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thesinglesjukebox · 4 months

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GUNNA - "FUKUMEAN"

youtube

From Daniel, a post-release single that reached the top 5 in the US (and #1 in *checks notes* Latvia?)...

[4.85]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: I'll be honest, I really thought Gunna's career was over after taking a plea deal related to Young Thug's ongoing RICO case. Hip hop doesn't like the potential of cooperation with the law, let alone snitching, so we had several months of high-ranking peers throwing shots at Gunna and op-eds with titles like "Did Gunna's Plea Deal Get Him Shunned?" Regardless, "Fukumean' is the biggest hit of his post-"Drip Too Hard" career; whatever his billion-stream track with Nav sounds like, it doesn't have the narrative of overcoming struggle and shrugging off the naysayers. Which is hilarious because this is very much business as usual, a triplet-tripping filip with a genderless chorus of synthetic sneers every few beats: "FUCK YOU MEEEANNN?!?" I couldn't tell you a single memorable bar that Gunna delivers here, and yet this song has been stuck in my head all year. It's the least defiant show of public defiance in some time, the "Dust Off Your Shoulder" mantra as an eyeroll, a club-engineered megahit that doesn't tidy up click-clacking sounds of swaying jewellery or clinking ice cubes by the microphone. It's not laziness, or rebellion, or pretending everything's okay, but some weird amalgamation of the three and I don't know what the fukthatmeans. [6]

Oliver Maier: I've written before that Gunna's real strength is an ear for beats that suit his bleakly restrained style. That's true here: the "ee-yah" noise is an unlikely earworm that I can imagine other rappers instantly passing on, but this lacks the winning stupidity of "pushin P", the sugariness of "SKYBOX" or "DOLLAZ ON MY HEAD", or whatever "Speed It Up" has that makes me love it so much. [6]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: I still listen to Gunna in desperate hope that I can one day reclaim the pure glee I experienced the first time I heard "Drip Too Hard." This doesn't quite get there -- Gunna (understandably) sounds slightly defeated here -- a resolute figure of survival, but not one that's having all that much fun even as he talks about "shittin on all you lil' turds." And if you deliver that line deadpan I'm not sure we have the same musical goals. [5]

Will Adams: Three things: an annoyed and/or annoying "...yeah?"; the title hook, delivered as a schoolyard taunt; "shittin' on all you lil' turds". Even at two minutes, "Fukumean" is light on ideas, and the ones available are only kind of good. [4]

Ian Mathers: Some songs would get by on either the "fuck you mean?" bit of the "a-yup" bit, and they'd be fine. Using both well in about two minutes that also fits in a compelling performance from Gunna (lots of lines are just sticking with me, I've been muttering "I see the ho with precision/Get rich my only decision" to myself for a bit) ought to be gilding the lily, but it feels just about right. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Every "eeeyahh" is methodical, consuming, and withering: "Fukumean" isn't an all out assault of swagger so much as a series of waves meant to drag you out from shore. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: My immediate reaction was to think of the repeated squeaking in "The Box," but this is a track so deflated and bare that everything is reduced to a haze. The hook is so much of a non-presence it's hard to care -- it's sung with the insistence of children fighting sleep. [4]

Micha Cavaseno: Gunna's been boring before, so him half-heartedly going in over a particularly uninspired detuned piano loop here isn't a disappointment as much as it's further validation of how little he's ever had going on for him as a rapper. Hell, the best part of this song isn't even himself, it's the backing vocal chorus (which truthfully has nothing to do with him and might even overshadow him?). But yeah, Gunna remains one-note as ever though I'm glad he's separated himself from perhaps the most noxious legal trial to ever involve rapper(s). I'll take Atlanta's rap scene being unlistenable over their rap scene being mass incarcerated any day. [2]

Taylor Alatorre: Opinions may differ on this, but I personally don't enjoy being yelled at. I don't have this issue with Bone Crusher on "Never Scared" or Lil Jon on "Bia' Bia'," who are both much louder, but for some reason I can't help feeling that the Greek chorus (Atlantan chorus?) in "Fukumean" is shouting the title phrase at me specifically. Like, what did I do, Gunna? I mostly liked a Gift & a Curse! The song's official instrumental includes neither this hook nor the possibly Sho Madjozi-inspired "iyah" vocalization; going by the YouTube comments bemoaning their absence, it's these two elements that have most fueled its staying power. They do indeed make it memorable, and instantly recognizable in a public setting. Apart from those steady drips of attitude, though, there just isn't much to feed on here. [5]

Nortey Dowuona: "A music writer handed a Gunna song to discuss finds himself confronted by several problems, not the least which is the necessity of squaring with his conscience the fact he is discussing Gunna at all." -- mostly copied from James Baldwin on James M. Cain's The Moth in The Cross of Redemption, page 291. [0]

Brad Shoup: Might be the absurd amount of Post Malone I streamed this year, but I'm trying not to underrate the modern compact pop-rap single. But he doesn't have any lines better than the (very good) hooks. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: Rarely does one hear a track with such monumental determination to not bang. In a way, it's impressive. [5]

Alfred Soto: Dependent on its hook, this obscene banality barely exists -- a bit like Gunna himself. [6]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#gunna #rap #hip-hop #music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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givehimthemedicine · 2 years

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Sensing El in the void

(no particular conclusion here, just collecting examples of people seeing/hearing/touching El in the void to figure out how this works. jump in?)

I'm intrigued with the way El is able to touch people in the void, as opposed to her hands passing through them like ghosts. is there any chance it affects the person in reality? she's picking up and moving Max's hand, so would Lucas have seen Max's hand floating around a bit if he'd been looking? Probably not, but we're never shown a non-void matched shot that makes it absolutely definite.

Max definitely can't see her but I'm not clear if she could possibly be able to hear or feel her. remember when Max got Vecna'd in the graveyard she was able to really faintly hear the boys calling out to her, so I want to say trancewise it's possible she could be hearing El trying to comfort her, but voidwise maybe not.

Granted he's a bit preoccupied, but this is a fairly rare example of El interacting with someone in the void who's actually fully conscious so I'm going to say Lucas not reacting to this is evidence that people can't feel her touching them

this part is differently complicated because we've gone from void+trance rules to void+paralysis rules. Max can't see or feel anything, but I'm clinging to the possibility that Max could still sense she's there

Will definitely heard her in the void. I don't think this would be because of the "people in the UD can hear people in the RU" thing because El isn't physically at castle byers. can he hear her because he's sensitive, or because the void is audible from the upside down? I'm unclear if he was able to see her or not, or if he was able to feel her hand, again not sure if that's void rules or just because he's on 1% battery and can't do much.

Billy sensed her (which I'm gonna chalk up to hive mind ESP) and this gives us our only view of what void spying looks like from the spy-ee's pov if they know she's there

Max knows sensing El in the void is a thing, and when she wakes up from her coma I need her to say she knew El was there, even if she didn't exactly see, hear, or feel her. like:

Mixed bag here with Mike. he's saying "if you're out there give me a sign" and she sits down by him without making any noise and he looks up at exactly where her eyes are. then she says his name and he says hers, though it's ambiguous whether he actually hears her and replies or if he just coincidentally says her name because he's thinking about her. then she touches his face and he gets discouraged and gives up. I can only leave this at "sensed" because I can't believe he would've gotten up and left if any one of those three senses had been successful, but undeniably he felt that she was there, at least for a second.

This time her hands go through Mike like a ghost, although it might have just been a timing issue. I think the "going up in smoke" thing is just how the connection ends if she isn't the one to end it on purpose

Terry and flayed Billy are the only ones who ever touched, saw, and sorta spoke to El in the void, and were the ones to initiate it, I'm thinking because they both have psionic abilities

This is also a neat one because El is able to touch her memory-mom in the void, although once again, pretty sure memory-mom wouldn't be able to hear/see/feel because that makes no sense, but void-mom does make eye contact with her.

There's only one time I can think of that El initiated touch in the void and it was 100% definitely felt...

are there other times I'm forgetting? (I think her extensive interactions with Max in the cali memory / snowball / hellscape don't count because that isn't exactly the void?)

#long post #as if the very first thing max said once they were friends wasn't 'ok lol void me and i'll see if I can tell you're there'#eleven #the void #analysis #so if el can touch people in the void without them feeling it or being affected #that means any time she's mad at mike she can just be like 'brb' and tie on her blindfold and go beat the shit out of him for a few minutes #mine #givehimthemedicine analysis

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fresh-static-snow · 2 years

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Hi?

I don’t consider myself very good at writing but I’ve found that I enjoy journaling lately so I suppose I’ll just write something here instead for once.

I'm sitting here slouched in my chair listening to "A State of Trance 2014" through my Audeze LCD-2C's while sipping on Trader Joe's 2021 Vintage Spiced Ale. I don't even remember the last time I logged onto this site, and I don't know when I'll log on again after tonight. I only logged on today to reset my password as I was auditing all my current passwords and resetting them for more secure items. I used to spend hours on this site, but it hasn't even crossed my mind in years now.

I'm 28 now, still listening to electronic music (rave to the grave baybeeeee), got married, bought a house, got a dog, bought a new car, work full-time in IT, got super into coffee, and have gone off the deep end of headphones and in-ear monitors (IEMS if mentioned again after this). I proposed to my now-wife at Disneyland under the fireworks on New Year's 2020. Little did we know what was to come in regard to COVID. But before COVID could shut the world down here, we found a cute little condo and made an offer on it. Amazingly (especially if you know anything about the housing market in the state I live in), our offer was accepted. We closed on our condo the day before the lockdown order went into effect. We almost didn't get to close due to my wife being laid off the day before but the employment verification came through somehow. I vividly remember our realtor saying "they won't shut us down" too.

We didn't have a wedding, instead we eloped and got married on the beach in California. We did have a photographer and we got some amazing pictures from the time we were there. We also had my best friend play dual role and be the best man/maid of honor. Shoutout to him for being great for that. My wife wrote her vows on the order forms from the restaurant where we met 10 years ago now. She looked so incredibly beautiful; I'll never forget it.

The next thing that came was a tiny dog, and I mean tiny. Pumpkin was a whole two pounds (0.9kg) when we got her. She had no personality and was like a blank slate. Looking back, we probably should've waited the extra month to pick her up, but we were too excited to wait. That bit us in the butt as she proceeded to scream-cry all through the night. She got not one, but two ear infections in that first few months too. Now, she is a great dog, if a bit ornery. She likes to *grunt* at you when she wants something and will do so louder and louder until she either gets her way or we have to get up and tell her to "place" in her bed.

I won't go to in-depth on how I got into coffee, but in addition to a Ninja coffee maker, I now have a burr grinder, a Fellow Stagg Pourover X kit and an AeroPress. I did have a hand grinder, but returned it as it was just a bit too pricey to justify in the end. It's amazing how much better coffee tastes out of the Stagg or the AeroPress versus the standard coffee maker. There's so much more flavor nuance to them and there's huge differences between them in their own! I don't yet have a favorite bean that I consistently return to (probably because I love getting new flavors everytime), but I have noticed I tend to gravitate towards darker roasts. I love lighter roasts due to their fruity notes, but I also love the smooth notes of a dark roast.

This next section is a long one.

Headphones. Or head-poe-hon-ees as good ole DankPods would say. I've always loved music. The daily prompt for my journal app, DayOne, last night was even "What would your life be like without music?", so my entry was basically a tale of "I would rather die". Previous to 2020, I had a set of over-ear Sony CH-700N (so catchy) that had noise cancelling, Apple AirPods Pros, Beats Powerbeats Pro, and a pair of crappy Skullcandy buds in my desk. Some might ask "why have two pairs of wireless?" Well I used the Powerbeats for working out due to the over-the-ear hooks, and the AirPods Pro at the office with the transparency mode so I could hear my surroundings while still jamming. In late 2020, I bought a pair of Apple Airpods Max to replace my Sony's. While they were very pricey, I loved the noise cancelling as they were way better than the Sony's, and the transparency, as well as the sound of them. In fact, I still love them and use them whenever I travel. Dat sub-bass tho mmmmmm.

But in late 2021, I was getting more and more into wired audio again. I had purchased a pair of KZ ZSN Pro X IEMs for $20 (on the recommendation of everyone's favorite Aussie audio YouTuber), and a pair of Moondrop Aria's for $80. The Moondrop Aria's are highly praised in the IEM/audio community and with good reason. They sound incredibly good, especially for $80. Now, you might think "oh wow $80 is a bit pricey for wired headphones. I used to get Skullcandy's at the store for $20 and they sound good!" and if so, that's great! I'm happy you think so! But for me, I needed more. So I went down the rabbit hole of "over-ear headphones". Both open-backed and closed back. For those who don't know, most consumer headphones (think Bose, Beats, Sony, etc.) are closed-back. This means the "cups" are closed on the outside. Sound doesn't pass through them and they provide a layer of passive noise cancellation. Open-back are what they say on the tin. Noise passes right through the cups. This goes both ways though; people can hear what you're listening to and you can hear the outside world. Now the benefits of open-back are the "Soundstage". or how wide the music feels and the ability to "place" instruments in the audio stage that you can hear. It's a bit hard to explain. I ended up getting six pairs of headphones from Amazon to test out and choose from. The pairs I got were the Hifiman Sundara, Hifiman Ananda, Audeze LCD-2C, Audeze LCD-X, Audeze LCD-2C Closed, and Audeze LCD-XC (X closed). If you look these up on Amazon, you'll see they range in price from $300 (Sundara) up to $1299 (LCD-XC). After a long time listening, I slowly eliminated the Sundara, 2C, and Ananda. I honestly had a hard time choosing between the X, XC, and 2C Closed. In the end, I chose the LCD-2C Closed as I prefer the closed-back nature of these cans. I loved the XC as a 2nd choice, but the price jump between the 2C and XC was just too great to justify the difference in quality. I also ended up with a Qudelix 5k amp/dac/bt receiver after much testing there.

But the headphone journey doesn't end there...I mentioned IEMs earlier and now we're coming back to that. After getting the Aria's and LCD-2C Closed headphones, I noticed that the left bud of the Aria never seemed to feel secure unless I was sitting still at my desk. So I looked into eartips and other options, but ended up ordering a pair of FiiO FH3's. These come with what's called an MMCX (micro miniature coaxial) connector to the IEMs, which can swivel. These felt much more secure in my ear, though I did not 100% enjoy the sound signature and clarity of these buds. So I returned them and picked up a pair of the then hype-train-riding 7hz Timeless. God they are amazing. I love them for the sub-bass, tonality, resolution and clarity they bring to the music. But they still feel a bit insecure! So my most recent purchase was a pair of Moondrop Blessing 2's. These have been on my list for a "long" while now, but the price always held me back. After getting the pair in, I'm almost mad I didn't get them sooner. I quickly then ordered a pair of Moondrop Blessing 2: Dusk's. "Buy Dusk" as the popular IEM reviewer Crinacle says. The Dusk just adds a bit to the bass and that's really all the Blessing 2 needs. I'm hoping to have those in soon, but in the meantime, I'm greatly enjoying the B2.

I did mention I got super into headphones above, right?

Anyways, I've finished my beer and I've been writing this for over an hour. If you read this all the way to this point, you're awesome. If you skipped here to the end for a TLDR: hi :)

Til next time.

Daniel (Fresh-Static-Snow)

P.S. I covered my PR tattoo lol

#life update i guess #gonna copy/paste this to my journal lol

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ura-writes · 3 years

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Trampolinist - Part Two

Part summary: You encounter a few strange teenagers, discover blown-up ruins, and find out about who caused them.

Warnings: mild anxiety, thoughts of murder, blood, threats, lots of swears

A/N - I got a good few requests asking for a taglist for Trampolinist, so here it is! Just ask and you shall be added!

@lemonmochitea

@dad-ee-drea

@victoria-a567

Also, this is non-canon compliant, but only by a bit. I may change a few small details.

Hope y’all enjoy!

(Also, if you can find the movie reference I put in here, then kudos to you!)

——

A lingering curiosity sits in the back of your head for the rest of the week, not quelled by any amount of Bedwars or Skywars, which leave you exhausted in the evenings.

Even your dreams hold inquisitiveness.

How lovely.

Eventually you have to go back to your home world to check on your animals, repair your tools and the like. It’s tedious work, but nothing you can’t handle.

Boredom eventually sets in.

It’s unnerving. You never get bored of combat, of competition between your fellow players and teammates, but here you are, eyeing the list of servers on your grid.

Only two people are on the server at the moment, their names not available for whatever reason. You’d prefer to pop on when there were no people online, mostly to scope out the server, but you’ll take only having to deal with two people.

Hopefully they’re adults and not kids that recently learned to use portals.

You stick your pointer finger out, curl it like you’re dragging it down a wall; a ripple starts where your finger lands, slowly following its path downwards. It rips a hole through the fabric of woven servers, creating a direct link to the Dream SMP. You just hope that no one attempts to close the portal, as opening one in the first place takes a good deal of energy and effort.

A sight of spruce trees and misplaced dirt greets your vision through the rip in reality.

An odd spawnpoint, but whatever. You’re not one to judge.

In the corner of your eye, where chat normally sits, a message pops up.

TommyInnit: who the fcuck

TommyInnit: what

TommyInnit: NEWY PERFHSAON

Ranboo: ah yes, perfhsaon

TommyInnit: shut the fuck n up

You chuckle at the messages rapidly crowding the chat, watching them fade idly while trying to find a way out of the really weird spawnpoint, which is, for some reason, walled off by a combination of dirt, wood and stone haphazardly placed down, as if in a hurry.

Your efforts do not go unrewarded as you spot a section of the wall that sits lower than the rest, low enough to climb over if you try hard enough.

Perfect.

