'd clearly trying to make it to the en suite bathroom just a few feet away. However, with his dizzy mind and immobile leg, he didn't make it very far and ended up expelling his dinner in a much less... dignified location (if you could consider a toilet bowl a very dignified location), that undignified location being all over his lap and onto his faded Pink Floyd t-shirt.

Not knowing how to really handle the situation, Erik called out a soft, "Peter?" hoping to elicit a response. Yet, just like at the door, he was met with nothing. As he approached the boy, thoughts of anxiety and panic circled through his mind. What would he say to him when he woke up? Would he be uncomfortable with Erik of all people coming to help? Would he be confused? Would he not care? He felt undeniably and inexplicably awkward. Erik shook the thoughts from his conscious as he knelt down to try and meet Peter's face.

"Peter?" he asked again. Erik tentatively reached over to tap the boy's face, which was contorted in a pinched expression of discomfort, marred further by the vomit drying in a trail down his chin.

Once Erik's hand made contact with Peter's cheek, he wanted to retract it. From the split second interaction, Erik had felt the clammy, sweaty, and scorching hot skin and was growing concerned. The slight physical prodding finally made Peter respond.

"Mom?" he asked groggily, voice cracking, "I'll put my dishes in the sink in a minute... I'm tired..."

Erik let out a harsh sigh, bending his neck in an attempt to make eye contact with the boy.

"Peter, I'm not you-" Erik was cut off.

"Yeah yeah... I'm not your maid. I know, Ma. Just... give me five."

"Peter." Erik stated bluntly yet with a hint of unease, unsure if Peter was delirious or just messing with him, "look at me, please."

Peter cracked open his eyes and blearily met Erik's stoic and collected face. He blinked a few times, slowly and deliberately, calculating who was kneeling in front of him, before letting out a weak and wheezy chuckle, "hey there, refrigerator ornament. Wassup?"

Erik rolled his eyes, responding with, "I came to ask you to turn down your atrocious music so you won't wake any of the other children who are trying to sleep. When I came in here, you were passed out on the floor. Would you like to explain to me what happened?"

"Nah... it isn't all too interesting"

"Peter, can you please act like an adult for 2 minutes? Please?"

"Oh man, the Nazi-hunting, president-killing, horseman of the Apocalypse is bustin' out the PLEASES. Look out, world, Lord of the Vacation Souvenirs has a new tactic... MANNERS!"

Peter burst out laughing at his own adolescent joke, ending in a wheezy struggle to catch his own breath. Erik couldn't tell if he was just screwing with him or genuinely needed help. This behavior seemed pretty normal for the immature mutant.

"Look, Peter, I really just need to know if you're okay. Can you answer that simple question, please?"

"Man, your tactics are workin' like a charm. I guess I'll tel-" Peter was cut off by a repulsing gag, hunching over and expelling his stomach's contents... again, this time, however, onto Erik's shirt, quickly travelling in a sad trail down onto his freshly-ironed pants. Peter's bloodshot eyes went side with embarrassment as he quickly transitioned his gaze to the floor.

Erik's face was caught frozen still as his mind caught up with what had just happened. As repulsed as he was, it wasn't like he hadn't seen worse. But that still didn't make the fact that he was just puked on any less disgusting. After audibly exhaling through his nose, Erik once again focused on the miserable man child in front of him, who was now anxiously tapping his fingernails on the hard plaster of his cast, deliberately trying to avoid eye contact.

God damnit, Peter, He thought to himself as he continued tapping, it's bad enough leaving him with a painfully ambiguous response during a battle to save all of humanity, ultimately ruining a perfectly good chance to fess up, but now look what you've done. You fucking threw up on him. Peter felt himself growing smaller as his subconscious shamed him for his uncontrollable bout of illness. It was stupid and ultimately all in his head, but it didn't make him feel any less shit about his situation.

After taking the few quiet seconds, Erik stood up, and whether it was out of pity or some subconscious moral quest, grabbed Peter by the armpits and dragged him to the bathroom.

"W-what the?" Peter asked, confused by the harsh white light of the bathroom and the sudden shift in scenery.

"Well I'm not going to let you sit in your own disgusting clothes. I have standards, you know. Can you undress yourself? I'll get us both some clean clothes."

Peter grunted in response. It meant: yeah, I think I can take off my own clothes, bro... once the room stops spinning. Erik, however, had already up and left, stripping off his own soiled shirt and rifling through Peter's dresser drawers, and taking the opportunity to flick off the television and silence the music that had been awkwardly filling the room's background space up until now.

Peter didn't have much variety in his clothing, dark jeans and band logo t-shirts were most of his dresser's arsenal. Not wishing to be clad in a Metallica shirt for the rest of the night, he dug a bit further into the seemingly endless assortment of shirts till he found a plain white short sleeve, sighing in relief. He grabbed a random shirt from the top of the assortment which just so happened to have the Journey logo on it, and set off to find new pants for the boy.

Back in the bathroom, Peter was still laying slumped against the bathtub, shivering. Everything around him had seemingly slowed to a halt, not unlike when he was running past the speed of sound, but this time deceleration just felt... wrong.

The crashing rhythm of the rock music had come to a halt, yet it didn't cease the incessant throbbing ache in his head, as if the bass riffs and the harsh taps of the snare were on a permanent loop with earbuds permanently glued to his ears. He was trying his best to prevent himself from groaning or whining as to not sound like even more of a child in front of Erik, but honestly, he didn't want his nonexistent father right now, he wanted his mom.

Peter was snapped from his self loathing by Erik's footfalls growing progressively louder as he approached him. Erik had thrown on a pair of track pants and a random white shirt. He was holding a pair of sweatpants and another shirt for Peter so he could be free of his sweat-slick and vomit-covered clothes.

"Hey, you don't get to keep those. I like those pants," Peter stated sarcastically, still trying to put up a front, although he was unsure why. He'd needed help, it was painfully obvious, so why was he still pushing his father away? Resentment? Anger? Pride? No... fear.

"Arms up," Erik instructed, preparing to take Peter's shirt off for him.

"Yo, you know I'm not a toddler, right? I can take off my own god damn shirt."

"You sure don't act like you're a day older than one, and I don't wanna risk you accidentally suffocating getting stuck in your own clothing so... arms up."

Peter sighed and did as he was told. Erik swiftly peeled the top off the boy and felt around his back, finding it clammy and warm. As if he'd just went from the tropics to Antarctica, the shirt leaving his skin exposed his skin to a whole new level of cold. The sensation ripped through his spine as his teeth started chattering. Hoping Erik had a brain underneath that skull, Peter was (im)patiently waiting for the man to save him from the frosty winds of his newly installed Arctic bathroom and slip the new shirt over him already. However, much to Peter's dismay, Erik turned on the tub's faucet, soaking a hand towel in cold water before leaning over and placing it on Peter's exposed back.

The second the frigid cloth made contact with his skin, Peter recoiled, back arching backwards, arms frantically bending to try and remove it. Erik sighed, slightly out of pity, and continued holding it down.

"Is this some cruel punishment? What did I do?" Peter pleaded, hoping to distract himself from crying by use of humor.

"You're scorching and sticky and it's just disgusting. I'm cooling you down, so relax," Erik explained. "It'll be a few more seconds, I just needed to get all the sweat off of you."

And as quickly as it had begun, the endeavor was over and Erik was threading Peter's strikingly pale and flimsy arms through the shirt holes. Peter audibly sighed, feeling like he'd just spent an hour in an industrial freezer and was now back into a normal temperature.

Erik's eyes drifted to Peter's legs, immediately noticing a flaw in his plan. How was he going to change Peter's pants with that full leg cast?

"Peter, how do you typically change your pants considering your current... situation?" Erik asked.

"It's pretty simple. I don't," Peter replied bluntly.

"W-what?"

"Well, after I got my leg set a few days ago, I changed into jeans, not wanting to be in flight suit pants for the next week of my life, and I haven't swapped since. It's like, physically impossible."

"So... you've been wearing the same (disgustingly dirty) pants all week?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Hank says I should be grateful that it'll heal in a couple days, most people you'd find passed out on their floor covered in vomit with a full leg cast would have been wearing their nasty pants for weeks."

Erik sighed, tossing Peter's soiled shirt and the sweatpants back into the bedroom before meeting his gaze.

"Alright, Peter, I'm going to set you up in bed now."

"Sounds grea-" Peter was once again, clamping his hand over his mouth, pathetically dragging himself over to the toilet to prevent throwing up all over himself again.

Erik saw his distress and lifted the toilet lid and seat, prompting Peter to start heaving into the sad and dreary porcelain bowl. Each dry or productive heave sent another pulsing wave of pain and violent nausea from his stomach to seemingly every conceivable inch of his body in a viscous cycle of suffering. Erik could do nothing but watch as the silver-haired boy wretched in agony, each heave causing his breath to hitch, caught in his throat, as another bout of sick rushed up past his lips, crashing into the toilet bowl.

Erik wanted to reach over and rub Peter's back or offer a semblance of physical comfort for the anguish he must have been feeling. He'd often do this for his daughter, Nina, whenever she had a stomach bug. Erik reached out his hand, only to quickly retract it, shaking haunting thoughts from his mind. This boy was not his child, and in no way would he ever come close to being Nina. What was he thinking?

Guilt quickly overtook the memories as Peter finished his session of sickness. He sagged limply against the side of the toilet, face still partially hidden by the rim of the bowl. When he looked up at Erik, he looked awful. Beyond awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, clearly there as Peter attempted to stop the obvious tears from spilling over, met cool yet collected ones, the former's being full of pain, not just from this embarrassment or the physical turmoil he'd just endured, but something else. Erik knew those eyes. He knew them because for so long, they were the ones he'd stared at in the mirror, day after day, for years, until he'd found Charles, only to come face to face again with those demonized eyes in the form of an immature mutant puking his guts out on his bathroom floor. They were the eyes of a young man who was lost, feeling alone, hiding a part of themselves they wanted to let go, to set free, so they could truly be happy, yet he couldn't possibly decipher what could be internally destroying the boy.

"I-I'm sorry you had to watch that..." Peter said softly as his head lolled over.

"It's fine," Erik replied with a tone to match that of Peter's.

