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tgmsunmontue · 5 months

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To wake, perchance to dream WIP 1/?

Hangster - Jake wakes up 10 years in the future and thinks he has amnesia. Instead it's a glimpse of what his life could be. When he wakes up right before being called back to Top Gun for the special detachment he's going to try his damndest to make that future come true...

CHAPTER ONE

Jake wakes up too warm, pinned beneath the weight of someone’s arm and he opens an eye and squints out into the glaring morning light.

This is not his room.

He has blackout curtains in his room, not gauzy nets that blow around in the breeze from an open window.

This is not the couch in Javy’s apartment.

Nor is it the guest room at the Machado’s home.

He didn’t drink anything last night, but he’s feeling stiffer than he usually does.

Something is… not right.

“Hrmgh.”

He shifts so he can glance over his shoulder at the owner of the arm and sleepy-mumble and his mouth drops open in surprise.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Not only Bradley Bradshaw, but at least half-naked Bradley Bradshaw, spooning him and… wearing a wedding ring. And hopefully maybe pants.

Fuck.

He pushes the arm and attached hand away, wiggles away a little and then sees the ring on his own hand and just stares at it.

What the fuck is going on.

He’d remember getting married right?

Surely?

“Jake… turn off the sun.”

“You’re the one that didn’t shut the curtains,” he says, and he has no idea what made him say that, but Bradley just groans, pulls a pillow over his head and Jake decides that now is a good time to run for the bathroom.

… … …

He looks old. Not bad, but he’s definitely got more wrinkles than he did when he last remembers looking into the mirror and he’s either got some weird type of amnesia or he’s dreaming or he’s in an alternate timeline. Those are his top three theories and he knew being obsessed with science fiction as a teenager would come in use someday. He uses the bathroom and cups his hands to drink some water from the tap.

Right.

Information gathering.

Best place to start is going to be his phone, if he can find it. Surely he still has a phone in the future and hasn’t allowed anyone to insert a chip into his brain. He dries his hands and tiptoes back into the bedroom, takes in the naked torso of Bradley Bradshaw and okay, he did good if he somehow managed to lock that down, regardless of timeline or potential amnesia. He spies a phone on the side of bed he woke up on, lying on a flat platform type thing, along with a watch and something that looks like it attaches to his ear, which he leaves. He pulls the curtains closed and hopes that buys him a little more time before he grabs a pair of jeans tiptoes back out, carefully closing the door behind him.

He pulls the jeans on and walks down the hall, phone gripped tightly in his hand and takes in the pictures on the walls. This version of himself and Bradshaw are definitely married, couple of photos that can be nothing but wedding photos. They have lots of people in their lives if the number of photos are anything to go by, although he doesn’t recognize half of them. It’s only just after six in the morning, the clock in the kitchen informs him and he spies a coffee machine and it’s already on, filling steadily and he wonders who turned it on or if these things are automatic now.

While he waits for it to finish he open his phone, going to contacts and scans through them.

Abbey. Admrl Simp. Alex. Alicia. Amber. Austin. BamBam. Best Person Ever. Blake. Bob. Brendan. Bryce. Dan. Dave. Dickhead. Directory. DJ. Fanboy. Fritz. Hadley. Halo. Harvard. Hin. Hondo. Jack. JB. Javy. Jared. Jason. Klaus. Kyle. Mark. Matty. Mike. Mom. Morgan. Neil (not Omaha). Nick. Nix. Olivia. Omaha. Payback. Penny. Per. Pete. Phil. Robert (not Bob). Rooster. Sally. Scott. Steffan. Tony. Voicemail. Wayne. Yale.

There are so many names he doesn’t recognize and he feels his breath coming a little short and forces himself to calm down. Panicking will not help. There are names he does recognize so he will start there. Actually, now that he looks he realizes he recognizes more, but they’re callsigns of other pilots, not friends he’d expect to have in his phone. Except if he has somehow time travelled then maybe they’re his friends now too?

Javy though, he knows Javy now, and he looks at the most recent messages from Javy and is glad he didn’t immediately call him, because admitting he didn’t know Javy had kids and that apparently they’re under his care… Fuck. Where are they? He swallows down the rising panic again, years of training kicking in and walks down the hall and carefully pushes open the almost closed door he’d walked past earlier and sure enough there are kids in there. Three of them, and he’s not sure what’s the most surprising, that Javy finally got hitched and settled enough to have three kids, or that he apparently trusts Jake to look after them. Jake and Bradshaw that is. Apparently.

This bedroom is bigger than the room he woke in, but it’s clearly been decorated for these kids in mind and he wonders how often they stay over, to have individual beds. He doesn’t know kids, he was the youngest of four and they were all pretty close in age. He’s been deployed while his brother’s and sisters had started having kids, sees them irregularly at best. But he can probably hazard a guess at ages. Their names are above their beds, two being cribs and he peers in, wonders just how little these children are. Alleisha, James, Brandy.

Alleisha is in a bed, and he’d put her around six or seven years old, can’t really project her length int height, and being tall doesn’t always equal age anyway. She’s definitely the oldest by far though, the little boy, James, maybe two or three, splayed out like a starfish, thumb lax in his mouth and he looks so much like Javy it makes him smile and something in his gut relaxes an infinitesimal amount. The fact that he looks older, that Javy has kids is making him think he’s got amnesia. That’s more likely than time travel, but he’s feeling a little bit sick regardless, everything unfamiliar.

He moves over to the final crib and there is a baby, a legit, tiny human, it can’t even be a year old, and it’s eyes are open, watching him quietly and he freezes, wonders what he’s meant to do with it. He’s seen other people do things with babies. Knows the theory. In theory. Okay. He can fly multi-million dollar planes, he can pick up a baby. He leans down, making a shushing noise and he gets a wide grin and a slap to the face for his troubles as he picks Brandy up and cradles her to him. She’s heavier than he thought she’d be.

Right. What do you do with babies. Diaper change right? Oh god. There’s a change table and he lies her down, looks at the snaps and zips covering the baby and wonders if he should just go and wake Bradshaw up and get him to deal with it. Except this is Javy’s kid. Plus he doesn’t need anyone’s help. He works at the zipper and snaps and finally finds a sodden diaper before he realizes he’s going to need a new one, fortunately located right beneath the change table, along with some wipes. Okay. This is going well.

He pays attention as he undoes the little tabs, knowing he’s going to have to do the whole thing in reverse, and he has a fucking engineering degree, he can figure out a fucking diaper. Fortunately only a wet diaper and he wipes, wipes again, wonders how many times he’s meant to wipe before deciding that someone else can take the next diaper change. There’s a little diaper pail which he’s grateful for, one hand not leaving her little body, terrified she might just roll off. When do babies start rolling around? Planes don’t move unless you tell them to, she’s moving all limbs independently and with no apparent control, sucking on a fist but thankfully quiet and happy. He doesn’t want to see not-quiet and not-happy if he can help it.

He takes her out of the weird sack thing, assumes it’s a blanket thing for sleeping and carries her back to the kitchen, desperate for coffee now, and he realizes he’s going to need to feed her. Okay. Javy wouldn’t have left a baby here without food and he opens the refrigerator and sure enough there’s a few bottles already lined up and he grabs one out, the high-pitched squeal that Brandy lets out a clear agreement that he at least is on the right path.

There’s an electronic bucket type thing beside the coffee machine which makes him think of a mini ice-bucket, it has the same brand logo as the bottle and he wonders if it’s really that simple. Puts the bottle in and presses the button on the front, and it’s definitely doing something, button turning from blue to red. Brandy is almost headbanging in excitement so he again feels like he’s once again picked the right step. While he waits for the button to hopefully change color again and provide a warm bottle he opens his phone again, wonders if he should message Javy and tell him they all made it through the night. Is that something he would do now?

He opens up the photo gallery instead and okay… if he has amnesia then he’ll just wait to get his memories back. Whenever he’s in a photo his smile is so wide it splits his face. His camera roll is filled with photos of Bradshaw and these kids, and a dog, and some people he doesn’t recognize, but then there is Javy and a woman… he zooms in and heads back into the hall to look at the photos on the wall more closely. Phoenix. Natasha Trace. She’s in a lot of the photos as well and he opens up his contacts again, scans through the names. There’s no Phoenix, Trace or Natasha… but there is a Nix and he opens them as he walks back to the kitchen, hoping the bottle is hopefully done because Brandy is getting less patient.

Fortunately it’s clearly designed to be operated by either an idiot or sleep deprived parents and the light is now green and flashing and he swirls it and tries to squirt some in his mouth just to check the temperature, Brandy seems horrified at his actions and makes a high pitched squeal of displeasure, struggling to get to the bottle but he doesn’t want her to get a burnt mouth or anything.