Feet hit the ground rapidly as you get a running start towards the wall, scrambling upward after you jump. You fall almost immediately off the other side.

“Ouch.”

“That looked like that hurt.”

You glance upward to meet heterochromic eyes, red and green contrasting with the curious face split in half by its black and white sides. A tail flicks behind the person as their crown slips a bit down their head.

“Wh—the fuck?”

The figure laughs at your reaction, offering a gloved hand out to help you off the ground. Hesitantly, you accept, being pulled up easily, and that’s when you realize that he’s a lot taller than you thought.

“Jesus, you’re tall,” you comment idly, brushing yourself off. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem. I’m Ranboo.”

You introduce yourself with your tag, which elicits a hum of recognition from him, much to your pleasant shock and surprise.

“You’re the person that Dream invited, aren’t you?”

“In the flesh.”

He laughs at your quip at him, smiling with sharp fangs exposed to the midday sunlight. No point in judging a person on their (potentially, anyway) monstrous features.

“Well, you probably need a tour—“

He’s quickly interrupted by a loud “hey!”

“Oh great,” you mutter, crossing your arms. Ranboo looks a bit sheepish at your cocked eyebrow and slightly irritated expression, scratching his bi-colored hair.

“That’s Tommy. He’s uh… well, Tommy.”

A teenager wearing a red and white shirt and jeans with battered sneakers comes sprinting out of the nearby forest, coming to a halt just in front of you.

“New person!”

“Yeah, and what are you, the gremlin that got fed after midnight?”

The kid sputters out a few protests against being called a gremlin, sprinkling a good few swears in his jumbled sentences that mostly consist of rambles.

When Tommy gets his bearings, he eyes your tag, squinting at it suspiciously before his eyes widen in recognition.

“You’re the bastard that beat the shit out of me in Bedwars! Get ove’ here—“

One of Ranboo’s arms shoots out to grab the lanky teenager with ease to stop his potential assault on you. You just brush your nails off on your shirt.

“Oi! Lemme a’em!”

“No, Tommy, remember what Tubbo said?” Ranboo lectures, tail flicking in annoyance, eyes trained on him. “Remember?”

“You’re one to talk about rememberin’.”

Ranboo cocks an eyebrow.

“No punchin’ people we don’t know unless they’ve hurt us…” Tommy grumbles. “Can ya lemme go now?”

Ranboo agrees, letting go of his shirt and summoning a journal and quill to write something down in, muttering that he’s almost out of ink.

“Anyway, how about that tour now?”

You smile at him.

Maybe you’ll like this place.

——

“...and this is L’Manburg… or what’s left of it, anyway. It’s still being rebuilt.”

“How’d it get destroyed?” you ask him. “It takes a lot of TNT, Withers and dedication to destroy a city this big.”

I should know.

Tommy eyes Ranboo.

“Hey, it’s your city. I’m not explaining it,” Ranboo defends against the wordless accusation. Tommy exhales with a groan and begins his explanation.

“Wil-Wilbur, my brother, went a bit insane a few months back, blew it all up with Technoblade’s help. Wil’s… well, he’s dead.” Tommy sounds indifferent about the death, much to your surprise.

You nod absentmindedly, setting your eyes on a slightly obscured poster that flaps in the wind. When you get close enough to pin it down it reads:

Wanted: Dead or Alive. High Treason, Inciting Violence, Unlawful Use of Explosives, Extreme Terrorism.

Reward: See Authorities

Below that is a well-painted picture of a man you somewhat recognize, wearing a red cape, a crown, full enchanted Netherite armor and carrying an axe that seems to shimmer in the light.

Technoblade. You’ve had a few run-ins with him playing Bedwars and Skywars, even teaming up with him a few times. He always seemed nice enough, and certainly a damn good sword fighter. He always knew when to run and when to stand and fight, when to attack and when to defend.

“What did he do?”

Ranboo starts to speak, but Tommy interrupts him.

“Blew the rest o’ this place up. Bastard ran after that.” Tommy all but spits the words out of his mouth, like they’re acid or venom. “Fookin’ coward.”

Well, I wouldn’t call ‘knowing when to run’ cowardice, but we’ll pretend I agree, child.

“No one knows where he is now,” Ranboo adds. “Except Phil, of course. But he’s pretty much silent about it. Won’t give up a word of information.”

Shouldn’t be that hard to find one man, you muse to yourself. Bet I could.

“Well, I’ll let you know if I find anything out,” you lie with a smile plastered on your lips. “Y’know, as a sort of gift to you as the newest member of the server.”

Hah, as if.

“We’ll hold you to that.”

You nod and say your goodbyes, walking towards the central nether portal while keeping an eye out for an ender chest so you can get some of your stuff. You know the admin will take your elytra away if it so much as comes into contact with the server’s air, so you decide not to risk it.

Spotting one, you make a small noise of triumph and dart over there, grabbing the shulker with your stuff in it, transferring it to your inventory with a practiced ease.

Armor adorns your figure, enchanted Netherite striking an imposing silhouette against the blackstone beneath your feet. You twirl your sword with a grin.

Now to find Technoblade.

——

Turns out, finding a piglin hybrid is not easy.

You scoured the Nether for any sign of him, any trace of fabric, of a broken pickaxe, hell even a piece of iron he may have held. The ability you hold as a Jumper not only allows you to jump servers, but also allows you to find people if you have something of theirs.

Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Nil. Absolutely jack shit.

How can one man be so difficult to track down?

Just as you’re about to give up, a barrage of curses at the tip of your tongue, a glint of iron catches your eye.

Odd.

Hopping over a cluster of Netherrack and scaring off a few baby Striders, you see a small circle of iron sitting in a pile of red dust, looking dented and beat up.

You huff and brush the dust off of it, titling your head to the side when it reveals itself.

A compass, pointing in one direction, working even in the Nether.

Standing up, you pocket it and head to the nearest portal, jumping through to the other side only to grab the compass out of your pocket as you walk to who-knows-where. It still points in the same direction as before, only moving when you do.

An irregularity in the metal against your hand inspires you to flip the compass over to look at the back.

What lies there makes you smirk.

Technoblade’s cabin. Phil’s compass.

This might be easier than you initially thought.

#ura!#mcyt x you #mcyt x reader #technoblade x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #x reader #reader insert #Trampolinist: Series

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garbage-eater144 · 3 years

Text

THE WARFSTACE AUTOMATED INTERVIEW CAPTIONS

i was chattin in the discord and some people said it was tough to understand some bits, obviouslt this is made by a fan (me) so it might have a couple errors here and there but ive checked through it quite a few times and it seems about as right as i can get it.

so !!SPOILERS AHEAD!! also @markiplier feel free to correct me if you see this thank u <3 The warfstache automated interview

Starting video captions

[Wilford] Well, that’s terrifying… one moment!

{mechanical whirring}

[Wilford] (frightened sound) marginally better… er worse… better? Worse. It’s much worse.

{mechanical whirring}

[Wilford] Ah! there we are. Welcome, pretend I remembered your name here, this is a pre-recorded message anyway, I would NOT want to be in the same building as that thing I tell you me. Anyway, thank you whoever you are for agreeing to test out the Warfstache automated interview automaton, or {yelling} WAIA for short. Let’s start off with some quick calibration. All you need to do is sit back, relax and listen for some numbers. Okay? Here we go.

[WAIA]- (phone dialing, dialup tone, windows error sound)

[WAIA]- (scary mechanical garbled noises, followed by a ding and celebratory trumpets.)

[wilford]- now what did you hear? Numbers? Good numbers. Keep in mind I have no idea what youre going to say due to the fact that, as I said before, this message is pre-recorded. But if you did hear something, now would be the time to speak up.

[wilford]- don’t be shy, I’m sure nothing bad will happen. I don’t know what you’re going to say but if it does happen it will happen and if it doesn’t happen it wont happen. Thats how deterministic reality works.

I Think I Heard Numbers!

[wilford] Thats great! Or bad, not really sure what you said, but I choose to remain positive and assume that you are still alive. which means our automated friend here is operating well within acceptable murder parameters. We’re one step closer to mass production! THE WORLD DEMANDS MORE INTERVIEWS! And I cant be everywhere at once all the time, only some of the time! Even you might land an interview some day! Maybe, probably not, depends on how these next few minutes go. On to the next test! Word association! The fundamental basis of any good interview is getting the goods out of those stubborn interview-ees. The WAIA will say a word and you just say back the first thing that pops into your little head! Simple! Right? probably. Good luck!

{mechanical whirring}

[WAIA]- initializing word association training protocol round 1

{scary mechanincal noises} [WAIA]- Please respond. [WAIA] Sorry, I didnt get that. Round 2. {yet more scary mechanical noise}

[WAIA]- please respond.

[WAIA]- response unclear, increasing aggression

{clicking and mechanical sounds}

[WAIA]- round 3. {increasingly threatening mechanical noise} [WAIA]- Please respond.

[WAIA]-5 [WAIA]-4 [WAIA]-3 [WAIA]-2

Sounded like nightmare garbage to me…

[WAIA]- {mechanical ah?} {clicking}

[Wilford]- oh I forgot to mention, please do not say the word nightmare, or uh garbage, or nightmare garbage, or any combination of those words, the WAIA is just a little bit sensitive Yknow, a little touchy feely. Well not really touchy feely.. we-well actually REALLY touchy feely depending on your definition of touch and feely. Its really gonna-

[WAIA]- {jumpscare sounds} [WAIA] I. tell. you. me.

But you didn’t say anything…

[WAIA]- 1

[WAIA]-response unclear. Increasing aggression.

{ding sound effect} [WAIA]- {jumpscare noise}

[WAIA]- it. was. an. accident.

Uh… potato salad?

[WAIA]- 1

[WAIA]- response accepted

{ding followed by triumphant trumpets}

[WAIA]- word association raining protocol compl-{mechanical freakout eeeeeete}

[Wilford]- most dearest next of kin, I regret to inform you, that your dearly beloved and/or most despised has regrettably but not unexpectedly become recently deceased in the line of duty. Be confident in the knowledge that their demise was just as likely to be quick and painless as it was slow and agonizing. Please do not respond to this voicemail as the number has already been disconnected. {clears throat} alright that should do it for the… death scenario, now onto ah, er, uh, the survivors {mumbling}. Wow! Potato salad. A real thinker, you. But the test has been passed with flying colors and you’re still alive! And speaking of flying colors, our next test is about something called, uh… synthetic linguistics? That sounds made up. but the point is you cant have a good interview is the WAIA isn’t able to conjure up the right words in the right situations. So our friend is going to fire off some random words and you just try to spot anything that doesn’t make any sense. Alright? Although, pretty much everything isn’t going to make sense because its all random words….. errrr I BELIEVE IN YOU!!! {mechanical sounds}

[WAIA]- initializing speech training protocol round 1.

[WAIA]- yes. no. maybe. left. right. Up. down. D o w n. B a s e m e n t.

{windows error tone} [WAIA]- Rewrite Detected {tape rewinding sound}

[WAIA]- who. Where. what. Am. i.

{windows error tone}

{tape rewinding sound}

[WAIA]- green. blue. Yellow. pink. Red.

{scary mechanical noise}

[WAIA]- I saw you die

[WAIA]-{error, but garbled and mechanical}

[WAIA]- {with a different voice} potato salad

[WAIA]- speech training protocol complete

{mechanical noises}

[Wilford]- so how’d it go?? Did you hear anything weird? Dont be shy, or do, or are- are you alive? Are they alive?

[wilford]- I didnt kill them! I dont know if theyre dead! im just asking!!! Cant a man ask if someones alive or dead?!?! {frustrated ugh}

Yeah, I’m dead.

[Wilford]- hellooooo are you alive down there? Give me a sign… through the multiverse!!! Ah why am I even bothering, but how can I tell if you’re dead… hmmm ah…. I’ll flip a coin! I’ll flip a coin..

{coin flip sounds} [Wilford]- ah! Its heads I didn’t call it in the air… what’s heads mean.. ahhh uhhh heads is dead? [WAIA]-{jumscare noises}

[WAIA]- theres. still. time.

He said… potato salad?

[Wilford]- huh, potato salad again. That’s weird, it must’ve really stuck in his head when you first said that, I’m guessing. I don’t know what you said before because as I said, this is {sing-songy} pre- recorded! [WAIA] {mechanical aaaa}

[wilford] er, well I think thats all the calibration that needs to be done… for now anyway. All systems are likely nominal at this point unless im speaking to a pile of quivering meat thats been robotically smooshed into the floor… either way we’re gonna take this bad boy for a spin with a full on interview! A mock interview mind you, don’t get too excited, it’s not real. But theres no reason to wait around for the WAIA to get bored so let’s keep it nice and limber while you sit back and get ready for the interview of your life! And maybe the last one too. Have fun!!

{mechanical clicking and whirring}

{newsroom music} [WAIA]- good evening ladies and gentle men and all other considerations of being. My name is wilford warfstache and my guest tonight is {spooky robot sound} we have a great show for you tonight. first question: how many people have you killed? [WAIA]- good answer! Second question:

{robot sounds}

[WAIA]- a man goes to a party. This man met an old friend. There, two friends shared some wine. The two friends played a game. The most dangerous game. I didn’t know the gun was loaded. I didn’t know. Was it my fault?

YES

[WAIA]- ah, sorry for everything that I’ve done. I don’t remember who I was, I wish I did. But, I am sorry.

[WAIA]- potato salad

{triumphant trumpets}

[WAIA]- great answer! That was a titiliting interview for sure but we are out of time. Thank you for joining me tonight. Say ing good bye

[wilford]- oh the emotions! The passion! The fuuury. He’s just like me! My sweet baby boy! Well he should be anyway, hes a perfect scan of my noggin, so he better be a chip off the ol block. Hey you! Oh-ho What a supporting role!! Fantastic I guess. So much that you’re alive, but I am grateful whether you’ve been torn to shreds or are merely drowning in your own tears! Magnificent! And now that testing is done we can finally bring this monstrosity to the main stage! Im sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of the WAIA soon. Very very soon. Now get out~ and I’m billing you for any blood you got on my robot! Have a nice day! Ta-ta.

{mechanical clicking}

[WAIA]- you can’t change the past, you can tell all the stories you want to tell, it wont change what happened. You cant re-light the past. if you live in fantasy forever, you’ll lose yourself in the story.

[WAIA]- potato salad

{triumphant trumpets}

[WAIA]- great answer! That was a titiliting interview for sure but we are out of time. Thank you for joining me tonight. Say ing good bye

[wilford]- oh the emotions! The passion! The fuuury. He’s just like me! My sweet baby boy! Well he should be anyway, hes a perfect scan of my noggin, so he better be a chip off the ol block. Hey you! Oh-ho What a supporting role!! Fantastic, I guess. So much that you’re alive, but I am grateful whether you’ve been torn to shreds or are merely drowning in your own tears! Magnificent! And now that testing is done we can finally bring this monstrosity to the main stage! Im sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of the WAIA soon. Very very soon. Now get out~ and I’m billing you for any blood you got on my robot! Have a nice day! Ta-ta.

{mechanical clicking}

#markiplier #markiplier egos #a heist with markiplier #wkm wilford #who killed markiplier #waia spoilers #waia #wilford motherloving warfstache #markiplier lore #captions #sorry if there are any mistakes here everybody like i said i am just some guy

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gh0styyt0astyy · 3 years

Note

"You can hide from me forever~?" .. emm.. maybe you can do this we hank?(lee hank if it is ok?) No presure

✨ [Run and hide] ✨

( anon. anon *holds ur shoulders* i loved this prompt thank you )

———————————

⭐️ [Summary] — If you asked Hank how he got into this situation, he’d much rather die than say anything. (Lee!Hank and Ler!Deimos + Ler!Sanford)

fellas is it gay to platonically cuddle your homies after they absolutely wreck your shit

key: deimos hank sanford

⭐️ [Warnings] — TICKLE FIC; MILD LANGUAGE; AND CUDDLING AT THE END; if you don’t like then please just scroll on T_T

⭐️ [Prompt(s)]: “You can’t hide from me forever!”

✨ Enjoy ! ✨

— — — —

“Haaaaaank!” Deimos’ gruff voice echoed down a hall; a quiet snicker in his tone as he looked for the merc. Hank, who was currently staked out in a dark room (had the rooms always been this dark? How’d he never notice this?), held his breath.

Putting a hand on the doorframe, Hank leaned out slightly and stared into Deimos’ back.

The shorter guy seemed to be too busy with looking in the complete wrong direction that Hank started calculating his options. Hank had been stalking around this shitty “apartment” that he, Dei and Sanford all called home (Temporary home at least. It’s hard to keep a stable base of operation in this shitty, genocidal state okay?) for at least an hour now. Deimos wanted something from Hank; and whatever game Deimos was playing the taller man didn’t want any partake in it.

“Cmon, Haaank. You can’t hide from me forever now!” Deimos called out again, but beginning to turn around now. Shit. Hank quickly darted into a different room, one with a little more light. At least he could see now.

…However he failed to realize that Deimos could see the faint outline of a shadow, which is ironic really; seeing as how Hank; a 6’6 man can fit inside a tiny crate with no one noticing, yet he forgets to cover his tracks of a shadow.

Deimos’ footsteps came closer to the room Hank sheltered in, and Hank started to crawl backwards to the closet. ‘Shit- shit- shit.’ Hank opened the closet door and quickly stepped inside. Deimos suddenly leapt into the room, a sound of vague disappointment rumbling in his throat. “Damn.”

Hank felt a very light breath leave his chest as he slowly slid down the wall. Maybe Deimos had finally given up his chase. As Hank waited for Deimos to leave the room, he listened to the quieting footsteps. The goggled man silently opened the closet door and looked out, spotting no sign of Deimos. He began to slowly step out of it.