"I'm pretty sure... that I'm done. For now?" It came out as more of a question, but at this point, Peter wasn't trusting any signal his body was sending him. Every impulse had been smudged and cloudy in his mind, and paired with the seemingly endless headache and the relentless chills racking his body from the fever, Peter was sure that if his mind were a computer hard drive, it would have self destructed out of a deadly virus slowly hacking into the hardware.

But alas, Peter was no computer, and so he was stuck with this mystery illness, cooped up in his room, unable to run, with Erik mother-hecking Lehnsherr. His fever-addled mind was barely functioning at this point, so he didn't register anything but dizzying blurred images swirling around his head and slightly-grumbled voice swimming in his ears as Erik scooped the kid up like a newlywed bride and carried him off to bed.

Peter had never been more grateful to grace the comfort of his duvet, ready to sleep. He halfheartedly grabbed at it in an attempt to cover himself and finally warm up. Erik sighed with pity, grabbing it for him and draping it over his shoulders before moving over to stand by the nightstand and awkwardly watching Peter try and get comfortable.

Despite the obvious fact that his body wanted him to sleep, Peter's mind was racing everywhere except the realm of unconsciousness. Every thought was emphasized ten-fold as it bounced around his head until the only things remaining were his want, heck, his need, to tell Erik the truth, and the hesitant and unsure anxiety lingering in the background of his subconscious that was stopping him from doing just that.

Fevers, though, as Peter was quickly learning, tended to do weird shit to what your brain was really trying to accomplish, often scrambling any message you tried to expel to the point where it may or may not have even been your true intentions. And hell, it was an even bigger gamble if you'd remember any of the dumb shit you'd done or said. It was as if the heat had boiled all the potentially embarrassing memories away, which was at least kinda nice.

With everything happening, Peter thought it best for Erik to just pack up and scoot from the premises, as not to accidentally say or do something stupid that might come back to bite him in the ass later, but Peter wasn't about to pull an asshole move on the man who'd just helped him despite not being obligated to at all.

So, instead of verbally asking, Peter did the next most "mature" thing he could have in his debilitated and helpless situation. He pretended to be asleep in a pathetic hope that Erik would leave on his own. He didn't. Peter ended up looking like he was trying way too hard to be asleep than any real asleep person, and after a few minutes, Erik caught on.

"Peter, I know you're not actually sleeping," Erik said, not putting on any sort of specific emotion.

Peter cracked one red and tired eye open, meeting Erik's gaze yet again. Peter sighed and turned over onto his side, back to the other man, bleary eyes trying to focus on anything that wasn't Erik. Sleep, a seemingly effortless task for most, eluded Peter as he let out an a low whine. This was miserable.

"Hey, Erik?"

"Yes?"

"I umm... never mind..."

"What were you going to say?"

"It's nothing... I just feel stupid since I can't even do the easiest thing on the planet."

"Is there anything I can do?"

The question struck Peter like a cold dagger to the heart, it sounded so much like something his mom would say, who was practically the only person he wanted in that moment. Peter didn't like to be weak or expose any of his fears. He preferred to be distant and reserved, to hide all that insecurity with stupid dry humor and sarcasm. His mom and his sisters were really the only ones who he'd truly been open with, and when faced with these new circumstances, finally able to reconnect with the father he never had, he was frozen in place, and after pushing people away and closing himself off for so long, not knowing what to do to reach out and truly face what he needed to.

Completely internally and externally overwhelmed, Peter let his dam of pride burst, letting his emotional flood pour out of his eyes in the form of earnest, choked sobs. He bit his lip and weakly rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to hide his distress.

Erik was taken aback, taking a step towards him, before backpedaling as fast as the initial paternal instinct had seized him. He didn't know what to do. Erik was conflicted, scared of overstepping boundaries, but wholeheartedly wanting to comfort the clearly suffering boy lying in bed in front of him.

And in a flash of instinct, an unspoken, deep-rooted, yet unknown draw towards the silver-haired boy, Erik sat down on the mattress, back meeting Peter's, and leaning over his shoulder to rub his back

Erik's hand was shaky, unsure if it should truly be there. He felt the heat radiating off Peter's skin through his t-shirt. Erik glanced down further to Peter's face, and despite the hands trying (and failing) to cover his eyes, saw it covered in a new sheen of sweat quickly mixing with his tears, pale and pasty with angry crimson patches sitting pretty as pictures on his cheeks and forehead. Everything in that moment accentuated both how awfully awkward Erik and truly terrible Peter felt.

Erik didn't even know if Peter was lucid anymore. He was breaking down into tears, shivering and being comforted by someone who was practically a stranger. Eventually, the sobs dwindled into whimpers and Erik's nerves were starting to taper off himself. The room fell into a weirdly calm silence as the two decided to not say anything. Until Peter's shaky voice cut through the room.

"Y-you know... when I was a dumb little kid, I thought I-I could outrun germs. Look at me now. I can't even cook a f-freakin' omelette without making myself sick... I never needed to cook for myself, it was always my mom, or Hostess cakes."

"..." Erik wanted to say something, anything, but he was unsure what, or if Peter would understand.

"I can't do anything right... life tosses me chances and I just fuck em' all up."

Erik soon realized Peter was no longer talking about his omelette, but something deeper.

"I just wish... you could've d-done this for me when I was still that dumb little kid. I wish for so much to be different. I'd always wanted a d-dad, and when I finally figured out who he was, I learn he'd gone off to kill the president! I-I don't know..."

"W-what?"

"I m-might not be able to outrun germs, but my entire l-life, I've outrun everything. The law, my responsibilities, adulthood... But now, the one time when I finally can't run from anything, out of all of my problems, I gotta face you of all things. N-not the way I thought this would happen..." Peter's words died out as he fell silent.

Erik wasn't sure he'd heard Peter properly. Until something in his mind clicked. Everything he's done up until now: "my mom once knew a guy who could do that..." and "I'm here for my family too..." Oh my god, he thought, I'm... I-I'm Peter's... father? Who else had he been with before his wife... Magda. Oh god.

Erik pulled his hand away from Peter's back. This caused Peter to moan and flip onto his back, staring directly at Erik, eyes cutting straight to his heart like knives.

"W-why'd you stop? It was nice..." Peter admitted shyly.

"I-I need a second, Peter. I'm sorry," Erik sighed as he pushed himself off the mattress.

Peter said nothing as his eyes drifted back to his bedspread. Disappointment lurking behind his bloodshot irises.

Erik walked off to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He stared up at himself in the mirror, hands gripped tightly around the basin. This couldn't be happening. Not after Nina, not again. Erik was just... terrified. Terrified of the idea of getting close again. Anyone who's ever been a part of Erik's family... had died. His parents, his wife, his daughter; he didn't want Peter to join the list of people the universe was just deemed to kill. He knew that Peter was far from dying, it was a simple fact that the kid couldn't cook and he'd fed himself something underdone. Yet, it was all happening, it was all too fast, and everything felt so damn scary.

He knew, deep down, that this was the truth. It only made sense that the Magda didn't wanna tell her son that his dad was an internationally targeted terrorist that's murdered dozens of people, and this kid had no reasons to lie about it. God... Erik didn't know how to feel, what he should do, but he did know that had a need to comfort Peter, who'd just confessed a secret he'd been hiding for who knows how long, and was now laying alone, probably feeling abandoned again, after pouring his heart out knowing full well it might be shot down.

Whether it was all intentional was yet to be seen. Again, fevers did weird shit.

Erik let out a low sigh and opened the door, finding Peter curled up on himself as best he could, softly whining, mumbling incoherently to himself. Erik stepped over and sat down on the bed again, the entire mattress dipping from his weight.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I am very happy you told me..." Erik was searching for the right words, "the truth."

" 'r welc'm" Peter mumbled as his puffy eyelids slid over his tired brown eyes.

"Is there anything you need me to do for you right now?"

"J'st... stay please. I-It's embarassin', I know, but I just... my mom used to do it..."

"Alright, Peter. I'm not gonna leave, so just try to sleep, okay?"

Peter didn't need to be told twice as his mind and body worked in harmony, finally allowing Peter to be lulled off to the realm of unconsciousness. And although he knew it wasn't necessary, Erik wished to add to the intimacy of this quiet moment, a type of moment so rare and inconstant in both of their lives, so he pushed himself up against the headboard, laying out flat on the bed, and carded his fingers into Peter's silky silver locks. And out of habit, maybe a sort of tendency he'd developed from doing it with Nina, or an obligation to share what he felt Peter deserved, he began to hum his family lullaby, ever so slowly and softly, drowning out any other thing the world wanted to toss at them. Because in that moment... Erik and Peter had found something they'd both been missing for so long, peacefulness and contentment. And for that short night, it was all they needed.

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sweet-curried-powder · 5 years ago

Note

a suggestion if you have writer's block: write about the ibvs crew going on a supernatural investigation!

Ooh! Good idea, anon!

Summary: The Supernatural Investigation Club (and Chris’s dad) go and explore a house full of videogame power-ups. It doesn’t go that well.

Characters: Nevin and Drew Jovel, Chris and Xavier Jackson, Edward Quinton, Isaac Beamer

Warnings: Swearing, vomiting

Word Count: 1,538

This is that IBVS AU that I’ve been writing where Drew has wings and Xavier isn’t a dick.

Hope you enjoy!

****************************

“Chris is bringing his dad here?” Isaac asked, not looking away from the sky, where Drew was doing his flying practice. “We’re investigating this house, right? You heard that there was some magic items here or something.”

“When I first called Chris up explaining what we were gonna check out, he was practically begging me to let his dad come when the word ‘magic items’ left my mouth. Apparently they’re total nerds when it comes to this stuff.” Edward shrugged. “It didn’t seem like a bad idea, so I agreed.”

“I wonder what kind of stuff we’ll find!” Drew said, fluttering above his friends. “It would be really cool if we found a magic sword or something, like from the Zelda games!”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Nevin shook his head. “Though that would be cool to have a video game weapon or powerup in real life, I’ll give you that.”

“I know, right?” Isaac agreed. “If I had enough 1-up mushrooms from the Mario games, I would practically be immortal! I’d have enough time to create everything I want!”

“I don’t think I’d want to have immortality,” Edward admitted. “You’d see all your loved ones die, and it’ll be even more tragic when you remember that you’ll never join them in the afterlife, since you’re cursed to live forever.”

There was a rather unsettling silence. Drew landed on the ground gently.