“It’s okay baby girl, I’m not stealing it from you…”

She makes the same displeased squealing noise, hands reaching for the bottle and Jake wonders if he’s meant to hold her, or get a cloth to cover her or something. Ah well. Problem for future Jake. He hands her the bottle and moves into the living room, settles into the corner of an incredibly comfy sofa and she squirms a little until she’s nestled into the crook of his arm, eyes wide and watching him, both hands clasped on the bottle and he doesn’t resist the urge to place a soft kiss on her forehead.

He opens his phone again and navigates back to the messages, looking for Nix and then opening the message history. The messages between them alternate between scathing teasing and then more serious things about the kids, he’s sent her lots of photos and he clearly has a lot to do with these kids. To have the bedroom set up like it is, it looks like a permanent thing, except his messages with both Javy and Phoenix are as recent as yesterday, so nothing has happened to them to explain why their kids are here, with him and Bradshaw.

Fucking hell.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Phoenix he can kind of get his head around in a way, especially if she’s married to Javy. Bradshaw on the other hand, he doesn’t know if they’ve managed to exchange any casual civil words with each other. When flying they simply seem to rub each other the wrong way and when not flying they really rub each other up the wrong way. And yet here he is, apparently married to him and looking after his best friend’s kids. What has become of his life? In another world he’d definitely have made more than one pass at Bradshaw, but he’d never got even the slightest inkling that it would be welcomed, let alone reciprocated.

And yet here he is.

He glances down and startles, Brandy has finished the bottle, is sucking in air and he knows enough that that can’t be good so he takes the bottle from her, which she gratefully allows him to do. Then a dog appears, looks at him and gives a soft whuff before settling on the floor just near him and Jake wonders if the dog is his. He doesn’t want to move, Brandy apparently content to simply lie with him, the dog as well and he’s wondering if he needs to let it out when he hears footsteps approaching and he twists his head.

“You look good like that…” Bradshaw says, and he’s almost upside down, smiling at him softly, like he expects Jake to say something back and he has no idea what it might be.

“Morning…”

“Morning…” Bradshaw replies, giving him a weird little smile like Jake didn’t say quite what he expected. “Thanks for letting me sleep in…”

“You’re, uh, welcome…” Jake says, shifting and standing up because he feels too vulnerable lying on his back on the sofa with Bradshaw sort-of looming over him. Of course, now he’s got an even better view of Bradshaw and he can’t help but look his fill, Bradshaw in nothing but low-hanging sleep pants and looking sleep-tousled. He also looks older, maybe in his mid-forties, but he’s still firm and smooth and Jake wants to lick a stripe over his stomach. Nothing wrong with his sex drive at least.

“And this is why we don’t have kids ourselves. Get your mind out of the gutter Mr Bradshaw, we’ve got kids today and cannot go back to bed…” Bradshaw says, moving close to him and taking Brandy from him and he lets her go, misses the warmth of her tiny body.

“Pity…” he says, and finds he means it, because even if he’s freaking out about this weird waking-dream he’s in, Bradshaw is still a certified snack and Jake wants him. And apparently he took his name when they got married. He’s not surprised he was willing to give up Seresin considering how little he cares for it even now.

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me tonight. And tomorrow morning if you’re feeling athletic enough.”

“When am I not feeling athletic enough?” Jake asks, because he can’t imagine his personality is that different even if he can’t remember time lapsed.

“Mmm, there’s that fighting spirit. Like it when you feel like you have to prove a point.”

Then Bradshaw is kissing him, his fingers sneaking under his shirt to stroke Jake’s bare skin and he feels his entire body erupt in goosebumps, suddenly hyperaware, every little hair on his body standing on end and seemingly aching for attention. He’s not used to this, not used to someone who just touches him and moves him like they know exactly what to do and god it feels both terrifying and exhilarating.

“Come on, we better get breakfast going for trouble one and trouble two…”

“Yeah, course,” Jake agrees, because he’s the one out of time and place and he’s going to need to figure out a way to break that news to Bradshaw and a little more time sounds good. Regarding breakfast though, fortunately Bradshaw seems to be the one that makes it, but he watches carefully which cupboards and drawers have what items, his mind racing trying to figure out whether he’s suddenly going to remember everything in a rush, or have it trickle through.

“Morning uncle Jay…”

“Morning,” Jake replies, knows the greeting is for him because he’s also getting a hug to his side and he likes being called Uncle Jay, wants to hear it all the time. God, no wonder these kids have a bedroom here if he’s already this much in love with them all. Best case of amnesia ever. He needs to figure out how to let Bradshaw know about that too, not to freak him out, but just to let him know, because he should probably get checked out even if he does feel fine physically. The fact he’s missing a chunk of time isn’t normal. Of course, there is the chance that he’s still dreaming, but his dreams have never seemed real like this.

Or as domestic.

Or as detailed.

The dog makes another quiet whuff and he can hear the front door opening, but it’s clearly someone with a key and he has to stop himself from freaking out that he’s going to have another person he doesn’t know enter his new reality.

“You two wearing pants?” a woman’s voice calls out and Jake catches Bradshaw’s eye roll.

“Jesus Amelia, of course we’re wearing pants, the kids are here!”

“Well, I have to ask.”

“It was one time, and you didn’t knock…”

“And I’m still getting therapy for it,” a woman apparently called Amelia says, pulling a face and Jake doesn’t know whether to smile or say something or… okay, he’s being hugged in greeting and he hugs back, swallows back the automatic nice to meet you because he clearly knows her already, even if he has no fucking clue who she is. She’s definitely younger than him and Bradshaw though.

“Aunty Amelia!” Alleisha says, and Jake feels a spark of jealousy at the joy and excitement in her voice, directed at someone else, and then reminds himself the love and affection are not a finite resource as he watches Amelia hug Alleisha, then James and then slaps Bradshaw on the ass, making him squawk. She just laughs and takes Brandy from Bradshaw, and the baby just goes happily. Jake is so confused.

The dog paws at him and whines, and he glances down and pats her; she’s definitely his, with the way she’s hovering near his side. Bradshaw is looking at him with a raised eyebrow though when he looks up from paying her attention, but goes back to setting out bowls and glasses of water, cuts up fruit and slides another cup of coffee across to him with a soft smile. Jake smiles back, wonders when he might get a moment alone with him. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out.

Best Person Ever>> Stop staring at his ass. You’ve been home for two weeks. Honeymoon period should be over.

He glances up and Amelia is smirking at him, and he doesn’t know where she fits into all of this, who she is to them, other than someone he has in his phone as Best Person Ever and judging from her smirk he wouldn’t put it past her to have changed that herself. He shoves his phone back in his pocket. If he’s been home for two weeks then he’s probably been deployed, which means he’s still in the Navy. That settles some of the uneasiness in his gut, not everything in his world is that different then. And this is what he comes home to. That’s pretty fucking cool.

They eat, Brandy being placed in a highchair that materializes from the laundry and she’s given some slices of banana to mash up, which is gross and horrifying to watch. The expression on his face must be amusing, because both Alleisha and James are giggling at him, and even Bradshaw is hiding a grin, but he gets up and brushes a soft kiss on his forehead, murmurs something about every time and he wants to know what the hell he means. Amelia is also eating breakfast, making herself at home and wiping at James’ face and even though he has no idea who she is it doesn’t feel wrong that she’s here and part of their domesticity.

“Right, I’m taking Lady Alleisha and Knight James to their swimming lessons. I’ll be back after we’ve visited the library… We might also swing by a playground on our way back.”

Bradshaw is nodding like this is the standard routine and Jake just smiles, because the kids are happy and excited and now he has his opportunity to talk to Bradshaw. Tell him that he’s not… well. Can’t remember anything.

Yeah.

This is going to be awkward as fuck.

CHAPTER TWO

#To Wake perchance to Dream #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun maverick fanfiction

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xenodile · 3 months

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@stasisarbiter This is definitely worth a full ask, because it's a bit of a mixed response. Nikke does a lot of things really good, and a lot of things really bad.

So. The gameplay IS fun. Like really fun. The PVE gameplay is like Time Crisis shooting, you have your team of up to 5 characters where you're directly controlling one at a time while the others are on auto target and tap/click to shoot, and automatically take cover and reload when not shooting. Enemies flash red before they attack and put markers on characters that are being targeted by particularly powerful attacks. Characters have different styles of guns, Assault Rifles, Machine Guns, SMGs, Shotguns, Rocket Launchers, and Sniper Rifles, that all handle differently, and some characters have uniquely functioning versions of those 6 archetypes. You can also order all characters to take cover and stop shooting until you give the order to attack again, and switch between which character you're controlling while doing so.

You also generate meter whenever your characters hit something, and when the meter fills you can use their Burst Skills. You can use up to 3 Burst Skills in sequence, as each character's skill is Phase 1, 2, or 3, and building a team involves getting characters whose skills compliment and chain together. When you do a full chain of 3 skills, you activate a Full Burst for 10 seconds, during which time you directly control all of your characters at once.