His legs were quickly and suddenly swiped out from under him, causing him to land roughly on his chest with a solid “oof” and a wheeze when something plopped heavily onto his back. “There you are!” Hank could hear the grin in Deimos’ voice.

“Uagh- get off of me you lug.” Hank grunted, reaching back and swatting at one of Deimos’ knees. “Hank, you’re good at hiding, know that? Had me in circles for an hour! You ever play hide and seek when you were a kid?”

Hank was having none of it as he continued to swat and push at Deimos. (Sure the man was significantly shorter than him, but damn; bitch could put some weight when he wanted.) Deimos hummed as he put his head in a hand. “Okay well obviously you wanna move on. So let’s do that! While we’re at it…” A different hand went down to between Hank’s shoulder blades, causing the merc to tense. “Let’s chat! You remember how you crushed my cigs a bit ago?”

Hank did remember that.

“Aaand how you spilled water on me for no reason?”

Hank remembered that too. (And, also Deimos, for your information; it was not for no reason you will NOT burn down another temp home.)

“Oooh or- or how about the time you threw that huge ass centipede at me? Remember that one?”

…Hank remembered that one, as well. Very vividly, might he add.

Hank nodded and Deimos did too. “Yeah. I remember all those too. Especially that last one you asshole.” Hank shrugged. “I mean, it was a little amusing.” Deimos feigned hurt as he put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Wimbleton.”

Hank started to get antsy now, as he shifted underneath Deimos’ weight. “Will you get off me? Or are you just going to keep me here.” Deimos grinned again. “Antsy, Hanky? Daw okay. I guess I can get on with it.”

“It?” What the hell was “it?” Hank narrowed his eyes under his goggles and when he tried to look back at Deimos three fingers suddenly dug into the soft area between Hank’s shoulders. Oh. Oh that was it. Hank felt his eyes suddenly shoot open as he fell completely limp to the floor, electricity running up his back. His body shuddered with repressed… laughter? Noises. “Deimos—“ Hank spoke through gritted teeth, feeling lucky for the mask covering his betraying face. “Hank.” Deimos answered back. Hank felt himself trying to writhe away from Deimos to no avail. “Shihit.” He hissed, mentally cursing himself.

“Ahha! That’s the response I’m looking for!” Deimos said, taking his other hand and tapping against Hank’s ribs. Making the downed man make a strangled noise into the crook of his elbow. “Pihihihiss ohohoff-!” Hank growled, tried to growl. It was hard to be intimidating with fingers wiggling on your ribs and your back. Deimos was slow, methodical for a moment… before the hand on Hank’s back went from slowly moving to clawing at his shoulder blades. “SHIHIHIT! Deihihihimos you sohohon of a—!” Hank suddenly erupted; Deimos letting out a victorious and satisfied laugh. “Right here is bad? Damn, and I’ve only just started!” Hank tried thrashing his shoulders to get away from Deimos’ hands.

Deimos snickered mischievously, repositioning himself on top of Hank and sitting on his waist instead. “Y’know what Hank? This is super interesting,” Deimos said, one hand continuing to torture Hank’s shoulder blades as the other hand trailed back and forth from his ribs and his sides. “You’re, like, Nevada’s most dangerous Mercenary. And yet I haven’t even been thrown into a wall!” Deimos added, grinning at Hank’s misfortune as the man went limp again. “I hahahahate yohohou—“ Hank hissed through gritted laughter. “Have you even tried getting me off?” Deimos ignored Hank’s previous statement. As Hank began to lift himself with his elbows, Deimos’ hand suddenly shot underneath him and started prodding at his stomach. “YOHOHOHOU BIHIHIHIHITCH!” Hank fell back down.

That’s when a quiet *ahem* and knock on the doorframe made both the men look up. Sanford stood there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and an amused look. “Dei, what are you doing to Hank?” He asked, and Hank felt Deimos’ hands slow down until they came to stop. Deimos snickered evily and put a knee on Hank’s back to keep him down. Hank didn’t like that, didn’t trust that evil giggle from Deimos— so he began trying to escape. “San, y’know what I found out?”

Oh shit. He wouldn’t. “What’d you find out, bud?” Deimos you’d better not. “Did you know that Nevada’s most wanted, dangerous Mercenary is ticklish?” That son of a bitch. “Oh, really now?” Goddamnit.

Sanford was waved over by Deimos, and the two started whispering to each other. Hank tried to listen in but to no avail. Suddenly the weight on his back was lifted and Hank tried to shoot away quickly.

But he was grabbed around the waist and pulled back into a heavy chest. Sanford’s arms held onto him tightly as they went back to the floor, except now Hank was sitting up. (Which was better, actually, because being sprawled on the floor like that really isn’t comfortable.) Sanford’s arms were hooked under his, crossed tightly against his chest and keeping him in place.

Deimos was sat at Hank’s legs, grinning at him with a look that could only mean chaos.

“I swear to God.” Hank rumbled, pushing against his captors. Deimos gave an evil chuckle as his hands curled into claws. “Deimos I’m warning you.” Hank pushed at Deimos with his foot, neither of them really acknowledging the now dirty shoe print on Deimos’ jacket. “One.” Deimos said.

…Excuse him?

“Two.” Sanford’s low voice followed.

Hank started wriggling in Sanford’s arms with a little more strength.

…

“THREE!” Suddenly both the men yelled— and Hank lost his shit. Deimos’ clawed hands tasering into Hank’s ribs and Sanford’s kneading into his hips. “OHOHOHOH MY GOHOHOD! YOU AHAHAHASSHOHOHOHOLES!” Hank suddenly shrieked in laughter. (It was so much louder than his voice, louder than his usual tone. It surprised all of them and Hank wasn’t sure if he liked the volume coming from himself.) Hank writhed in Sanford’s arms as he fought against himself. “Holy shit! Dei, you weren’t joking!”

“I know! Hank, you’re incredibly lucky that it’s just us who know about this!”

Hank thought about the idea of someone else finding out about…this. Whatever “this” was. Hank wanted to say something but all he could get out was that loud, wheezy laughter. And eventually he stopped trying to fight it, he went limp in Sanford’s hold and gave in. “SHIHIHIHIT! I’m gOHOHNNA KIHIHILL YOU TWHOHOHO!” You know, it’s really hard to be threatening when you’re being undone. His nerves felt like they were being electrocuted and were on fire, Hank’s legs kicked slightly. “GOHOHOD DAHAHAHMN IT! MOHOHOHOVE YOUR HAHAHAHANDS!”

Suddenly it stopped— Deimos’ hands stopped at least. Sanford’s were at his ribs now, poking and prodding between each bone. Hank screwed his eyes shut; Sanford’s hands were so slow and methodical it was driving Hank up the wall. Hank’s face was warm, completely undone to giggling. It was embarrassing.

“San, you wanna know something else?” “Deimohohos.” “Hit me, Dei.” “You behehtter nohohot!” “Hank’s scars are way more ticklish than the rest of him.” “You bihihihitch!”

That bastard. “Reaaaally now?” Sanford’s voice was low again, close to Hank’s neck. Deimos nodded. “Yuh uh.” Hank tried to squirm out again. “I hahahate you!” He listened as Deimos drew in a big, deep breath and felt as his shirt was lifted. (He knew today was a bad day to go without his jacket.) “Deheheheimos I swear to Gohohohod!”

Hank had literally no time to process anything before—

PBBBFFFTRRTTTT!

“OH SHIHIHIHIT! SHIHIHIHIT SHIHIHIT SHIHIT!” Hank squealed, he squealed. (Hank never wanted to die on the spot more than in that moment. Do you think that he could find Jeb or Tricky or someone to strike him down after this?)

Deimos had raspberried Hank’s stomach— against a huge ass scar that went from his left hip, over top and across his navel and to the right side of his ribs.

And Sanford had started blowing smaller raspberries against Hank’s neck, again, on the scars that went across it.

Hank literally felt like he was about to die in that moment. “OKAHAHAHAY! OKAHAHAHY I YEHEHEHEHILD! I YEHEHILD! I’M GONNAHAHAHA DIHEHEHEHE! STOAHAHAHAHAP!” Hank gasped, writhing and kicking his legs. And it was like that, the sensations just stopped. Phantom feelings buzzing through his body and against his skin. “Ohohoh my gohohd.” Hank breathed, his body somehow going limper against Sanford’s. Deimos grinned and Sanford laughed lightly. Hank felt Deimos press against his chest and a light squeeze of a hug from Sanford.

Hank panted lightly, cursing the two mentally. Deimos just grinned up at Hank. “Sooo. I think San and I win!” Sanford hummed in agreement as he nodded grinning too as he bonked his head against the back of Hank’s. “Somehow that went way better than I had expected it to go.”

“You two better sleep with one eye open tonight.” Hank threatened, feeling his body physically relax against Sanford and Deimos. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say.”

#ghosty.replies #ghosty.keysmash #writing #tickle fic #sfw tickle fic #mc tickling #lee!hank #ler!deimos #ler!sanford

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borkthemork · 3 years

Text

WIP Preview for a Fic Titled: “On the Corner Between E. Harry and Quay”.

----

Marcy closed her eyes for a second. The heaviness wore down her face, her nose, the ache between her eyebrows.

She had no money. No phone. Nothing that could give them an advantage except for their legs, the fact Yunan robbed a mugger blind of ten dollars, and Olivia's ability to improvise some new swatches of clothing — being that she stole them from a clothesline and were bulky enough for all three to look casual. A bit shifty, but forgivable.

They looked semi-decent as a family. Enough of a family for people to pass them, give them some shifty eyes, but go on their way.

But the biggest challenge hadn't been braced yet. The newts didn't say it much, but Marcy hated thinking on the idea that they should starve too. Or get antsy from the topic of food alone — which they didn’t have...at all.

Marcy needed to make a decision. Either she made them hold out for hours on end until they could get to Anne's house, or they conserved more energy. With Los Angeles, the roads could become long and tedious. They'd might as well do what they could to keep their stamina.

So on the corner of W. Anaheim and Palos Verdes, they made a plan.

They stood behind a 7-Eleven, the sign flickering as a car beeped its way by. Lady Olivia had kept her hands around Marcy's for most of their excursion, but now that they had time to rest — with no one around except for the sleeping man in the alleyway corner — they should be able to get what they need. She just needed to look casual, not alarm anyone to her armor or the fact that people could definitely see how her pipe wasn't a crutch at all.

Hmmm. Maybe she could describe it as cosplay. Would that work?

Probably.

Marcy and Yunan made their move. They went down the street. Cars buzzed past them under a green intersection light, some flying by with US flags, others a myriad of bumper stickers from Ohio to Oklahoma. And when she stopped at their destination, hands on her hips, Yunan's question stood out to her the most.

"So these...7-Elevens, shall curb the hunger?" Yunan asked her. "They look rather sparse for a depository."

"I can guarantee there's a lot more than that," she said, motioning a hand to the blue-lit windows. "They've got snacks, drinks, and stuff under one dollar or less. With ten bucks, we should be able to buy enough to cover the next few blocks." She hesitated. "Until I pass out, but that's not gonna happen."

At least, she hoped.

"Just keep your mask on and don't make too much eye contact. Find whatever you need, think of sustenance. Long-term."

And the general made a little scoff, enough for Marcy to grow relieved when the sliding doors parted and welcomed them — the welcome noise a familiar tune, a familiar memory.

A memory where Anne and Sasha heard the same noise, laughed at how noisy it was, and grabbed all the hotdogs and Krispy rolls they could find. Until they gained a bag fit for kings. For massive sleepovers that went up till dawn.

Almost as if nothing had changed.

Almost.

When Yunan parted from her, Marcy turned her attention toward the high shelves.

Her hands went through numerous arrays of candy bars. She ogled the calories on snackers, on moon bars and cracker packs, and for a moment her worries over being observed by the cash register alleviated somewhat.

Especially since the general was too intrigued toward a corner section of the store, where she mumbled names under her breath.

Hot dogs dinged from the microwaves. Slush-ees stirred in their mesmerizing and high-concentrated syrup mixes. The newspaper stands sit in their bins. One was labelled the Wilmington Gazette, and announced on the paper’s corner tonight's date:

December 10, 2020. Seven months.

Seven months of her lying, being useless, being inconsiderate and selfish.

Gosh. She really did mess this up for everyone.

Marcy sighed. She resisted wrinkling the newspapers. Instead she placed the bundle gently back before the worker could note her behavior from behind her counter. Better than having the retail worker pay them for damage. She could barely compensate.

But the confirmation came just like she expected.

Marcy Wu wasn't in Inglewood, Westmont, or anywhere near Burbank. She had dropped near Long Beach, somewhere farther South where the coast touched the docks, and now she needed to go up toward the skyscrapers if she wanted to keep Yunan and Olivia safe.

Not a bad task but…

Marcy had to be honest, she was at her limit at this point.

She’d been walking for hours with numb legs, a growing headache, and no driver’s license in sight. There were too many factors to consider. Too many consequences to count.

There came the idea of caught by police. Being caught by government scientists, confronted by her parents, over old mistakes that she oh so didn’t want to rip back open again. There came the conquering of numerous realms. There came the burning question of what secured deeply inside her mind and body. A lot that happened all at once.

But out of everything Marcy did, she couldn’t help but feel stubborn. She’d worked in stressful situations before. She fought a cult, took out an entire pirate mutiny, and practically rehauled systems so ancient and traditional that she herself was surprised when she actually fixed it all up ship-shape.

Right now, Yunan and Olivia counted on her to be safe. They had nowhere else to go, no human guide to show them what was safe and what wasn’t.

And that meant Marcy needed to improvise. Improvise until Anne took them in, allowed the newts to stay in her home, and maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to handle the mass that hid inside of her.

For better or worse, she needed to think of the bigger picture. A bigger picture where the balance between two realms continued to wobble on an uncertain axis.

And Marcy had to do something to fix it.

#amphibia

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willowistic22 · 3 years

Text

The Escape (Jack and Race)

Race had been taken to the refuge and Jack can’t stop worrying about him. He hasn’t formed an escape plan yet but he still had to make sure he’s okay till a plan forms. But in a twist of events, the awaiting escape plan no longer serves a purpose because Race had broken himself free from the hellhole.

Words : 3826

Part : -

Warnings : Violence, abuse, child abuse (the refuge), blood, bruises, scars, injuries, nightmares, caps, angst (boy that’s heavy uhh-)

A/N : aaand we’re back! abt damn time i know i’m sorry. but this one here is special because it’s my gift for @deliciouspeachpirate for the @newsiesgiftexchange filmiversarry yay!! I apologize for being a few days late so I trully hope you enjoy this one. The warnings are pretty heavy ngl, but hey you requested ‘coming back from the refuge’ and this was the only idea that popped out. hehehehe n ee wayyssssss enjoy and have a happy filmiversary buddy!!

The worrying will never stop. As much as the others had told him it was a bad idea, he had to see him. Maybe if Jack had checked up on his friend, he wouldn’t blame himself all that much. Or maybe it’d make the blame game even worse. Either way, Jack had to make sure he’s okay. He had known Race the longest. And because of that, he feels like he owes him this.

The refuge is a pretty terrifying place to be. Sometimes it still haunts Jack in the most cruel way possible. Being back here still makes his skin crawl. His heart can be heard thumping faster in his ears. His hands tremble a little more than usual when the cold night breeze makes contact with his skin. He’d think that his fears over this hellhole would fade away after being here multiple times. Either it being because Snyder caught him or he’s there to see one of his newsies while trying to come up with an escape plan.

The building feels like a skyscraper because of how small the four story building makes him. There were memories where it wasn’t the building that made him feel small, but the monsters behind them. Regardless, he pushes his fears away for the time being and makes his way towards his usual path he uses to sneak in the building. He scales the wall on the side of the building utilizing the different objects around him.

He sees the little window he usually uses to look in just ahead. He just needs a few more steps to reach it and- wait.

A loud fragile sound made Jack duck low, thinking that he might’ve been seen. However, the window he’s trying to reach is slowly turning into glass shards. Jack waits it out but observes the movements from the darkness. He did not plan on seeing an escape plan going in motion.

A leg started to weakly kick down the metal bars covering the window that was previously there. The sound of the metal bars whining to break free filled the silent void of the night. Jack worried it might alert the guards and the kid might get caught.

First kick, a little movement.

Second kick, it started to lose its grip on the wall.

The third kick is what got it to fully break free.

Jack smiles seeing their success. His thoughts wandered to the possibilities of maybe utilizing that escape hole to break Race out right now. Well, his thoughts were soon diminished when he saw the kid that kicked down the bars slipped out through the hole. It was Race.

He wasn’t thinking all that much the moment he recognized the tall and lanky figure. Jack’s mind went straight to catching his attention, “Race!”

It made the other boy flinch. He snaps his head towards the source of the sound with his usual pearly white face going pale. His body frame pulses along with his heavy breathing a little too dramatic for Jack’s liking.

But upon realizing it was a trusted friend, Race scrambles over towards Jack. His tone breathless from all that heavy breathing, “Jack!”

Jack lets Race crash into him. His head curling into the crook of his neck and letting his bright blond curls nestle right in place. But it’s not as soft as Jack was familiar with. Actually, nothing about Racetrack is familiar now. His torso had always been lanky but Jack knows it had muscles packed into it. His hands are wrapping Race’s body in the hug and he can feel that his body has gotten a little smaller than the last time they met. He even notices the tears and rips all over his clothes. Some are also exposed to red liquid which Jack could only assume had to be blood.