“Ed, I was feeling good today, dude,” He said, looking uncomfortable. Edward shrugged in response.

Chris’s car started to roll up the street.

“Drew! Wings!” Nevin reminded Drew. Drew grabbed his jacket and pulled it on quickly, making sure his wings were covered.

The car parked in front of the house. Chris and his dad got out, heading over to where the rest of the club was waiting.

“Um, Chris, what do you and your friends do when you hang out?” Mr. Jackson asked his son. “Do you normally go out to abandoned homes?”

“Error is kind of a nerd for supernatural stuff,” Chris explained. “He’s always dragging us to places that have ‘supernatural activity’.” He put the words ‘supernatural activity’ in air quotes.

“You don’t do anything illegal, do you?”

“Me and Chris egged Error’s house the day before Halloween,” Isaac piped up. “But to answer your question, no, not really.”

“Holy shit, that was you two?” Nevin shouted.

“That was the reason I TPed your house,” Edward said. “It was partly an accident, I mistook your house for Chris’s.”

“You were going to toilet paper my house?!” Chris shrieked.

“Isaac threw an egg at my face!”

“Guys, stop arguing!” Drew called out to them. While they were arguing, he had made his way to the front porch. “Let’s check this place out already!” He pushed the door open and entered the house.

“Drew, wait up!” Nevin ran after his twin, and the rest followed him inside.

The house was surprisingly tidy for a place that had been abandoned for years. There was only a few clumps of dust in the corners of the living room, and the stairs seemed almost new.

“Okay gang, we got to be careful,” Edward instructed. “First rule, do not, under any circumstances, touch anything if you don’t know what it does. I don’t want to accidentally summon the spawn of Satan. Or even worse, a video game character.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to get involved in another de-summoning,” Nevin agreed. “The Monika Incident was enough for one lifetime.”

“The what incident?” Mr. Jackson raised an eyebrow, looking at Chris.

“Long story,” Chris said. “I’ll explain later.”

“Hey, there’s a bowl of mints here!” Isaac walked over to a small table with a bowl of various sized mints. He picked up a large one.

“Isaac, don’t eat that! That could be poisoned!” Drew cried.

“Chris once ate a half-eaten taco out of the trash as a dare and didn’t get sick. I’ll be fine.” Isaac popped the mint into his mouth. “Ugh, this tastes like socks.”

Suddenly, Edward started flashing white and blue. Everyone except for Edward screamed and backed away.

“What’s happening to your friend, Chris?” Mr. Jackson yelled.

“I don’t know!” Chris cried. “This isn’t normal, even for us!”

“Guys, call an ambulance! Something is terribly wrong here!” Edward pleaded, sounding panicked. “It’s like I’m one of the ghosts in Pac-Man after he eats a power pellet!” As soon as he finished his sentence, the flashing stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

“What the hell just happened?” Nevin shouted. “Did…did Isaac eat a fucking powerup?!”

“It seems like I did,” Isaac nodded, warily eyeing the bowl.

“Okay, new rule,” Edward said. “If you find any random food lying around here, do not eat it. Don’t touch it either, we can’t risk anything.”

“In hindsight, you probably should have said that in the beginning,” Chris pointed out. “But then again, it’s kind of an unspoken rule.”

“I’m gonna see if there’s anything cool upstairs!” Drew said. “Who wants to come?”

“Let’s all go together,” Chris said. “I don’t want to freak my dad out even more.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mr. Jackson agreed.

The Supernatural Investigation Club and its supervising adult headed up the stairs in a huge group. When they got to the second floor, they noticed something familiar in the middle of the hallway.

“Woah! It’s the invincibility star from the Mario games!” Drew exclaimed, running towards the item.

“Drew, what do you think you’re doing?!” Nevin cried. “Get away from that! Now!”

“Nevin, calm down! Haven’t you ever wanted to use a powerup from one of the greatest gaming franchises known to man?” Drew reached forward and grabbed the star. It instantly disappeared from his hands, and he started glowing in a strobe of rainbow colors.

“...How does it feel?” Isaac hesitantly asked.

“Oh God, everything about this feels so wrong!” Drew cried. He fell to his knees and threw up all over the floor. “Why did I think that this was a good idea?!” Drew remained on the ground, coughing as he emptied his stomach of its contents.

“Is this a normal occurrence for you and your friends?” Mr. Jackson asked Chris.

“One of us usually ends up getting hurt in one way or another when we go on our investigations,” Chris replied. “Usually me. But the injuries aren’t that serious most of the time.”

The light surrounding Drew started to dim, and then disappeared. Drew coughed up one last pile of his half-digested breakfast before he brought himself to his feet, wiping puke off of his mouth.

“Okay, I’m good now,” He sighed. “This is getting a little weird, guys. And I’ve seen a lot of weird shit since I’ve started coming with you guys on these investigations.”

“Is this house…just full of random powerups from video games?” Mr. Jackson looked puzzled.

“Looks like it,” Edward sighed. “Maybe we should—wait, where did Nevin go?”

“Guys, look! I found a Pokéball!” Nevin poked his head out of a room, holding a red and white ball. “I was looking for something to clean up Drew’s puke and found this in a drawer!”

“Holy shit, really?!” Chris’s eyes widened with excitement. “Pokémon was my childhood! Let me see that!”

“Alright! Heads up!” Nevin tossed the ball in Chris’s direction. He tried to catch it, but it hit him square in the head. The Pokéball opened up, and a bright red light surrounded Chris and sucked him inside. The ball twitched twice before it went still.

“CHRIS!” Mr. Jackson shouted.

“Oh my God, Nevin caught Chris with a Pokéball!” Isaac screamed.

“Don’t worry! I played Pokémon all the time in elementary school, I know what to do!” Edward picked the ball up and threw it. “Go, Chris!”

The ball opened, and Chris tumbled out, landing on the floor with a thud. He slowly stood up, trembling. His hair was disheveled, his clothes were torn, and his sunglasses were gone.

“Jeez, you look like a wreck,” Drew said. “What happened in there?”

“I don’t know!” Chris cried. “It was really dark in there, and I couldn’t move my body! It was really scary!”

“Okay, that’s it! I’ve had enough of this shit,” Edward yelled. “All in favor of abandoning this investigation, say ‘yeet’.”

A chorus of “yeet”s echoed around the room.

“The yeets have it. This mission is officially over,” Edward declared. “C’mon, I’m taking you guys out to pizza. The least I can do is treat you guys to lunch after all of this.”

“Hell yeah! Free pizza!” Drew and Chris cheered.

“That’s very kind of you, Edward,” Mr. Jackson smiled.

“We usually go and hang out after an investigation,” Isaac said. “It’s nice to do stuff together where everyone is included. We’re all friends, and friends don’t leave each other out.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Drew giggled. He sped down the stairs, heading for the door.

“We better hurry up before Drew flies to the pizza place by himself,” Nevin said, half-joking. “You know how much my brother loves pizza.”

The rest of them headed down the stairs and left the house, discussing who was going to drive Isaac’s car and talking about the mishaps that had ensued along the way.

#sugar's writing #ibvs #ibvs: supernatural shenanigans #that's the tag for this stuff now #isaac beamer #drew jovel #nevin jovel #edward quinton #chris jackson #xavier jackson #vomiting tw

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daehweeb · 6 years ago

Text

arcade date with jung jaehyun!

Your plans for the night? Those consisted of sitting in your room and overloading your brain with material from different classes but of course there were people who had different plans.

“Charge separation, and hence potential differences can al-“ you started before a knocking on the door interrupted you. A sigh left your lips as you got up from your desk and opened the door revealing a smiling Jaehyun. “Hey!” he said as you stepped aside to let him in. “What are you up to hm?” He asked as he sat in your bed, pulling a pillow across his lap. “I was studying before you came, what are you here for?”

You were more than confused. Jaehyun didn’t arrange for you two to have a hangout and you couldn’t recall planning one for today either. Finally he spoke bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Can I not just come over for fun to see my favorite person? I haven’t seen you in like years, you’re glued to that physics book all the time”

“I don’t get the material that’s why I’m always reading this stupid thing” you complain as you close the textbook on your desk, “What’s the real reason you came over Jaehyun? You never come over to just keep me company and sit on the bed”

“You got me there. Let’s go to an arcade! We haven’t gone in awhile and I heard that..” he stopped mid sentence as his eyes started wandering around the room looking for something to say.

“You heard what?”

“You got me again!” he said and laughed a bit embarrassed. “I didn’t hear anything but can you please go with me? It’ll be fun I promise and in return I’ll leave you alone for a whole week”. A week wasn’t a long time but you still agreed to go even though you knew Jaehyun wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.

You quickly got ready and as he drove you two to the arcade, you didn’t think much of it. Music was playing in the background and you hummed while things were racing through Jaehyun’s mind. Today was the day he wanted to finally confess his feelings for you, tell you the reason why he was always trying to find reasons to simply see you but he didn’t know how to execute the whole thing. His stress levels rose as his car pulled up to the arcade and now his time to figure things out reduced greatly but he still smiled at you and made small talk as you two walked into the arcade and exchanged some money out for quarters.

As soon as you had the change, Jaehyun immediately dragged you over to the bulky box whose screen displayed Pac Man and thought of the perfect way to ask you out on a date. He just hoped it would play out perfectly. “Bet I can get a higher score than you in this” he said confidently as he pulled a quarter out of his pocket. “Oh yeah sure”

“For real! Here, loser has to do anything the winner wants okay?”

“Mhm, sounds good”

“Okay but good luck. I’m really good at this game” he said as he deposited a quarter into the machine and his game began. His eyes focused intently on the screen, following the Pac Man and moving the joystick around to make sure he avoided all the ghosts. The points had accumulated now to 4,567 before he got cornered by a ghost and it was game over.

“Ah darn it!” He said as he looked at the screen blinking his final score. You laughed as he scooted over to give you space to play.

There was a competitive spirit in you now and you were determined to win as you slipped a quarter into the slot and it was now your turn to hopefully beat Jaehyun’s score.

You navigated the character around the little maze, dodging ghosts and eating the cherries. When you looked up to see the points you’ve gotten, you were happy to see 4,312 but you looking had been your fatal flaw as the second you looked away from the actual game going on, a ghost had made its way to you.

