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calumcest · 4 years

Text

fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet

[ao3]

SO i participated in a fic event with a bunch of other very talented writers where we all took a prompt and had to include a phrase in the fic. my prompt was lashton - bad boy so...here is what i managed to come up with

the masterlist of all the fics for this event can be found here

this fic would be absolutely nowhere without @calumsclifford and @5sosnsfw i owe them an eternal debt of gratitude for their help with coming up with ideas and listening to me scream about it for days on end because i just could not write it and also to jex for betaing for me i owe you my soul at this point i think

also i literally said when i started this i was going to struggle to keep it under 10k but honestly what do you expect from me? brevity? absolutely not. on the topic i want it to be known that i finished this fic at exactly 4:58pm and it is due at 5pm will i ever change? no. keep your expectations of me low and we will all do just fine

Luke hates a good ninety-five percent of his job.

A solid thirty percent of that comes from the fact that he works as a receptionist at a hotel, which he thinks is possibly the most thankless job humanity could possibly have created. A further ten comes from the fact that his desk is right next to the kitchen, meaning mouth-watering smells are constantly wafting under his nose, and Luke’s not allowed to eat on shift.

Fifty-five percent of it, though, is Ashton.

Ashton doesn’t work at the hotel, but Luke’s pretty sure he’s there more regularly than half of the staff who do. He’s Calum’s friend, or they live together, or they’re in a gang together, or something, because Calum is how Luke knows Ashton’s name. Ashton will always slouch against Luke’s desk, cigarette tucked behind his ear, and then Calum will come out of the kitchen and Ashton will push himself off the desk and walk out with him. Luke’s never spoken to Calum, but he knows Calum’s boyfriend Michael works as a concierge on night shift, and that Michael doesn’t like Luke’s organising system. Luke doesn’t like Michael’s, and especially doesn’t like that he has to rearrange his entire desk every day when Michael’s shift ends at nine a.m. Neither of them is willing to be the first to give in, although privately Luke thinks that if Michael ever said a word to him about it he’d fold and let Michael have his shitty system and probably, like, Luke’s house, or something. Luke’s not very good at confrontation or standing his ground.

Here’s the thing, though. Luke kind of likes Ashton. He likes the way Ashton’s black curls fall into his face and he doesn’t seem to care, likes the way his hazel eyes light up when he smiles, likes the way he gesticulates a lot when he talks. Ashton’s hot, and Luke’s lonely, and lusting over hot guys from afar is pretty much how he’s lived his entire life.

However, Luke doesn’t like people leaning against his desk, which is one thing Ashton does. He also doesn’t like strangers speaking to him outside of a professional capacity, which is another thing Ashton does. He especially doesn’t like when he’s trying to deal with a difficult guest and Ashton takes it upon himself to tell them to go fuck themselves, because then Luke’s job is made ten times harder.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he says, hurriedly, as Ashton leans back against the desk, leather jacket rubbing noisily against the wood.

“Excuse me?” the guest says to Ashton, halfway between incredulous and infuriated. Ashton shrugs.

“You heard me,” he says coolly. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Sir, I sincerely apologise,” Luke says, almost begging. “Of course I can refund you for breakfast. Which room number should I process the refund for?”

“Who are you?” the guest says, and Ashton pushes himself off the desk, drawing himself up to his full height.

“You wanna know who I am?” he says. His tone might be lazy, his face might be carefully slack, but his hazel eyes are hard, an edge of a threat in the way he cocks his head.

“I want your name,” the guest blusters. “I want to file a complaint for your behaviour.” Ashton’s lips quirk up in an amused smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’d be happy to introduce you to my boss,” he says, taking another step closer to the guest. The guest takes a small step back, stumbling as he does, and Ashton edges closer, baring his teeth in a grin. “But I can’t promise you’d come back in one piece.”

“Your room number?” Luke says, trying to diffuse the situation, and it only comes out as half-squeaky, which is pretty good going for him.

“Uh, actually, it’s okay,” the guest says, words tripping over themselves in their hurry to leave his lips. “Um. Thanks.” With that, he turns on his heel and speedwalks out of the lobby.

Well. Fuck.

Ashton watches him leave, then grins, pleased with himself, and turns back to Luke. Luke swallows, feeling himself flush under the heat of Ashton’s gaze.

“You’re welcome, pretty boy,” Ashton says, when Luke says nothing. Pretty boy. Luke hates when Ashton makes fun of him like that.

“Thanks,” Luke mumbles, even though he absolutely doesn’t mean it. Guests like that never just leave it; his manager will be getting a strongly worded email later, and Luke’s going to get fucking reamed for it.

“You’re fucking cute when you blush,” Ashton comments casually, sauntering back over to Luke’s desk. Luke doesn’t know what to say to that, never does, so he says nothing, pretending to be completely preoccupied with making a note for James, the guy on evening shift, to process the refund for the guest anyway. He’s not sure why the guy waited until five p.m. to ask for a refund for breakfast, but whatever. James’s problem now, not Luke’s.

With two minutes left to go on his shift and Ashton’s eyes burning into the back of his head, Luke busies himself with gathering his things together so he won’t have to look at Ashton. He can feel Ashton’s eyes follow him as he gets up and shrugs his coat on, and wishes Calum’s shift would hurry the fuck up and end already. Luke always has to wait an extra couple of minutes for James, who’s always late, and Calum’s usually out of the door at five on the dot.

Sure enough, as Luke watches the clock on his computer tick over to five, the door to the kitchen bangs open and Calum strides out, face splitting into a grin when he sees Ashton.

“How’d you get here?” he asks, and Ashton pushes himself off Luke’s desk again to fall into step with Calum.

“Took Michael’s bike,” he hears Ashton say as they walk out. “Mine’s still in the fucking shop.”

“He’s going to be pissed if you get him another tick-,” Calum says, cut off when they walk out of the lobby. James passes through the door they’d pushed open as it swings shut, and Luke lets out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Would it kill you to get an earlier train?” he asks James as he pulls his bag off the chair, even though this is early for James.

“Maybe,” James says. “Haven’t tried it, just in case.” Luke rolls his eyes, shouldering his bag.

“See you tomorrow,” he says. “I’ve left a couple of notes for you.” James nods, sitting down in the chair and pulling the keyboard towards him.

“See you,” he says. Luke nods, starting to walk away, when James shouts- “Hey, Luke!”

“Huh?” Luke spins around to see James holding out a scrap of paper. “What?”

“You left this,” James says, waving the paper. Luke frowns.

“No I didn’t,” he says.

“Well, it says Luke on the front,” James says, arm still outstretched. Luke hesitates for a moment, because he really hasn’t left anything behind - he’d checked meticulously when he’d been packing, anything to avoid Ashton’s gaze - before crossing the room back over to James and taking the paper from his hand.

“Thanks,” he says. James makes a ‘don’t mention it’ hand movement, eyes already on the computer screen.

Luke’s eyes flick down to the piece of paper in his hand - it does indeed say ‘Luke’, which kind of surprises him, although he’s not sure what James would have had to gain from lying about that.

“You’re going to miss your train,” James says, not looking up from the screen, and shit, he is. Luke pockets the note and heads towards the doors of the lobby.

“Wouldn’t miss it if you would fucking get here on time,” he says, pushing the doors open.

“Fuck you!” James sing-songs after him, and Luke grins as the cool May air hits his face.

-------

Luke forgets about the note in his pocket until he shoves his hands in his pockets to protect them from the biting wind on his way from the station to his house. He curls his fingers around the paper so he doesn’t forget about it, not wanting to lose it to the wind that’s howling in his ears, only letting go even when he has to unlock the front door.

As soon as he’s safely inside and has kicked his shoes off and chucked his bag down next to the sofa, he pulls the note out of his pocket and unfolds it.

Golden boy,

Golden curls, golden smile, golden heart. You burn me with how bright you shine, drown me out with your smile.

What I wouldn’t give for you to see me.

- AFI

Luke stares at it.

What the fuck?

This has to be some kind of a joke. AFI? Like the fucking band? Luke doesn’t even listen to them. Or, actually, maybe there’s another Luke this is intended for. Luke does work as a receptionist, after all. Maybe someone dropped it off, wanting him to pass it on to a guest called Luke. It’s a pretty common name, so that’s not out of the bounds of possibility.

Yeah, Luke thinks, folding the note back up carefully and putting it back in his pocket. He’ll check the list tomorrow morning, and see if there are any Lukes staying at the moment.