When your characters are strong enough, any stage becomes a cakewalk, but when you're playing at a power deficit is when things get really interesting, because the amount of precise manual control you have over each of your characters means you can overcome very high stat differences by prioritizing targets, using the right skills, and taking cover efficiently.

The boss fights are also really, really cool. Bosses have multiple parts that can be individually targeted and broken to alter their behavior and deal extra damage, they have special attacks where you have to do precision target shooting to interrupt them, and long multi phase fights. It's really fun stuff.

But as I said, Nikke does some really bad stuff too. For one, it has PVP, and there is no justice in a gacha based PVP game. PVP is an auto battler where certain teams are just invincible without an equally specific counter pick, all of which are locked behind SSR gacha rates, so that blows.

Leveling and upgrading characters is weird because there's a system that makes it so you only have to level up 5 characters and then every other character you have will be automatically synced to those 5, which is really nice. But that system has a hard cap that is not high enough to get through every part of the main story, and is only unlocked if you get FIVE SSR characters to max limit break, so depending on luck and spending habits, could be a very significant wall to progression for a lot of people.

Dailies are easy to complete and only take like 30 minutes tops, and there's no stamina or AP system so you can play as much as you want, but all experience and money games are time based. You CAN'T grind for experience or money or upgrade materials, you get them at a fixed rate per day. So it respects your time per day, but it WILL take months of playing to upgrade your characters, and even that is locked behind whether you get lucky on the gacha.

So like, the gameplay IS fun, but your ability to actually access that fun is locked behind really scummy monetization. It's a weird case where I've really been liking Nikke and having a ton of fun with it, but I would not ever recommend it to someone because the ability to make meaningful progress is luck based. It's why I started doing my story write ups because I think there's legitimately good stuff in Nikke that people should see and be able to enjoy without getting roped into its bad gacha shit.

Short answer, yes it's fun but it's not worth getting into, so enjoy it vicariously.

#stasisarbiter

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 year

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Pontiac GTO

As one of the most sought-after members of the muscle car realm, Pontiac GTOs are a big draw among ardent collectors and casual fans of classic cars alike. This slick 1971 Pontiac GTO, with its recently rebuilt and punched-up 400 V8 motor, is the beneficiary of a comprehensive restoration that's left it not only looking great, but in outstanding running condition, taking that already magnetic attraction and ratcheting it up more than a few notches. And whether you prefer to call it 'The Tiger' or 'The Goat', it's a beast in the streets either way.

Just a quick glance at this classic will leave you with the indelible impression that this is one seriously clean, straight and solid cruiser. It's likely been pampered a good portion of its life, as its flush fitting panels are all very straight, and the body gaps and sheetmetal creases are as the factory intended. This GOAT has been restored with an eye toward showmanship, and it certainly looks the part with its collection of clean, tight lines that you'll encounter from the hood, the sporty fenders and doors, and that iconic rear end – all of which serve as proof to how thorough the restoration was. The eye-popping Maroon Metallic finish is a wonderfully bright upgrade over the factory Castillian Bronze this GTO was born with, looking liquid-smooth and consistent from front to back, with an impressive shine from its clearcoat. With a deep, lustrous finish accented by shiny metallic flake that's evenly dispersed throughout the body, this car attracts loads of attention everywhere it goes. It's a top driver-quality finish that can be shown off with pride, and when it glitters in the sun you get to sit back and watch the envious gather everywhere you go. The badging on the front grille and decaled emblems on the decklid and fenders are sharp, combining with very clear glass, a commanding rear spoiler, and straight front and back bumpers that drive home the point that no stone was left unturned in bringing this venerable muscle car back up to its optimum condition.

There's quite an impressive black vinyl interior sitting inside, which in our opinion is a perfect complement to the vivid bodywork. It's also been refurbished and mostly kept in its original configuration - save for a set of Dakota Digital gauges - to provide the rewarding and era-appropriate driving environment classic car enthusiasts look for. The broad buckets up front and bench seat in back show virtually no wear at all and still have a fresh shine to them, and because the covers are high-quality Legend units, they'll look this good for a very long time. A clean expanse of black carpet runs underneath the seating and keeps the asphalt temperatures and road noise at bay, the matching door panels are handsome and blemish-free, and the taut headliner above completes the whole package. Peer through the 3-spoke woodrimmed steering wheel and you'll see the original gauge cluster, although now the pods are filled with a full complement of Dakota Digital gauges. The original radio is long gone, although the machine-turned panel on the dash is still in place and looks great, and the factory A/C system has been upgraded to use modern refrigerant and blows hard and cold. A middle console splits the front buckets and houses the shifter for the automatic transmission below, and the condition of the rear seat suggests it's barely been used. A full-size spare tire wrapped around a matching aftermarket rim and an original jack set sit in the spacious trunk out back, whose floor has been treated for scuff protection with black spatter paint.

The YS code 400 cubic inch V8 sitting under the hood has been driven less than 500 miles since its full rebuild, and it runs with a smoothness and consistency that makes it very much up to the task of daily driving, if you should so choose. Augmented with Edelbrock aluminum heads, a Holley double pumper 4-barrel carburetor, Edelbrock aluminum intake, and a set of ceramic-coated headers, the engine is very powerful with performance that's delivered instantly up and down the throttle. It's paired with a TH400 3-speed automatic transmission that handles the power with ease thanks to an added 2800 stall convertor, shifting with plenty of certainty followed by the sturdy Auburn Gear 10-bolt rear end out back. With both power steering and power 4-wheel disc brakes in tow, this is an easy driver, and this Poncho handles great thanks to new suspension components front and rear, sway bars, and all-new steering components. The soundtrack is great too, with a 3-inch H-pipe dual exhaust system anchored with Flowmaster mufflers doing most of the barking. Should you desire any more proof of just how well-put together and cared for this GTO is, take a glance underneath - you'll find a very well attended to undercarriage there. This GOAT sits on a set of 17" Vision Legend series wheels that are outfitted with 245/50/17 performance radials.

#car #cars #muscle car #american muscle #pontiac gto #pontiac #gto

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away-ward · 1 year

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Outside the Lines

Summary: Will commits his first of many felonies for Emory Scott, and she doesn't even know it. But it's fine. Because at least she'll still be around tomorrow.

Setting: pre-canon; Will is in 10th, Emory in 9th. Shortly after the first Devil's Night referenced in Corrupt.

Requested. Got a little out of control and sidetracked, but hopefully it works.

Thank you for reading.

Will

“You’re planning something for the charity case, aren’t you?” Callum Claythorne said, blowing hot breath on the back of my neck.

I moved away, put off by how close he was behind me but didn’t let it show. He laughed under his breath, gaze focused across the room. The sound made my stomach drop for all the wrong reasons.

“Way ahead of you. Just watch.”

I could chill with anyone. Callum hung around often, somewhat popular and didn’t seem to have a problem pulling any girl he wanted. Black hair, kind of watery blue eyes. I didn’t feel anything about him one way or another. Damon, however, had strong opinions. He called Callum Asslicker because of the way he fawned over Michael, and I used to laugh because he had a butt-chin and a habit for licking his lips. But ever since Devil’s Night a few weeks ago, Callum’s obsession over us had gotten worse. It was kind of creeping me out.

He jutted his narrow chin towards the table in the corner. Maybe leaning in the doorway, staring at the table’s single occupant wasn’t the most covert move.

But then, I wasn’t trying to be covert. I wanted her to know I was looking. Wanted her to feel my attention from across the room, like I felt her whenever she entered the building.

She felt it, didn’t she?

Most trips and dances are included in our tuition, but the extracurriculars like the winter ski trip cost something. Student volunteers took shifts collecting payments during lunch and after school, and I knew Emory Scott would be one of those volunteers as part of her work-study program. I stopped by the office to check the schedule to be sure she was the one working when I got my ticket, if only because it meant she couldn’t avoid me.

She’d gotten good at pretending I didn’t exist.

Emmy’s schedule included first lunch shift and a half-hour after school. I waited all week so that the rush would die down as the other students got theirs, giving me more time with her. But as her shift neared its end, so did my window of opportunity. After this, my only possibility was the afterschool shift, but I had practice at the same time.

Vera Armstrong approached to take over for her and I fidgeted by the door, too aware of Callum watching me watch her.

His low voice came from behind. “I’ve seen the way she treats you.”

She’s tough. I gave her everything I had, and she gave me back nothing but vitriol. But God, if I didn’t love that fire that flares up whenever I came close. She didn’t do that for anyone else. If the opposite of love is indifference...and love and hate are two sides of the same coin...then that must make us something, right?

Maybe I’m getting confused; English was never my thing.

Emory dutifully filled out the form on the clipboard that transferred responsibility of the lockbox and card machine over to Vera, and then held it out to her to sign. Ignoring her, Vera took the only chair and pulled her phone from her pocket. Emory waited. I could see her lips move as she tried to goad Vera into cooperating. Nothing worked, and finally Em slammed the clipboard down, along with a key on a spiral wristband.