“What?! I was looking at my points oh my gosh this is not fair!” You protested to Jaehyun who was clutching his sides laughing.

“Hey! Not my fault you looked away and a ghost got you”

You rolled your eyes at his response. “Hey it’s ok, you can’t win them all” he said and put his arm around your shoulder walking you to the next game machine, more than happy that everything worked out nicely in the end for his plan.

The night then went by, you totally forgot about your loss as you two played ski ball, street fighter and racing games against each other plus Jaehyun won you a cute stuffed animal from one of the crane games.

You were walking out of the arcade with him when all of a sudden he brought up the bet you two had earlier.

“So about that bet. As winner, I would to do this again with you sometime soon but not as a hangout. More as like.. a date”

Since you were the loser, it’s not like you could protest but you had no intention in doing so in the first place. And his promise about leaving you alone? That was forgotten about too when Jaehyun came over the next day to hang out.

@spooktacular-seance I wanted to attempt writing something for you so!!

#nct fluff #nct127 fluff #nct 127 fluff #jaehyun fluff #jung jaehyun fluff #jaehyun story #boyfriend jaehyun #i have not been to an arcade in ages so if the pac man part of the story is incorrect #then big whoops jsjfjd

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peakyblinders1919 · 7 years ago

Text

Business Liasons- Part 5

Part 5

Chapter warnings: mentions/implications of NSFW activity. ;)

Author’s notes: This chapter is told from Tommy’s point of view, I hope you guys like it!

Tommy’s POV

Tommy flung his pen away with a frustrated sigh. He couldn’t concentrate, he had been re-reading the same sentence in a Shelby Company factory report for the past 5 minutes. His mind kept drifting, he kept thinking of her.

He had never felt anything after Grace, never wanted to, not with his whores, not with anyone but she wasn’t like anyone he had ever met. He couldn’t get the sight of her in that silk night gown out of his mind, the things he had wanted to do to her.

When he had found Charlie curled up against her he had felt something around his heart soften but he got immediately angry, that was his son, she was taking liberties, was she playing some sort of game?

And then she had explained and he found himself being even more fascinated by her than he already had been. And when her dressing gown slipped, Tommy remembered the rasp in her voice as she had told him hello, the sleep in her voice making it low and smooth, he had felt the tightening in his balls.

Tommy’s mind instantly conceived images of her underneath him, freshly awoken from sleep and grating out his name as he thrusted into her. Her night gown had left little covered and he had caught sight of her perfect breasts and smooth skin, he’d had to clench his jaw to stop himself from burying his nose in her neck and nipping at the unblemished skin at her collar bone.

She had instinctively touched her neck just when her eyes focused on him and he smirked to himself now, wondering if that was something she liked; he would like to find out, his left hand flexing unconsciously as he imagined it stretching from her collar bone to jaw, tightening ever so slightly; would her pupils expand? Would she mewl under him if he denied her pleasure? Tommy could enjoy that; making her succumb and be calm and comforted by him and only him, the way she had done with that mare only hours earlier.

At feeling himself growing hard, he ground his back teeth together and stared at the fire; he had to stop thinking of her, she was leaving. Yes he found her attractive, but he liked her and that was a harder sentiment to quash. He could fuck anyone he wanted but actually liking them, wanting to be near them after, that was an emotion he rarely encountered and had never thought he would find again.

She was charismatic and Tommy hated himself for having noticed. She’d fit in with the blinders, not an easy task, even Polly liked her, probably because she seemed to be just as smart and cunning.

She was tough and violent and had a quick temper but could be so kind and witty.

Tommy found himself reeling from how quickly she could change form subdued observer to charming gangster.

He had seen it today at the distillery, she had followed him quietly only speaking to ask questions and nodding solemnly at his answers, her eyes sparkling with an intelligence Tommy found intriguing.

Tommy had no doubt she’d remembered everything he’d told her of the process but then one of his workers had made a lewd comment. Tommy couldn’t disagree with the man, even in her simple green dress and dark coat, it was impossible to miss those curves and the perfection of her face.

She had laughed and taken the comment in stride and where as almost any other women would have cowed or been offended, she shot back her own crass comment, suggesting that the worker wouldn’t know what to do if he got her; the men had cackled, even Arthur, and Tommy had strained with effort to not show her that he found her amusing.

She was so different from anything Tommy had ever imagined and he was enthralled with her.

“Fuck.” Tommy said out loud, throwing himself back against the polished leather of his study chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. She was going back to America in two days, Al fucking Capone had said he couldn’t lose her and he wasn’t a man Tommy fancied upsetting. She hadn’t even shown any preference to Tommy.

He’d almost kissed her this morning when she was crying, he’d wanted to make her stop; to take away her pain. He’d wanted to wrap her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless and wanton. He’d wanted to fuck her in the hospital when she’d teased him, teach her what teasing Thomas Shelby would earn her and then he’d wanted to hold her all over again when he had seen her this evening with the horses.

She had calmed a bad tempered mare, melodic Italian murmurs falling from her full mouth. Where had she come from, this woman that Tommy could see no flaw in? Was he about to let her leave for good? What could he offer her? She had an empire in America.

There was a confident rasp on his door and he knew who it was before he said, “Come.”

Polly strode in with the usual self-assuredness in her step. Tommy lifted his eyes slowly, not bothering to straighten up his posture.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” She informed him, taking a drag of her cigarette as she leaned against the fireplace mantle. Polly was regarding him with the corners of her mouth upturned, Tommy sighed waiting for whatever she was about to say.

“So, Y/N.” Polly let the name hang in the air like a cliff prime for Tommy to jump off of.

He opened his shut eyes and regarded his Aunt warily. “Don’t look so smug Pol, it doesn’t suit you.”

“And inaction doesn’t suit you.” She retorted. She sighed and swished over to his desk, casting her cigarette into an astray and reaching into her pocket for a new one.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tommy sat statue-still, only his blue eyes blinking, this was how he was, unmoving and unmovable, and Polly would do well to remember it.

Polly let out a bark of harsh laughter, “Come off it Thomas, we all see the way you look at her. I know you think it’s impossible and that it would never happen again after Grace but you deserve another chance at happiness.”

Tommy glowered at his aunt.

“For fuck’s sake Tommy, if I’m saying you should try, you should. She would be good for you. Ada and Arthur both told me she makes you laugh.” Polly leaned forward in her chair, elbow balanced on a skinny knee, pointing an accusing middle finger at him, “ when was the last time you, Sir Thomas Shelby, laughed? Truly laughed? You like her and she’s the best thing that could ever happen.”

Tommy’s irritation burst out of him a frustrated growl, “and why would it matter Pol? I can’t have her. She’s Al Capone’s fucking cousin, he would come here and end us all,” Tommy waved a hand stiffly in the air referring to his manor and his family. “Besides, she doesn’t care for me that way.” his voice softened on his last words and as his eyes cast down, Polly saw something in him she hadn’t seen in years- self doubt.

“Oh don’t be stupid Thomas, she adores you.” his head shot up at this, a quick flash of hope in those bright eyes, “She just doesn’t know how you feel, she stares at you when you aren’t looking and she breathes deeper when you’re close to her, like she’s inhaling you…she purposefully tries to make you laugh and I know you’ve noticed how much Charlie likes her. And when you got shot, she was sad, sad Thomas, the real thing. She might not have known it then but trust me, she knows it now, she cares for you.”

The tinkling of a bell from outside interrupted their conversation as dinner was announced.

Tommy and Polly both stood. At the door she placed a bony hand on his arm and he looked down at her, his smart aunt, “Tell her Thomas, you owe yourself that much.”

You felt it, in the pit of your stomach, you felt it in the brittleness of your smile and the way your laughter sounded distant to your own ears. It was sadness. You had given yourself a prep talk before going down to dinner tonight; you were going to put on your lipstick, wear your favorite dress, and get a god dam grip on your emotions.

You had downed two whisky’s between coming back from the stable and getting dressed for dinner. Charlie had held your hand to walk down there and even Tommy’s cousin, Charlie had been shocked to see how well you handled the horses; calmly and affectionately.

You had taken a no nonsense approach, pulled on some trousers and garden boots and trooped out there with young Master Charlie in tow. There had been a young mare, scared and hostile, that Tommy had just acquired and you hadn’t hesitated in grabbing her reigns and trying to calm her. The entire stable had gone quiet watching you with your mouth near to the animal’s ear. You had told her you understood, to not be scared that these men would be kind to her. Tommy’s people were horse people, you knew because Johnny Dogs had boasted about it for a full ten minutes when you first met him.

You had picked Charlie up and put him on the mare’s bare back before walking her around the corral. You had asked Tommy’s permission and at one point he’d even come to stand next to you as you helped Charlie down, you turned to him on instinct, breathing in to catch a whiff of his cologne mixed with cigarettes, whisky and something that reminded you of deep midwinter nights- a smell that belonged only to Tommy.

Dinner tonight had been your last with the family. You hadn’t been able to resist looking at Tommy, even as you were promising to Ada and Michael that you would see both of them stateside.

You had only wanted to stare at his high cheekbones and pouty mouth, you found it almost endearing that he was aware of his delicate features and was therefore eager to exude brute force at all times, all because of his pretty face.

You had hugged Charlie tightly that night before he went to bed, not caring that Tommy stood two feet away, stock still, smoking a cigarette and staring at you.

You wanted to remember what it felt like to have his eyes on you even if you couldn’t bring yourself to say goodnight to him when you had let go of his son.

Sitting here at the dressing table in your borrowed room, you shot a look at your packed cases and sighed, you had enjoyed your time with the Shelby’s.

You certainly hadn’t expected a shooting or the subsequent upheaval or to develop feelings for a man you barely knew. What was wrong with you? You hadn’t even slept with him for fuck’s sake, not that you hadn’t thought about it what it would be like. You rang your bell and a house maid skittered into your room.

“Hello.” you greeted her kindly. “Could I trouble you for a glass of wine? I don’t want to invade Mr. Shelby’s cellar but my nerves seem to need steadying.” The young girl hurried out again but not before hesitantly returning your smile, it made you wonder if Tommy’s staff weren’t used to being smiled at. Your continued undressing automatically, stockings, makeup; your mind far away thinking of your life in Chicago, of your prospects there, but a pair of bright, blue eyes kept overriding all other thoughts.