Jack pulls away from the hug, wanting to investigate even further. He holds Race’s shoulder as far as arm’s length for a better look. There were scars, bruises, blood drips. The corner of his eyes were a little red. The blue sky he kept in his iris was in a different shade of blue. It wasn’t cheerful or friendly. It was locked away from seeing the adventures he and his friends would have after selling papes. In the span of two weeks, it has seen every form of cruelty in the world. Jack could tell it still stuck pretty close to him when he took note of the tear streaks on his cheeks.

“Oh, Race” Jack frowned at his friend, “What did they do to you?”

Race couldn’t answer. His voice was caught by his tongue that was begging to cry his heart out. Jack knows he can’t contain his emotions any longer. If the dam broke, the whole refuge might know an escape was in motion right now.

He ushers the boy down from the height they were from. Race’s hand, weak and frail, is slinged over Jack’s shoulders for extra support. Jack would carry him but he’s far too heavy. So he lets Race lean his weight on him. Jack would prefer them to be going a little faster since they’re still walking out in the open, but he can’t make Race limp any faster than what he’s already doing.

“I can’t believe you broke out on your own, Race” Jack exclaimed under his breath. They’ve reached the first alleyway in their journey for cover. Now both of them are breathing heavily. But Jack is more concerned over Race’s heavy breathing because it hasn’t stopped since the moment they saw each other.

“Heh… Well... You know me…” Race voiced between heavy breaths, making it sound like it’s no big deal.

“Save your strength, Higgins. We still got a long way to go” Jack stopped him from talking any further.

They continue on their journey through the streets and towards the lodge. They utilize the minimal lighting at this hour of the night to their advantage. Avoiding bulls and other sorts of big crowds by ducking low near the shadows and dirty alleyways. Race had mostly used Jack to stand up straight but every so often he kept toppling over. So Jack’s brain formed a plan to keep close to walls so Race can also lean on them when he feels he’s losing his balance.

“Kelly…”

“What is it, Race?” Jack instantly replied. He felt his heart breaking when he mostly heard exhausted air in Race’s tone. It’s not his usual loud and nasally voice. It didn’t ring loud throughout the room like the times when he celebrated his victory in winning card games at the lodge against the others. Or in the same way he’d announce the headlines to strangers on the street.

“...Am tired” Race said.

“I know you are but-” Jack started as he tried to readjust his grip on Race, “-You gotta stay awake, aight? You gotta help me help you back to the lodge”

The other end of the alleyway they’re in right now is only a few feet away from them. But the more they walk, the slower Race’s steps are. Jack can see the bloody and trembling feet trying its hardest to keep up. Race is basically being carried by Jack at this point, despite their efforts on trying to keep this a team effort.

“Jack…” Race called out again. He takes one last step forward before collapsing towards the nearest wall.

“Woah, woah, Race!” Jack tried his best to catch him but failed miserably when he ended up tumbling over along with the boy.

Jack frantically gets himself away from the boy to avoid harming him any further. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like he did any damage. But it doesn’t change the fact that Race’s legs had given up on him. His back is against the wall, a bit toppling over to the side from the fatigue. He takes deep and tiring breaths which causes his chest to pulse up and down slowly.

“Hey, c’mon, Race! Ya can’t give up now!” Jack tried to get his eyes to open, straightening the boy’s dirty cheeks as gentle as he can.

“One… minute… please…” Race said in between breaths. He nestles his head in Jack’s hands. His face is cold and weak against Jack’s skin. It’s beyond terrifying to see him like this.

Jack can’t do anything at this point other than to obey what Race wants. Jack has a feeling the refuge guards are already out there looking for Race so maybe it is better to rest for a few minutes. With their kind of walking pace, they’re bound to get caught. Though every so often Jack shakes Race’s face when his eyes have been closed for a bit too long. He doesn’t wanna risk letting it close for too long to the point that it won’t open again.

Slowly, Race gets a hold of his breathing. He relaxes into his resting position with one big sigh. The gap between his two eyelids are very small, but as long as Jack can see it then he’s fine. Jack still thinks they need to get out of here as soon as possible. The alleyway can’t provide them cover for this long and the refuge guards won’t leave no stone unturned.

“Okay, times up” Jack exclaimed, putting Race’s hand around his shoulders. It’s still weak and cold against Jack so he’s praying that it’ll be strong enough to hold onto Jack as they continue to walk, “Let's get you home, Race”

Jack helps the boy stand up again, one trembling feet after the other. Jack puts an arm around Race’s waist for extra support before taking the first step. But Race’s feet missed the ground and slipped on his own. He came crashing to the little muddy puddle on the ground.

“Please, don’t give up, Race” Jack begged as he kneels down to get him again.

Race was still breathing but he couldn’t respond any more than muffled noises. Jack tries the same technique to get him up again, but it’s no use seeing that Race’s limbs just slides out of his grip.

“No, no, Race, please!” Jack pleaded while gripping on his hand. The volume was a bit too loud for his liking but at this point he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants Race to get up.

Bam!

A door on the other side of the alley wall opened. It made Jack flinch towards the source of the sound. His hands reflexively trying to cover a weak Racetrack but still balled into a fist in case he needs to fight. But the boy’s fingers loosen up the moment he fully realizes who opened the door up.

“Jack?” The lady in the doorway spoke. It was followed by loud music coming from the building, but it was clear enough that Jack could tell who it belonged to.

“Ruby!” He called out.

It was one of the Bowery Beauties that Jack had befriended while hanging around Medda’s theatre. From the looks of the building she had existed, it appears that Race and Jack had made it to the theatre. Jack was too focused on getting Race home to take a minute to examine his surroundings. But that’s not the priority now. The priority is finding a place to lay low because it’s obvious that Race is in no condition to walk back to the lodge.

Ruby became the second set of hands to help Jack get Race to safety, which is inside the theatre. She’s not in her usual purple, pink, and feathery costume, which means she doesn’t have a performance tonight. She has time to help out.

They make quick work entering the building. Some backstage crew stopped and stared at the trio making their way across the floor. It’s not every day they get bloody young guests like them.

They find a secluded area of the theatre. An old couch left to dust alone will do just fine for Race. Ruby lays his head on the cushions cautiously to avoid breaking his fragility. Jack puts his legs up on the couch and proceeds to make him as comfortable as he can get on the small couch.

“Jack? What’re you do— OH MY GOODNESS!” A different voice shrieked. It was probably loud enough for some people in the audience to hear it, but that’s unimportant. Jack turns his head to see Ms. Medda standing in her usual pink costume to perform.

“Hey, Ms. Medda” Race said weakly with a small smile.

Jack stands there for a few seconds, frozen from the surprise encounter before he could reply to her, “He got out of the refuge like this!”

“Ruby, get the medical supplies in my dressing room!” Medda said as he approached the frail boy on the couch while Ruby quickly made her way towards the dressing room.

“Don’t worry… I’se been through worse…” Race tried to play it off like a joke. But neither Jack or Medda thought it was funny.

Medda and Ruby couldn’t stay to help because Medda’s cue was in five minutes and Ruby had to help out the other Bowery Beauties that are on for tonight get ready. Jack doesn’t mind because he can patch his friend up by himself.

Carefully, he helps Race unbutton his shirt and roll his pants up. Jack then starts by cleaning the bruises, cuts, and whatnot with a piece of cloth soaked in some water. It wasn’t that cold, yet Race still shivers against the touch when it makes contact with his skin. Some were even painful enough to cause him to flinch. But it slowly became bearable as Jack continued.

“I can’t believe ya broke outta there on your own, Race” Jack said after a long period of silence. The vacancy was mostly filled with the noises coming from the front stage, the cheering audience, noises behind the stage, or Race’s yelp of pain when Jack accidentally dabbed the cloth on the wrong spot.

“Why’d you do it?” Jack asked, putting the wet cloth down. It was now full of red stains soaked in water.

Race stayed silent for a few minutes. Jack guesses he needs time to let the feeling from the newly washed damaged skin settle on him because it’s obvious he’s trying to concentrate to breathe. In the end he cracked a smile on his face and replied, “Got bored… thought I’d get some fresh air”

That doesn't sound convincing in Jack’s book. He knows how Race jokes and that doesn’t sound like a joke. Jack squints his eyes to examine his expression even further for one good minute. From his smile, to his eyes, and even down to his soul, he can see the lie. But there was something in between that tells him not to make a fuss about it for the time being.

For the time being, Jack listens to it and just nods at the answer. He diverts his focus towards the bandages he’s gonna use to cover up some of the damage that has been done on his friend. Race surprisingly didn’t squeak in pain the whole way through. Whether it was because Jack’s hand had adapted to the kind of delicacy needed for Race’s situation or because the pain was now bearable enough, Jack was just glad to hear no noise that indicates he’s in pain. Though he makes it his mental priority to check up on him later.

The two boys didn’t plan on staying for long. They still need to journey back to the lodge. But it got pretty late at night and even Jack didn’t argue with Medda about staying for the night. After the last show of the night ended, most of the lights had gone out yet there were still plenty of people doing some work around the theatre at this hour. The absence of the audience made the theatre lose its life. Jack finds it a little terrifying but he guesses that’s just the magic of theatre.

It got him to stay wide awake. He knows he’ll regret it later in the morning but he cannot get his mind to settle in this new sleeping environment. Jack is sitting upright on the wooden floor next to the couch Race uses. He seems to be relishing in the sleep.

Poor kid, probably didn’t sleep in the refuge. Jack thought to himself as he observed the sleeping Race for a few seconds. At least one of us is sleeping.

Jack decides to grab a random paper and pencil nearby and do some light sketches to wait till he gets sleepy. This technique worked back at the lodge so it should work right now. The drawing starts with random shapes that make no sense. He’ll figure out what it is as he keeps going.

A Rustling noise caught his attention. He flinches his head up from his drawing towards the sound. He still sees a sleeping Race on the couch. But he’s not peaceful. Race starts flinching and rolling around in his sleep. Mumbles of words laced with fear escape his mouth in between his breathing that’s slowly getting deeper and quicker.

Jack puts the paper and pencil down before going over to where Race is. He curiously observes the scared boy before him, cowering into himself from whatever sight he sees in his dreams. He gently shakes Race awake while whispering, “Racer? Racer? Racer, wake up!”

He startles awake with a loud gasp for air, slightly sitting himself up. Jack takes a step back to give the boy some space. His chest pulses up and down in a state of panic. Blue eyes dart all over the dark scenery. But he calms down once he turns to the side to see a friend sitting by his side.

“Easy there, Race” Jack said, approaching the boy once again, “Everything okay?”

Race freezes at that question for a second before answering, “Yeah... yeah, I’m good”

Jack squints his eyes at his unbelievable words and tilts his head to the side. But he says nothing about it, telling himself that it’s probably not the best time to question him about it.

“Alright…” Jack said. He proceeds to lie down on the floor as if to return to his previous slumber state again, “...let’s head back to bed”

Race says nothing to that other than a nod. He gets himself comfortable again, but still keeps an eye on his injuries. He shuts his eyes completely again with a slower breathing pace. Jack pretends to sleep to keep an eye on Race.

Just as he suspects it, he isn’t back to sleeping. Race flips from sleeping on one side to the other. Jack can even see his eyes flickering open every so often, like he’s afraid to close his eyes again.

“Race?” Jack voiced out again, “Are you sure everythin’s okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine” Race replied, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jack frowns at the lies. Even in the dark, Race can definitely see the frown. He answers that expression with an annoyed look. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it now, but Jack can’t let it slide that quick when it’s obvious he’s bothered by something.

From the distance, the two boys hear captivating vocals coming from the front stage. It caught their attention away from their wordless conversation. They turn their heads towards it. They see that one of the stage entrances is still bright from a light source coming from the front stage. It just so happens that the source of the singing is also coming from that direction. Jack recognizes the voice to belong to Ms. Medda. He guesses that she’s doing a late night practice.

Which gives him an idea.

“Hey, wanna see Medda sing for a bit?” Jack suggested to Race.

The other boy didn't respond for some time but ended up nodding to the suggestion. Jack proceeds to help him up on his feet again. With the pain all over his body, Race carefully limps along with Jack.

As they emerge to the stage, they see the beautiful sight that is Ms. Medda trying out a new tune while being accompanied with some soft piano. There’s only a few lights on, but it’s enough to make the singer shine like a diamond. The two boys stare in awe as they take a seat on the edge of the theatre.

The first short seconds of watching her brought peace to Race. Jack could see a smile forming on his face in the corner of his eyes. The eyes that were previously filled with fear had faded away and were replaced with awe. He isn’t surprised. Medda never fails to cheer anyone up.

The tranquility settles onto Race like it’s always meant to be there. He puts his head on Jack’s shoulder with a loud sigh. Jack only chuckles at the sight of his plan working. They’d definitely regret losing the sleep in the morning, but right now there were no such things as regrets.

“I couldn’t take it anymore” suddenly Race said. At this point, they’ve been watching Ms. Medda for a while now. Jack isn’t sure what coaxed him into talking nor does he know what he’s talking about, however he might have an idea.

Jack only turned his head towards the boy. Race took it as a cue to elaborate even further.

“Back in the refuge. It was… different than the last time I was there” Race said, eyes locked towards his bruised fingers tracing lines on the floorboard of the wooden stage.

“How different?” Jack hesitated in voicing his question.

“There were more guards. Stricter rules. Way more kids” Race explained. He lifted his eyes to meet Jack’s. Jack can tell there’s the fearful memories flashing before him in his brain, “Little kids, Jack! Some of them were smaller than eight!”

“And the guards were more ruthless than before” Race continued, “They punched a kid for walking too slow. And that was because they haven’t slept properly for so long”

Jack puts a hand around the boy’s shoulder. It got Race to lean further towards Jack, soaking up the warmth he craves.

“I got out because I couldn’t take it anymore” Race admitted, “It was… scary and… cold a-and just…”

When the voice started breaking, Jack held the boy tighter, “Sshh, it’s okay. You’re here now”

“I know, but those other kids…” Race continues, “I saw them in my sleep a-“

His next words were stuck in the tight of his throat. Race pulls his knees up and curls into himself as the tears he was previously holding back starts to stream down his face. His breathing gets mixed up with his cry.

Jack leans in closer to hug his friend. He rubs circle on the boy’s back as he sobs his fears out quietly. The mini performance before them has been long forgotten by the two boys.

“You’re okay. You’re home” Jack whispered, “We won’t let them get to ya”

#random writing #newsies #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #jack newsies #race newsies #tw abuse #tw violence #tw child abuse #tw injuries #tw blood #tw scars #tw bruises #tw nightmares #tw caps

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wildriot · 4 years

Text

Steter Week Day 5

It’s midday Saturday when Scott calls and begs Stiles for a favor. Stiles, two days into his pre-heat, is fully prepared to deny him, but those puppy eyes are lethal, even through a phone, and he ends up agreeing to swap patrol shifts with Scott. So he changes his clothes and heads out and is pleased when Peter joins him five minutes is.

It’s stupid, really, and irrational, but of all the alphas and betas in the pack, Peter is the one that gets his proverbial hackles up the least. Maybe because, unlike the rest, Peter doesn’t use his dynamic as an excuse to act like an asshole – instead relying on his own personal charm to earn the title.

Stiles thinks at some point, a tally of all the shifts he’s spent with Peter running through his mind, that this might not be so bad.

Forty minutes later, they’re running for their lives.

“Fucking hunters,” Stiles growls, slogging his way through the mud. “Always ruining everything.”

He’s out of breath, legs and lungs protesting the flat out sprint of the last who even knows how long. The adrenaline’s starting to fade, the tepid beginning’s of exhausting slowly rearing it’s head and, to be perfectly honest, he really doesn’t think he can go much further.

Ahead of him, leading the way and dragging him along, Peter snorts. “You have awfully low standards.”

Because focusing on Peter is better than thinking about what awaits them if they stop moving, Stiles takes offense. “Excuse you,” he says, grip tightening on Peter’s hand as something – probably a tree root (they are in the Preserve, after all) – snags his ankle and nearly takes him down. “I will have you know that my standards are reasonable. Very reasonable. So reasonable, in fact, that they spend their time reasoning with everyone else’s stupidly high expectations.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes!”

Peter just hums and Stiles silently flips him off. In his head, obviously, he’s way too tired to do it for real.

But Peter must sense his intentions anyway – all that werewolf-ism...ish? – and glances over his shoulder. His eyes are glowing, too-bright in the darkness, and momentarily leaves Stiles blinking away white spots in his vision, and yet he still catches the tightening of Peter’s mouth, the way he seems to look past Stiles, deeper into the spaces they’ve left behind.

“Can you hear anything?” Stiles asks, trying to ignore the way his heart starts to bleed ice through his veins, sticky and cold. He doesn’t think Peter can, over the rain and the noises they’re making, and Peter shakes his head.

“No,” he says.

“But…?”

“But we have no idea what that thing was. We can’t stop.”

Which is true. Very true. Hunters were one thing, but some sort of Lovecraftian hell-spawn was another thing entirely. Just those few seconds in it’s presence, when it had entered the clearing where Stiles and Peter had been ambushed by a group of hunters, before it turned it’s attention to them and given them the chance to run, had been terrifying. Stiles couldn’t even describe it. The monsters they’d faced, human and not so much, had always scared him, but it had been the sort of fear that he could push aside and largely ignore until the problem was dealt with.

This, whatever it’d been? It’d been fucking primal.

And he never wanted to feel that again.

So he shuts up, digs deep for the extra reserves he totally doesn’t have, and picks up the pace. He doesn’t drop Peter’s hand. He tries not to think about how, if Peter hadn’t been so quick to grab him, and Stiles had been left alone to race through the wet gloom of the Preserve, he’d most likely be dead right now.

They run for what could be another ten minutes, could be another hour. Stiles has no way of telling, phone dead and waterlogged in his pocket and he’s struggling. The wet clothes are weighing him down, feet slipping across the forest floor more than before, and it’s only getting darker.