My eyes automatically followed her as she approached the door. I stood straighter, waiting for the eye contact to come. The girl had me practically salivating like a dog for it, but she just breezed past as if I were invisible.

Damn, that hurt. I grinned, head hanging down. Sometimes, she’s too tough.

But why isn’t she eating? I knew she wasn’t rich like the typical student at TBP, but she could afford a good lunch, right? I had half a mind to follow her and demand to know.

“Watch,” Callum reminded me.

I did as Vera was joined by two juniors, Tommy Price and Bobby Lee. Her eyes lifted from the phone to scan the room as they slipped the lockbox full of student’s checks, and the receipt pouch, into a backpack and then disappearing into the crowd. Once they were gone, Vera called the teacher watching the lunch period over. Lots of hands waving and looks of confusion followed. It didn’t take a genius to guess what she was saying.

Stealing school property violated the student code of conduct.

I turned back to Callum, hooding my eyes. “You arranged this?”

He smirked, lifting his shoulder casually. “Not everyone in this place is useless, bro. I’ve seen you watching the charity case. Knew I could help you remind her of her place.”

Bro? I cocked my head. Was he trying to impress me? Hoping I’d go back to the guys and tell them how awesome he is? Because I’m the fun one who loves people.

Running my tongue along the edge of my teeth, I took all I had not to slam him into the wall. That wouldn’t be enough, though.

“Where’s the box being kept?” I asked Callum, serious for once, hoping that he didn’t read into my voice any.

The smug bastard grinned. Good. “It's in a safe place. We’re still working on getting her combination, but after that, we’ll put it in hers.” He laughed and nudged me with his elbow. “Let’s see her brother get her out of this. He’s all for justice when it’s one of us, but I bet when it’s his own family, he’ll drop the act.”

I couldn’t care less about her brother. He’s just a petty patrol officer handing out tickets for broken taillights and whatever. Of course, he’d back up his sister. It was the other thing he said that pricked me. One of us. Was he talking about the school, or did he really think he could work his way into our crew? That he could cozy up to me and we’d just welcome him?

Fuck that. That's not how this worked.

Patting Callum on the shoulder, I gave him a firm squeeze, imagining it was his neck. “Nice, man,” I said and walked away, slipping my phone out of my pocket.

My first text was to the kid that worked in the office. A quiet freshman and good kid, before his first kickback when I gave him my last blunt. Now, he looks at me as if I’m some sort of benevolent god. I tell him to ignore anyone else seeking information on Emory Scott, promising something in it for him if he follows through. Next, I texted the guys to meet me outside by the cars.

Kai and Michael were already there by the time I made it to student parking. Michael sat in the trunk of his G-Class, propping his leg up to rest his arm on his knee while Kai leaned against the frame of his fancy new Jeep. I couldn’t wait until it got its first scratch so he would stop babying it. I wanted to take that thing out and see what it could do. Exciting stuff, getting older. My birthday was still months away, but I already had an idea of what I wanted.

One thing I knew for sure, the truck I brought home was going to get dirty real quick.

And I had other plans for it, too.

Damon walked up last. “What are we doing out here? I’m starving.”

He was nowhere to be seen during lunch, but none of us pointed that out. Michael tossed a protein bar from the duffle bag in his trunk. He caught it and tore into the silver wrapper. He gave me a once over as he chewed through his first bite, lips curling back in a sneer. "What's pissed you off?”

“Nothing, I’m good,” I shrugged, and stuffed my hands in my pant pockets. “Get this, Claythrone thinks he’s got what it takes to run with us.” I chuckled as Damon groaned with annoyance. He really hated that guy.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“He just bragged about this lame-ass prank he pulled on Emory Scott,” I said, kicking some loose gravel in an attempt to look casual about it.

“The scholarship kid?” Kai asked.

I nodded.

“What’d he do?” he continued. I forced myself to ignore the note of concern in his voice. Kai cared about people. Like genuinely cared.

I told them what I’d seen and what he told me, laying out his entire idea. I laughed, “He thinks we’d be impressed.”

“The fuck,” Damon scoffed under his breath, tossing the wrapper to the wind and bringing a cigarette to his lips. “Like that’s so hard. She can’t even cash the checks. They’re made out to the school.”

Kai’s eyebrows pinched, glaring at Damon for any number of reasons. “She could still get expelled for stealing.”

“Emory’s smarter than that,” I ground out, tired of them talking about her like it was even a possibility.

“Oh, she is, yeah?” Kai asked. His eyes shone with humor, and I hated the fact that I was being so obvious. It’s not that they couldn’t know that I loved her. I just wanted to keep her to myself for a while. I didn’t want anyone’s attention on her, especially not Kai’s. He’s too likable.

His approval was in my favor, though, because I needed all the reasons to persuade Michael to action. I’d move without him, of course. Contrary to rumor, we didn’t need his permission to do anything. It’s just more fun with the four of us together.

“Who fucking cares about the girl,” Damon asked, watching me. When I gave him nothing, he moved on, looking to Michael. “Claythorne, however, needs to be dealt with.”

Damon was right. Callum wanted to be one of us. He’d probably bought his own mask already. But he didn’t understand Devil’s Night or what we were doing.

We weren’t causing chaos and havoc just because we could…

Actually...that’s exactly why we were doing it.

Michael wanted Devil’s Night and the masks to remind us to live like nothing was off limits. We could spend our entire life dying inside the boundaries and lines society drew for us. Or we can really live the way we wanted, with all the mischief and mayhem that we could bring. Nothing was really forbidden if we wanted it enough.

We brought our people along of course, but there was never any question about who was leading the celebration. Because that’s what it was – a celebration of being young and alive and unburdened by society’s expectations.

That’s what Callum Claythorne didn’t get. We weren’t bullying or hazing people. Especially not those less fortunate than us. That’s not fun and it wasn’t what we were about. Anyone who punched down deserved to have their ass owned.

Michael looked at the school. Our school. Then back to me. “Got any ideas?”

***

An hour later, we circled the principal’s brand-new Lexus. Black hoodies and masks all the way, it took no time at all for Damon to get the keys from his office and drive it off school property. Kai and Michael grabbed set paint from the Theater’s Set and Prop room, while I got the last crucial item before Michael drove us to connect with Damon about two miles on the highway going away from town.

On the way, I texted Callum, asking him to meet us outside Sticks for a little fun. He texted back that he was on his way. Too bad we went in the opposite direction. We drove until we saw the silver car parked on the side of the road, close to the tree line and Michael pulled in behind it.

“This feels stupid,” Kai said as he got out of the passenger side. I couldn’t see his face through his silver mask, but I could image his expression: unimpressed.

“It’s supposed to,” Damon chimed in. “We’re not exactly dealing with a criminal mastermind.”

Michael steps forward, offering me the first can of paint from the back of the G-Class. “Honors,” he said.

I popped the top, revealing the deep blue inside. Stepping up, I take a second to admire just how much we’re going to fuck up this pretty car.

“Do you think his insurance covers Horsemen?” I joked, before swing back and letting the paint fly. After that, it’s free for all. Someone slashed the tires; another went at the leather seats. The sound of it ripping was like a song. It was Damon that drew an erect dick on the hood.

When the paint was all gone and the car thoroughly trashed, we stepped back to examine our handiwork, lifting our masks up and tucking them into the hoods. Damon swung an arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “Happy now?”

I nodded, smiling big. A little property damage is good for the soul. “But I also kinda want to set it on fire,” I said, imagining the smoke rising off the scorched metal.

That got two responses at the same time. One from Damon, who said, “Fucking pyro,” and went for his lighter because he loves to make me happy.

The other was from Kai, who growled, “Absolutely not,” because he’s still concerned about getting arrested and what his daddy would say.

It was Michael who looked at the woods next to us and frowned. “Not this close to the trees. I don’t want to start a real fire.”

I shook my head. Seriously. How could he be so wild one minute and boring the next?

But then he proved he had something more in him. “Next time,” Michael promised, making me smile again. “Bigger than this.”

Damon approached Kai, running a hand under Kai’s jaw, pinching his chin. “It’s gonna happen eventually, you know,” he sang.

Kai slapped Damon’s hand away, but I came in right after, drawing Kai close by wrapping my arm around his neck and laughing, “Don’t worry, if we do get arrested, your pretty face will finally come in handy.”

“Bitch,” he called me, twisting out of my grasp.

Damon clutched the front of his pants. “Which is what you’ll be for some big hairy man.”

Michael and I laughed as Kai went at him. Damon could throw a punch, but Kai trained since childhood. It was never really a fair fight. I could even throw Damon down when I wanted to, which is how I knew Kai pulled his strength to toy with him.