You closed your eyes briefly, committing everything to memory; the feel of Shelby manor, of the cold English air, the sight of Tommy in a fresh suit towering above you that morning in his study, the way his hand had felt rough but comforting against your cheek when you cried, his smell and his voice; the deep rabble of it whispering soothing words.

There was a knock on your door and you answered that they could enter as you fiddled with the clasp on your necklace. You were so absorbed in the mechanism that you missed the first time he cleared his throat. You jumped as you turned to face him, his blue eyes reflecting the flame of the fire. “Tommy.” you breathed out, unsure where to put your hands, you were standing in front of him in nothing but your dress, your hair loose and spilling down your back.

#peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby imagine #Ada Shelby #Arthur Shelby #micheal gray #polly gray #submission

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maybeyoumissthisf-kingpost · 3 years ago

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Why did Papa Doc get choked in the battle rap with B-Rabbit (Eminem's character)?

Yesterday, after watching Infinity War with my friend, the two guys sat down to discuss the last rap battle in 8 Mile, so I'm ready to write about this match.

During the rap battle final at The Shelter (Detroit), Papa-Doc froze and let go of the mic after confidently letting B-Rabbit diss first. In terms of techniques in battle, B-Rabbit's verse is not too harsh, nor is it so great that "diss will die"; but if we analyze the situation, we will understand why Papa-Doc can't say a word. First, let's look at the foreplay that B-Rabbit does:

“Now, everybody from the 313 put your motherfucking hands up and follow me!”

313 is Detroit's area code, which many people probably already know. In a battle, increasing the influence on the audience will also increase the chances of winning. B-Rabbit's foreplay, of course, also aims to trigger the stage, pulling the audience below to his side.

However, B-Rabbit's tactics do not stop there, but it is the premise for Papa-Doc's discredit in the next sentence:

“Now, while he stands tough Notice that this man did not have his hands up”

B-Rabbit knows for sure that Papa-Doc won't raise his hand to B-Rabbit's rap. First, no one does what the opponent asks. Second, the school Papa-Doc attended was Cranbrook Private School in suburban Oakland County (area code is 248). While everyone in Detroit (code 313) raised their hands to follow B-Rabbit, whoever put their hands down was a "foreigner". In an instant, B-Rabbit turned the arena that used to be Papa-Doc's home ground into his own.

“This Free World's got you gassed up”

This sentence has two meanings:

One, Papa-Doc is the leader of the Tha Free World group, B-Rabbit wants to say that the members of Tha Free World are just scumbags that make Papa-Doc the illusion that he is a top rapper.

Second, in the world of Papa-Doc (the world of the rich), Papa-Doc can do whatever he wants, so he always throws his face to the sky.

“Now, who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?”

Big Bad Wolf is the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood. Remember who saved Little Red Riding Hood? Those are bees and rabbits. Rabbit (the rabbit) of course will not be afraid of the Papa-Doc wolf.

“1, 2, 3, and to the 4 1pac, 2pac, 3pac, 4 4pac, 3pac, 2pac, 1 You're Pac, he's Pac, no Pac, none”

This is probably the most classic part, most people remember it, it says that Papa-Doc and his team are just imitators of Tupac (one of the rap legends), but this group is far from over. just reached the level of Pac.

“This guy ain't no motherfuckin MC I know everything he's about to say against me”

Papa-Doc is not a real MC (or emcee), but just a warm boy playing with a rich family. Papa-Doc does not belong in the undergound world. B-Rabbit knows that. In the next paragraph, B-Rabbit diss herself to let Papa-Doc understand what life is like in the underworld, as well as teaching Papa-Doc how to rap diss.

“I am white, I am a fucking bum I do live in a trailer with my mom My boy Future is an Uncle Tom I do got a dumb friend named Cheddar Bob Who shoots himself in his leg with his own gun”

It can be said that this is a stealing thunder tactic in battle rap, meaning the rapper will diss himself before his opponent does this. So if the opponent reuses these facts to diss, it will cause a feeling of boredom, no longer a surprise because everyone knows it before. However, this tactic has a very high risk in real combat.

B-Rabbit confessed to being a poor white guy living in poverty with his mother. The separation of Papa-Doc from the underground class made the audience lean more towards B-Rabbit.

He also predicted that Papa-Doc would diss Future (the black guy who led the match between B-Rabbit and Papa-Doc), because Future was the one who introduced B-Rabbit to everyone and brought him to the ring. . Future is likened to Uncle Tom, a black slave working for white America in Uncle Tom's Cabin. The fact that Cheddar Bob (B-Rabbit's best friend), a gentle but naive guy, shot himself in the foot is also a fact that B-Rabbit knows Papa-Doc will use. At this point, Papa-Doc has no more facts to exploit.

“I did get jumped by all six of you chumps And Wink did fuck my girl I'm still standing here screaming fuck Tha Free World!”

While Wink was beating B-Rabbit's girlfriend in the studio, B-Rabbit discovered and broke the bridge of his nose. After that, Wink led the Tha Free World guild to take revenge and beat B-Rabbit to death. This fact is intended to denounce Wink's "dirty life", and at the same time, shows that Tha Free World is a bunch of cowards when taking 6 against 1. Crowd psychology often favors the weaker, so after this fact the audience even more supportive. B-Rabbit, and at the same time, the prestige of Papa-Doc and the whole Tha Free World group was severely reduced at this time.

“But I know something about you You went to Cranbrook, that's a private school”

This is B-Rabbit's counterattack. Cranbrook, as mentioned, is a private school for the rich and mostly white American. And Papa-Doc, a rich, colored guy, always idolized and imitated Tupac (who often wrote music to speak for black people) but attended a private school of white Americans. These two things are so contradictory, is Papa-Doc on the side of the colored Detroit people or the white people of Cranbrook? This fact makes Papa-Doc no different from a two-faced, a genuine hypocrite.

“What's the matter, dog, you embarrassed? This guy's a gangster? His real name’s Clarence And Clarence lives at home with both parents And Clarence parents have a real good marriage”

The majority of Detroiters are poor people, those who participate in battle rap are often gangstas and have a tragic fate. Of course, the above facts have shown that Papa-Doc is not a gangsta, and this passage B-Rabbit mocks Papa-Doc's real name Clarence (a cute name often given to newborn boys, sounds very "banana" and doesn't sound like a gangsta at all) and the warm family that Papa-Doc has. This is in stark contrast to the background of most Detroiters.

“This guy don't wanna battle, he's shaken 'Cause ain't no such things as halfway crooks”

This is the lyrics taken from Mobb Deep's Shook Ones 2, which is also the beat of this match. Once you have stolen something, you are already a thief, so there will never be a "half-baked thief". White to white, black to black. Just like Papa-Doc, being a guy can't be a gangsta, not half a guy going to a private school and half pretending to be a gangsta.

“He's scared to death, he's scared to look at his fucking yearbook; Fuck Cranbrook!”

This is a technique to dig deep the opponent, which means that the opponent does not want to admit himself. Papa-Doc is now in a dilemma when he can't deny his background, but if he admits it, it will lose face because he accepts himself as a "fake gangsta".

“Fuck the beat, I'll go a cappella Fuck a Papa Doc, fuck a clock, fuck a trailer Fuck everybody! Fuck y'all if you doubt me! I'm a piece of fucking white trash, I say it proudly And fuck this battle, I don't wanna win, I'm outtie Here, tell these people something they don't know about me”

This closing sentence shows two options for Papa-Doc:

1. Papa-Doc will diss B-Rabbit using the facts that B-Rabbit gave earlier, but if he does, Papa-Doc will definitely lose. Because first, like I said, repeating what B-Rabbit said and Papa-Doc would be no different from an idiot. Secondly, Papa-Doc is the son of a rich family with a warm background, he can't diss B-Rabbit, who comes from a poor family because if he did, it would be no different from diss all Detroiters?

2. Papa-Doc put down the mic and left the ring to save some dignity for himself. Of course, Papa-Doc chose this option.

In short, in order to diss a stiff-necked opponent in a rap battle, the rapper's skill must be in the category of "diss to death". However, the techniques in the verse of B-Rabbit have nothing outstanding to make the opponent speechless. However, considering the circumstances in 8 Mile, the fact that Papa-Doc let go of the mic was simply because he lost face in front of the Detroit audience, not necessarily the verse of B-Rabbit was too good.

All credit goes to trantuansang.com.

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antonyeartwo · 4 years ago

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Updates updates..

Module One is soon over, and yet i do not feel much wiser. I slightly blame my poor JavaScript knowledge as to why our sketches are not that meaningful yet. Working with code and also having to focus on nuanced interactions has been a huge challenge. One of our examples that i mentioned in the previous post, has been slightly altered. We forgot somewhere along the lines that we also had to incorporate skill in to our designs. I know that skill in this particular regard is slightly more abstract than a user just practicing whatever interaction is made with whatever artifact they are using. It could be a slight gradual change in the interaction or feedback from the artifact.

In the example mentioned, we have tweaked it so the rotation of the balls break when the amplitude is simply too high. When doing this, i had certain scenarios in mind. It could possibly be used to provoke a user into speaking less loud. I would love to polish it even further and use it in a public place, just to see the results. What would people think about it? For how long would it take for users to understand that they have a certain power over this object? They could manipulate it with their bodies, clapping, talking, moving etc. This sketch is very much a provocative piece of design in my opinion. We’ve demonstrated the sketch to some classmates, and the reactions has been very one-sided. They think that it looks beautiful, they also think it has a stress-relieving effect. So the sketch certainly has an emotional effect on some users. Most people just experimented with their voice to see if it would yield different results. “What if i scream or whistle, will the outcome be different then?” That’s a sentence from one of our classmates who tried it. I would love to be able to nuance this example even further, but my less than average coding skills are putting me to a halt. There is something deeper here that could potentially be discovered if we had more time and more skillful coding abilities.

Delayed interaction and control.

This example has been updated thoroughly. As i wrote before, we actually brainstormed around a concept like this in the beginning. We wanted to see what it looked like if you could control something on a screen using sound as input. And by control i mean control with “precision”. In this example, the user can control the rip off Pac-man using their hands to clap, or using an rhythm-based instrument even. It is a very simple and primitive sketch, but the user can control the object on the screen like this: Clapping or beating in a fast rhythm will result in steering the object to the right. And clapping or beating in a slow rhythm will result in steering to the left.