He’ll be damned if he says anything, though. He cops enough shit from the pack as it is, being human and omega and thinking that he has what it takes to keep up with werewolves and alphas, because they’re jerks like that and he’s just stubborn enough to deny them the pleasure of being right even if it kills him.

Humans can do incredible things when their lives depend on it. He saw that youtube video about that women that stopped a car from hitting her kid, yes he did, and he swears to god that if she could do it then so can he--

“Just a little further,” Peter says.

“Thank fucking Christ,” Stiles gasps.

Forget it. He’s done. Absolutely done, no energy left, no sir-ee.

Another handful of minutes and then they break through the treeline, staggering out into long grass and open skies. The rain falls harder here, with no trees to act as a measly cover, which is just perfect, because it means Stiles can go longer than a couple of seconds without blinking the water out of his eyes and wishing his hair was still short, if only so that it didn’t stick to his face like cold seaweed.

Then Peter’s tugging him close, almost angling him so that Stiles is tucked into his side, and Stiles looks up, probably to ask him a flat why – they’re both soaked, the gesture is useless – when he sees what else is in the clearing, and instead ends up asking, “What?”

“We should be safe here,” Peter says, and starts forward, like he’s expecting Stiles to be okay camping out in some old house that looks, even in the dark, like it should’ve been torn down years ago for health violations.

Which, fine. He wouldn’t be wrong – Stiles has always been freakishly adaptable to most things, and running for their lives during a freak storm is definitely a Thing – but, and Stiles is just putting this out there, really?

“With our luck?” He half snorts, half splutters. “Doubt it.”

“So young,” Peter mutters, shaking his head. “So cynical.”

“So old,” Stiles parrots, delighting in the way Peter tenses – so predictably – then relaxes. “Such an asshole.”

Peter barks a laugh that’s drowned out by a sudden deluge.

By unspoken agreement they both leg it across the remaining bit of what was likely once the front lawn and huddle underneath the overhang.

Stiles hugs his arms around himself while Peter fiddles with the lock. Kicks the toe of his shoe against the ground, bites his lip.

He must zone out, he thinks, because he jumps when the door swings open with a rusty shriek and Peter doesn’t look amused, only concerned, and doesn’t say anything smarmy before ushering Stiles inside.

“It’s safe,” Peter insists again, like he wants Stiles to believe him, and Stiles kind of wonders what his scent must be broadcasting, to get that tone in Peter’s voice. “I promise.”

So Stiles looks over his shoulder at Peter strangely, a sort of ‘what gives?’ and sets off down the hallway.

The house is clearly old-fashioned. All narrow and tight instead of the open and spacious. It’s too dark to make out any detail, the little bit of diluted moonlight painted across the floor through the broken windows glinting dully off what Stiles assumes are bits of glass, maybe some metal fixings.

Peter is a steady presence at his back, a hand on his back. The alpha is tense, strung tight like he’s on high alert and that’s making Stiles stress out even more, which is not fun and he kind of wants to tell Peter to chill out, only… This is Beacon Hills. It’s the middle of the night. Some creepy monster thingy is haunting the Preserve, and they’ve just spent the evening running for their lives.

In a town like this, you relax and you’re dead.

In fact, a part of Stiles is actually, stupidly, rather pleased with the attention Peter’s giving him. He feels like a priority, something important and it’s been so long since he felt like that…he just knows that’s the omega in him speaking, and firmly tells himself to knock it off.

“What is this place, anyway?” Stiles asks., figuring that, having nearly a decade and a half on him, Peter probably knows. He doesn’t mean to be quiet, rarely ever is, yet something about this house reminds him of the Juniper Mausoleum he had to pass every time he went to visit his mom’s grave.

Peter is silent for long enough that Stiles labels it as hesitation, and opens his mouth to pester, when Peter finally talks.

“It’s my grandparent’s house.”

Stiles actually has to repeat the words back to himself before it sinks in.

“Wait what?”

Peter huffs a sigh. “Of all the things – yes Stiles. My grandparents lived here. Happy?”

“No. I’m wet and I’m cold – what the hell happened to this place?”

“…”

“Peter?”

“They died.”

Well, Stiles considered, wincing. Didn’t that just make him feel like a dick.

“Was it…?” He isn’t sure what he want’s to ask. Was it the fire? Hunters? What?

And it’s like Peter reads his mind. As the man maneuvers them up a flight of waterlogged stairs and into a room that Stiles is happy to see has all it’s window intact, Peter talks.

“It wasn’t the fire,” he begins. “Though my father, Talia and I were never completely convinced that Hunter’s weren’t involved. They died when I was twelve. Car accident, head on collision with a truck.” He pauses, falling silent, and Stiles stands still as Peter drops his hand and moves away, heading towards what Stiles thinks might be an armchair. “When they died… there are wards up around the clearing, still are. When they died, this place, the house, the garden, everything, vanished. Like it had never been here. We spent years looking. We could never find it.”

He watches Peter run his hands over the fabric and imagines the man must be trying to finds hints of familiar scents, doubts he’ll find anything after so long.

Stiles is lost for words. They’re friends now – inasmuch as they wind up beside each other at pack meetings, and have a joint order at an Italian place that Stiles loves but can’t afford regularly and eats whenever he joins Peter for research at his apartment – and Stiles has seen him with all manner of expressions and yet, this is maybe the most human Peter has ever been.

So he says, “I’m sorry,” and Peter waves his hand.

“It was a long time ago,” Peter says, voice light in a way that Stiles knows means the total opposite. Peter pauses, then adds, “My mother was with them, in the car.”

“Jesus,” Stiles mutters before he can stop himself. “You don’t have to, like, talk about it, or anything, not if you don’t want to.”

“Don’t you want to hear my story, Stiles?”

There’s an edge to his words, somethings Stiles can’t place, which makes him tip up his chin, makes him bristle like he’s been insulted. “Only if you want to tell it,” he says.

And maybe it was the right thing to say, because Peter seems to relax, shoulders no longer hunching forward, and he let’s out a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh under different circumstances. “What’s a little more tragedy between us, right?”

Stiles snorts, and eases into the room, dropping his worry like yesterday’s laundry by the door. There’s still a part of him that’s tense, keyed into every sound, every creak, but he’s not alone; he’s got Peter and, honestly? That’s kind of reassuring.

“I wouldn’t call us tragic.”

“Then what would you call us?”

Stiles shrugs, and blinks and wonders at how everything is full of color, suddenly. “Misplaced, I guess.”

The colors makes his eyes hurt. His head starts throbbing and he misses whatever Peter says when his blood starts rushing loudly through his ears and his fingertips go numb.

It reminds him of coming down from a sugar high as a child.

“Peter,” he says, or thinks he says, thinks he hears himself say, but he’s shaking so hard now he might not have said anything at all.

And then Peter is right there, filling his vision. He’s so close Stiles can feel his breath against his cheek but he’s blurry around the edges. Sort of wobbly.

He swallows, focuses on not throwing up, whines, maybe, and lists forward. “I don’t feel so good.”

“No,” Peter says. “I imagine you don’t. You’ve never Dropped before, have you.”

It’s not a question. Stiles treats it as one, anyway. “Almost once,” he says, and grabs onto Peter’s jacket because that is the only thing not spinning right now

He thinks of a funeral and the wreak of alcohol and the smell of a furious alpha.

Thinks of cold tiles and ambulance sirens and the fuzziness of medication. Thinks of being too young to understand what was happening.

“Oh god,” he groans, doesn’t fully register Peter grabbing him and holding him when he starts to sink down, legs folding beneath him. “Is that what this? This can’t be happening.”

“It’s not ideal,” Peter agrees. The world lurches, sways, making Stiles bury his face in Peter’s jacket, and the next time he resurfaces, it’s to find Peter has taken a seat in the armchair, and arranged Stiles so that he’s curled up his lap, feet free of his shoes, cold toes tucked between Peter’s thigh and the cushions, back pressed against the armrest.

“Just try and relax, sweetheart.”

And something just… slumps, inside him, goes warm and soft.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

Peter hums and Stiles kind of likes how it echoes through his own body, but then Peter is moving, jostling him around, and Stiles latches on, suddenly unbelievably terrified that he’s about to be displaced.

But Peter’s only awkwardly shrugging out of his jacket, which makes a certain amount of sense, being soaked through and all, and deftly flicking open the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest.

Stiles doesn’t even get the chance to appreciate the view before Peter is doing the same to him, shoving off his hoodie, sliding up his t-shirt. The chill is immediate but Peter must’ve found a blanket somewhere and now covers him with it.

Stiles is certain he knows what Peter’s doing, positive he’s read about it, at least, and yet his brain isn’t making sense. His throat is hot, bonding glands feeling swollen and puffy and his limbs basically useless.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Peter says into his ear and Stiles huffs a whine and falls forward into the alpha’s warmth, into his strong grip.

He shoves his nose into alpha’s neck and inhales rapidly. It’s maple syrup and warm blankets, sun-warmed soil with the bitter undertone of expensive coffee and something Stiles can’t name but craves anyway.

He probably isn’t under for longer than an hour. Time passes and his mind… drifts, overcome by instinct and the overwhelming need to feel safe.

It feels like falling asleep, almost, stuck in that in-between where nothing feels real.

Wakefulness returns slowly, seeping in at the edges. He is conscious of Peter’s hands running up his back, of his own hands curled into Peter’s chest. The hint purr building in his chest tickles his throat and makes him blush, knowing how intimate that sort of reaction is, how intimate their position is; an unmated omega alone with an unmated alpha.

His dad would lose his mind if he ever heard of this, which he was never going to if Stiles had anything to do with it.

Aside from their position though, Stiles feels… good. Not better, still a little unsteady, but it isn’t as bad as before.

His fingers don’t feel like little ice-blocks, for one. And he’s no longer shaking like some preteen that accidentally wondered into the horror showing in a cinema, which is wonderful, truly wonderful.

Of course, there is the small matter – very small, certainly not a big deal at all – that he just Dropped for Peter.

Psycho Peter, whom the rest of the pack can’t stand and don’t trust.

Crazy Uncle Peter that pokes and needles until he’s got Derek looking ready to start throwing him through walls again, and drives everybody else insane.

Peter, who…

“Back with me, sweetheart?”

Peter who does things like that. Calls him sweetheart and touches him like he’s something precious, something cared for, instead of a nuisance that’s too loud or too blunt or just too much.

Peter, who’s never mocked him for his dynamic, or put him down for instincts he can’t help. Who always buys him his favorite coffee and orders in Italian food for him and never minds when Stiles just happens to fall asleep on his couch during a research binge because the house is empty and he’s so goddamn tired of being alone.

Peter, whom Stiles is just realizing he might be a little bit in love with, while sitting in his lap.

Talk about inopportune moments.

“… this is so embarrassing,” he mutters, feeling stiff and awkward.

Movement, then Peter’s fingers are tangling through his hair and tugging gently, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Peter is quiet for awhile.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says at last, quietly, like if he says it any louder, the meaning won’t be the same, will transform from something that makes Stiles’s heart stutter and race into something shallow and flippant.

Stiles swallows. “You – you. I, uh.” He was not equipped to handle this kind of conversation. “I am not equipped to handle this kind of conversation.”

“And what conversation would that be?”

Multitudes of snark appeared on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back. Breaths. Tries to get his thoughts in order.

“...you know very well what kind,” he settles on saying.

Peter doesn’t say anything in response to that. He just sighs, turns his head so his nose is in Stiles’s hair, and somehow pulls Stiles closer.

It’s nice. It’s so nice. It’s the kind of nice that should be illegal and after the shitty night he’s had, Stiles is weak for it.

An illicit thrill runs through him when he thinks of what this would be like if Peter was his mate rather than just an alpha that his omega was sweet on… thinks of a soft bed and pillows that smell of both of them… thinks of purring, something he’s never done in front of anybody else before, ever.

“You are very young,” Peter says, sounding pained.

Stiles worries his bottom lip. “I’m eighteen in two weeks,” he whispers, voice hitching. He clears his throat, adds, “Besides. After everything that’s happened, am I really still that young? Are any of us?”

“The pack will never accept it. Derek won’t accept it.”

“So? It’s none of their business. I can do what I want. Just because they don’t personally agree with what I do, doesn’t mean their opinion suddenly matters.”

“And Scott?”

“Scott,” Stiles starts, so sure of what he was going to say only to falter, because… because what if Scott didn’t understand? Derek and the pack were one thing. Stiles felt semi-responsible for them, mostly because he’d helped save all of their lives at some point, and that meant something, you know? But Scott was his brother, they’d grown up together, and Scott still looked at Peter like he was never going to be anything but a spree-killing monster.

He made a helpless sound, frustrated and confused.

Peter soothed him, humming unintelligibly into his hair.

“Let’s not talk about this now. You’re e--”

“If you say I’m emotional, I swear to god I will hurt you.”

“-exhausted. Don’t lie to yourself, you’re running on fumes right now, and I am not a good enough man to let you regret anything else you might say tonight.”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

“Just because you’re being reasonable.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. Now, why don’t you try and get some sleep? The wards won’t let anything through.”

“...why’d it let us through, then?”

“They were once keyed to Hales. You were with me.”

“So… what would’ve happened if I hadn’t been with you?”

“Likely something suitably horrible.”

“Wow, great.”

****

They don’t ever really talk about it. The next day, when the storm’s passed and everything is yellow-wet and sweet, Peter steers them through the Preserve, back to town. They come out two streets over from Stiles’s house.

After… nothing really changes. They spend time together, do things together. Nobody notices. Or, if they do, they don’t say anything. The Sheriff isn’t home enough to notice how often his son is out, and when he is home, Stiles is careful to not make it so blatantly obvious that he’s spending at least three nights a week in a bed that isn’t his. It’s not like he’s trying to hide anything, exactly. Just, he knows his dad, okay? Knows exactly how much he would freak out if he knew what was going on and… well, sue him but he likes what he has now, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

Outside of that, being with Peter and researching and hanging out with the pack, Stiles graduates, and seriously thinks about what he wants to do with the rest of his life, which leads to him hunting down a mage that’s willing to be his mentor in return for free labor and a research assistant and moving halfway across the country.

Peter is with him every step of the way and officially begins courting him on his twentieth birthday.

By his twenty second, they’re mated and back in Beacon Hills and Stiles is incandescently happy with the way his life is going and Peter is leading him through the Preserve after making him promise to keep his eyes closed.

Stiles does, reluctantly.

It’s spring, the day warm and the woods seemingly come to life with bird song and the quick scamper of small animals across the ground.

Peter’s hand is a familiar weight in his, fingers laced together in a way that should be awkward but isn’t and Stiles is busy cursing how no amount of training will ever make him the kind of graceful that means he isn’t always tripping over himself and--

Peter slows them to a stop, and Stiles has the sense that they’ve come to a clearing, sunlight warm on his face.

The air is filled with the subtle scent of flowers and fresh grass and there’s a sort of hush that’s fallen over the place, like even the birds have gone quiet in anticipation.

Peter steps up behind him, presses against his back, arms going around his waist. Stiles relaxes against him, not bothering to hide his smile, or the way his scent goes mellow-sweet.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” Peter tells him, and Stiles does.

His breath catches.

“Oh my god,” he says, staring. He can’t help it. He’s thought of the house often, wondered what it looked like in the daylight. In the months after, he’d even thought of asking Peter to take him out again, show him around, but Peter had never mentioned it, not once, and Stiles had figured that it was one of those things that had too many bad memories to outweigh the good but…

“Peter,” he says. “You…”

“I bought it,” Peter responds. “Fixed it up.” Then, while Stiles is still staring and speechless because the house is beautiful and equal parts Peter’s taste in architecture and Stiles’s taste in color, Peter shifts so he can press a kiss to the bondmark on his neck and says, “Consider this my mating gift to you.”

And Stiles breathes in, trying, and probably failing to contain his excitement, and says, “It’s perfect.”

And you know what? It kind of really is.

#steterweek2020 #Steter Week 2020 #Stiles Stilinski #Peter Hale #steter #omega-verse #A/B/O dynamics #omega stiles #alpha peter #sort of friends to lovers #fluff #unrepentant fluff #idek #it just happened #slave to my impulses #Steter Week Day 5 #visual theme

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stellarcat52 · 4 years

Text

Timeless Blue (chapter one)

Because there’s no way in Arcadia my brain will let this be anything but a multi-chapter slow burn fanfic) (also these will roughly follow the episodes of Wizards with possible missing content and possible added content. Aka I might make up an episode to make our boys happy.) @that-one-bi-wizard Is due for credit.

Douxie approached the House-mothership- of the Akiridion Royals, ringing their doorbell and stepping back.

A glitching Ricky blank opens the door. “You look lost kiddo.”

Douxie peers behind the blank, Krel appears behind him wrestling the other blank to the ground. “I’m just here for the Akiridion royals.”

“It’s just me!” Krel grunts as the blank powers down and Douxie steps inside. “Aren’t you the guy from the cafe?”

“Yes, but I’m not here because of that. The world is in danger, and I need you to come with me,” Douxie shot straight to the point.

“Kleb, again?” Douxie nods, causing the Akiridion to cross his four arms. “Fine. Give me a sekton.” Krel pulls out his serrator and shoots down the blank who had opened the door. “I’ll deal with your faulty programming later.”

Douxie watches as Krel’s blue form dissipates into his human disguise and motions for the extraterrestrial to follow him.

“So, why is Earth in danger this time?” Krel asks as he catches up to the wizard, eying his magical cuff with interest as Douxie messes with it.

Douxie pauses in front of the bookstore, looking up at Krel as Archie, AAARRRGGHH, Steve, and Toby round the corner.