-------

Michael’s always gone by the time Luke gets to the desk, even though Luke gets there ten minutes early every day. Luke often wonders how long Michael’s actually at work, whether he just fucks off at eight when things start getting slow after the early morning checkouts have gone.

The start to the day is usually slow, which is good since Luke always has to reorganise the entire desk from the way Michael’s trashed it (seriously, who puts the returned room keys in alphabetical rather than numerical order?). It takes him until half-past to sort that out, cross-referring the guest database to the keys and hoping some deity takes pity on him and curses Michael to the ninth circle of Hell. By then, a steady stream of people are going in for breakfast, and Luke starts getting his first red-eye check-ins.

The note completely slips his mind (again) until a lull at half-past three makes him decide to check his phone, which is in his jacket pocket. His fingers brush the paper as he reaches in, and he suddenly jolts, remembering he’d been meaning to look up all the Lukes currently staying at the hotel.

Phone forgotten, he pulls the database up again, and does a quick search for Luke. Four names flash back at him, and Luke sits back, sort of satisfied, sort of disappointed. Some part of him had kind of hoped there weren’t any Lukes staying, and the note had been intended for him. The last time anyone had said anything nice to Luke was probably, like, a good three years ago. And it was probably his mum.

He sets a note next to all four Lukes for himself, James and Michael to ask whether they’d been expecting a message when they check out, and then pushes the note from his mind and gets back to work.

He barely even notices the time pass, so focused on answering emails, until there’s a tapping at his desk. He looks up, a customer-service smile already plastered on his face, only for it to slide off when he sees Ashton.

“No need to look so happy to see me, pretty boy,” Ashton says, flicking a lighter on and off idly, but his eyes are twinkling. Luke swallows, and turns back to his screen.

“Good afternoon,” he says politely, typing out a reply to a booking request and steadfastly not looking at Ashton. Ashton leans against Luke’s desk, leather jacket rubbing loudly against the wood, and Luke wishes he had the balls to tell him to stop.

“I’m not a guest,” Ashton says. “You don’t have to be polite to me.” Yeah, but I’m kind of terrified of you, Luke thinks sourly, as he nods primly.

“I’m on shift,” he says. “I’m polite to everyone.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ashton’s lips quirk up in a grin.

“I bet you are,” he says, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and putting it between his lips.

“Um- you can’t do that in here,” Luke says, as Ashton flicks the lighter on again and lights the cigarette. Ashton looks up, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he says, around the cigarette. “Are you going to stop me, pretty boy?” Luke opens his mouth, and then closes it again, because who the fuck is he kidding? He’s not going to say shit. The fire alarm will speak for him, anyway.

Ashton smokes in silence for a few minutes, and Luke thanks God that five isn’t a popular checkout time, so he doesn’t have to deal with guests throwing Ashton (and Luke) dirty looks. Five more minutes until Calum comes out, he tells himself. He can make it through five more minutes.

“Do you smoke?” Ashton asks after four and a half minutes have passed, out of the blue. Luke blinks at him for a moment, realising Ashton’s talking to him.

“Uh, no,” he says. Ashton cocks his head.

“Shame,” he says. “Bet your lips would look good around a cigarette.”

Luke has absolutely no idea how to respond, because he never knows what to say when Ashton mocks him like that, but he’s saved from answering by the door to the kitchen slamming open and Calum walking out, already grinning before he even sees Ashton.

“Mate, I got a pay rise,” he says, as he and Ashton set off without a backwards glance.

“Who’d you fuck for that?” Ashton asks, laughing as he dodges a punch to the arm from Calum. Luke just stares at them as they walk away, still bickering about Calum’s pay rise, wondering why Ashton gets such a kick out of making fun of Luke. His thoughts are cut short, however, when the fire alarm suddenly starts blaring.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, scrambling to his feet and sprinting to the box to press the reset button before guests start piling down the stairs.

Grace sticks her head out of the kitchen door, frowning.

“Wasn’t us, I swear,” she says, seeing Luke pressing the reset button like his life depends on it.

“I know,” Luke says.

“Why does it smell like smoke in here?”

“Uh, does it?” Grace’s frown deepens, and then there’s a shout from the kitchen and her head disappears again. The fire alarm finally stops, just as James walks through the door, giving Luke a confused look as he ambles over.

“They burn toast again?” he asks, because none of them are ever going to let the kitchen live that one down. Luke shakes his head, and James wrinkles his nose. “Hey, why’s it smell like smoke out here?”

“Don’t know,” Luke says as he shrugs his coat on, hoping there’s no ash on the carpet, or anything. “I’ve got to go, I’m going to miss my train. See you tomorrow.”

“Hey,” James says, holding out another piece of paper. “Stop leaving shit behind.”

“That’s not mine,” Luke says. James frowns at it, and then at Luke.

“Says your name on it.

“Yeah, I think it’s for a guest,” Luke says. “I made a note in the system. There’s four Lukes here right now.” James’s brow remains furrowed.

“No, I think it’s for you,” he says.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” Luke says.

“Take it.”

“I have to go.”

“Well, take it with you.” Luke rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t have time to argue with James anymore because he really is going to miss his train, so he just snatches the note out of James’s hand and makes a mental note to bring it back tomorrow.

“Don’t miss your train,” James calls, as Luke speedwalks towards the door. Luke just flips him off over his shoulder, hunching into himself as the cold May wind wraps itself around him.

-------

This time, Luke reads the note on the train.

Golden boy,

I try not to look at you, as if you were the sun, but I see you, like the sun, even without looking.

Let me bask in your sunlight.

- AFI.

Luke frowns.

He knows those words. That’s Anna Karenina, with the pronouns changed. Someone’s quoting Tolstoy to whoever this mystery Luke is that these notes are intended for, and Luke’s kind of a little bit envious. He wants someone to write him romantic, literary love notes.

Whatever, he thinks, shoving the note back into his pocket with a little more force than strictly necessary. He hopes whichever Luke gets these notes appreciates them, and the effort Luke’s putting into getting them to him.

-------

There’s a note in the system when Luke gets to work the next day.

not luke evans - michael

Okay, Luke thinks, clicking on the three remaining Lukes still checked into the hotel. Their checkout dates are all in the next couple of days, so Luke still has time to get the notes to whichever one it is. He’s put both scraps of paper in a corner of the desk, folded carefully so the name is clearly visible, lest James or Michael forget about them.

He clicks off the Luke Evans note, and another note pops up.

stop fucking with the room keys - michael

Luke’s kind of outraged at that. There’s literally nothing that makes any less sense than organising the room keys alphabetically rather than numerically. It takes more time to do anyway, because it means cross-referencing the key number to the guest database. He’s not sure whether Michael’s joking or just a masochist, but either way, Luke’s not having it.

Stop putting them in fucking alphabetical order then. - Luke

He presses enter before he has the time to second-guess it, because this is a topic that’s close to his heart, and if Michael actually fucking listens it’ll save Luke half an hour every day. He quashes the instant flare of fear that forces its way up his throat the minute he’s made the note, because he’s a little bit terrified of Michael, and clicks onto his emails, ready to make a dent in his already-full inbox.

It’s a Friday, which is one of the busiest days at the hotel, so Luke’s checking people in and out for most of the day. His cheeks hurt from politely smiling by the time it starts to slow around four-thirty, and he has to stop himself from sighing when a shadow appears over him twenty-five minutes later. He’d hoped that was it for guests for today.

When he looks up, though, he’s confronted with Ashton, leaning against his desk with a grin on his face. He’s not sure whether that’s better or worse than another guest.

“Afternoon, pretty boy,” Ashton says. He’s got his usual leather jacket on, and his hair is all fucking windswept, and Luke doesn’t think he should be this attracted to someone he doesn’t know and is a little afraid of, but whatever.

“Afternoon,” Luke says politely, averting his gaze and hoping Ashton doesn’t see the slight blush creeping up his cheeks. Ashton’s gaze flicks over to the pile of room keys Luke’s still got to wipe.

“Busy day, huh?” he says, indicating to the room keys with a tilt of his head. Luke just nods, and keeps typing. “Y’know, I sometimes wonder if I should quit the day job and become a receptionist.”

“Oh,” Luke says, because what the fuck else can he say?

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Probably wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, though.” Luke purses his lips. He’s not sure whether Ashton’s trying to shit on Luke’s job, big up his own job, or get Luke to employ him. Luke’s not in charge of hiring, anyway, and if Ashton’s hoping he’ll put in a good word, he’s got another fucking thing coming.

“Right,” he says eventually, when it becomes clear Ashton’s waiting for some kind of response. He kind of wants to know what Ashton does for a living, given that he seems to have the time to hang around waiting for his friends during normal working hours, but he’s far too shy to ask. Plus, what if the answer’s, like, assassin, or something?