This interaction is also slightly delayed,meaning that the user will have to beat fast for a certain amount of time to see the desired result. This example is more straight-forward than the first example i would say.

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willelbyers · 7 years ago

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Purple

Summary: Lucas finds out Billy’s been hitting Max. Pairings: Lucas/Max (pre-relationship) Notes: About 1,500 words, mentions of abuse. This is for a prompt from @lucassinclairstan: @he-lives-on-mirkwood One where Max comes over to Lucas’s house after he hits her. Or Lucas finds out Billy’s been hitting Max. The latter would be nice.

My first Lumax story! I posted it on Ao3, too, linked here as well as written out under the cut. Hope you enjoy!

Lucas shivers as he trudges up the pavement to The Palace, almost slipping on a huge patch of black ice on the curb.

“Shit,” he mumbles, catching himself at the last minute. He shoves his ungloved hands into his pockets and glances through a window, seeing Dustin, Mike, and Will already inside. Dustin is playing a casual game of Pac-Man as Mike and Will exchange laughs, Will’s smile still exhausted (but he’s trying). El is nowhere in sight, but that isn’t surprising considering she’s still housebound until further notice.

He spots their bikes in the rack by the front of the arcade, and he wishes he had his, but someone—probably Troy—slashed his tires so he can’t use it. Not that it would be very helpful, in this weather, but hey, his friends managed. He’s just heading for the door when someone slams into him, and he stumbles.

“Hey, watch it!” he yells harshly, grabbing on to the bike rack to stay standing as the other figure crashes to the ground. Then he realizes who he’s looking at, and he immediately feels awful.

Max is staring up at him, except he can’t actually see her. The only recognizable feature of hers is the long red hair spilling out from under her cap, which is pulled low over her forehead. A scarf is thrown over her mouth and nose, thick-rimmed glasses obscuring her face and making her eyes look huge. Lights from the arcade shadow the left side of her face. For a moment he’s back in those tunnels, feeling the air turn toxic in his lungs and his panic rocket through the roof as they go further than anyone (other than Will and El) has gone before. For a moment he watches Dustin fall and Steve swing his bat and Mike is with Will and then he’s with them and Will is lost and El is gone and Max just screams and screams and screams.

And now she’s looking at him, wide eyes magnified behind her huge glasses. And there’s something that Lucas doesn’t like there, something he’s seen before—not often, sure, but he’s seen it, though never directed at him.

Max is scared.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, tripping over his words. “Max, I’m so sorry.” He starts to hold out a hand to help her up, but she just puts a palm on the ground and stands on her own.

“It’s fine,” she says, muffled by the scarf, and on the surface she sounds normal but Lucas can hear the tremor behind her voice. He opens his mouth, hand dropping back to his side, but she cuts him off. “I’m fine, Lucas. Really.”

“I, uh…” he trails off. “I thought that you said you were busy all this weekend. If I knew you weren’t, I’d have called and invited you…”

“I was busy,” she tells him, eyes sliding to the ground. “I, uh. Didn’t know I was free until just now. I didn’t know you would be here, either.”

“Oh,” he says, internally screaming at himself because Wow, Lucas, so eloquent! “I uh, didn’t know you wear glasses.” Way to save, Sinclair.

She stares at him incredulously, though her lip twitches. “Yeah. I usually have contacts, but… glasses today.”

He nods. “Oh. Kay. Do you… want to go inside?” No, she’s just standing out here for no reason. Do you even think before you open your mouth?

Max’s eyes flicker over to the door and she seems to finally notice the three boys inside. Her eyelashes flutter. “Oh. Uh, no. I should probably… I should probably get home before Billy or my dad…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, her usually hostile and attentive presence much too distant and tired, and it makes Lucas’s heart stutter in fear. “Max, I don’t think—”

“Bye, Lucas,” she says quickly, already turning away. Something isn’t right. Something in Lucas’s brain clicks, and his arm shoots out as though on its own accord. He grabs her shoulder, and she whips around, her scarf falling down in the process and her face suddenly awash in light.

Lucas’s heart just stops. “Max, what…?”

There’s an angry purple bruise down the whole left side of her face, from the corner of her eye all the way down to her chin. Her lip is nicked and swollen. He suspects that her large glasses and hat are covering up more damage closer to her ear, which he can’t see.

“Lucas, it’s fine,” she insists before he can say anything at all. “I’m fine. I just fell off my skateboard.” She doesn’t have her skateboard, and he knows it’s a lie.

His hand shakes as it comes up to her shoulder to hover over her cheek. She doesn’t flinch away, though her eyes dart down to her feet, so he takes a risk and lightly presses his hand to her face. Her skin is pale and cold, and he thinks about the quarry last year and Will’s body that wasn’t real, but he knows that the blood raging underneath the surface is practically the sun against the winter air. And she’s real. This is real. “Max… was this… your father?” Because this can’t happen, this can’t be Will all over again.

“No,” she says sharply, and though her voice is defensive he can sense she’s telling the truth. “No, it wasn’t him. Lucas, I’m fi—”

“Stop it,” he chokes out, no bite to the words, because this is hard and he hates seeing this again and he hates that it’s happening to her. “You’re not fucking fine. Max, please. Tell me.”

She turns her face so that her left side is in shadow once more, his hand falling away. “It wasn’t my dad. I actually haven’t seen him in a week, he just got home an hour ago.”

“Was it your brother?” he asks, because he seems to want to feel that pain.

She hesitates, then nods reluctantly. “Yeah,” she says, voice almost a whisper. “It was Billy. It’s always Billy.”

It’s always him; so this isn’t the first time. I’m gonna kill him.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he says out loud. “I’m actually gonna kill him. It’ll be easy compared to everything we did last month.”

Max shakes her head. “Please, Lucas, don’t. He’s… it’s not safe, not for… Eleven or Will, even, definitely not for you, and I think Steve’s already claimed that job anyway. I just… I just needed to get out of there for a while. But I didn’t know you guys would be here. I didn’t want you to…”

“I know,” Lucas says, mind filling in the blank: I didn’t want you to see me like this. “It’s okay. I won’t pretend to understand but I’m sure the others will be just as ready to help if you want to go inside.”

She looks uncertain, pushing her glasses up her nose. ��I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “I just… think it might help. To not be alone.” Because, dammit, he never was in a situation like that himself but he and Mike know better than anyone how to help someone else through it. Dustin, too, though he’s never seen the worst of it. And Lucas know Max can’t do this herself, no matter how strong she is—no one can. Will couldn’t, and he’s one of the bravest people Lucas knows. Max deserves to be helped. And he can’t do that alone.

He so desperately just wants her to be safe.

Max bites her lip, glancing at the arcade’s door. Her glasses slide down her nose just a little, red hair shifts around her shoulder, and Lucas’s heart skips another beat. For a moment, he’s perfectly content with lying to himself, with saying that he’s just worried about her and the injury really does look bad, but he knows. Because yeah, he is worried about her but she’s also powerful and beautiful and he thinks he loves her, bruised purple or not, and Lucas really doesn’t know what to do with that information, but that’s the truth.

“Okay,” she says, looking at him, and for a moment he just watches the colorful lights of the arcade reflect in her eyes. “Let’s go.”

He holds out a hand again, but instead of ignoring it, this time she takes it. “You can stay at my house tonight, if you want,” he offers as Max squeezes his hand.

She smiles at him. “That would be nice.”

They walk forward, she reaches out to push open the door, and Lucas dares to tell himself that it’ll all be okay.

Not that it's relevant, but I love the idea of Max having glasses. And I hate Billy (I guess that is relevant).

Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, and you can scream at me about story ideas or theories anytime. Read more of my stories over on my Ao3. Thanks for reading!

~Logan

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 #lumax #lucas sinclair #max #fanfic #fanfiction #hey look at that i'm on time posting for once #hope you guys like it!#logan writes stranger things stuff

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prompt-master · 7 years ago

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Ice Cream Is A Form Of Love

Anon request for Michael confessing after Jeremy gets his tonsils taken out!! I hope you enjoy it, I’m sorry if it’s not incredible!!

Jeremy complained about his throat hurting for weeks before being told that he needed his tonsils out. His appointment was set up for an early school morning, and was only supposed to talk about half an hour. Michael had gotten the text the day before, so the second the school day was over he drove to Walmart and grabbed a few pints of ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, pecan, and Oreo, Jeremy’s favorites. He stored them up in his PT cruiser before heading out to Jeremy’s house, where he was now resting in his room.

Michael tapped his finger against the steering wheel to the beat of his too loud music. He was trying his best to drown out the thoughts he’d been having since far before the SQUIP incident. It wouldn’t take a genius to see it, even Rich had known. All he could think was Jeremy Jeremy Jeremy. After the SQUIP stuff went down Rich had certainly tamed down the teasing, but that didn’t stop him from whispering “gay” into Michael’s ear whenever he was caught staring at Jeremy’s eyes, or cheekbones, or back-

Michael had to physically shake that thought out of his head, singing along to Marley just for something to replace it. He thought that Jeremy dating Christine would help but…somehow that just put a microphone to his heart and amplified the sound. Every time he saw Jeremy all he could feel was his heart racing and oh diggyidy damn were those gay thoughts-a flying. But he had just gotten Jeremy to stop being all awkward and worried around him, they fell back into their routinely friendship and just hung out like bros do. Bros, dudes, besties, not-gays.

But Rich and Jake had assured him that if he just told Jeremy how he felt things would go down better. Whether Jeremy accepted him or not, he’d feel better than just sitting around wondering “what if”, even if the thought of confession made his heart wanna chug Mountain Dew red to short circuit itself.

So yes, Michael was on a mission. And he was nervous. He shook in his car seat and gripped the steering wheel. He gave himself little pep talks. He wanted to see his best friend and make sure he was ok too of course, but this was a big deal and opportunity for him. And he wasn’t going to pass it up.

Suddenly he was face to face with the white door of Jeremy’s house, and he knocked to the beginning of the Pac-man start up. He was greeted by Mr. Heere with a “hey Michael! Jeremy’s upstairs.”

“Hey Mr. Heere, you’re looking better off”

The man had gotten a haircut, fixed up his beard, he even smelled like fresh cologne. He was currently fumbling with his tie, something only Mrs. Heere was good at. Michael came over and fixed up said tie, he was oddly close with Jeremy’s dad, he even gave him parenting tips.