“Alright,” Damon grunted, struggling in Kai’s chokehold while he chuckled in Damon’s ear. “Let go, or I’ll tell your dad you wear shoes in the house when he’s not home.”

“Say please,” Kai taunted.

“Fucker.”

Kai rolled his eyes but let him go, shoving him away.

Damon flipped him his middle finger, but even I could tell he was in a good mood.

We shed the jackets, hiding them in Michael’s ride. He’d burn them later, stained with paint as they were. Before we left, I tossed Callum’s wallet by the tire. Easy to see, but not like it was planted. As we got closer to the school, Kai placed the call in to the police station from a burner phone.

“Those damn hellions are at it again,” I shouted while Kai tried to turn away so they didn’t catch my voice. I howled when he hung up, hyped and ready for more. Always ready.

We’d only missed one period after lunch, but I had that office kid mark our attendance so it wouldn’t count against us. I promised myself to learn his name since he kept coming in clutch. Walking through the halls, we passed the office. I happened to glance through the windows to see Emory Scott sitting on the bench outside the principal’s door, her bag sitting at her side.

She’d been kept from class. Kai’s words from before about her getting expelled came back and that pissed me off all over again. I already had limited access to her. Take school away and I had nothing.

It took less than an hour for the cops to show up outside the school. The four of us spared each other discreet glances as we waited to see who was called – us or him. After getting through our first class without hearing our names on the intercom, we knew the plan had worked. It was confirmed when the rumors of Callum’s escapade started circulating, and then blew up when they found the lockbox exactly where I knew it would be.

His locker. Because he’s an idiot that keeps the evidence on him instead of a neutral location behind a lock no one else as the combination or key to. Duh.

It wasn’t enough, though. I still needed to see Emmy; to know she’d be here tomorrow. I searched for her between classes. Even the back of her head would have been enough to calm me, but as the students flooded the halls, I couldn’t find any sign of her.

“Tell me something,” Michael said as we stood outside the door of our last class of the day.

I glanced from side to side, looking either direction down the hall even though she never came up this way. Focusing on him, I paused. He leaned back against the hall of lockers, brown hair fanning over his lighter eyes, looking at me like he knew something.

“What’s up?” I asked casually.

“Was it all for the girl?”

All for her? Did I really drag my friends out of school and to go after another student, simply because he threatened a girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day?

I blew out a breath, unable to hold back my stupid smile. “Yeah.”

"Was it worth it?"

"I guess we'll see." He’s gonna nail me for this. I couldn’t imagine Michael ever losing his head over a girl. I felt like I lived in a hurricane whenever I thought of Emmy; alive and yet out of control. He'd never survive this feeling.

Instead, he smirked. “I get it,” he said, lifting from the lockers and going into class just as the bell rang. Then he stopped, preventing me from following him, looking at me over his shoulder. “Have fun, Will, just don't become her puppet. Control it.”

I laughed as I followed him to our seats. Too late.

***

I was out of my seat just before the final bell, before Michael or the teacher could say anything. “Cover for me,” I told him, ducking around students getting their still shit together.

I needed to be on the court in fifteen minutes, which means I needed to book it down to the cafeteria if I wanted to get a second with Emmy before getting punishment laps.

Slowing down in the hall before the double doors, I hesitated. What if she wasn’t in there?

My heart stopped as I rounded the corner.

There she was, already at the table. The lockbox and receipt pouch had been returned. The room was mostly empty, save for a few lingering around the vending machines at the other end of the room.

Her face didn’t lift from the textbook in front of her as I approached, but I saw her thin shoulders pull up to her ears and then relax down. So, she knew I was here.

I waited, time limit forgotten, for her to look up.

She flipped the page. “You need something?”

Yeah, I need something. Look at me.

“Tickets.”

Emmy finally looked up, brow dipping, and frowned. “Tickets,” she asked, drawing out the s, “as in plural?”

“Yeah, that’s what it means,” I said, pulling my wallet out and getting my card.

Neutralizing her expression, Em busied herself with the card machine. “How many?”

“Two.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “That’ll be three thousand.”

I held my card out to her. “Save you a seat on the bus.”

“I’m sure your date would love that.”

“She probably wouldn’t,” I laughed. “She can’t seem to stand my company at all.”

She paused, studying me. I could tell she wanted to say something by the way her eyes searched my face, but there were too many things she wouldn’t give voice to. She had too many walls.

“I’m not going,” she ventured slowly, “I don’t ski.”

I placed my hands on the table and leaned down so I can get closer to her. There’s nowhere for her to go. “There’s always the lodge where you can read by the fire or whatever it is you enjoy.”

“Throwing darts at pictures of the people I hate,” she interjected, giving me a pointed look.

“And then at night, we’ll share a hot chocolate. I’ll kiss the whipped cream off your nose.”

Emory gave me a mocking smirk, leaning forward. “And later I kiss it off of other place?”

One could dream.

“Please. You’re a cliché, William Grayson III, and I am unimpressed.” She tilted the machine towards herself so I couldn’t see what she was doing as she ran my card, handing it back to me. The machine beeped and my receipt rolled out. She ripped the edge and held it out to me. I didn’t take it.

“Why do you always say my full name like that,” I asked.

“Because it’s a mouthful.”

Automatically, I spat out, “So are other things.” I knew that was only going to make it worse, but I’d gotten the sense I already lost anyway. Why not go the extra mile to piss her off even more? At least then, she’d still be thinking of me after I left.

She glared over the rim of her dark glasses. “I say your full name because you’re a legacy, not someone I want to be friends with. And it’s a stupid name. The third.” She made a disgusted face. “Who does that to their kid?”

I lifted my shoulder. “I’m gonna name my kid William. He’ll be the fourth.”

She rolled her eyes, grumbling, “Of course, you are.” Wagging the receipt at me, she snapped, “Do you want this or not?”

I took it, quickly checking to make sure of what I already knew; she only charged me for one ticket, not two. “We could’ve had fun,” I told her, stuffing it my pocket.

She’d already started reading again. “I’d rather cut off my own legs than be trapped on top of a mountain with the lot of you.”

Well, at least she wasn’t limiting it to just me this time. That was something.

I stared at the top of her head, feeling unresolved even though she gave a clear sign she was done with me. I began to lean forward, pulled down by something. At the same time, Emmy picked up her head, seeming startled that I was still so close.

For the first time in a while, I got to see the details of her eyes up close. Dark brown and swimming, reminding me of the hot chocolate she wouldn’t share with me. Her lips fell open in a short gasp. I was near enough to feel the soft burst of air that rushed out. Her frizzy hair came forward, nearly covering her face and I raised my hand to…touch it? Brush it back? I just needed…

“Callum Claythorne was arrested,” she whispered.

I didn’t touch her. Not yet. “I know. For vandalizing the principal’s car.” They wouldn't hold him for long but at least he should have gotten the message.

Emory rolled her lips, looking to the side. “They called my brother and I thought…” She blinked and shook her head. “But then the detectives arrived and when he was clearing out his locker, they found the lockbox.”

She was relieved she wasn’t going to be expelled, otherwise she wouldn’t be telling me this. She was just talking because I was listening. Still, my heart burst because it was me she confided in.

Her gaze returned to mine. “Did you have anything to do with Callum?”

I tilted my head.

“I saw you standing with him right before the box went missing,” she clarified. “Did you…”

She looked terrified of the answer, no matter what it would be. Yes or no, it wasn’t good news for her.

My lips twitched with a smile as I finally let my finger connect with the front strands of her hair, hooking it and slowly drawing it back to hook around her ear. From there, I dragged it back along her jaw, in awe of how soft and gold her skin was.

She didn’t move, watching me with wide eyes.

Why? Because I can. But that wasn't

“You should know, I would never let anyone hurt you,” I explained. “No one. Anything you need or want, you only need to ask for it.”

She licked her lips. Was she processing this? Did she finally get it?

"Why?"

Why, she asked. Why would I want to give her anything she wanted? Do anything and everything for her? Commit a felony for her? Nothing was out of bounds when it came to Emmy Scott. "Because I can."

I rubbed my thumb on the edge of her jaw, keeping her eyes on me. “What do you want, Em? You want to go on the trip?”

“I-I want…” she breathed, eyelids fluttering.

“Yes?”

“I want,” she repeated. Then she withdrew, that same hard glare returning, and she pulled away from my grasp. My hand closed on air. “I want you to leave me alone.”

It took me a minute, but I managed to swallow all the pain and hide it. Knocking my fisted knuckles against the table, I looked at her, meeting her glare with my usual cheer. “You can have anything you want,” I said with a smile, “except that. Another time, then.”

I stepped back, making sure her eyes stayed on me until I was good and ready to break contact. I was so late for practice I’d probably die doing laps, but it was more than worth it. Because I think I won this round.

***

Honestly, this got way out of hand. At some point I stopped trying to match Will's voice as close as possible and just tried to make it fun. Let me know if it worked.