He doesn’t end up needing to ask, though, because Ashton supplies the answer for him.

“I work at a bar,” he says, flashing Luke a grin. “Barback.”

“Not bartender?” Luke asks in surprise, before he can stop himself, because Ashton doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be content to not be the centre of attention. Ashton laughs, and Luke’s stomach flips at the sound. He’s not really sure why it makes something warm fizz through his veins, why it makes him want to make Ashton laugh again.

“Not trained,” he says. “I’m just working off a debt.” And, okay. Luke’s not really sure he wants to know what said debt is. No debt that needs to be paid off by barbacking sounds like one Luke needs to hear about.

“Right,” he says again, hoping he doesn’t sound as flustered as he feels.

“You should come by sometime, pretty boy,” Ashton says casually. “Bar’s on King Street.”

“Oh,” Luke says. “Thanks. Yeah. Maybe.” Jesus Christ. His job is talking to people - why the fuck is he suddenly so bad at it when it’s a hot (and mildly terrifying) guy?

“You can drink on the house,” Ashton says, eyes twinkling, “as long as you give me your number afterwards.” Luke feels his mouth drop open slightly, stuttering as his mind tries to both process what Ashton’s said and string together some syllables in response, but then the door to the kitchen slams open and Calum stalks out, looking furious. Luke jumps at the sound and shrinks into himself a little at the irate look on Calum’s face, but Ashton just looks over his shoulder lazily.

“Afternoon,” he says idly, falling into step with Calum, who doesn’t even pause.

“You come on Michael’s bike again?” Calum says, and Ashton nods. “Good. Fucking crash it on the way ba-” The door swings shut behind them, cutting him off, and Luke stares at where they’d been standing two seconds ago in surprise. What the fuck could Michael have done that was so bad Calum wanted Ashton to crash his bike?

Luke shakes himself out of it and starts shoving his things haphazardly in his bag, because he’d been too distracted by Ashton to remember to pack, and as he’s wrapping his scarf around his neck, James ambles through the door.

“Fucking cold out,” is how he greets Luke, from underneath his scarf. Luke indicates to his own.

“It’s May, mate,” he says. James rolls his eyes, pink-cheeked from the wind, and tugs his scarf off as he walks behind the desk.

“See you tomorrow,” Luke says, heading for the door.

“Stop leaving your fucking notes behind,” James says, before Luke’s even got halfway there, and Luke rolls his eyes before spinning on his heel to face James.

“They’re not for me,” he says.

“They are,” James says, holding the note out. “Why else would whoever’s leaving them leave them here?”

“Because they don’t know the room number of the Luke they want?” Luke suggests. James rolls his eyes.

“They could ask.”

“Maybe they want to remain anonymous.”

“They’d be anonymous to this hypothetical Luke, anyway, because they’re dropping it off at the reception,” James points out.

“Well, I-”

“Take the fucking note, Luke.” Luke scowls, but James isn’t going to let this go, and Luke doesn’t have the time to argue or he’s going to miss his train, so he just rolls his eyes and snatches the note from James’s outstretched hand.

“Hope you make it,” James calls behind him as he starts to jog towards the door, and Luke just flips him off without looking back.

-------

Golden boy,

Your lips are on my mind day and night, night and day. I wonder just how many other hearts they’ve sent racing.

You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.

- AFI.

Luke frowns at it. Huh. Gone With The Wind. Whoever this AFI person is knows their literature, and Luke’s trying his best not to be impressed by it.

Whatever, he thinks, shoving the note back into his pocket and trying not to be too sullen about the fact that some Luke out there is getting romantic, literary notes written for him. He’ll put it with the others on the desk on Monday.

-------

Luke’s weekend is spent watching movies and eating junk food, with a little feeling sorry for himself sprinkled into the mix, so he’s feeling pretty well-rested by the time he gets into work on Monday morning. He steps through the door at ten to nine, shakes out his umbrella before slotting it neatly into the umbrella stand, and heads over to the desk that Michael has already vacated, as usual.

There are two notes in the system for him when he fires it up.

not luke johnson - michael

alphabetical order makes it so much easier to sort through fuck you - michael

Luke scowls at the screen, tapping out a reply before he can think better of it.

How does it make it easier to sort through?! You have to cross-refer everything to the database!! - Luke

He clicks off the notes, mentally crossing out a second of the four Lukes, which reminds him to set the third note on top of the other two in the corner of the desk for James and Michael to see.

Besides Fridays, Mondays are the busiest days for check-ins and checkouts, so Luke’s face is already aching from the polite smile plastered on his face by ten past two. He’s idly rubbing at his cheeks when the door to the lobby swings open, and Ashton comes striding in, looking somewhere between furious and concerned. Luke starts in surprise, checking the time to be sure he’s not, like, missed two hours of the day somehow - nope, definitely ten past two - but Ashton doesn’t even stop at Luke’s desk, doesn’t even spare him a glance as he heads for the door to the kitchen.

“Um- you can’t go in the-” Luke starts, but he’s cut off by the door to the kitchen banging shut behind Ashton. Luke stares at it, and then sighs. Whatever, he tried.

He turns back to his screen, expecting to hear Calum and Ashton striding out of the door any minute, laughing and joking and nudging each other, but the door stays shut. Instead, after Luke’s read the email in front of him at least three times, mind elsewhere, he hears raised voices shouting in the kitchen, although he can’t make out what they’re saying.

He clears his throat, and reads the email again. This isn’t any of his business, he tells himself, trying to focus on just what week Ms Barnet wants to book seven rooms. Ashton’s perfectly capable of looking after himself.

(He vaguely registers that maybe he shouldn’t be more worried about a stranger than about his colleagues, but whatever.)

The voices get louder and louder, still muffled by the kitchen door, and Luke strains his ears to try and hear what’s being said (he’s pretty sure he can make out a bunch of fucks). After a good two minutes, the door slams open again, making Luke jump, and Ashton walks out, Calum leaning into him, an arm slung over Ashton’s shoulders.

“...can fucking look after myself,” Calum’s saying irately, as Ashton strides towards the door, Calum limping at his side. Ashton’s got his arm around Calum’s waist, clearly supporting his entire body, and Luke tries his best not to think about how strong Ashton must be to do that.

“Look after yourself? You fucking fainted, Calum, and they let you keep working!” Ashton says furiously.

“I’m fine, Ashton, I told you, I’m fucking fine,” Calum spits, and Ashton growls, like, literally growls. Luke swallows, hard.

“Oh, sorry, Doctor Hood, want to show me the medical degree you’ve got to back up that opinion?” Ashton says sarcastically.

“Fuck you, Ashton, seriousl-” the door swings shut behind them and cuts off their conversation, leaving Luke staring at where they’d been standing half in surprise, half in arousal.

Okay, so he might have just discovered he has a bit of a thing for protective men. Or, maybe he’s just discovered he’s got a bit of a thing for Ashton. Which, frankly, isn’t much of a discovery, more of a confirmation.

He shakes his head, trying to erase all the images this has conjured in his mind, and resolves to look into getting laid as soon as possible.

-------

Luke scours his desk before he leaves on Monday, but there’s no note. He finds himself a little disappointed for a moment, because it’s kind of nice to be able to kid himself that the notes are for him for a minute or two, before James finally arrives and he’s able to push it out of his mind in favour of shouting at James for being a whole ten minutes late.

On Tuesday, Luke finds himself tensing up around ten to five, but Ashton never comes and Calum never leaves. There’s no note on Tuesday either, and Luke wonders whether maybe the fact that the mystery note-leaver isn’t getting any responses from the mystery Luke has disheartened them, and immediately feels guilty that he hasn’t tried hard enough to get the notes to the right Luke. The thought is forced out of his mind, however, when James arrives (half an hour late) announcing that the trains are all cancelled because of some signal failures and he’d had to carpool to work, so Luke needs to, like, call an Uber, or something.

“Fuck’s sake,” Luke says, because he really can’t afford an Uber all the way home.

“I know,” James tells him, sitting down in the chair heavily. “At least you’re not the one who’s going to be dealing with pissed off guests.” Luke has to concede there.

Luke goes to the station anyway, in the vain hope that the Sydney Trains will actually fulfil their single function as a transport service, and is informed by an overwhelmed-looking station guard that it’ll probably be another three hours before they’ve sorted out the problem and got all the trains moving again.

Great, Luke thinks, as he walks out of the station and into the cold mid-May air. Where the fuck is he supposed to spend the next three hours?