“Thanks, I have a meeting at the office today, wanted to look…presentable I guess?”

“You look rocking.” He gave a thumbs up as he finished the knot and pulled away.

“Thanks,” he was saying that a lot today, must be nervous, “but Jeremy’s upstairs. He can take his pain meds in an hour, ok?”

“Gotcha, and hey, knock em dead!”

“As always.”

With the close of the front door Michael made his way up the stairs, the talk with Jeremy’s dad had calmed his nerves down some, but he was still on the verge of passing out. The door to Jeremy’s room was open, he would have let himself in regardless.

Jeremy was laying flat on his bed, looking up at his DS that he held far from his face. Around the room were video game and movie posters, a lot of crappy horror genre. Clothes were scattered all over the place, his hamper overfilling itself. The walls of his room were a deep blue while the bed sheets were a mix of both the blue and red strips. Jeremy stood out from the room, at least in Michael’s love vision. He almost forgot to say hi until he saw Jeremy’s icy warm eyes look up at him with an arched eyebrow.

“Hey dude!” Michael made his way over, pulling up chair. “I got your favorite ice creams!” Jeremy smiled and sat up in the bed “I know I know, I’m the best friend ever no need to thank me.”

Michael was beginning to open up the tub to pour them some when his eyes widened at Jeremy’s response.

“…th'nks…” the poor kids voice was terrible! Scratched, croaky, unable to control pitch and overall painful. He made a strange undesirable sound, cringing as he held a hand to his throat.

“Woah dude don’t speak that sounds awful! Are you ok?”

Jeremy simply nodded, his eyes looked from the ice cream to Michael, before softening to become pleading.

Michael felt the heat rush to his face, damn he was cute. “Yeah- yeah I can totally do that.”

He took big scoops of green ice cream and handed the bowl to Jeremy. Who instantly dug his spoon in and ate up, the relieved smile he gave combined with the way his shoulders went slacked showed how good the cold felt to his throat. Michael couldn’t help but smile, he took his own bite, but it couldn’t be nearly as blissful as it did to Jeremy.

“So I’m guessing only yes or no questions huh…does it hurt?”

Jeremy nodded, eyes focused on the ice cream he was scooping furiously into his mouth.

“Is the ice cream at least helping?”

Another nod, this one a little more desperate.

“You’re not gonna talk at all right?”

Nod.

“…Am I the greatest guy you’ve ever met~”

A nod, with an eye roll.

“….well…” Michael almost through up, his voice was shaking as his heart hammered suddenly in his chest. Just do it dammit, don’t wuss out. At least you won’t be able to hear his rejection.

“Well did you know that I’ve had like THE biggest crush on you since maybe like 7th grade and I really really really like you because Jesus dude I like you I mean there’s a lot about you that’s just really awkward and sometimes I worry that you’re a furry but I just hecking love you man!” Michael let his word vomit spit out, unable to control his built up emotions.

He heard a clang as the spoon from Jeremy’s hand slipped against the bowl, “…whAt?!”

“Shhhhhshshshshhhh!!!! Your voice dude!”

Jeremy and Michael both had a match of fully red faces, their wide eyes stared at each other, neither blinking. Jeremy went to speak again-

“Nope! Nu uh! No talking!”

Jeremy gave him this look of shocked this belief, and knowing him long enough he was able to take fully sentences from those expressions.

“I know- I know it’s not a joke though Jerm I’m being serious!”

Jeremy’s jaw had dropped, his face seemed to be getting redder he the second, he nervously piled more ice cream into his mouth. But those eyes never left Michael.

“I-I know…bad timing but I just…I had to tell you ok so you don’t have to answer, I’ll leave you with your ice cream and-”

Jeremy’s cold hand touched the top of Michael’s. When Michael stared at him in wait of an explanation, the boy simply smiled cheekily.

“A-are you sure it’s ok?”

Jeremy’s face screamed ‘it’s more than ok’

Michael looked down at his sneakers, unable to hold back his relieved smile, physically shaking as adrenaline rushed out of him.

“What about Christine?”

Jeremy took a moment to grab his phone, type in a password, and do a fair amount of scrolling. When he turned it to Michael it was Jeremy admitting that he liked someone else to Christine, and thinking that they should break up, followed by a fair agreement by Christine. She even wished him good luck with the new crush and asked to stay friends.

“Oh…you like someone else…?”

An eager nod.

“…who?”

“I’s you…idi’t…!” Jeremy voice sounded god awful but in that moment the nails-on-chalk-board effect of his vocal chords was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

Michael smiled, trying to ignore the awful cringe Jeremy held and kissed his forehead. “Holy shit man this is like!! The best day! Ever!! Even better than that time I watched Rich fall down the stairs this is amazing!”

Jeremy laughed, the choked noise halting short with a pained noise. Michael kissed his hand “hey hey it’s ok…relax and eat your ice cream ok!”

Jeremy nodded, his eyes now holding an 'I love you’ as he nuzzled against Michael’s hand. He ate his ice cream, before patting the free space in his bed. Michael handed Jeremy his pain medicine before laying down beside him, soon after about a half hour of cuddles, I love you’s from Michael, and eating ice cream, Jeremy’s pain began to calm down, allowing him to fall asleep. Michael kissed him again, he just wanted to kiss and kiss and never let go of what he’s always dreamed of.

Jeremy never knew getting his tonsils taking out could end up so awesome.

#bmc #be more chill #boyf riends #fanfic #ya like???#jk this is bad I'm sorry

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bastardnev · 7 years ago

Text

Steal Your Heart Ch. 1

so for whatever reason when i shared the first chapter it didn’t show up in nev’s tag, so im gonna repost it because i can (i’ll be putting chapter two in another post bc if i put them together then this post would be Too Long)

also i am SO sorry to anyone on mobile lmao

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wade Barrett/Pac | Adrian Neville, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added Characters: Wade Barrett, Pac | Adrian Neville, Other Character Tags to Be Added Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Thieves Summary: Random happenings in the lives of Wade, a detective, and Neville, a thief who took a liking to him and decided to tag along with him during his investigations.

Ch. 1: Buddies

Why could Wade never be assigned to a simple case?

Even though he had been busting his ass for years, Wade's rank as a detective was still fairly low. Maneuvering has way through Manhattan to get to the office was no easy feat due to the traffic and groups of pedestrians everywhere he turned, and it was a miracle that he even showed up on time some days. His efforts were constantly being overlooked by his boss, however, who was far too preoccupied with the higher ranked sleuths to pay attention to him. Wade was forced to watch his superiors be assigned the easier cases, the boss claiming that they'd been working 'far too hard' lately and 'deserved' something less complicated. The cases that they should have been given were handed over to Wade and everyone else who wasn't 'deserving' of a break, lack of qualifications be damned.

This time, a man had been murdered in his room at a fairly prestigious hotel in Miami. At first glance, it looked like the suspect was easy to pinpoint -- an ex-business partner was apparently staying in a room on the same floor. There were rumors that he had been jealous of the victim's success, going on record saying that he felt like he should have gotten that big promotion, but no one ever thought he would resort to murder. He was 'too nice of a guy' for something like that. Wade, however, wasn't buying such a cheap and overused excuse, and he was ready to bring the suspect into custody and call it a day.

There was more to this case, though, as Wade soon learned once he further looked over the file. Everything was far more complicated than it really needed to be. In addition to the rumors of the suspect's jealousy, there was also some speculation that a few members of the hotel staff were in on the killing. The victim had died due to poison, and it appeared likely that one of the workers had slipped something into his food once he ordered room service. Despite all of that, there was still no concrete evidence, and Wade was required to find irrefutable proof that they were involved.

To do so, he needed to go undercover, which he hadn't had to do in quite some time. Wade reserved a room on the floor directly below where the murder had taken place, pretending to be a delivery person who was staying in town for the next few days. It wasn't the best occupation that he could have chosen, but it was better than nothing. Better than being a murderer, that's for damn sure. Wade thought to himself.

The first day on the job was relatively uneventful. Wade's flight had been delayed due to poor weather conditions and he didn't arrive to the hotel until late in the day. All that he had been able to do was scribble down a few points in his notebook, outlining what he would do on the second day of the investigation. As of that moment, Wade was planning on keeping an eye on anyone involved in delivering room service. If he chose to believe the rumors that a staff member was involved in the poisoning, then the most appropriate choice of action would be to order food and learn just who he was possibly up against.

It was while he was plotting that Wade remembered that he hadn't eaten anything since he had gotten off the plane. It was too late at night for him to be getting room service, so he settled on a snack from a vending machine down the hall. He kept telling himself that he needed to start packing extra, more healthier snacks in his suitcase so that he wouldn't have to rely on junk food all the time, but in the end he couldn't be bothered. Besides, he loved Doritos too much to give them up.

The vending machine was in a small room that served as a sitting area of sorts. Wade remembered passing by it on his way to his room and spotting a few couches around a coffee table. He had made a note to himself to spend some time there once his work the next day was done, compiling whatever new information he had gathered. Hopefully no one would be there and he would be able to work without fear of getting caught.

When he arrived at the machine, Wade inserted the money and punched in the number for his chips, crossing his arms as he waited for it to fall down. Once it did, he crouched to get it, pausing when he saw the slot. How the hell was he supposed to get it open? He couldn’t push it in like he usually could.

“Who the hell designed this?” He wondered aloud, sighing frustratedly. The genius who built this damn thing should be fired. He was going to find away to get this bag even if it killed him. Trying a few more times to push the slot in, he gave it a light smack. “Fuck you.”

And someone laughed.

Wade jumped, hitting his head against the machine in a somewhat embarrassing fashion. This just caused the person to laugh again. Once he had composed himself, Wade stood up, turning to face whoever had been watching him. He found a man not too much younger than him sitting on one of the couches, covering his grin with his hand. Wade could see that there was a DS sitting in his lap.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but that was really funny,” the man said, giggling. “The machine tricked me up when I first got here, too.”

All Wade could do was stare at him for a moment. Aside from being embarrassed as hell at the fact that someone had witnessed the whole scene, he was also confused. How had he not noticed that someone was sitting there watching the whole time? “Yeah, it’s… it’s a pain,” he responded, averting his gaze and looking back towards the machine. “Stupid.”