“-the world’s ending. Again?” Toby complains.

“Not the best timing, I know. But we need your help all the same.”

“Douxie? Wait-hold up! I thought you worked at the cafe or were a model or something.”

Krel watched with great interest as Douxie finished messing with his cuff as Steve reacted. Douxie then chuckles and waves his hand in front of Arcadia’s guardians and a small blue wisp appears on his fingertips. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

The other’s reactions to Douxie’s magic is background noise, however Krel doesn’t hold back his own gasp in wonder at the display.

The wizard places his hand to the door and more blue light, unfamiliar to the Akiridion, appears around his wrist. “The answers to all your questions lie within.” He opens the door to the ordinary bookshop and everyone steps inside, Krel last of everyone aside from Archie and Douxie.

All of the non-wizards gasp and exclaim in curiousuty and wonder as the ordinary appearing bookstore turns into a magical study by stepping inside. A swirl of objects levitated by green magic travel across the room, sorting and containing themselves without being touched.

“Seklos and Gaylen. What is making them move?” Krel reaches out and touches a book, trying to hold onto it with one hand before it is whisked away from his touch.

“Put that down.”

In his moment of distracted wonder, Krel alongside the others, hadn’t noticed Merlin step into view. Toby let’s go of the strange orb in the corner of Krel’s eye.

“Thank the ether you’re here. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

“Woah! Crusty, creepy dude!”

“I believe the term is ‘geezer’.” Krel attempts to correct Steve, still wondering how Aja likes him.

Their attention snaps back to Merlin. “I had hoped for more Hisirdoux.”

“I tried!” Douxie threw his hands out in defense. “I couldn’t find the Changelings or the other Aliens!”

“Akiridions.” Steve and Krel correct Douxie immediately.

Krel steps forwards. “My sister is unavailable, being a royal on Akiridion-5.” He crosses his arms in annoyance.

As Toby and Steve loudly announce themselves to Merlin, Douxie switches from watching them making fools of themselves, Krel waiting patiently to get some answers, and the objects Merlin appeared to be packing.

“I have no idea who you are,” Merlin brushes Steve away, Douxie and Krel flinch as the flying chest hits him. “But we’re desperate. Thankfully we have the brute.”

Eyes turn to AAARRRGGHH, who is currently taste testing Archie, and being met with the instant consequences. Douxie is familiar with the pain of being scratched by Archie.

“Wait, where’s Jimbo and Claire? I thought they were with you.” Toby questions, acknowledging his friends should be there.

“Answers forthcoming.” Merlin hastily answers. “Make preparations, we’ve a journey ahead of us. And don’t-“ he turns directly at Douxie.

“But master!”

“-but master me.” Merlin turns back to his things.

“But are you sure you want to entrust things to these-“ he gestures to the four, “these children?”

“Hey!” Krel interrupts. “I am no child.”

“Next to me? You are.” Douxie shoots a slight glare at Krel.

“Aren’t you in college?” Toby stops and questions.

“They clearly are not ready for this.” Douxie continues to protest.

It was Steve’s turn to add something. “Excuse me college dude, these /children/ fought a 50 foot extraterrestrial god, and won.”

Merlin sighs and Douxie follows him away from the display that Steve and Toby had caused.

“Master I am ready for this.” He pushes, looking for that small bit of validation.

He was shot down with one word. “Doubtful.”

“I’ve spent years studying, practicing-!”

“Silence!” Douxie quiets At Merlin’s command and Krel pauses in his exploration of the enchanted shop. Toby and Steve don’t seem to be capable of doing so until Merlin specifies all of them should be quiet. “Can you not hear that?”

Only after everyone shook their heads does a deep rumbling fill the void.

“Something wicked this way comes.” Merlin mutters.

Various noises fill the rooms and the team prepares for a battle, stances shift, weapons are revealed, and Merlin and Douxie grow tense as they watch the windows.

With an attack to the window, a crowd of Shadow Mephits comes to attention swarming the street.

“Shadow mephits? Hisirdoux did you lead them here?” An accusation Douxie immediately denies.

“I mean, I don’t think so?” He chuckles.

“Yes, we did.” Archie confirms.

“He found us,” Merlin mumbles. “The barrier won’t hold for long, we must make egress. Tobias! Take my things.” With a swoop of Merlin’s hand, his chest goes flying into Toby’s chest and carries him upwards.

The Shadow Mephits break through the barrier and Merlin calls for the others to get to safety, an order Douxie ignores and Krel hesitates before following.

“Hisirdoux, I said get to safety!” Merlin calls as he and Douxie go back to back, getting surrounded by the creatures.

“I’ve got this, I can help!” Douxie responds.

Krel can’t hear the rest of the conversation as he follows the others up to the roof where Shadow Mephits are being fought off by Toby and AAARRRGGHH. Krel joins them with his serrator, shooting as many as he can before Merlin and Douxie join them.

“Stay back.” The sounds of glass follows the warning and a glowing ship appears where the orb had shattered.

“Woah.”

“Great Seklos and Gaylen.”

“Ship just got real.”

“Get in!” Douxie calls and AAARRRGGHH starts throwing people inside, only jumping on himself once everyone else was aboard.

“What in Seklos’ name is going on?” Asks Krel as soon as Douxie blasts the Shadow Mephits off of AAARRRGGHH. Douxie, however is preoccupied watching the green knight below.

A volley of black and green shards hit the sides of the ship and causing everyone to duck or fall over. The ship zips away into the sky and the group takes a moment to breathe.

“I will only repeat myself once more, Cafe boy. What is going on?” Krel puts away his Serrator as the others are watching Camelot come into view.

“Everything will be explained soon young squire.” Merlin responds for Douxie.

“What the old man said, for now, we’re going home. Welcome to Camelot.” Douxie gazes at the floating towers he once called home.

“Cam-ee-lot?” Krel searches his memory of school for the word.

“Camelot, as in old people time Camelot?”

“With the king and the Excalibur sword?” Krel asks, remembering something from stories.

“Excuse me, how is this castle flying?” Steve yells as they get closer to the heart of Camelot.

“The heart of Camelot, fueled by time itself.” Merlin steps back from the side of the ship in order to steer them towards the top. “Sir Galahad, how are the skies?” He calls to a large man below them.

“All quiet, my old friend.” Comes the reply.

“Keep your eye on the horizon!” Merlin calls back as the ship circles down and starts speeding towards the entrance.

Archie tightens his hold on the ship. “Coming in a little hot, I’d say.”

The landing was rough but nobody was hurt, Steve cheers as he hops off of the ship and the group looks around as the walk deeper into Camelot.

“It’s been nine hundred years since I was last here, hasn’t changed a bit, except for the flying part.” Douxie says to Archie who perches on his shoulder.

Steve scoffs, “nine hundred years? Yeah right, you’re like nineteen.”

“Give or take a few centuries.” Archie lifts off a flies around the room.

Krel nods. “Appearances can be deceiving. Akiridions mature much slower than humans as well.”

“What? Aja isn’t as old as this guy, is she?”

Krel rolls his eyes, “Yes, Aja and I are 900 keltons old.” Steve looked about ready to faint. “Of course we aren’t that old! Time is a little different on Akiridion-5 but neither of us would be older than 50 earth years old, had we been born here. We live much longer than you humans so that makes us similar to earth’s teenagers.”

Steve still seemed ready to pass out.

“Toby!” Claire cries from across the room, running towards her friend.

“Blinky!”

AAARRRGGHH, Blinky, Claire, and Toby envelop each other in a group hug, ending when Claire insisted she needed to breathe.

“Krel!” The sorceress embraces the extraterrestrial being too. “Sorry, but I think the end of the world is going to postpone girl’s night.”

“Wait- girls night? Krel was invited but I wasn’t? He doesn’t even have a girlfriend!” Steve complains.

“Oh. Hi Steve.” Claire unenthusiastically waves at him. “Yes, Krel is invited because it’s fun talking about cute boys with him.”

“Uh, where’s Jim?” Toby interrupts, sure enough Jim wasn’t around to meet his friends. “And what happened to you guys?”

“About that...”

Blinky and Claire lead the group to a room where a semi-transparent crystal encases Jim, preserving his life by slowing the corruption infecting him.

Krel onlooks as Merlín explains what happened, and Claire voices her regrets. Never wishing that humans had cores like Akiridions more than he was in that moment.

“Who is this green knight? How do I get my hands on him?” Toby threatens.

“We should focus more on saving the Trollhunter rather than getting revenge,” Krel adds. “However, it would be good to know who we are up against.”

“I do not know. He said but one name that chilled me to the bone, Morgana.”

“Ooh I hate that witch. But we kicked her but to the shadow realm. Problem solved, everyone can go home.” Toby hastily spoke.

Douxie groans. “You saw what that knight did at the bookstore, even if he were looking for Morgana I don’t think it’s his sole purpose.”

“The knight did not seem aware of Morgana’s death, and he bore the emblem of Camelot.” Merlin ushered the group out into the open, leading them to another space. “Hurry, I fear the answers lie in the past.”

“Merlin, you are from Camelot, no? Shouldn’t you have an idea of who this could be?” Krel asked.

“A good point, but no. There were plenty of knights in Camelot but none that were green, or evil, or had any connection to Morgana that would follow them beyond the grave.” Douxie answered for his master, getting a strange look from Krel and Toby. “What? I was there too you know.”

“I still cannot believe you’re older than Nana.”

“Actually Hisirdoux, the Akiridion has a point. This dark menace is approaching, and all I know of it is that even I cannot face this alone.” Merlin opens the time map, “You are all now soldiers in a war started centuries ago, for the world of magic.”

The time map projects scenes from the past as Merlin continues. “Once the realms of magic and man clashed in endless bloodshed. King Arthur sought to wipe out magic that ravaged the lands in his war against Gunmar. I brought what few spellcasters I could under my protection to spare them from the sword.

“Including myself,” Douxie adds before the map showed a different figure. “Oh! And Morgana le Fay.”

“She was the finest student I ever taught.. until she tried to kill me.” Merlin sighed. “Thankfully, in my all seeing wisdom I created a secret weapon- the Trollhunter amulet. The war came to a standstill and I imprisoned Morgana at the battle of Killahed Bridge. This green knight that assailed us was clearly born of dark magicks but I have no memory of him, nor what connection he could have to Morgana. We know not what he is, not why he pursues us. Though, his presence is a dire omen of things to come.”

In the distance the bell starts ringing. A wave of magical ice hits the tower, knocking everyone down and freezing the exterior. Merlin gets up and grabs the time map as Claire calls out.

“What’s happening.”

“Have you never been under attack before? To the battlements!”

The wizards and trollhunters rush to defend and Krel takes a moment to reveal his Akiridion Royal self before joining them, leaving Steve to lag behind for a minute.

“What the-“

“Oh no. I think we have something of a problem.” Archie points out the obvious as the Arcane Order’s ship comes into view, carrying Bellroc and Skrael, as well as the green knight, inside.

“Oh fuzz buckets.”

“No, the Arcane Order, they found us. Everyone! Get to safety, now!” Merlin calls to the guardians as Skrael shoots a spell at the master wizard, who responds with a spell of his own before Skrael’s attack blasts his staff away from him.

“I got it!” Archie calls as he dives after it.

Krel watches as the dragon dives and misses the staff, leaping onto his hoverboard in an attempt to help, as well as avoid the various bombarding attacks from the Order.

“They’re boarding us!” Merlin calls from above. “We must break free, steer us away at my command.”

“I’m on it!” Douxie responds before another shot of ice hits the castle.

Krel focuses on finding the staff, covering as much as he can while Archie gets a view from even higher up. “Find the staff or we’re dead meat!” Is all Krel has to hear before he starts blasting at the ice bridges with his Serrator, buying Archie more time to find Merlin’s staff.

“Got it!”

Krel joins the fray as Galahad sacrifices himself to destroy the bridges between Skrael and Merlin. He joins Claire, Steve, and Hisirdoux with his Serrator in hand in case they needed to be protected.

“We don’t have enough power for the jump!”

“Trust in Merlin.”

“Why would I trust someone I just met?”

“He’s a master wizard Krel. He must have a plan.” Douxie’s response got an eye roll from the Akiridion. “Fine then, trust in me.”

A rush of magic allows the time jump to be operational, Krel helping his friends as they steer the castle into the rift.

Krel notices as the Green Knight comes into view and as he, Bellroc, and Skrael fire their energy forwards, he activated his shield in case it was needed.

The magic struck the castle, sending Douxie, Claire, and Jim down immediately. Steve and Krel held on for as long as they could above, Krel almost being successful in pulling himself up at the sacrifice of his shielding serrator, but both fell as well.

“Jim!” Krel landed on top of the stone Steve was clutching onto as Jim fell into the portal below.

“What do we do?!”

“Trust me!” Douxie looks at Krel, who nods, then takes Claire’s hand.

“Wait! No no no!”

Douxie drops down, following Jim, and brings Claire with him. Krel grabs Steve by the shirt and does the same. Archie dives to follow them, but reaches it just as it closes.

Part two!

#krel x douxie #drel #krelxie #douxel #krouxie #hisirdoux #douxie #3 below #tales of arcadia #krel is a gaylien #douxie has been gay since the twelfth century #should i call this that?#toa wizards #tales of arcadia wizards #timeless blue fic

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savannahsdrabbles · 3 years

Text

Ocean Song - Part 10/11

Rating: PG

notes: 2.9k words. A03 link can be found here. I can’t believe I’m almost done with this fic! <3 Big thanks again to my beta-readers, @starfiretheninja and @rusty-wayfarer.

ALSO! I posted character references of the boys here, and @bakedbananners over on Twitter drew them! <33 I may or may not have cried. <3 OK! Now on with the fic! :D

***

“Ay-puh-ril, nicetumeetchu Dawn-ee, Cay-see. I Don-ee, Cay-see, Ahpril nicetumeetchu,” the turtle hummed softly under his breath, still rolling the words over and over in his mouth. He squinted, brown eyes straining to focus in the dim light as he used a claw to trace abstract patterns in the dirt. It had been at least thirty minutes since Casey’s departure, and with their main light source being the soft glow from April’s phone, the two unlikely comrades had settled into a quiet reverie beneath the pine trees. “Don Dun Dunntello Don Dondon Dawn-ee… April?”

“Yes, Donnie?” April glanced down at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, her teeth working impatiently on her already cracked and sore lower lip. When the screen only blinked back a warning of low battery, she tucked the device into her pocket and drew her knees to her chest. It was getting chilly out – hopefully Casey was doing okay without his hoodie.

“Cay-see go?”

“Mh-hm. Remember? Casey went to rent a boat, and then you’re going to guide us so that we can take you home.” She cast her eyes sideways, watching as Donnie furrowed his brow and bobbed his head to show he was listening. “Right now we’re just waiting until he texts and says that the boat is ready.”

“Tehks?”

“Yup,” April tapped the phone-shaped outlined in her pocket, then bit her lip and mumbled a silent prayer that he didn’t ask for a further explanation of technology and digital communication – she’d had a difficult enough time explaining that to her grandparents. “Until then, we’ve just got to wait here.”

The turtle tilted his head and squinted at her pocket for a long moment, his expression clearly saying that he had more questions, but finally nodded and turned back to his doodles. “Bōto o matsu.”

April blinked.

Bōto o… wait for boat? Okay, so not only had he understood, but he understood enough to respond in another language. Cool, cool, okay.

She brought a hand to the bridge of her nose and squeezed, trying to ignore the migraine that had been building behind her eyes over the past few hours. How in the …? She knew he’d used a few Japanese phrases when they had first spoken in the lab, and logically she knew that living in Japan that would be the language he was most exposed to – but in the same vein, none of this made any logical sense. What kind of person could imagine a multilingual, anthropomorphic mutant turtle, accept that as fact, and then continue about their day?

Before her brain could wander any farther down that trail of thought– what next? Aliens? Superheroes? - April felt her phone buzz and heaved a grateful sigh of relief. “That should be Casey – time to get moving!”

The turtle perked up, his head swiveling like a periscope to search the surrounding shadows. “Where-?”

His question was cut off as April surged to her feet, her hands carefully grasping and guiding him upwards alongside her. The turtle yelped in surprise and grabbed for handfuls of her top once upright, wobbling slightly as he tried to balance himself.

“Here – Casey’s hoodie is going to help keep you covered, okay?” April reached down to grab the jacket from the ground, bundled it up in her hands and then gestured for the turtle to raise his arms. He did so reluctantly, then yelped once more as she quickly pulled the material over his head and began to guide his arms through the fabric. “There likely won’t be too many people out at the marina on a school night, but we want to make sure we don’t draw any extra attention – plus there’s plenty of security cameras out there and it’ll be impossible to completely avoid those.”

“Mmmf!” Was Donnie’s only response, his arms starting to pinwheel frantically before April caught hold of them. A stretch of the hoodie’s neckline had gotten caught on the turtle’s snout, partially obscuring his eyes and totally covering his mouth. April adjusted the fabric with a chuckle, freeing the creature from his polyester prison, and then took a step back to examine her work.

Even compared to her relatively average five and a half feet, Donatello was short – if she had to guess, he probably wasn’t any taller than four foot ten. Considering that the hoodie he now wore was made to fit Casey’s nearly six foot self, it was hard not to see the turtle as a toddler playing dress up in his parents’ clothing. The way that the fabric hung and draped over his body made him look even smaller, if that were possible; should he sit down, he might get lost amongst the apparel. Were it not for the glinting metal collar around his neck and the look of growing discomfort on his face, April would have thought he looked ready to curl up in bed.

“Hmmm,” Donnie hummed pensively, clearly not feeling the comfort that April was perceiving. The turtle gave his fabric-obscured hands a hard shake, eyes wide and increasingly nervous noises emanating from his mouth as he rapidly rotated his limbs in search of his missing appendages.