He wanders around aimlessly for a while, sits down on a bench in Hyde Park for about ten minutes before the wind starts threatening to take his nose from him, wanders around some more, and then, because the universe wants Luke to lose the will to live entirely, it starts to rain.

Great.

Luke ducks into the nearest building - a bar, he can make that work - and shakes the water out of his hair, chancing a glance at the bar itself. Seven isn’t too early to order himself a shot, right?

He stops short, however, when he sees who’s behind the bar.

Ashton.

He’s about to turn on his heel and walk out - he’s dripping wet, in a terrible mood, and Ashton’s terrifying on the best of days - but it’s too late. Ashton’s already spotted him, face splitting into a grin, beckoning him over to the bar. Fucking hell.

Luke edges over hesitantly, trying to surreptitiously arrange the curls around his face - fucking rain, honestly - giving Ashton a hesitant smile as he gets to the bar.

“Didn’t think you’d come, pretty boy,” Ashton says, still smiling, as Luke reluctantly sits down on the bar stool opposite him.

“Um,” Luke says, glad that the bar is poorly lit so Ashton won’t see the blush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s raining.” That doesn’t dim Ashton’s brilliant smile at all, though.

“I remember saying you could drink on the house,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“Conditionally,” Luke says, without thinking. Ashton looks at him for a moment, and then laughs. Luke’s stomach flips, heat pooling low in his abdomen - Jesus, someone as hot as Ashton shouldn’t be allowed such a cute laugh.

“Is giving me your number such a burden?” he says, grinning. Luke flushes, and looks away. He doesn’t get why Ashton gets such a kick out of making fun of Luke like this. He’d thought he’d left the days of people pretending to be into him for fun behind in high school.

Ashton seems to sense Luke’s trepidation, and leans back from the bar.

“Relax, pretty boy,” he says. “I don’t bite.” Luke can’t help the sceptical look he sends Ashton’s way, and it’s met with a dimpled grin. “Okay, I do, but you’ve gotta pay for the privilege.”

“I don’t have any money,” Luke says, because it’s true. That’s the whole reason he’s here in the first place; he can’t afford the fifty dollars it’d cost him to Uber home.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m in a generous mood,” Ashton says, leaning against the cupboard behind him. “What’ll it be?” Luke hesitates. On the one hand, he really doesn’t have any money, and if Ashton reneges on his offer, Luke’s kind of fucked. On the other hand, he’s had a shitty day, he’s still got an hour until the signal failure might be fixed, and he wants a fucking shot.

“Tequila chilled, please,” he says eventually. “But I thought you weren’t a bartender.” Ashton’s lips quirk up in a grin, as he reaches for the tequila and a glass.

“I’m not,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “But what are you going to do, tell on me?” His tone is both amused and challenging, and Luke swallows. They both know Luke’s not going to do shit.

“That’s not chilled,” is all he says weakly, when Ashton pours the tequila straight into the glass. Ashton laughs, and pushes the glass towards Luke.

“Try it,” he says. Luke stares at it, wrinkling his nose, and Ashton grins. “C’mon, I’m not trying to poison you. You’re far too pretty for that.” Luke bites his lip, but picks up the glass and glances at the clear liquid in it warily. He doesn’t even know Ashton, he thinks. This might be, like, straight hydrochloric acid, and Luke would be none the wiser until his oesophagus disintegrated.

Despite his better judgement, though, and largely due to the heat of Ashton’s gaze, Luke raises the glass to his lips and tips the tequila down his throat, wincing as it burns down his throat. It’s warm, and it really does burn, but it burns in a good way, kind of peppery in his mouth, and Luke finds he doesn’t actually mind the aftertaste.

“Huh,” he says, as he sets the glass back down, staring at it in surprise.

“Told you,” Ashton says smugly. “Want another one?” Luke hesitates, and Ashton rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “On the house, pretty boy. You look like you could do with one.” Luke nods, and Ashton pulls the glass back towards him and pours him another shot. Luke watches him pour, trying not to think about the way his fingers are curled around the neck of the tequila bottle. He blames it on the alcohol making its way through his veins, ignoring the fact that it’s far too soon for it to have had an impact.

Ashton pushes the glass towards Luke, who takes it and downs it without a second thought. Ashton laughs again when he sets the glass back down on the bar, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Rough day, huh?” he says. Luke, fingertips tingling, cheeks a little warm, nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Guess that’s what happens when I don’t show up for a day,” Ashton says, eyes glittering, and there’s something behind the humour on the surface that Luke can’t quite put his finger on.

“Is Calum okay?” Luke asks, without thinking. Ashton looks at him for a moment, surprised, and then nods.

“Took him to hospital,” he says. “Doctor said he should rest for a few days, but he’d be fine. He’s kind of pissed about it.” Luke can’t help the snort that escapes him, and Ashton’s lips curl up in a smile.

“He sounded pretty pissed at you,” Luke says, as Ashton pulls the glass back towards him and pours Luke another shot. Jesus. Luke’s not even going to make it on the train at this rate.

“He was,” Ashton says nonchalantly. “But Michael would have been more pissed if I hadn’t picked Cal up from work, and I’d take Calum’s wrath over Michael’s any day.” Luke wrinkles his nose.

“Michael has a terrible organising system,” he says, swirling the tequila around in the glass.

“He says the same about you,” Ashton says, which makes Luke start in surprise.

“He knows who I am?” Ashton gives him a funny look.

“Of course he knows who you are,” he says. “You’re day shift.”

“Oh,” Luke says. “Day shift. Yeah. That’s me.”

They lapse into silence for a while, Ashton gazing at Luke like he’s trying to work something out, Luke staring through the bottom of the glass and wondering whether he really should take this shot or not.

“Are you afraid of me?” Ashton asks, eventually. His tone is even, and his face is calm, but Luke sees the tension in his posture, the hardness in his eyes.

(Luke takes the shot.)

“Uh,” he says, when he sets the glass back down on the bar. “I’m afraid of everyone.” It’s not technically a lie, and Ashton considers it for a moment before shrugging.

“I’m not trying to trick you, pretty boy,” he says, and he’s aiming for casual but Luke hears the seriousness beneath it.

“I didn’t say you were,” Luke says, now definitely a little buzzed. Ashton cocks his head and narrows his eyes, gazing at Luke.

“You don’t trust me,” he says after a moment. Luke shrugs uncomfortably.

“I don’t know you,” he says. Ashton scrutinises him for another moment, and Luke desperately wishes he had something that wasn’t Ashton or his hands to stare at, before Ashton grins.

“Let’s change that,” he says.

“Huh?”

“Ask me anything you want to know,” Ashton says, putting his elbows on the bar and leaning forward. His hazel eyes glint in the dim light of the bar, and Luke parts his lips to respond, but finds himself too caught in the brown-gold-green.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, shaking himself out of it when he remembers that hello, staring at hot and intimidating guys is kind of a bad idea. “What?”

“C’mon,” Ashton says, eyes sparkling with amusement. “There’s got to be things you want to know about me.”

“What’s the catch?” Ashton laughs, tipping his head back, and God, Luke wants to mark up that throat. Jesus. He makes a mental note for the future that tequila at seven p.m. is a no-go.

“You really don’t trust me, huh?” Ashton says, grinning. “Well, I was just going to let you ask, but...how about I get to ask questions in return? Quid pro quo.” Luke swallows.

“Okay,” he says, because what’s he got to lose?

“But you have to be honest,” Ashton says seriously, and Luke nods. He’s a shitty liar, anyway. “Alright. You first.” Luke’s eyes widen, and Ashton looks at him expectantly.

“Uh. What- what’s your favourite colour?” he asks stupidly.

“Seriously?” Luke shrugs, averting his gaze to the glass still sat between the two of them. “Okay. Green. Why don’t you ever speak to me when I’m at the hotel?”

“I’m on shift,” Luke says automatically. “What’s your favourite food?”

“Carbonara. Do I bother you?” Luke hesitates. He’s tipsy enough that he can’t lie, but still sober enough that he doesn’t want to potentially aggravate Ashton by being too honest.

“Yes and no,” he says after a moment’s consideration. “When’s your birthday?”

“Sixteenth of July,” Ashton says. “What do you mean, yes and no?”

“Yes, because I’m trying to work and you’re really fucking distracting, no, because you’re-” Luke coughs, feeling himself flush. “Uh. Do you have any siblings?”

“A brother and sister,” Ashton says. “Because I’m what?” Luke swallows.