I may come back later and work on the Emory part. For some reason, no matter the word processor I used, every time I wrote out that part, it got deleted. There's like five different versions of that scene floating around out there, forever lost to us. If I do change anything, I will note the edit at the top.

Thanks to everyone who showed interest in this and patiently waited for me to finish. Hope it was worth it.

Sorry for any mistakes or typos. Feel free to point them out.

Master List

#devil's night series #my fic #willemmy #will grayson iii #emory scott #pre-canon #requested

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siremasterlawrence · 2 years

Text

White Boi Training Program: Training Dan

My uptight friend Barry is so pushy I had way more time today to deal with for so long.

He enters my apartment in a nicely iron suit, grey shirt and perfectly shined shoes to fully complete the look.

I hate that stringy white people straight hair but on him it is splendid combing it to his own specification.

I can see him with that cool expression on his face thinking how good his life and all go his success.

I sigh dreaming of him I offer him a beer one that I have brew that makes all of my dream can come true.

I pop open a beer bottle top throwing it to the side and slipping off the counter I pour out the contents of the bottle.

I drop a pill in the bottle fill up the bottle with tap water and shake it up till oh fizzles up the top layer.

It transform in to the perfect beer in look, smell and taste so excellent he will never know the difference.

I replace the top heading back out I hand it to him then sit on the other side as he pop the cork.

Something goes off in his mind as he read the label of the bottle then took in the scent of it.

His mouth curls up loving the bottle closer up to his nose inhaling more and more then places it in his mouth.

Taking one huff of the bottle hitting his taste bud, tickling his senses out of control all of his nerves are on high.

He stops cold galloping down the hole thing in to his throat he freaks out his throat cools down.

I can see the explosion blow up his happier expression takes over, he calms down with excitement

His body automatically also down the couch laying back and his feet open up spreading over the space.

His eyes open wide stalling back and forth brimming with energy he is so hyper active in his movements.

Taking advantage of the situation I say let’s watch television grabbing the remote from my table.

His eyes follow my hand lifting in to face the screen and press play clicking it the remote a buzzing sound erupts.

The device comes on automatically a red light beam shoots out to the middle of his forehead.

“What’s going on dude? I can’t think right now.”

“The head is so groggy, what’s in this?”

“Ssssshhhhh…relax…it’s all good”

“It’s all good”

“We need to speak.”

“Watch the screen stare in to the spiral and let go.”

“The beam shoots in to his head causing a electrical reaction.”

“People like you need to be broken down.”

“You need to be humbled”

“You are not special, who cares about how good you look?”

“It’s time to pay the piper”

“Commence downgrading Dan”

“Woah! What’s happening”

“Right now you are being stripped mentally, emotionally and physically.”

“You see this machine, feel the cold air as your clothes are ripped off.”

“The smooth body airing as your armpits and cock are shaved.”

“Nnnnnnooooo! Stop”

“Pppppllllleeeeaaaasssseee”

“Fuck No!”

The television screen spiral out of control to control him his body shifting one side to side .

He can’t believe himself as he falls back on to the couch his head falls back on to the couch.

I laugh a bit standing behind him I retrieve a comb digging it in to his hair I start to lather him up.

He drops back as shirt the chair turning on the faucet, I dig my hands in letting the soap

over take him.

The detachable shower head comes off as I wash the lather out and wrap his head with a towel.

I the towel is put throw a work our drying his hair and then I grab the comb in one hand to his hair.

Applying grease to his hair as I comb threw

It placing his hair to appear the way I choose for it.

I get some spray hardening it till it is perfect for me, I wash his face then shave it for a bit.

His face now cleanse covering it with cream I work over his body to gleam beautifully.

“Wow! You are glowing in the bask of the sunlight.”

“You are so damn fine my love.”

“How are you feeling my slave”

“Blank and empty”

“The way all good bois are”

“Yyyyyeeeesssss”

“Yes Master Lawrence “

“Mwahahahahaha “

“I bright some clothes for you, go iron them and get dressed.”

“Yes, Master Lawrence “

“Enter the living room and take a seat when

you finish.”

“Yes Master”

“We are at the half way point”

“Just a bit more and I will push him over the edge.”

“I am here sire”

“Do you understand what you are?”

“I am your slave”

“I am your property “

“I belong to you “

“Focus on me”

“Sir Yes Sir”

“What can I do for you?”

“Go prepare dinner”

“Then make drinks for me”

“I’ll be in the living room”

“As you wish Master Lawrence “

The end

#grant gustin #Barry #slave #property #Hypno slave #white slave #hypnosis #mind control #White Boi Training Program

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blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk · 11 months

Note

Requesting non-romantic headcanons of the four Weston dorms (separate) having a student in their house that's the go-to inventor and fixer, who always has their head in the clouds about the next thing to make

They fix and make things just fine, it's just the process of making and testing that cause messes in the dorm

Like Violet having to deal with the fact this is the second time they've broken an important pipe, or Greenhill with broken windows after some automatic ball-throwing thingy-majig meant to help them with cricket practice (to be fair, Midford did ask for it) wouldn't turn off

bahahaha this is so good! poor boys XD

Well, it’s sort of like a problem for the dorms, of course. Does he care as much? Hmm… no, not really. Until it starts to directly affect him (here meaning affecting his frequent naps), he doesn’t pay (Name) too much thought. Most of the issues, Edgar tends to sleep through and leave for others.

Most of the time, he leaves all the problems that this person causes to Maurice to sort out. Either him or Joanne, depending on who happens to be available. … It usually falls to Maurice given that he has more of a backbone than Joanne. Edgar essentially shrugs and says, “Cole, take care of it, won’t you?” rather than deal with it himself. It’s half legitimate depression making it difficult for him to actually do things, and half him just being lazy and not feeling like doing things.

About the time that (Name) ‘fixes’ Edgar’s favorite sofa by replacing it with one they made which is too soft and completely swallows him when he sinks into it, that’s when he starts getting involved. They can’t mess with his sleep schedule like this and just think it’s going to be fine! He tries to convince them to stop, threatening Y’s if they don’t at least stop… fixing… things that he frequently uses.

As bothersome as the whole thing is, Gregory is at least more proactive than Edgar in the same situation. While he tries not to be harsh, he doesn’t pull punches in reminding (Name) that, well, they’ve broken the pipe, so they need to fix it now. (Both times, in fact.) He keeps reminding them until it gets done.

If nothing else, he has the honor to not send Cheslock to do his dirty work. Cheslock just gets sent on errands to fetch things. Gregory wants so badly to simply ban (Name) from doing any testing in their dorm. He’s not very diplomatic, either, struggling to find the right way to say, “Listen, I appreciate your fixing things round here, but you have to be more careful not to break other things while you’re fixing the first thing, alright?”

The broken pipes are, quite honestly, the biggest headache that he has to deal with. Being that Violet Wolf is full of artists of all kinds, the dorms are filled with instruments and projects. Any of them getting ruined is more complicated than having to replace books which are already in circulation or sports equipment that wears out quickly. It’s a blow to one’s creativity. And water damage is spectacularly effective in destroying art, writing, and musical instruments. (Name) has to learn how to be more careful in general, but especially he needs them to not break any more pipes lest they want to also break artists’ hearts.

Is potentially the most frustrated by it than his friends would be. Though anyone who had to deal with it would be irritated, Herman has to try extra hard not to let his temper get the best of him. He knows that (Name) is just trying to be of service, which is admirable… so why does it get under his skin so much?? Because they’ve been told multiple times to be more careful and it feels like they just aren’t listening? Dammit. He knows they don’t mean to be so spacey…

At first he’s quite happy to have someone inventing things which will help him and the rest of the house improve their game. He even encourages it. Sports and cricket in particular are something he’s passionate about, so he’s excited to see what they come up with. Until they come up with a machine — at Edward’s request — that pitches balls and happens to also break windows. Clearly things have gone sideways, so he’s fast in getting (Name) to not make any more sports inventions.

He’s so disheartened by the broken windows. They’re a gigantic pain in the rear to fix, and it often means a day or two wasted in replacing the glass depending on how many were broken. In the meantime, the dorm is exposed to cold, rain/snow, or blistering heat, as well as insects. There’s not much help from anyone else because of the house rivalries. So he absolutely recruits (Name) in helping fix it; it’s at least half their fault and half Edward’s for the initial suggestion, so neither of those two are getting out of helping with repairs. And Herman will gladly crack the metaphorical whip if he needs to.

Good Lord, can he have no rest at all? No? Fine, then. He’s endlessly aggravated by the whole situation, but he tries very hard to keep his composure. Lawrence can at least appreciate the intelligence of a scientific mind such as (Name)’s, so he attempts to nurture that. Of course, that’s incredibly hard to do when they keep causing trouble in the dorm despite not meaning to.