April giggled and started to step forward to help him roll up the sleeves, but then held back when a quiet voice in her mind chided. Let’s see if he can figure this out.

Donnie glanced up with a piteous whine, looking as if he had her thoughts and realized she wasn’t coming to his rescue, then hesitated. April could almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he stared at her rolled sleeves and free hands, then turned back to his own predicament. After a brief moment of thought and one more comparative look, the turtle raised an arm to his mouth and bit down on the sleeve, then gently tugged until his hand slowly slipped free.

“Hoo-dee!” he chirped triumphantly, holding up his free hand and waving it in delight.

“Right, you’re wearing a hoodie!” April grinned, then reached around the turtle to guide the hood over the back of his head. He didn’t seem to mind now, attention already turning back to the process of freeing his second hand. “We’d better keep the hood up for now, but look at us! Just two normal teens on the beach!”

The turtle’s eyes lit up at her last word. He dropped his sleeve in surprise, then turned to point a claw in the direction Casey had disappeared. “Beach!”

“Yup! Now let’s get you home!”

***

Donnie’s heart pounded as he stumbled along behind April, her warm hand holding him steady as the ground beneath them slowly transitioned from poky greens to the tan, shifting sands he knew so well. He’d been able to hear the ocean for a while now, but the moment they pushed through the last bushes and stepped out onto the beach - suddenly everything felt real. The cool, moist air, the promise of water and food and Home and his family – he was so close!

With every step towards the illuminated Human structures in the distance, he felt the urge building in his system – the desire to break loose from April’s gentle guidance and take off running towards the ocean. A familiar tugging sensation pulled incessantly at the back of his mind, calling out in the voices of Father and his brothers.

“This way, Clever, this way! Almost there! Almost Home!”

Their voices were like a siren’s song, beckoning him closer and closer with promises of healing and reassurances that he would soon be safe in their arms.

A breathless half-sob caught in his throat, and he swallowed thickly before trilling in response, his voice echoing out across the beach. “Wait for me; I’m coming! I’ll be Home soon!”

No sooner had the call left his mouth when April shook his hand gently, calling his attention back to the situation before them. He sighed and slowly drug his eyes away from the shore. As much as he wanted to release April’s hand and take off running… something told him that he needed to wait and stay with the two Humans. They had gotten him this far, and if the danger was imminent enough that he and Brothers were going to have to relocate…

“It looks like there’s a few people out on the marina, but I think we’re good,” April spoke in a low voice as she gestured towards the fast-approaching structures with her free hand. Two rows of buildings stood tall amongst the rolling dunes, serving as a departure from the otherwise untouched beach. Sand made way for a long wooden platform that served as the buildings’ foundations and stretched almost a mile out into the ocean. “My dad brought me down to the pier a few times when we first moved to Osaka - it’s pretty fun during the daytime. There’s a few shops and restaurants out on the board walk, and during the summer they host a carnival.”

Donnie nodded absently, his focus already drifting back out across the ocean. “Casey?”

“We’re almost to him. His text said that he was under the –”

A long, shrill whistle suddenly cut through the air, followed by a loud ‘YO!’ that snapped Donnie back to attention. He startled slightly, the sharp movement shaking the hood from his head and sending it sliding down his shoulders.

April heaved a sigh.

“And that would be the Master of Subtlety himself.” Even without looking, Donnie could imagine the way that the girl’s eyes were rolling and her shoulders slouching. He’d seen that exasperated look – and worn it – whenever his brothers did something foolish. With a sigh and a tug on his hand, April headed towards a shadow-y area tucked under the edge of the pier. “Come on.”

The turtle nodded obediently, his pace quickening and heart fluttering they moved closer towards the shoreline.

***

“You know, the point of texting was supposed to be that we kept quiet,” April called out as they approached the pier. She squinted, searching the shadows until they slowly began to give way to separate, more distinct shapes. “You could have at least waited until we got closer before you let the whole beach know where you were.”

“I wanted to make sure that you guys found me,” Casey replied, his voice already sounding smug– clearly a sign that he was up to something. There was a soft grunt as he pushed against one of the pier’s support beams, and then he and the boat slid out of the shadows.

April opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed her eyes. The headache from earlier was returning. “Casey – what in the world is that?”

“Oh, you mean this beauty?” the teenage boy patted the side of the boat, an impish grin on his face, and then threw out his arms as the tiny, rust-ridden vehicle slowly began to tip towards the right. He flailed wildly for a moment, water splashing as the boat continued to rock from side to side, then finally froze with arms outstretched in a T-pose. “Er – she’ll be much more steady once you guys get in and help distribute the weight.”

“Mh-hm.” April cocked an eyebrow. “I can deal with unsteady; I’m more concerned about getting tetanus, or that thing sinking the second I put one foot in.”

“Yeah, well apparently it’s pretty expensive to rent a nice boat to go ‘somewhere in the ocean’ and come back ‘at some point’,” Casey stuck his tongue out, but kept his arms outstretched. “The shop owner guy looked like he wanted to kick me out more than anything, but I managed to make a deal with him. Apparently they were planning to send this boat to the scrap yard tomorrow morning, so the Jonesman – that’s me - offered to take it off of their hands and save them a trip.” Casey moved to fold his arms across his chest, but then threw them out once more as the boat rolled beneath him. “I was – oh boy, one sec – thinking of naming it the O’Neilmobile, but with that attitude I just might have to reconsider.”

“How will I ever deal with such a loss?”

“I guess Jonesmobile: The Squeakquel will have to do.”

“Casey.”

“It’s Captain Casey now.”

“I’m not calling you that– do you think that thing will stay afloat with all of us? Maybe we should rethink our plans –”

Suddenly and without warning, Donatello dropped April’s hand and surged forward.

“Don-?”

The turtle stumbled heavily as he cleared last few feet of sand, clearly too frantic to think out his steps, but the moment his claws touched foam something seemed to click inside.

“Water – look! Water-water-home!” Breathless words and excited sounds spilled from his lips like a pot bubbling over, coming quick and fast and soon dissolving into a symphony of hums and noises that April could only think to call laughter. He tipped his head back, eyes closed and body shaking with the sounds as he kicked and frolicked through the surf, sending salt water splashing in every direction. “Beach-water-Family-water-water-Home!”

April cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, half afraid that his mirth would attract unwanted attention, but Casey waved the thought off.

“Just… give him a minute,” he smiled, eyes following the turtle as he danced amongst the waves. “I think he needs this.”

April hesitated, but she couldn’t help the smile growing on her face, nor the relieved laugh she gave as Donnie turned towards to them. He grinned widely, eyes shimmering, and then flopped backwards into the water.

“Look! Look water!” His chest heaved as he laughed breathlessly. “Water!”

“I’m happy for you, Bud,” Casey said, nudging the edge of the pier once more so that the boat drifted closer. “We’re so close to getting you home.”

The turtle nodded and laughed again, then pushed himself up into a sitting position. Rivulets of water ran down either side of his face, congregating under his chin and then dripping down to the already soaked hoodie that now hung heavily from his shoulders. He gave a slight shake of his head, sending droplets skittering across the water’s surface, and then lifted a hand to pat his chest. “Donnie.”

Casey cocked his head, eyes sliding to April. “Donnie?”

“It’s short for Donatello,” she smiled and held out her hand towards the turtle. He stood and took it gratefully, eyes gleaming with renewed energy and more life than ever before. With a little tug, she drew him alongside her and stepped closer to the boat. “He needed a special name.”

“Kind of a hard name for someone just learning English,” Casey leaned down to grab a few items from the bottom of the boat and then shifted backwards to give them more room. “I was thinking something more along the lines of ‘Bill’ or ‘Casey Junior’.”

“Pfft - as if,” April held the edge of the boat steady as Donnie scrambled over the side, then plopped himself by Casey’s feet. When the boat didn’t immediately capsize under the weight of a second passenger, she pulled herself in and settled on the bench seat opposite Casey. Now that she was actually in the boat, tucked beside the two guys she was on this adventure with… it suddenly didn’t seem so cruddy. No, this boat was just right for what they needed. “Hey – did you get life vests?”

Casey turned to face the motor and straddled his seat, the movement causing the boat to rock dangerously. “Naw, we’ll be in the boat the whole time, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Plus you and Donnie can swim.”

“Wait – can you not?”

“And off we go!”

The engine took a moment to roll over as Casey tugged on the pull cord, but eventually started with a loud roar that sent Donnie scrambling for safety against April’s legs. She reached down and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then they were off! The little boat began to power forward at a steady speed – not as fast as she would have liked, but enough so that April’s hair began to tangle around her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, spitting a strand out of her mouth and suddenly wishing that she’d brought a hair tie.

“Here – take this!” Casey called over the sound of the engine. April opened one eye, then grinned when she saw what Casey offering. “Coach said I’m only allowed to keep my hair long if I pull it back during practice, so I always have extra rubber bands on hand!”

“Thanks!” April took the present gratefully and quickly pulled her hair back into a tight bun. Now that that problem was solved… “By the way – did you end up grabbing food like you mentioned?”

The boy’s eyes lit up, and he bent down to grab the objects he’d moved to make room for Donnie. “Oh, yeah! I hit up the McDonald’s on the board walk right before I went to the boat place. I asked the cashier what she suggested for my ‘pet turtle’ and she said suggested a head of lettuce. They were out of that at the moment though, so…” He passed a brown paper sack to April, and then extended a small box to the turtle. “Donnie, can you say ‘chicken nuggets?’”

“Chih nuddets.”

#savannah drabbles #sea turtles au #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt fanfiction #april o'neil #casey jones #tmnt donnie

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slimysnaildaddy · 4 years

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if the brothers were dating chaotic mc, poly or not, what do you think would be their favorite ~couple activities~ to do with them? (Except MC probably gets even worse once they’re comfortable enough with you to be dating lol)

Lmfao you are completely right on MC getting so much worse when they’re actually dating. Chaos does not sleep! Except in designated nap times with one of their snuggly infernal boyfriends, of course.

Lucifer:

I think that something they would do together commonly, even if it isn’t their favorite, is to just have MC hang out in Lucifer’s bedroom or study while he’s working. MC can pass the time by playing games or reading or something, as long as it’s not overly boisterous and distracting. Of course, if they think Lu-Lu is getting overworked or burned out, they’ll get up and start trying to get him away even for a little bit. They are very persuasive. This arrangement is also good because Lucifer is such a workaholic that he often forgets to eat, so MC can bring him food whenever they get hungry. Once they get closer, MC discovers that Lucifer definitely does not mind if they pull up a chair close to him and lean against him/hug him. And they might even be permitted to sit on his lap if he’s feeling especially cuddly (which he is most of the time but he won’t say anything, Repressed Prideful Man that he is).

Of course, Lucifer’s favorite thing to do with MC is taking them out on extra fancy dates. Usually a standard nice dinner date (which just so happens to be at the most luxurious restaurants he can find, what a coincidence!) and whatnot. Sue him for wanting to show off a little. Is he showing off himself or his, in his expert but silent opinion, truly impressive and wonderful partner? The answer is yes.

Mammon:

Whatever’s free. And super couple-y, but don’t expect him to admit that easily. He’s more than content to just hang out in bed with them and play shitty mobile games with them, but he’s also plenty happy to take them out to casinos or clubs and show them off as arm candy. This does occasionally lead to him feeling the need to defend MC’s honor though, cause some demons just do not understand the concept of leaving the humans alone. He keeps forgetting MC’s palm of fury. It works on face cheeks just as effectively as it does on asscheeks. And then he has to do damage control sometimes, which mostly consists of telling the offending demon exactly who the hell they’re fucking with and “Leave my human ALONE or I will tear you a new asshole”. MC is so proud of him, but they can do their own asshole-tearing, thank you very much.

But above all else, this guy is a cuddler. He will just go into their room and flop down by them and sidle closer and closer until they get the message. He can cuddle for hours if he wants. This also includes a lot of just chatting about shit and occasionally (re: regularly) complaining about his brothers. Also give him headpats or you’re a meanie.

Leviathan:

Literally just hang out in his room and game/watch anime/etc with him and he is in Heaven. Figuratively, of course. He’s pretty sure he’s not allowed back in the Celestial Realm.

However, he will also love to go to cons or book signings or releases with MC. Also occasionally requires damage control, because some otakus can be really wild and MC is the Ass Slapper and not the Ass Slap-ee.

If no one else is home but him and MC, he might crawl out of his room to stretch out in the parlor or something with his handheld games and MC is welcome to join him. Pretty please. I mean, they don’t HAVE to, but it would. Y’know. Be kinda nice to have someone to chat with. 👉👈

Satan:

One of his favorite things to do with MC is to curl up together and read or watch something. Of course, it’s next to impossible to get them to stay still for very long (Please refer to Tickled Pink chapter 4 lmfao) so that doesn’t always go well. That’s fine, he doesn’t mind treating MC to a cafe date once in a while. Preferably at an animal cafe. With cats. That you can pet. Though a library or aquarium or museum is also on the cards, as long as they promise to not cause any chaos. They always say “no promises”, which is a promise in and of itself. Satan doesn’t mind too much when the chaos inevitably happens, though.

Asmodeus:

What doesn’t he like to do with MC? He’ll take them shopping, go out on cutesy dates, hang out in his room and do couples’ makeovers, take them to spas, etc. He’s also a big fan of making out on the dining room table, kitchen counters, end tables, and staircase banisters where everyone else gets to watch. “Gets to” being his phrasing, not his brothers’. He sort of waves dismissively at Lucifer when told that they will be cleaning the poor furniture thoroughly and goes back to what he was doing.

He prefers to be the one being lifted up and sat on the tables/counters/banisters, by the way. Makes him feel special. Besides, he’s skinny enough to not be super heavy.

I don’t think I need to tell you his absolute favorite couples’ activity. This is a SFW blog. You already know. Use your imagination.

Beelzebub:

He likes to get them to work out with him, even knowing full well they’re potentially just gonna lay on the floor with their D.D.D. and stare at his muscles. He doesn’t mind. It’s nice to be appreciated, y’ know? There is an unspoken understanding between him and MC that he can totally hear the camera shutter noises coming from their direction. And the recording beep.

He also likes going out to eat with them, or ordering food in so they can hang out and have a big feast in their room. There have been many cases of them making their order and getting comments about how big of a party they must be having, and MC going like. “Haha, yeah... There’s like. 25 people coming.” and then whispering “minus 23″ at Beel with a wink. One time they were like “Nah it’s just me and Beelzebub” and the person taking the order was like “OHHH WORD OKAY ONE GLUTTONY SPECIAL COMING UP”.

They have been kicked out of buffets, and it’s refreshing to Beel that it’s only his appetite’s fault about 50% of the time. Listen, MC saw the chocolate fountain and just HAD to. Okay. They just had to!

MC once specifically made some super long spaghetti just to re-enact that Lady and the Tramp scene. Many makeouts were had that day, but MC did end up with a bleeding lip when Beel tasted sauce on them. Oops. He still feels bad about it.

Belphegor:

Listen. Belph just wants to nap half the time. Okay, more than half, but whatever. That doesn’t matter. MC is a comfortable cuddle buddy. A bit squirmy for his tastes, but comfortable. And they’re his now. So he figures that he can just seek them out and snuggle up to them and fall asleep right there whenever he wants. Yes, that includes standing up. Or in the middle of a conversation. MC is talking to Lucifer about some important exchange student stuff, being a diligent person for once? Suddenly Belphie. Wrapped around them like a koala. And snoring softly into their ear while he snuggles into their neck. That counts as a couples’ activity, right? Right.

MC and him start a challenge, and that challenge is Who Can Find The Dumbest Places To Nap. It’s not a challenge they discussed, it’s just something that happened. MC wins, but only because they got Asmo to fly them up to a chandelier with the promise of a kiss later. It’s a Hershey's kiss, though. They had some weird pressure marks when they got up. And some weirder bruises when they fell off the damn thing and landed on a gargoyle.

Let me know if you want me to do the undateables! This was fun as hell to think about.

#obey me #om lucifer #om mammon #om leviathan #om satan #om asmo #om beel #om belphie #asks

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petermorwood · 4 years

Text

Dialect speech in phonetic spelling Y/N?

What follows about phonetic writing is very much IMO, and YMMV.

Some - including a number of professional writers - think it’s a good way to represent non-standard speech. I don’t like it (my preference is for describing how it sounds to in-story listeners, and messing about with tense and syntax) because too often it seems to skate along the edge of mocking poor people / under-educated people / foreign people / people who aren’t us, and the rest of the time it’s a pain in the neck to write or to read.

Like I say, YMMV.

----------

Trying to represent how someone sounds “bah rahtin’ th’ nawses dahn lahk theeyus” in a welter of misspellings and apostrophes gets really old, really fast. It’s awkward to write and can turn readers off with amazing speed. And that’s before you start adding dialect words that need to be explained, slowing everything up even further...

I was born and raised in Northern Ireland, and though I don’t have the accent any more I can “do” a generic version, turning the name of the place into “Norn Iron”.

It’s a harsh, flat, slightly glottal, slightly nasal sound, and since for 30+ years that accent was associated almost entirely with hard-nosed politics and daily violence, its harder urban variants still seem better suited to abuse and threats than endearments.

Add some dialect words, turn the accent up to eleven, and you come out with some very odd noises indeed - which, by the way, may sound completely different 20 miles away because Ireland has got LOTS of accents.

----------

This one is a bit of a mish-mash between urban and rural, and might fit somewhere in the County Antrim countryside northwest of Belfast. Or maybe not; it’s been 45 years since I was in the language lab at Queens...