“Give me another shot,” he says, and Ashton laughs.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he says, grinning. “You still need to get home in one piece, pretty boy.” Which, shit, what time is it? Luke pulls his phone out of his pocket - fuck, ten to eight, the trains might be back up and running by now - and pushes himself off the bar stool.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, steadying himself against the bar as his vision spins from standing up too fast. “Uh. Thank you? For the drinks.”

“Hang on,” Ashton says, catching Luke’s arm as he turns away. Luke’s skin burns red hot under Ashton’s warm, calloused fingers, and he tries not to let it make him even giddier. “You owe me a number.”

“I don’t know my number,” Luke says, and Ashton frowns.

“Hey,” he says, sounding a little concerned. “You can say no.”

“I’m not saying no,” Luke says. “I’m saying I don’t know my number.” Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then drops his arm.

“You’d say no if you meant no?” he says, like he’s not quite sure he believes Luke. Luke nods.

“That’s why I’m not saying no,” he tells Ashton, and then his stomach lurches, because fuck, that might have been a bit too forward for Luke, even in his mildly inebrieted state. “Uh. I really do have to go. Thanks.” Ashton nods, leaning back against the cupboard behind him and folding his arms. Luke closes his eyes so he won’t have to stare at Ashton’s biceps.

“See you around, pretty boy,” Ashton calls, as Luke turns on his heel and heads for the door as fast as he can without looking suspicious.

The cool May wind crashes over him when he stumbles outside, and Luke gulps in the crisp air like a drowning man.

Jesus Christ, he thinks, tipping his head back and letting his eyes flutter shut. Hopefully Calum has to stay home for a long enough time that Luke can legally change his name and move to Perth, or something.

-------

On Wednesday, Luke checks a tired-looking Luke Newham out.

“Thank you very much, sir,” he says politely, when Luke Newham hands his room key over. “Oh, by the way - we had a number of notes arrive for a Luke in the hotel. Were you expecting anything?” Luke Newham looks surprised.

“No,” he says. “Definitely not for me.” Luke frowns, and nods, and mentally strikes Luke Newham off the list.

Well. It’s got to be Luke Byrne then.

On Thursday, Luke arrives to find a note in the system from James on Luke Byrne’s guest data.

Told you they were for you. - James

Luke frowns, and reaches for the three notes folded carefully in the corner of the desk.

Golden boy. Surely that’s not Luke? Okay, he thinks, looking at the first note - golden curls, yeah, he’s got blonde hair, but besides that? Golden smile, golden heart? If whoever is leaving these notes thinks Luke’s customer-service smile is golden, he’s going to have to recommend a lobotomy. And, he thinks, shuffling to the second and third notes, nobody could think he shone like the sun, nor have their hearts sent racing by his lips. Luke just isn’t that person for anyone, never has been.

He spends the whole day puzzling about it, so consumed in trying to make sense of the situation that he doesn’t even realise how fast the time is going until the door swings open at ten to five, Ashton already grinning as he walks over to Luke’s desk.

Oh, fuck.

Luke hasn’t seen Ashton since the night at the bar, and he’s been trying his best to keep Ashton out of his mind, too. He’d nigh-on had a panic attack when he’d thought back to their conversation in the shower the next morning, so he’s counting the repression as being for health and safety reasons, which is definitely permissible.

However, he can’t avoid Ashton at work.

“You look happy to see me, pretty boy,” Ashton remarks, leaning against Luke’s desk, that one fucking curl falling in his eyes, and Luke forces the trepidation off his face.

“Long day,” Luke says.

“Need another pick-me-up?” Ashton asks, lips quirking up in a grin. Luke wills his blood to remain where it is and not rush to his cheeks, and averts his gaze back to his screen.

“No,” he says, and then thinks it might have come out a bit curt, and adds, “thank you.”

“Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind,” Ashton says. Luke nods tightly, and taps out a response to an email.

“Michael says someone’s been receiving mystery notes,” Ashton says after a moment, far too casually. Luke’s eyes snap to him, and narrow.

“What?” he says. Ashton shrugs.

“Says someone’s been leaving notes for a Luke, and you’re trying to find who it is,” he says. Luke hesitates, then nods.

“Well, they’re for a Luke, but I’ve checked with every Luke that was staying here when they came,” he says. “So. I’m going to check whether there are any Lukes due to arrive soon.”

“You ever stop to consider it might be you?” Ashton asks, amused.

“Well,” Luke says. “I mean. No? Like, I’ve thought about it, but- I’m not, y’know. That kind of person. I mean. Nobody, like.” He shrugs uncomfortably, wishing he’d never opened his mouth in the first place.

“Nobody what?” Luke sighs.

“Nobody would do that for me,” he says, all in a rush. Ashton raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he says. “Says who, pretty boy?” Luke opens his mouth - to say what, he’s not quite sure - but they’re interrupted by the kitchen door banging open, Calum striding out, beaming.

“I’m going to do it,” he says to Ashton.

“Good,” Ashton says, pushing himself off Luke’s desk. “Only taken you a decade.”

“Are you fucking mad, as if he would have said yes when we were sixte-”

“See you tomorrow, pretty boy,” Ashton calls, and Luke starts in surprise. Ashton never says goodbye, forgets all about him as soon as Calum comes out.

“Uh,” Luke stammers, “bye?” Ashton throws him another amused glance over his shoulder, and falls in step with Calum, who’s saying something about how he had to wait for the right time, okay, sixteen is way too young, even if he already knew back then.

Luke stares after them for so long after the door has closed that his eyes start to water.

Ashton doesn’t say goodbye to Luke. It’s one of the universal laws of, like, life, or something. The sky is blue, the Earth is round, and Ashton doesn’t say goodbye to Luke. Luke’s honestly not sure what to make of it - does Ashton think they’re, like, friends now, or something? Is he just trying to unnerve him? Yeah, it’s probably that, he thinks. Ashton clearly gets a kick out of making Luke flustered, and throwing him a curveball like that is a surefire way to do it.

When Luke finally tears his gaze away from the door and back at the desk, he notices another scrap of paper to the left of his computer screen. He reaches for it, frowning at the Luke on the front, and opens it.

Golden boy,

Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

- AFI.

Hamlet. AFI is quoting Hamlet. Not just that - he’s quoting a lesser-known part of Hamlet, which means he’s either googling ‘romantic quotes to put in anonymous love notes’ or he’s well-read. Luke decides to choose it’s the latter, because the idea of that makes his heart skip several beats.

Although, to be fair, that might just be him jumping in shock when James slams his bag down on the desk.

“Got your daily note?” James asks, seeing the piece of paper in Luke’s hand. Luke flushes, and folds it back up.

“It’s not mine,” he protests weakly, getting to his feet, and James rolls his eyes.

“We checked every Luke in the system,” he says. “Who the fuck else is it going to be?”

“Maybe it’s for a Lucas,” Luke suggests. “Maybe Luke is a nickname.” James pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You’re fucking impossible,” he says, holding his hand out. “Let’s see it.” Luke hesitates, and then drops it in James’s hand and busies himself with getting his things together so he won’t have to see the look on James’s face as he reads.

“Put it on top of the pile,” Luke says, his back to James as he shrugs his coat on.

“Luke,” James says, like Luke’s the stupidest person alive. Luke resents that. “This is about you. This is about you doubting the notes are for you.”

“It’s not,” Luke says.

“You’re doubting a note written about how you shouldn’t doubt the notes?” James says, eyebrows raised. Luke scowls into his bag.

“Fine,” he says, turning around to face James. “And what if they’re for me?”

“Then we find out who’s leaving them,” James says, swinging himself into the chair and spinning around.

“How?” James shrugs.

“You’re going to miss your train,” is all he says. Luke scowls, and flips him off.

“Get an earlier fucking train,” he calls, as he jogs towards the door, because shit, he really is going to miss his train.

“No can do,” James shouts after him, and Luke flips him off again, almost shutting his finger in the door as it closes behind him.

-------

Luke can’t sleep.

He’s been lying in bed for two hours, tossing and turning, but he can’t get the notes out of his mind.

What if they are for him? Luke’s barely even stopped to consider the idea - no, he’s actively stopped himself from considering the idea, because there was no way they were for him, and it would have been stupid for him to build up that kind of hope only for it to come crashing down.

But now that they’ve checked every Luke in the system, he has to toy with the idea that maybe, just maybe they are for him. Sure, they could be for a Lucas, or for a Luke that’s still to arrive, but the rational part of his mind tells him that the likelihood of that is incredibly low. Logically, he knows he’s looking for other explanations because the idea that they could be for him just doesn’t compute. Luke’s not someone who gets romantic notes. Luke’s not someone who gets romance full stop - the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for him is pay for his cab home from their place.