He’s another one who might send his fag to deal with this if he’s a bit too busy to do it himself. (Though as opposed to Edgar, Lawrence does so not because of depression or laziness, rather because he genuinely is quite busy with studies and extracurriculars.) Clayton has a sadistic streak which Lawrence finds useful in firmly reminding (Name) that they have something to clean up or that Lawrence needs them to not tinker around with something in a certain area today.

More exhausting than anything is if he has to keep replacing books thanks to (Name)’s inventions. It’s not uncommon that their experiments and projects will end up accidentally tearing apart books entirely or shredding pages or destroying them in some other fashion. Lawrence’s respect for the written word and pride in his dorm’s personal book collection can’t take much more of this! Not to mention that the books are often required for coursework, so it legitimately hurts everyone’s marks. Isn’t (Name) at all bothered by this???

#Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Edgar #Gregory #Herman #Lawrence #headcanons #platonic #friendship #humor #drama #PLSSSSS ur stressing them out they are Delicate Men xDD #one hell of a queue

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terronindia · 2 days

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Selecting the latest blow filling machine for your packaging needs involves several considerations. From the complexities of machine types to the financial nuances of costs, each decision plays a key role in shaping the efficiency and success of your production process.

#blow filling machine #blow filling machine price #blow filling machine features #latest blow filling machine #automatic blow filling machine #blow filling machine manufacturers

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seppasolution11 · 1 month

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ask-the-achs · 1 year

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*the machine sputters on yet again*

@splatoonfan88 (here we go.)

MAI VS GAROU

Don't try us. We will make you regret it "Hero"

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RULES NO VÖLUNDR OR BLESSING FOR MAI AS THAT IS OUTSIDE HELP! ALSO GAROU DOSENT GET COSMIC FEAR MODE AS HE NEEDS HELP TO GET THE POWER!

Mai's bio

Age:unsure, but is with her being around during the roman Empire, which means she might be 2000? But her being older then Bhudda makes her 2500

Hight:5' 8" claims to have some size changing properties.

Bio:the divine daughter of Yahweh, who embodies kindness, compassion, protection, and justice. With the powers of love, life, and unity. She rules the underworld, Valkyrie, and goddesses. The mistress of Unity, she seeks to reunite demons, humans, and angels in harmony. Guided by the wisdom of Athena, Aphrodite, and Persephone, she aims to create a future filled with love, understanding, and unity.she is many people's guardian angel. Now, of course, she became well known after she ascended after doing many heroic deeds like fighting demons and defeating monsters. Now of course she has immense fighting capabilities.

Weapons:any kind of scepter and the Murarasa blade.

Abilities:can copy any ability if she knows how it works. Can automatically get a boost in speed if needed through magic or her own skills(only works if she's in danger and isn't perfect. She can automatically counter most physical attacks. Can automatically reflect most projectiles. Teleportation (range is unknown but is inferior to Sunblood's Deku's or Tsugu's). Summoning (mostly used to get allies to her but no putside help so shell just get her gear). Godly strength (hurt Zues, who is the strongest God of her universe overpowered Cherub who shook his planet with a storm scared Loki and Set with her power. Apparently, she is strong enough to overpower Thor and steal his hammer. The hammer is 20 feet long and is strong enough to shake the earth, and according to Sunblood, it destroys a moon. Thor is also strong enough to break said hammer, meaning he might be stronger than it. She can swing the thing harder then he can and she threw it hard enough to hurt Thor who withstood LuBu's sky eater attack that split apart clouds without a devine weapon.) Godly speed (outspeed Kaito who can block and deflect an attack from every angle at such insane speed the god was leaving after images everywhere. Can dodge Zues's milliseconds and Picosecond punches can react to the Femtosecond) godly durability(can take a hit from Paradox who shook his home planet which is in fact a sleeping eldritch goddess the size of Jupiter one of the few beings who can take more then 3 hits from Shiva and took a blow from Sunblood which pulverized Olympus treated a blow from Sebek who could quote 'split the oceans' as no big deal.) Seems to possess some form of empathy and is resistant to most mental attacks. While not the brightest, she is still a cunning foe and knows the strongest healing spells of her world.

Weaknesses:A little too forgiving will leave a fight if she believes the opponent is too scared to fight back or can't fight back. Anything that is like Zues will cause her to fly into a rage. She becomes very predictable if she's mad. Can't get Völundr or her blessings. (So no eyes of the Lord or divine spear) often will revive her opponent and will keep doing so until she believes she redeemed them. Almost lost 2 fights because she got outsmarted.

Garou info:

Height: 5 foot 10

Weight: 145lbs

Weapons: Bare Hands

Bio:When he was a child, he was unpopular and can be seen reading a book, one day he played heroes with a popular kid named Tacchan and impersonated the role of the monster, when he was kicked in the face by Tacchan he called the teacher but other children defended Tacchan by saying to her that that's how the game worked. He later watched an episode of the Justice Man TV and was extremely irritated by the fact of all the monsters losing to him, he asked to his father when there would be a villain that could defeat Justice Man but he was denied by saying to him that all the monsters in the end will die because they are monsters. Unable to accept the fact he decided to become the strongest monster and never lose, and to change the scenario.

Strengths: Is currently the most powerful Villain that Saitama has ever faced, demigod strength (Can lift several tons with total ease, Defeated Metal Bat although he stated that if he let Metal Bat hit him he’d have lost, Punched holes in Senior Centipede, Defeated Black Sperm with a single punch, Sent Pig God flying with an elbow, Broke Puri Puri Prisoners arm, Gets even stronger in his Awakened forms which allowed him to karate chop a 80ft monster from half starting from the head down. Mind you HE WAS IN SPACE AT THE START AND MADE IT BACK TO EARTH outdid his old master Bang and Bomb Bang is capable of over powering dragon level enemieswho in his world can destroy multiple states he also and can easily destroy meteorite peices with little issue) Demi-Godlike durability (Is one of the very few characters that can take a punch from Saitama and survive, Shrugs off being shot, Survived a fight with Watchdog Man who is one of the strongest heros in universe, Survived a beating from Bang who could mess up several Dragon level momsters scaling to the dark matter thieves these shmucks must have been continent level but if you high ball and compare to Boros they might be moon level), Massively hypersonic speed (Can keep up with Saitama, Dodged Metal Bat’s attacks, Speed blitzed the likes of Puri Puri Prisoner and even Flashy Flash, Deflected hundreds of Death Gatling’s bullets with ease in a dark allyway and even kept up with Platinum Sperm [okay thats three Sperm monsters. Japan WTF? Their fight ment they went 4 times the speed of light]), Extreme healing factor/regeneration(can regrow limbs with little issue.) Is a martial arts master (Was Bang’s top student before turning to villainy), Possesses reactive evolution (Allows him to adapt his body to overcome challenging opponents he can also "Absorb" fighting styles which is just a fancy way of saying he can copy fighting styles.), His Fear Aura can paralyse most opponents in terror, Can judge his opponents moves via observing slight muscle movements, Can fly in his Awakened forms(and even do things like sprout extra limbs and even combined all his techniques into a fighting style is based on fast strong movements and strikes the other is to make him so damn quick and strong that he creates a whirlwind pressure sharp enough to cut people apart) resistant to fire acid and psychic attacks in his monster form. Can fight while asleep.

Weaknesses: His overconfidence can hinder him, Never actually tries to kill his opponents, His reactive evolution and awakened forms can wear off if the fight lasts too long. Can be overwhelmed even if he's copying someone else's moves or speed. Until he started using his strongest attacks he struggled with non humanoid and animalistic enemies.

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ariopteryx · 2 years

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If they ever make a sequel to Goncharov this is the song I imagine for the teaser trailer:

Fade cut scenes showing flashes of Naples gripped in the depths of winter. A weary Goncharov sits across from Katya as they contemplate taking on 'one last job'. A hand lovingly brushes Andrey's hair out of his face while he sleeps. Goncharov and Katya eyes flicker across the screen exhanching old wounds and offering silent blows.

The illuminated face of clock tower fills the screen as the piano enters (1:01) A funeral procession leaves Andrey staring longingly upward as the camera pulls away. Sofia is in her dressing room applying makeup while sheathing a jewled dagger small enough to be concealed under a dress. A revolver with a mother of pearl grip rests on the cluttered vanity. She glances past her reflection as somone enters. Cut. Icepick Joe collapses against an alley wall grimaced in pain clutching a wound. Cut. Goncharov stares out at the iluminated Napels skyline. Danger it seems is everywhere.