“Here.” The man put the DS down on the couch and stood up. “I’ll get it for you. Watch and learn.” Wade watched as he crouched in front of the slot and pushed it down from the top, pulling out the chips and handing them over with a smile. “See? Easy!”

“You had to pull it down?” Wade’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah! A bunch of machines are like that nowadays.”

“Who decided that?”

“Someone who’s clearly lost in life.” The man made his way back over to the couch, plopping down and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He crossed his arms behind his head and asked, "So, what's your name? I'm Neville."

"Neville?" Wade repeated. If he was being honest, it was a bit of a dorky name, but Wade kept that thought to himself. Now wasn't the time to be rude. "I'm Wade."

"What brings someone like you 'round these parts, Wade? You on vacation or something?"

"Uh, not exactly," Wade replied. Whatever he did, he absolutely could not give Neville any hints about his real profession. "I'm a delivery person."

"You're a delivery person? Seriously?" Neville looked confused. He appeared to eye Wade up for a moment, his eyebrows quirking up briefly. "That's... interesting."

"Yep. I've got some, uh, packages and things to deliver in this area. I'll be staying here for a little while."

"How much do you have to do if you gotta stay in a hotel for a few days? Seems like a lot."

"Yeah, well... It's part of the job. I don't get a say in it." Wade shrugged. Now that he'd said it out loud, the whole 'delivery person' thing was the worst lie he’d ever come up with, and that was saying something since Wade had had his fair share of bad lies in the past. Neville didn’t even look like he bought it. His eyes were slits and he was pouting, deep in thought. Wade could almost see the gears turning in his head.

Then Neville snorted, a smile returning to his face. "Sounds wild. I'm a professional thief."

"Oh, that's nice--" Wade stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening. "Hold on, you're a what?"

Neville shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal. “I’m a thief. I steal shit. Oh, son of a…” He was looking down at the red light on his DS. He switched the system off. “I need to charge this damn thing.”

Neville had already moved on to the next subject, but Wade still couldn’t believe what he had just been told. This man who he’d met only a few minutes ago just admitted to being a thief as if it were nothing, like it was a regular 9 to 5 job. How was Wade supposed to react to that? Seeing as he technically worked with the police, should he bring this guy in? Or should he let him go? Neville might not even be worth the force’s time.

“What’s with the look?” Neville asked when Wade hadn’t said anything for a little while. “You’re making a weird face at me.”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Wade assured. “You… are a very interesting person, you know that?”

"I do know that, actually." Neville grinned cheekily. "And I'm also a pretty honest person. I don't feel the need to lie about my profession like you do."

Wade froze up, and he swallowed. How did Neville know that he'd been lying?! He knew that his excuse was lacking, but he didn't expect to actually be called out on it. "W-What makes you say that I'm lying, huh?"

"Because you are." Neville had begun to fiddle with the DS stylus, casually slipping it in and out of its slot. "I can tell."

"How?"

"Your badge is sticking out of your pocket. It has been the whole time."

"Are you serious?" Wade looked down. Sure enough, Neville was telling the truth -- his badge had been on display the entire time they were talking. Wade stuffed it back in, nervously shoving his hands in his pockets. "I, uh... Listen, you didn't see that."

"But I did!" Neville looked a little cocky.

"Neville, I'm being serious. You cannot tell anyone about who I really am, do you understand me?"

"Wade, don't worry. If there's anything that I'm good at, it's keeping things secret," he said. "How the hell do you think I've been living here for as long as I have?"

"Wait, you live here?" Wade cocked his head to the side. "How long have you been here?"

Neville thought his answer over, looking up towards the ceiling before looking back to Wade and saying, "About a month or so."

"How have you gone this long without being noticed? Does the staff really pay that little attention?"

"You would not believe the amount of unfilled rooms in this place. I just hole up in them and come out at night when no one's around. The patrons all think that I'm a really accomplished businessman since I always tell them that I'm here for a conference. They buy it every time."

"What about when someone reserves a room? What do you do then?"

"Then I move on to the next one. It's not that complicated." Neville stood up. "So, now that I've told you all about what I do, do you think you can fill me in about what your job really is? Pleeease?" He clasped his hands together, wearing puppy dog eyes. "If you have a badge, then it must be super interesting!"

"I really shouldn't..." Wade sighed, tapping his foot. Telling Neville the truth would defeat the whole purpose of going undercover. It was true that Neville had told him some pretty incriminating things about himself -- he admitted to a detective that he was a thief! Someone who was that brutally honest couldn't possibly have any malicious intent, could he? Besides, those eyes... Wade was weak for that sort of thing.

"Come on! At least tell me a little bit?"

"Well, if it's only a little..." Wade took a deep breath. "Okay, so you know that murder that took place here not too long ago? The one on the floor above us?"

"I know of it, yes. People were freaking out about it."

"I was sent here to investigate it, but I had to go undercover. The suspect is still staying here, and I need to gather information on him and a few other people who might be involved. There, are you happy now? I told you everything you need to know."

Neville pursed his lips, closing his eyes and crossing his arms as he processed what he'd just been told. "So you need to get some dirt on people, huh? Who else besides the suspect?"

"Some hotel staff members."

"Ooh, scandalous!" Neville rubbed his hands together, suddenly looking excited. "Lemme see the case file! I wanna know some names."

"I can't show you that," Wade said firmly. "That's confidential information."

"How do you expect me to help you if you won't even let me see the file?"

"You-- When did I say I wanted your help?" Wade's mouth fell open. "I never said anything like that!"

"Wade, I'm serious about helping you. This is a pretty big case. I've been staying here for awhile now and know the schedules of pretty much all the employees. If you need a second set of eyes to keep an eye on a suspicious staff member, then I'm your guy. So, what do you say? Are we buddies?"

"I'm not sure if 'buddies' is the right word to describe it..." Wade had to admit that Neville was onto something. There was no way that he would be able to keep an eye on so many people on his own. Even having just on extra person to help him would make things easier. Then again, could he really trust a thief? This definitely wouldn't look very good...

...Then again, his boss never gave a shit about anything that he did, so what would it matter?

"Fine..." Wade finally gave in, gesturing for Neville to follow him out into the hall. "Come to my room. You can read the file in there."

"Yes!" Neville pumped his fist into the air, hurrying after Wade. "Believe me, you won't regret this!"

"I'm sure I won't." Wade knew he would.

A day had passed since Wade and Neville were first introduced. Wade was seated at the writing desk in his room, his prior plans to work in the seating area thwarted by a family of five who insisted on hanging out there at that ungodly hour. It's too damn late for these little kids to be running around... Doesn't anyone have a bedtime anymore?

Wade tapped his pen against the page, propping his head up with his left hand. The second day of investigation bore a little more fruit than the first one, though Wade still didn't have any substantial leads to go on. After ordering room service for breakfast and dinner, all that he had learned was that the hotel had really good buffalo wings. Those things should be illegal... But I can't charge someone with murder for food.

He hadn't heard from Neville since last night. If he really only came out when it was dark, then that must mean that he spent the whole day lazing about in his room doing nothing. Why was Wade so worried about giving him the case info if he didn't seem to care too much...

Wade suddenly looked like he'd made a breakthrough, and he hurriedly wrote something down, smiling. He then crossed it out a few seconds later, frustratedly tossing down his pen. Those little kids aren't undercover spies, Wade. Get over the seating room thing and focus.

A knock on the door snapped Wade out of his thought, and he slammed the notebook shut. It wouldn't look very good if a staff member showed up and saw him speculating about their involvement in a crime. Then again, what would any employee want with him this late at night? He didn't order anything.

Then Wade remembered that there was only one person who would want to speak with him at that time. This should be interesting.

Wade stood up from his chair and went to unbolt the door. Sure enough, Neville was waiting for him on the other side, leaning up against the door frame with one hand and the other one on his hip. "Howdy," Neville greeted him with a wink.

"Alright, kid, what'd you find?" Wade stepped out of the way and allowed him to enter, shutting and re-locking the door. "Assuming that you actually found something and aren't just here to screw with me."

"I found out some top secret info." Neville leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "You ready? I learned... that this hotel..."

"Yes?"

"...has really good quesadillas." Neville pulled away with a cheeky grin.

"Are you kidding me?" Wade rolled his eyes, bumping Neville with his shoulder as he walked back over to the desk and sat down. "You're not taking this seriously at all."

"Oh calm down, would you? It's only a little joke to lighten the mood."

"Look, if you don't have anything relevant to add, then please leave." Wade came across a little harsher than he intended to. Neville didn't really mean any harm... Still, this was important. Now wasn't the time to be screwing around.

Neville sighed, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out some printed documents. "Okaaay..." He said, sauntering to the desk and showing the papers to Wade. "If you don't want me here, then I guess I'll have to leave and bring these with me."

Wade read over the contents of the papers. They were a series of emails, each one of them containing instructions.

Instructions about the murder.

"Holy shit--" Wade reached for the papers, but Neville pulled them away.

"You don't seem to want me here, so I'll just be taking these with me. Haaah..." Neville let out a dramatic sigh and slowly walked towards the door. "Maybe I'll catch up with you later."

"Hold on, kid!" Wade stood up again, grabbing his shoulder. "Where did you find those?"

"A thief never reveals his secrets." Neville winked at him from over his shoulder, but the look on Wade's face forced him to continue. "I, um, snuck behind the front desk when no one was around and printed these out."

"It was... that easy?"

"Mmhmm! You need to stop overthinking things. Sometimes the solution is right in front of you! Just like how I am right now." Neville patted Wade's arm. "But, y'know, you don't seem to want me here so... I'll be taking this back to my room with me."

"Nev, please. Stick around. I need that info."

"'Nev'?" Neville repeated, a smirk spreading across his face. "Is that gonna be my new nickname?"

"I guess." Wade shrugged. He didn't even mean to call him that -- it just slipped out.

"So am I like your little sidekick now? Are we... buddies?"

Wade took in a deep breath. He didn't really have much of a say in the matter, did he? He slowly let the breath out through his nose before responding, "We're... buddies."

"Hell yeah!" Neville grinned broadly and plopped down on Wade's bed, lying on his stomach and saying, "I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship."

"It's certainly the start of something, alright..." How does Wade keep getting himself into these situations?

#neville #adrian neville #wade barrett #wwe fanfiction #jess.txt #barrett x neville

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