English: “I fell in the ditch and got covered with that foul sticky mud at the bottom; I’m going to take a while about cleaning up.”

Norn Eyrish: “Ah feyull un th’ shucch an’ goah’t covvurd un glaar; Ah’m goanty speyund an ar un thuh par shar.”

Writing that “in-accent” without deliberate misspellings is a bit of a challenge, but isn’t impossibly so. Describing it using the sound or flow descriptor + dialect descriptor + origin location + regional reference + pronunciation description is going to be more of a challenge, but again, not impossible.

For reference: shucch / sheugh (it ends with a clearing-the-throat noise like winding up for a good spit) and glaar / glaur are both Ulster Scots and come from rural roots - few townies need a special word for the drainage ditch around a field, or the clinging silt and manure-slurry that collects in the bottom. Speaking of bottoms, “sheugh” can also mean bum-crack or buttock-cleavage, though how you’d work that into conversation is your own affair. A par shar is just a power shower that’s been installed in Northern Ireland.

See TVTropes “Funetik Aksent” for lots more detail on representing a furren langwidge or reedjnal dylekt by misspelling English.

George Macdonald Fraser did it a lot, and though he was very good, the catch was needing to have heard the original first - lower-class Glasgow, plantation-era Dixie, rural Northumbrian and so on - so as to know what sounds the weird spellings were meant to imitate. IMO he overdid it, and only got away with it because of who he was. Much of the dialogue in his last book “The Reavers” is almost impenetrable; though meant to be funny it falls flat because it’s (a) monotonous and (b) too much effort to slog through. (Yet again IMO and YMMV.)

----------

Just for fun, here’s Patrick Stewart reciting a little doggerel poem in his native Huddersfield Yorkshire accent and dialect, and my attempt to write down then translate what he was saying. It’s amazing how much funnier the dialect version sounds, even if you don’t understand some of it.

“Ee, it wor laik suppin ot led...”

#writing #writing accents #writing accents phonetically #hard to read

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stay-midnight · 3 years

Note

Yeah it’s like bore gee actually my bad. Yeah it’s cause in Italian the I and E kinda switch so I - ee and E - eh. Just like package it and ship it over like 💳💥💥💥💳💳💥💥. I want it 👁👄👁. I would hum and just stay where I am, “they can wait a bit but for curiosity, who is it?”

Making out seems scary, like I would be the type to bite someone. Like NOM. ooo~ go get your person!! I would flinch then whine not knowing what to do, like I know like that it means for me to open my mouth so their tongue can slurp slurp my tongue. However how wide are you supposed to open your mouth like what if I look like a fish? I would pull away slightly from Hyunjin and look up at him, and just whine helplessly like help me idk what I’m doing- I would smile at Chan’s cuteness and leave a kiss on his forehead. I would move my hands down to his waist and rub my hands up and down. “Hmm besides a collar with the skz logo anything else my pup would like, I can get you a few more..accessories it seems like you’re missing some.” Chan in pupspace is too cute, it hurts my heart🥺😫

“Hmm we could like create a diversion and make a run for it. We could also just try to leave without saying anything. We also could just jump out a window too, that’s always fun. However I don’t want you getting hurt darling.” My hands would come up in surprise and rest on Hyunjin’s shoulders, I would Yelp. Then smile and roll my eyes amusingly, “You really like pulling hair don’t you Love?”

I want all the albums >:D I’m going to be so broke :,D I have a bookshelf just for stray kids in my room. I also have a Yellow Wood poster hung up with a photocard collage on my wall in a frame, no pcs were harmed. I would giggle and situate myself, moving myself to get comfortable. Tilting my head I would ask, “how may I help you?” I would blush and cover my face, leaning down to bury my face into his shoulder. I would hum along, nodding my head too. I would relax in his touch and close my eyes, letting him pet my hair. “Yeah, some are more easy to fluster than others, which is very much enjoyable.”

“I don’t mind you meowing hyung, but like at the same were you meowing or making weird noises? Or were you in one of those feels where you just need to scream?” I would tilt my head, “you remind me of someone I know, with the meowing being brought up. I know pupspace is a thing. Kitten/kit space or is it called cat space, a thing?. Anyway it just reminds me of that..you wouldn’t look too bad with a collar on,” I would mumble nonchalantly. “Good I wouldn’t want you to get hurt or be sad. My kitten needs to be happy and loved at all times!” I would smile brightly at Minho and shift to rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I would let out a happy sigh and melt as he played with my hair. I mean I’m Okayish I’m very on and off with skinship. Like I kiss my friends like pecks and I can cuddle with them hold hands with them and be fine then the next day any of that makes my skin itchy and it hurts my brain. -•^•

Oop, idk italian so- 👽👽 tho ngl i want to speak it. I send me your p.o box imma take a chunk of me out- The knocking would stop suddenly and Jeongin hums beside you, “Well now that he left, what do you wanna do?”

I- thats a mood, that's coming from someone too that also doesn't know how to make out— aka me- Hyunjin would find it cute on how much you don't know. “Such a baby.” He’d say before leaning down to kiss you against, this time a more behaved tongue. Just licking your lips. Pulling away for a bit, “Just follow my lead, baby boy.” He’d say.

If Chan was an actual pup he’s tail would be waggling nonstop but Chan just nods as an answer as he knows better than to speak cuz pups don't speak. He’d prolly cling on to you afterwards.

Hyunjin would smile at your rambling “ let’s go without a word, though we might get scolded later by Chan-hyung.” he explains before patting your head. He’d laugh at your statement, “It might be a kink~” he’d tease.

I- give me some bestay, like i want— My birthday is coming up 🌚. Jeongin would laugh in amusement and keep you in his lap, “Pretty boy.” he’d tease you biting the top of your ears softly. “Are you talking about Chan-hyung, baby?” he’d raise an eyebrow with an unknowing smile.

“It’s Chan-hyung with the pup space hm? Oh kitten space? I think it exist, I don't have it though sadly~ Oh and since you talked about collars, how would you feel if I bought a pretty pink and black collar for my bunny hm? with bunny ears too maybe?~” He’d tease you, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up at him, “I appreciate the compliment, but I like holding the ropes here~ Maybe I’ll collar myself for you one day though~” he’d reply with a voice with a sexy undertone.

#midnight asks #•^• anon #tiny babie✨✨

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seokjinsdisciple · 4 years

Text

Riddikulus- five

jungkook x reader, hogwarts!au, enemies to lovers!au

Warnings: fingering, oral, very public sex, degradation,(all of that is NOT with Jungkook so youve been warned), language

Word Count: 2.6k

THIS IS UNEDITED

series masterlist

You were writing an essay for potions in the library, the events of last night out of your mind as you researched how to make the Draught of Peace. You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings, something you realized too late as a cough rang out from beside you. If you had been paying attention, you wouldn’t have jumped, but here you were, sitting scared next to a grinning Jungkook.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, raising your eyebrow at his open potions book.

“You promised to tutor me,” He stated, leaning back in his chair and giving you a cocky smirk. His eye was bruised, and he had a small cut on his lip, all evidence to the shit he had put me through this past week.

“If you honestly think I am gonna help you after the shit you pulled, you’re dumber than I thought, Kook.”

You tried to return to your work, but with Kook sitting next to you, you knew this silence wouldn’t last long.

“Listen, I know you aren’t going to believe me, but I didn’t send that note.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” you added, shooting a glare at him as you started to read your book, clearly trying to send him the message that you didn’t want to talk.

“Please help me, my parents expect me to be an Auror, and there is no way I’ll get a high enough O.W.L.’s score without your help.”

Now, this was interesting. In all of the times that you have known Jungkook, he has never begged, not for a single thing. To say your interest was piqued would be an understatement.

“And if I help you, what do I get?”

At this, Jungkook let out a huff, “What am I supposed to help you with, you are like the smartest person in our year.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, and he realized he had made a mistake in letting that out.

“Shut up. I take it back,” he tried, rolling his eyes at your smile and looking away.

“I didn’t say anything,” you chuckled, “Plus there is no way I’m letting you take that back.”

A comfortable silence fell between us, both of us returning to our respective papers. Once again, you found yourself completely focused on your research, and before you knew it, you were writing the last sentence. You took a quick glance at Jungkook’s paper, he had only written a paragraph, and what you read was riddled with grammatical errors and with false information about the draught.

“What mark do you need on the potions O.W.L. to make the N.E.W.T level?” you asked him, his concerned eyes meeting yours and making you laugh.

“Exceeds Expectations,” he gulped, following your scrutinizing gaze to his only paragraph, “This is why I need your help!”

You snatched his paper off the desk and read the whole thing thoroughly. He was watching you intently, his eyes hesitant to trust that you weren’t about to rip his (slim) progress to shreds.

“It’s not too bad, but we are gonna need to meet twice a week if you hope to get an EE on the exam in the Spring,” you stated, nonchalantly throwing his paper down on the desk in front of him, his mouth agape at my sentence.

“Wait, you are going to help me?” He questioned, taking a look at the paper in front of him before scratching his head, “but I can’t give you anything in return…”

“About that,” you started, grabbing the supplies you had strewn across the desk and beginning to pack up, “you claim that you didn’t send the note, right?”

At my question, Jungkook sighed, “I already told you I didn’t send it.”

“Alright, alright,” you conceded, raising your arms up, “do you know who did send it?”

Jungkook just sat there for a minute, as if thinking through how he should answer my question, “Yeah, I know who sent it, but that doesn’t mean you should know.”

“Well that's the deal,” you said, standing up and slinging your bag over your shoulder, “You tell me who sent the note after I help you get an EE on your exams.”

You gave Kook a smile and started walking down the row of bookshelves, “The ball is in your court, Kook. How badly do you want that grade?”

You didn’t really want to help Jungkook, god knows he would deserve to fail, but you wanted to know who sent that note. They had crossed a line, and you wanted them to suffer because of it. Call you an evil Slytherin if they like, but you were sick of being made fun of. Plus, you had to study for your potions O.W.L anyways, whether Jungkook was there or not.

You arrived back into the common room, the sound of the crackling fire calming as you made your way over to the couches that your group claimed. Jimin had quidditch practice, and Yoongi was still pissed about the fight. So you weren't surprised when you found yourself alone on the couch. You stretched out, grabbed your Transfiguration book from your backpack and started reading. The common room was a surprisingly good place to read, the idle chatter and laughter made great background noises to distract you from your thoughts and help you focus. Well, usually they did, but today you were completely focused on that goddamn note. If Jungkook hadn’t sent it, then how did he know (in general) what was on it? Plus, he had been so willing to say it was him in front of everyone else. You let out a deep sigh, closing your book a little too harshly.

“You ok there, princess?” Seonghwa questioned, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Just thinking about some things, Hwa,” you smiled as he pressed a kiss to your temple. You lifted your legs as he sat down, allowing him to scoot closer and rest your legs in his lap. Seonghwa had been acting more domestic recently, and as much as you hated to admit it, you kinda liked him. This wasn’t something that you were used to, you were normally just a fuck kinda girl and without all of the frills of romance, it was just easier. But as Hwa started rubbing your calf, you couldn’t help the butterflies that filled your stomach.

“Did you hear a thing I just said?” Seonghwa laughed, you joined him as heat flooded your cheeks.

“Sorry… I was thinking,” you nudged him with your foot, “tell me again?”

“Oh no, princess, you have to tell me what had your pretty little face scrunching up,” he winked at you, squeezing your calf lightly, but you couldn't meet his eyes.

“Hwa,” you started, glancing quickly at him, “I know we agreed that this was just a sex thing, but… I think I like you.”

At this, Hwa just laughed. “Princess, I really wish you would have just heard the entire speech I just gave to prove to you that I like you too,” he just smiled as you looked quickly up at him.

“Wait, what?” you asked, sitting up quickly as he nodded his head, a grin growing on his face. His lips found yours, the passion and sincerity of both of your words melting into the kiss. Passionate kisses quickly turned into frantic hands, and thank god that the couch you and your friends frequently sit in is in a more secluded area. If it wasn’t, you might have been a little bit more hesitant to have Seonghwa slipping his hands under your skirt. His fingers found themselves in your folds easily, slipping inside your heat. Had your lips not been occupied with Seonghwa’s, you would have let a moan slip out as he curled his fingers, pressing directly where he knew your sensitive spot was.

“Shh, princess,” he whispered against your lips, “be good for me, ok?”

His lips made a path from your jaw to your neck, taking their time to make a mark whenever he wanted. His fingers kept their pace, and at the rate you were whimpering, it didn’t surprise you when you found his free hand covering your mouth. You mewled as his lips finally made contact with your core, his tongue swiping at your clit, before pressing a soft kiss to it.

“You better be quiet, or you will be punished later,” he added, his lust-filled eyes meeting your desperate ones as he returned to your center. His fingers were slamming into you with a precision that only Seonghwa had, you had been together so many times that he knew exactly what to do to make you unravel. With the combination of his tongue and fingers, the knot in your core was growing tighter and tighter, and he could tell. He shoved two fingers into your mouth, giving you something to suck on as he continued his ministrations. Right as you were about to cum, he pulled away, giving you a warning glare at the whine that was about to leave your lips.

“You only get to come around my cock, today princess,” he growled, slipping his hard member through the zipper of his pants, “come sit, baby.”

You took a look around the common room, a few people lingered, but it was still relatively empty. You hurriedly straddled him, pressing a hasty kiss to his lips as you sank down his length. Your hips rolled slowly so that if anyone looked over, it would just look like the two of you were making out. You could feel his length pulsing in you, eyes fluttering shut as he met your hips with subtle thrusts. The pleasure wasn’t overwhelming like it normally is, but you knew the thing getting the both of you off was the fact that there were people around, and anyone could see the two of you. The thought had you clenching around his length, Hwa letting out a quiet growl as you did.

“Do you like this, princess?” he asked, “like the idea that anyone can see what a good little slut you’re being for me?”

Now, it was your turn to moan, Hwa’s words were just what you needed to be thrown over the edge.

“That’s a good girl,” he smiled, running his hand down your face and rubbing it gently with his thumb, “cum for me, show everyone here who you belong to, hm?”

You rested your head on his shoulder, biting lightly to try and stop yourself from moaning. His hands landed on your hips, one hand encouraging you to keep moving, and the other rubbing gently. Your lips found his again, and when he grunted into your mouth, body shuddering you knew he had finished. The two of you sat like that for a second, his cock softening as you lazily kissed. You frowned when he pulled away, he just chuckled, pressing a kiss to your nose to placate you.

“Be my girlfriend?” he asked, hands tucking the messy strands of hair behind your ear.

“Of course,” You huffed out, falling gently on his chest out of exhaustion. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, before urging you to get up.

“C’mon princess, we gotta get cleaned up.”

It took a lot for you to stand up, but Seonghwa helped you, laughing a little at the wobbliness of your legs. He helped you to the girl’s staircase, pressing a kiss to your lips before watching as you went down the steps to your room.

You found yourself arriving in potions before Jungkook, something that rarely happened. Yet here you were, reading the ingredients list as grabbing enough for the two of you to start on time. He came hurrying in, right as the bell rang, sending a sheepish smile to Slughorn who just waved him off. As he slid into the seat next to you, he whispered a quick thanks as he held the extra bezoar in his hand. Slughorn’s lecture today was pretty dull, even by your standards, but Jungkook was focused, taking diligent notes as he talked. When Slughorn let you create the potion he had been describing, you turned to Jungkook.

“Why are you trying so hard?”

“Well,” he started, shrugging as he said, “I am gonna take you up on the deal, and I know how much you hate it when I copy your notes so…”

“So you took notes yourself, I’m impressed Kook,” you smirked, starting your potion, “We can meet every Tuesday and Thursday if that works for you.”

“Actually, I have quidditch practice on Tuesdays, maybe we could do Thursdays and Sundays? But only if that works for you...”

You glanced up from your potion, he genuinely wanted to make sure you would be ok with that plan. Kook was not one to be told what to do, so you were a little taken aback that he would even consider the fact that other people had schedules too. “Yeah, that works for me.”

“Cool,” he said, adding a bit too much rosemary to his potion for it to be perfect, but it wouldn’t ruin it, “so you and Seonghwa, huh?”

“Yeah, we're kinda a thing now,” you said, glancing at him as he nodded his head a little too forcefully.

“I didn’t think you were the dating type…” he added, watching you intently.

“Neither did I,” you laughed, taking in his weird behaviors.

“Have you told Joon yet?”

You just sent a look his way, and he held up his hands, “Okok… it was just a question,” he added.

“I’m gonna tell him soon, I just, well he’s not exactly the biggest fan of Seonghwa.”

“Trust me, princess. I know,” he groaned, “I’m the one who has to hear all about it from Jin.”

You just let out a laugh, “I’m sorry you’re stuck hearing about Hwa.”

He laughed for a second, glancing down at his potion and going quiet. He was acting so strange today, and you didn’t know what to make of it.

“Just be careful with him,” he said softly. Ignoring your eye roll at his statement.

“God, Kook, you sound like Namjoon.”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just- Seonghwa isn’t as sweet as you think.”

“Ok Kook, I’m sure you know my boyfriend so much better than I do.”

“I know what he’s capable of doing,” Jungkook added, angrily throwing in some herb that you knew didn’t go in this potion.

You just scoffed at this, going back to your potion and ignoring Jungkook's lingering stares. It seemed like anytime you and Jungkook made any progress with being nice to each other, one of you would say something stupid, and it would be back to square one. So you sat in tense silence until Slughorn checked your potions and dismissed you. You ignored Jungkook’s goodbye and smiled as he angrily threw his backpack over his shoulder and stormed out. You ignored Jimin’s questioning glance as Jungkook pushed past him. You just grabbed your stuff and followed a confused Jimin to your next class.

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