Katya and Sofia each in glitering gowns cut through a ballroom with a tango while "As we're danceing cheek to cheek" plays (1:29). Cut. Goncharov offers Icepick Joe a cigarette on an balcony. Joe takes it and smirks knowingly. Cut. Sofia (in the same glittering dress) dances sultrily. Cut. Katya presses Andrey against a wall as they kiss passionatly. Cut. Goncharov is in an abandoned tunnel shouting furiously at an unknown person. He's holds an icepick in his left hand. Cut. Andrey coughs a mouthful of blood. Cut. Automatic gunfire pursus a black car careening through the streets. Cut. Mafia leaders smirk with their cigars. Cut. Goncharov runs through a factory while sparks fall from overhead. Cut. Sofia and Katya continue their ballroom tango, their faces almost touching. Cut. A mafia leader pats Andrey affectionatly on the back. Cut. Icepick joe, with a broken cigarette and undershirt, loads a machine gun. Cut.

"I'll kiss you once for life" plays (2:10) as snow gently falls over the city as Goncharov and Katya stand outside a palatial building. Cut. "I'll kiss you twice for death." Gornchanov and Andrey are standing side by side exchanging heartfelt expressions. "I'll hold you close for comfort..." as the camera pulls up over a dead body before fading to an illuminated clock face "...wearing my best dress..." fade to black.

End.

youtube

#goncharov #katya goncharov #goncharov sequel #goncharov trailer #goncharov teaser #goncharov andrey #goncharov sofia #ice pick joe #katya x sofia #katya deserved better #florence welch #florence and the machine #film #unreality #gonchposting #goncharov posting #Youtube

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starryeridanus · 9 months

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Aarmuhal; Visions; Entombed

Rumha traces a hand along the grooves adorning the reliquary, his brother attempting to breach the vault doors. "Brother, have you tried.. not blowing the doors open?" "You cannot pray a machine into functioning, sibling. Trust, I have tried." Rumha walks to the center of the room, caressing the security construct which could activate at a moment's notice. The same carvings, these ones are filled with lichens, but well maintained. "They're pretty when they're not trying to kill us, you know.." "They make pretty armor too. Imagine if we poach one." "Unlikely. They detonate nine times out of ten." The Rajeshka awakens as Banma takes a chisel to the door. "Izhat!! Duwellhei nudahtt?" The Rajeshka has no weapons, and chirps with curiosity rather than aggression. Rumha traces a hand across its arm, and it shudders. "I think it's friendly. Let me try something." Banma lifts their mask, distinctly Rajeshka, from their pack. It automatically begins translating what both parties are saying. "We're sorry for the mess." "Do not be sorry. These places are made to be found." "Alright. I am Banma. My sibling is Rumha." "I am Eu-Nakir, Sentinel of Nalalh-Faryulm." "That is what you call this vault?" The Rajeshka nods "Let me help you with the door." It slides open with the flick of a finger. Banma and Rumha are beaming at one another. Not just a Rajeshka, but a Rajeshka on their side. The duo would see this as a chance for profit, but scholars today see it as a historic moment, in which beasts of sinew and constructs of circuitry found peace.

#worldbuilding #saturn rambles #scifi #of circuit and sinew #writing

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littleobelia · 11 months

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editing of nurserry2

He walks in the direction of his bus stop. There is a bus approaching, but he can’t make out the numbers. Too late he realises that it’s his bus. There’s no-one at the stop, so it blasts ahead and passes Harry, blowing black exhaust into his face. There won’t be another one for an hour. The Sunday timetable is the bane of his existence.

Someone he knows could drive past and see him near to crying. As soon as he thinks it he sees Martin Lee gunning past and hooking into the parking lot. Tardy Marty. He waves feebly in the direction of his colleague’s pale gold Astra, but he doesn't see him. Harry is invisible in his plain clothes. Out of scrubs he could be anyone. He walks on. He wants to see something extra-ordinary, an antidote to the misery, something to reinvigorate his faltering conviction that life is worth the pain. A man died in the night; had a fall at his council flat, brought it by ambulance, quickly acquired a UTI that wrought havoc to his kidneys, then whoopsy-daisy he was dead. Bed four, Mr Solomon Yeameni. His name was like a cryptic crossword clue. Solo – many. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

Maybe religion is the answer? Our Lady of Sorrows. Her doors are open to the street. He steps into the dim vestibule and already the traffic is muffled by an invisible membrane of solace. In the vestibule there is an automatic hand sanitiser dispenser on a purpose-built plinth. Out of habit he cups his palm underneath it. The machine senses his hand; he is not invisible. The machine knows he is there, he machine knows he is doing the right thing. The machine seeks to reward him, whirrs, purrs, deposits a dollop of alcohol mixed with glycerin on his hand.

Harry rubs it in and feels sanctified. When their ward was audited two years ago he received a special commendation for his outstanding adherence to the hand hygiene protocol. He remembers with crystal clarity the euphoria of being singled out for doing something right, for a change. Praise is thin on the ground.

On the other side of a trestle table covered in pamphlets, there is an identical automatic dispenser on an identical plinth. Tacked on its face is a hand written label, which says “HOLY WATER”.

It’s the first thing to make Harry genuinely smile in at least the past week. It’s a sardonic smile, but a smile none-the-less. He offers his hand to the sensor. The machine senses him, but it seems to hesitate, sizing him up. After a judgemental pause, it grinds and sputters disdainfully. Nothing comes out.

Harry shrugs. He has satisfied his desire to see something novel. It’s extraordinary that such a thing even exists, such a wretched example of modern faith. It was probably full of pathogens; consecrated amoebae floating around in their stagnant bath.

Through the creaking door into the cavernous interior of the church. The first thing he does is look up at the ceiling. When ceilings are tall you must look up and appreciate how tall they are. He learnt that from Grand Designs.

The great oaken beams arch over him, protecting. There are six of them, like a giant rib cage. The emaciated body of Christ looms over the altar, his eyes downcast. Regarding him, Harry feels a faint impression of suffering, and then he feels merely faint. He has not eaten since yesterday evening. Portions of the host are stacked on the paten like so many poker chips and a silver platter holds dozens of little sips of wine in plastic thimble-sized cups, like raspberry jelly shots. His stomach growls miserably. He didn’t eat during his shift. The upside of this is that his bowels are minimally occupied, available to be filled from the other end. He’s a pragmatic self-harmer.

He treads silently down the outer edge of the room between the pews and the rendered walls, past the Stations of the Cross in their gaudy frames, then he sits in one of the centre pews and closes his eyes, swaying slightly in his seat. Harry is early, the first one here. A man in white glides in unhurriedly and genuflects, then across the floor and out the opposite door, his feet nearly silent and invisible beneath his robe; it gives the impression that he is a prop on track, or perhaps something like a dalek.

Hushed footsteps echo as the pews fill. The sound accumulates, proliferates, like incense smoke filling a shrine. His ears are suffused with whispers. He begins to fall asleep and his heavy head rolls to one side, pinching some nerve or other. He starts and winces, rubbing the affected part.

He is not alone on his pew any more. He stands when his pewmates stand, and he sits when they sit, but he is too heavy and weary to bother with communion. The priest at the lectern has a prominent black beard, reflecting tiny filaments of light from the candles on the altar. It covers half his face, framing his moist little mouth in neatly combed and parted whiskers. He looks more like a lumberjack than a priest. Harry is so absorbed in the observation of this glossy, oily facial hair, that it takes him a while to realise the mass is not in English.

He understands nothing. He thinks it might be Polish. Sibilant, slithering words, they trickle into his ears and fizz like vichy water, cleansing and soothing. When it's over an hour later he is catatonic.

The sunlight greets him in the street, meek and docile. “You ought to be in bed, lad,” the sun murmurs, slipping behind a cloud. He wanders down the road to a bus stop, then pulls out his phone and books an uber to his address, 14-18 Hartwell Street. The screen goes black, and he is faced with his own decrepit reflection. He jostles the screen back to life. These days the phones wake up when they are jostled. The phone analyses his features, his puffy eyes, his swollen nose and his chapped lips. “You look worse for wear,” thinks the phone, unlocking.

Lent 2022 Harry types into the safari search bar. Google informs him that lent started a few weeks ago. That’s a shame; he was tempted to give something up. Meph. Or booze. Or porn. He opens a bookmarked site and looks at gifs of small, hairless men being fucked by larger, hairier ones. He pretends he’s small and hairless and unwrinkled. A spring chicken. Lately the follicles on his temples have packed up and migrated to his lower back. He’s sprouting little short and curlies right there at the top of his arse-crack. If his lumbar spine weren’t so stiff he’d be able to twist his torso to shave them off.

He can’t do what this spring chicken in the gif is doing, arching his back like a cobra. He dims the screen to minimum brightness, though there is no one else around. The trembling, grainy moving images occupy his over-tired brain. He understands human mating, finds it comforting, though he doesn’t do it as often as one would like. He scarcely has the energy to masturbate. He’ll go home and have a long nap, and then maybe he’ll try. And if he can’t, he’ll get on the apps and find someone who can get it up and enjoy the vicarious sexual gratification.

#i dont think i can use any of this sadly #cutting room floor #my fic

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