(He still thinks about Nick fondly.)

And if they are for him, that opens up a whole new can of worms. Luke’s barely even given any thought to who AFI might be, because he’s been telling himself the notes aren’t for him. But now that he’s starting to entertain that notion, that question is crowding into every corner of his mind.

Is it a reference to the band? Is it some kind of cryptic musical reference that Luke’s somehow supposed to understand? Or maybe it’s someone’s initials? AFI are pretty unusual initials, he thinks. He doesn’t think he knows anyone with a name starting with F, or a surname starting with I. Maybe it’s double-barrelled?

He sighs, and rolls over onto his side, trying to put all thoughts of the mysterious author of the notes out of his mind. There’s nothing he can do about it now, and running in circles in his head clearly isn’t helping. He’ll just have to pay better attention tomorrow, see who’s dropping pieces of paper on his desk.

You know, a little voice in his mind tells him as he’s on the verge of falling asleep. Ashton starts with an A.

Luke pushes the thought away and allows sleep to envelop him.

-------

On Friday morning, Luke pushes the door to the lobby open, yawning from his lack of sleep, and stops short.

Michael’s there.

He’s standing by the desk, hands on his hips, looking distinctly irritated.

“Oh,” Luke says, completely bewildered. Michael’s never there.

“I’m specifically supposed to give you this,” Michael says, thrusting a hand out. As Luke edges closer, he sees a piece of paper in it, the same scratchy handwriting spelling out his name on the front.

“From who?” he asks.

“Can’t tell you,” Michael says shortly, dropping the note in Luke’s hands and hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve left the keys in alphabetical order, and if you fucking mess them up again, I’m going to have Calum commit a fairly serious crime against you.” Luke clenches his teeth, watching Michael as he saunters out of the room without waiting for a response from Luke (not that he would have got one anyway), only dropping his gaze to the note in his hand when the door closes behind Michael.

Okay, he thinks, unfolding the note, and trying to ignore the way his heart is racing and his fingers are fumbling with the paper. So the notes are for him.

Golden boy,

Maybe I’ve been too subtle with these. Maybe you needed the pomp and blare, and not the old friend through quiet ways, the seeming prose.

- AFI.

Luke frowns at it, sitting down in his chair and pulling up a browser on the computer. He’s not really sure whether these are AFI’s own words, or whether it’s a quote from something he hasn’t read before. However, a quick Google informs him it’s a (very butchered) line from Anne of Avonlea, which immediately makes Luke’s heart jump a little, because who outside of bookworms reads any further than Anne of Green Gables? Jesus, Luke’s already a little in love with AFI, and for all he knows it could be James playing a prank on him.

And, like, okay. The notes are for him, and it makes Luke’s palms sweat a little just to think about. AFI thinks he’s a golden boy. AFI thinks he’s worth sending romantic literary notes to, and wants him to know they’re for him.

And, more importantly, Michael knows who AFI is.

Luke stews on that all day, thoughts stumbling over each other in their haste to get to the forefront of his mind. Why wouldn’t Michael tell Luke who it is? Why is AFI so keen to remain anonymous? Are they embarrassed to like Luke? Actually, that would explain a lot, and Luke can’t really fault them for it. He’s not exactly anyone to show off to friends and family.

He’s so preoccupied that by four-fifty he’s only about two-thirds through the emails he should have answered, but as soon as he feels the familiar presence of Ashton looming over his desk, he knows he’s not going to get anything more done. He sighs, leaning back, and looks up at Ashton, who’s grinning at him.

“Afternoon, pretty boy,” he says, looking particularly pleased with himself for some reason. Luke decides not to ask.

“Hi,” he says.

“You look pensive,” Ashton remarks. Luke shrugs, a little uncomfortably. What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? Yeah, you wouldn’t happen to know who dropped a note off for Michael to give to me this morning, would you? Cheers, mate. By the way, I’ve wanted to fuck you for, like, six months, and your presence is getting a bit unbearable, so would you do me a favour and not show up again until I’m out of this dry spell?

“Uh,” he settles for. Close enough.

“Heard you met Michael this morning,” Ashton comments, examining his fingernails.

“Yeah,” Luke says, even though he’s met Michael before. “He’s, uh.” Bitchy? Luke’s not sure insulting Ashton’s friends is the best idea he’s ever had, so he says nothing. Ashton seems to get it, though, and just laughs.

“Yeah, he’s like that,” he says. “But he’s lovely when you get to know him.”

“Right,” Luke says doubtfully. Ashton just grins, and reaches for the cigarette behind his ear.

“Uh,” Luke says. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“Oh?” Ashton says, raising an eyebrow, cigarette already halfway to his lips. “What are you going to do about it?” Luke opens his mouth, and closes it again. Then, suddenly-

“I’ll give you my number if you don’t,” he blurts, and then immediately feels himself turn an impressive shade of red. Ashton’s hand stills for a moment, and then he grins, and tucks the cigarette back behind his ear.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me your number anyway, pretty boy,” he says, but he’s still smiling.

“You almost gave me a hangover,” Luke says, but he’s reaching for the phone in his coat pocket anyway, if only to spare himself from having to look at Ashton. Jesus Christ. What the fuck came over him?

“Not my fault you’re a lightweight,” he hears Ashton say, and he scowls, unlocking his phone and pulling up his own contact. He spins back around to his desk and pulls a piece of paper towards him, scribbling the numbers down at the top. He hesitates, and then writes Luke at the top, even though Ashton clearly knows his name. He’s not sure how many numbers someone as attractive as Ashton must be receiving on a daily basis, so it can’t hurt, right?

He pushes the piece of paper towards Ashton, who takes it with a grin, reading the numbers at least three times.

“You know, I know your name,” he remarks.

“I know.” Ashton glances back at the numbers again, and looks like he’s going to say something else, when the door to the kitchen opens.

“You come on your bike?” Calum asks Ashton, who nods. “Good. I’ve picked out a few places I think might have good ones.”

“In your budget?”

“Fuck you,” Calum says, as they start off towards the door. “I got a raise, remember?”

“And you still think Michael’s going to say yes when he hears how you got it?” Ashton says, sounding amused.

“He already knows,” Calum says dismissively, pushing the door open. “And it’s not like he’s above threats of violence himself.”

“I’ll text you, pretty boy,” Ashton calls over his shoulder, just before the door shuts behind him.

Luke’s glad the door’s between them, or he might do something stupid like shout yes, please do, and please fuck me while you’re at it after Ashton.

Jesus, he thinks, putting his head in his hands. Ashton’s got his number. He’s given Ashton his number. He, Luke Hemmings, had the gall to give the hottest guy in the entirety of Australia his number.

Whatever, he tells himself, packing his things together. Ashton’ll probably forget to text him, anyway. Luke’s not exactly high up on anyone’s to-do list.

-------

Much to his surprise, Luke’s first text from Ashton comes on Saturday evening.

0491570156 Evening, pretty boy.

Luke looks over at his phone lazily when it chimes, not intending to answer his mum when Mike Ross is about to get found out as a fraud by Jessica, and jerks upright when he sees the nickname.

Hi.

Hey.

Hi :)

Hi!

Luke types and erases each one. Too serious, too enthusiastic, too childlike, not cool enough. By the time he’s decided to just bite the bullet and go for Hey, Ashton’s typing again, and Luke erases it all and waits with bated breath.

0491570156 You typing an essay or something?

Shit, Luke forgot Ashton could see when he was typing. God, he’s going to have to start typing on Notes, or something.

Me Sorry. Hi

It’s terrible, but so is Luke, so it’s fitting. He clicks off the chat so he won’t have to see Ashton typing, and saves him as a new contact, by which time Ashton’s sent another message.

Ashton You sound pleased to hear from me

Luke swallows. He’s not sure whether it’s just because it’s over text, but Ashton sounds kind of pissed.

Me I am!

He erases that immediately.

Me I am, I’m just surprised

He bites his lip, and then thinks fuck it, takes another gulp of his wine, and adds a line.

I’m also pretty bad at talking to people.

Ashton’s reply is instantaneous.

Ashton You’re cute when you’re flustered

Ashton Although honestly, you’re cute all the time

Me I’m flustered all the time

Luke stares at the screen, willing Ashton to respond, heart beating wildly. He’s not exactly known for his flirting prowess.

Ashton Damn...thought I was special

Luke inhales deeply, and types without letting himself think about it.

Me Never said you weren’t the reason I’m flustered all the time

This time, Ashton replies immediately.

Ashton Good :) I was starting to think this was all one-sided

Luke lets out a shaky exhale. What’s that supposed to mean?

He’s halfway through typing out a message along those lines when another text comes through.

Ashton Sorry, my shift is actually about to start. Wasn’t expecting you to reply so quickly

And then another:

Ashton See you around, pretty boy

Luke stares at it, and then puts his phone down, slightly dazed.

He’s not going to think about this until he absolutely has to.

-------

‘Until he absolutely has to’ turns out to be about ten p.m. on Sunday night.

Ashton Hey, pretty boy

Ashton I’m on my break

Luke jumps when his phone chimes, and grabs for it with fumbling fingers.

Me How’s work?

Ashton Oh, you know

Ashton Only had to kick out one guy so far

Ashton So pretty good

Luke huffs out a laugh.

Me Pretty sure that’s a bouncer’s job, not a barback’s

Ashton I’m a good multitasker

Okay, Luke doesn’t have, like, a thing for bouncers, but the idea of Ashton squaring up to some drunk guy and throwing him out is kind of doing something to him. He blames it on the fact it’s late, he’s tired, he’s desperate, and Ashton’s far too attractive for his own good.

Me Clearly, since you bartend too

Ashton Hey, you said you wouldn’t tell

Me Telling you doesn’t count as telling

Ashton You don’t know who might be watching over my shoulder

Luke grins.

Me Who’s watching over your shoulder?

Ashton No one, but it’s the principle of it

Luke doesn’t really know what to say to that, but he’s saved from having to come up with anything by another text from Ashton.

Ashton You should come by the bar again soon

Me Bars aren’t really my scene

Ashton The way you knocked back those tequila shots says otherwise

Me I said bars, not alcohol

Ashton Come after closing, then

Luke hesitates.

Me I have work during the week. I can’t be out at three

Ashton Then come on Friday

Luke exhales heavily.

Me Maybe

Ashton You can say no

Me I’m not saying no

Ashton :)

Ashton Break’s over. I’ll see you soon, pretty boy x

Luke throws his phone down on his bedside table, pretending for the sake of his sanity that he hasn’t seen the fucking kiss at the end of that message, rolls over, and goes to sleep.

(And if his dreams are filled with dimly lit bars and hot guys in leather jackets, that’s a total coincidence.)

-------

It comes to a head on Tuesday.

On Monday, Luke’s note had read:

Golden boy,

Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others. I think we are the latter.

- AFI.

Luke hadn’t had to look that one up - it’s Sense and Sensibility, anyone would know that. It might have made his heart race a little, seeing those words in the rushed, scratchy writing he’s come to associate with AFI, and knowing that they’re for him. Someone out there thinks that despite the fact they’ve only been leaving him notes for a little over a week, that’s enough.

Ashton doesn’t show up until a minute before Calum’s shift ends on Tuesday, which is unusual for him. He’s got bruised knuckles and a black eye when he does turn up, and he can only throw Luke a slightly half-hearted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and doesn’t even call him pretty boy.

“Hi,” he says, sounding tired.

“What happened?” Luke says, frowning. Ashton shrugs.

“I owed someone a favour,” he says simply, and there’s a tone of finality to his voice that tells Luke not to pry. Luke swallows, and nods.

“You should put ice on that,” he says instead, nodding at Ashton’s eye, and Ashton huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I-” he starts, and then the door to the kitchen bangs open, and Calum’s striding out, looking stricken when he spots Ashton.

“What the fuck?” he demands, coming up to Ashton and cupping his face in his hands. “Jesus, was this Leon?”

“Ben,” Ashton corrects, and Calum drops his hand.

“Ben?” he says, an edge of fury to his voice. “Which Ben?”

“You know which Ben,” Ashton says uncomfortably, turning away from Luke and heading off towards the door. Calum jogs after him, making a noise of anger.

“Ashton Fletcher Irwin, what the fuck did I tell you about going after Ben?” he says dangerously.

“I know, but Sam said-” Ashton says, cut off by the door swinging shut behind them, and Luke never gets to find out what Sam said.

It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s gaping at the spot Ashton and Calum had just been standing in.

Ashton Fletcher Irwin, Calum had said. Ashton Fletcher Irwin.

AFI.

Luke barely even notices he’s on his feet until he’s at the door, tearing it open and looking around wildly. The cold May air heads straight for his nose and ears, but he can’t even bring himself to care, rushing down the steps when he spots Calum and Ashton arguing by two motorbikes.

“...owed him, Cal, you and I both knew he was going to call the favour in at some point,” Ashton’s saying.

“Ashton,” Luke says, and both Ashton and Calum turn to him in surprise.

“Yeah?”

“Ashton Fletcher Irwin.” Realisation dawns on Ashton’s face, and he swallows.

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter this time.

“You?” Ashton squirms a little, and nods.

“Holy shit,” Luke says, because he doesn’t get it, can’t wrap his head around it. “Fucking- you’re AFI.”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Look, I’m sorry, I just-”

“You read Anna Karenina?” Ashton glances at him in surprise.

“What? Yeah, it’s one of my favourite books.”

“And Hamlet?”

“Who hasn’t read Hamlet?”

“Gone With The Wind?”

“I- yeah? I just-” Luke takes a deep breath.

“You’re AFI,” he says, again. Calum’s watching this entire exchange with something between bewilderment and amusement, leant back against his bike.

“I just said that,” Ashton says.

“You wrote me romantic notes.”

“I- uh, yeah. I did.” Luke blinks at him, and takes a deep breath.

“You- did you mean them?”

“Of course I meant them,” Ashton says, sounding surprised. “How could I not? Jesus, Luke, look at you. You’re a fucking fantasy come to life. I’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss you since the day I first saw you. You think I was coming to pick Calum up from the hotel to be a good friend?” Luke stares at him. That’s the first time Ashton’s said his name, and Luke wants to hear it for the rest of his life.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you,” he says, without thinking. Ashton chokes on his next breath, and Calum sniggers behind his hand.

“I’m going to go ahead,” he says, still smirking, throwing a leg over his bike. “Be safe, boys.” Ashton flips him off as Calum kicks his bike into gear and rides off, leaving Luke and Ashton alone in the deafening silence that follows Calum’s roaring exhaust.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Ashton says, after a minute. Luke bites his lip.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says, “but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.” Ashton laughs at that, amused and fond, before his face falls again, like he’s just remembered something.

“Luke,” he says carefully. “I- look. I like you, but I’m- I’m not a good guy.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” Ashton sighs.

“No,” he says. “I- look. I’m trying to be better, okay? But I don’t want you to get caught up in all this. I’m trying to end it.” Luke hesitates, and then nods. He’d kind of known Ashton was mixed up in something, and he finds that it doesn’t really bother him.

“Okay,” he says easily.

“No, Luke, you don’t get it,” Ashton says, sounding a little frustrated, and Luke takes a bold step forward, because what the fuck does he have to lose now, and places a hand on Ashton’s forearm.

“Hey,” he says, summoning all his courage. “You owe favours, you’re repaying debts. You don’t have to tell me what they are. I’m okay with that.” Ashton frowns at him.

“I’m ending it,” he says again, like he doesn’t think Luke believes him. “These are the last few jobs. I’ll be out of the bar in a few weeks.” Luke nods again.

“Okay,” he says. “I can wait a few weeks, if you want me to.” Ashton tilts his head, and stares at Luke.

“You’d do that?”

“Well, I’ve waited six months, haven’t I?” A slow grin spreads across Ashton’s face.

“You don’t have to wait,” he says. “It’s not- like, I’m not in the fucking mafia, or anything. I just don’t want you to get caught up in my business.” Luke shrugs.

“I’m good at lowkey,” he says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, I can believe that,” he says. “So. How about mine on Friday, instead of the bar?” Luke blinks at him.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Not if I call in sick,” Ashton says. Luke hesitates, and then a small smile spreads across his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Ashton grins back at him, swinging a leg over his bike and pulling his helmet on.

“I’ll text you,” he says.

“Yeah,” Luke says, a little dazed. “Text me.” Ashton kicks his bike into gear, and Luke sees his eyes crinkle, which means he’s smiling.

“See you around,” Ashton says, “golden boy.”

#lashton #5sos slash #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #malum #i'm telling you i haven't struggled this much to write a fic since like 2015 #JESUS CHRIST I HAVE 2 MINUTES AND I AHVENT WRITETN AN AUTHORS NOTE FUCK ME #OH SHIT I SAVED IT AS A DRAFT INSTEAD OF POSTING IT SORRY IM 5 MINS LATE

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omgjasminesimone · 4 years

Text

Masters of Sex Part 2

Bryce x MC

Follow up to this story as part of my 500 followers follow ups celebration.

Word Count: 2500

A week after Bryce and Casey’s hate sex session, Casey is approached by the last person she wants to talk to in the hospital hallway.

“Hi, Dr. Valentine, right? Can I talk to you for a second?” The pretty hospital pharmacist who slept with Bryce several months ago, who Casey thought was basically her boyfriend at the time, asks.

Casey gestures at the lab results she’s going over. “I’m actually really busy.” Casey claims.

“It will really just take a second.” The other woman insists, smiling gently.

Casey resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Fine.” She says shortly.

“Would you like to talk in the cafeteria?”

“Here is fine.” Casey insists, tapping her foot impatiently.

The pharmacist, Kelly, according to her name tag sighs. “Okay then. I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t know you and Bryce had anything going on, I definitely wasn’t trying to step into an existing relationship.” Kelly says softly, keeping her voice low so the doctors, nurses, and patients passing through the halls don’t hear them.

“You can have him if you want. Me and Bryce are done.” Casey replies, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“Really? That’s not what he said when I ran into him at the gym yesterday. He said you guys were going to try to work it out.” Kelly reports.

Casey rolls her eyes. Why would Bryce send this woman here to talk to her? Did he think this was going to help?

“Well, I guess he got his wires crossed, because we’re done. So, feel free to continue to sleep with him.” Casey insists. Casey turns on her heel and walks away before Kelly can respond. She’s fuming as she heads to the on-call room where she knows Bryce is likely napping between surgeries.

She opens the door, and there he is, asleep on the small cot. She closes the door loudly enough to wake him up.

Bryce starts as he wakes, reflexively checking his pager before he realizes that’s not what woke him up. His bleary eyes drift up to Casey. “What-” He starts, but Casey quickly interrupts.

“Why did you tell the pharmacist that we were trying to work it out?” Casey asks, tone harsh.

Bryce furrows his brow in confusion. “That’s not what I told her. I said I wanted to try to work it out.”

“Why would you even tell her anything in the first place? Did you want her to report back to me? Make me think that all of a sudden you’re going to act like you’re in a relationship?”

“Why would I have asked her to talk to you? It clearly just pissed you off.” Bryce retorts.

“Then, again, why did you tell her anything?” Casey repeats impatiently.

“Because, at the gym, she asked if I wanted to come by her place last night. And I told her no, and explained that you were mad at me for the last time I hooked up with her, even though we weren’t officially together, and then I said that I’m not sleeping with anybody else, because I want to work it out with you.” Bryce explains.

Casey leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Well, don’t deprive yourself on my account. I’m done Bryce. Sleep with whoever you want.”

“I only want you. And I’m going to prove it to you.” Bryce responds with resolve.

“What do you think you could possibly do to prove that?” Casey challenges.

“Well, step one is the celibacy. And then…. I’m still working on the other steps to get you back.” Bryce replies, smiling tentatively.

Casey rolls her eyes, turning towards the door. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Mark my words Casey, I’m going to make you fall in love with me, again.” Bryce calls after her.

...

“What the hell is this?” Casey asks when she steps into her room a week later.

“Isn’t it romantic Casey? Bryce filled your room with roses!” Sienna exclaims, collapsing onto Casey’s bed, which has been covered in rose petals.

“Who let him in here?” Casey complains.

“Come on Case, the guy had $800 of roses in a wagon, I couldn’t turn him away.” Elijah claims.

Casey picks up a rose from one of the many bouquets on her floor. “What a waste of money, he should have given me a Visa gift card.”

“Jesus, your heart is ice cold.” Elijah replies, shaking his head.

“I told him this wasn’t going to work.” Jackie adds, moving a bouquet from Casey’s desk chair so she can sit.

“I don’t even like flowers. Shows how much he doesn’t even know me. What am I going to do with all of these?” Casey questions.

...

“Jackie told me you didn’t like the roses.” Bryce says, leaning against the desk as Casey uses the head nurse’s computer to look up her patient’s symptoms.

“You shouldn’t have wasted all that money.” Casey chastises.

Bryce shrugs. “I’m not worried about the money. I’m a surgeon after all.”

“A surgical intern.” Casey retorts.

“Same thing.”

“Very different salary.”

Bryce laughs at that, smiling at her. Casey quickly looks away. Damn him and that perfect smile.

“Did you throw them away?” Bryce asks, rising from his leaning position when he sees Dr. Avery coming down the hall. He’ll have to head off to assist with her hernia repair surgery soon.

“No, Sienna made them into potpourri balls. You know she’s crafty. Sold them at the farmer’s market. She made like $200.” Casey answers.

Bryce laughs again. “Did she split it with you?”

“Yep, $100 richer. But that could have been $800 if you’d just given me the cash.”

“But I’m not trying to buy you Valentine, I know you’re priceless” Bryce replies with a wink before walking away.

...

Casey wakes with a splitting headache in an unfamiliar bed two weeks later. She glances at her bed mate. Shit. It’s Henry Johnson. A psychology fellow from Edenbrook. She’d gone out to Donahue’s the night before, danced and flirted with Henry, and when she was drunk enough, went home with him.

She vaguely remembers the sex. Unremarkable. Nothing like with Bryce.

Double shit, Casey thinks as she sits up, looking out the window. Of course, Henry has to live in the same apartment complex as Bryce.

It’s not that much of a surprise, a lot of the hospital staff live here because they heavily advertise at the hospital and offer a slight discount. But it’s bad luck none the less.

Casey checks Henry’s clock. 8:10 AM. Bryce should probably still be at the gym from his morning workout. She’ll just sneak out really quick, and not even have to see him.

Casey slips out from under Henry’s arm, sliding back into her dress from last night. She catches her reflection in Henry’s bathroom mirror. Make-up from last night still on and smudged, her curls looking a mess. She sighs, preparing herself for her walk of shame.

She gets into the elevator, glad to see no one else in it. She impatiently presses the button for the lobby. But the elevator stops on the 10th floor, and of course Bryce Lahela is standing there.

He seems surprised to see her, but quickly schools his expression as he steps into the elevator.

Casey can’t believe her bad luck.

“Long night?” Bryce asks. He tries to say it with levity, but there’s underlying jealousy and anger there. Casey rolls her eyes.

“I don’t owe you anything. We’re not together. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” Bryce responds, somewhat testy. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “What kind of pie do you like?”

Casey looks at him incredulously as the elevator reaches the lobby. “Pie?”

Bryce nods. “I’m baking you a pie today. That’s step 3. The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

Casey walks out of the elevator, heading for the T stop. Bryce follows. “Why are you doing this? I told you we’re done. Maybe one day we can be friends again. But as far as a relationship goes, I’ve clearly moved on.” Casey gestures to her outfit from last night.

“If it was any good, you wouldn’t be sneaking out of his apartment at 8 in the morning.” Bryce insists. Casey can’t really argue that point, so Bryce continues. “We’re good together Casey, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

Casey ignores that, splitting off from Bryce to head up the street. “I don’t like pie!” She calls over her shoulder.

“Liar, everyone likes pie!” Bryce shouts back.

...

The next day, Casey walks into the kitchen after her shift and finds her roommates all eating cherry pie around the kitchen table.

“Bryce brought it over a little bit ago.” Sienna informs Casey as she pulls up a chair.

Jackie cuts Casey a slice, handing it over.

Casey chews thoughtfully.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Elijah questions.

“Hmmm...It’s not bad, but not amazing either.” Casey decides.

“Come on Casey, you can tell he worked so hard on this. Don’t you see the indentations in the crust?!” Sienna presses.

Casey shrugs, taking another bite. “He shouldn’t quit his day job.”

...

3 weeks later, Casey comes down with a nasty, highly contagious bug. She doesn’t want to infect her roommates, so she checks herself into a hotel south of Boston. She’s absolutely miserable, and pretty sure that she’s dying. She’s almost fallen into a fitful sleep when she feels a hand pressed against her feverish forehead.

“Ahh!” She screams, rolling away and fighting to get from under the twisted covers.

“Casey! It’s just me!” Bryce reveals, hands raised in a non-threatening manner.

“What the hell Bryce? What are you doing here?” Casey asks when her heart rate has slowed down.

“I heard you were sick.” He replies simply.

“How’d you even get in here?”

“Hotel concierges don’t ask a lot of questions when you just say, hey, I’d like an extra key to this room please, Casey Valentine’s.” Bryce answers.

“That’s terrifying.” Casey mutters.

“Well, in her defense, I look extremely non-threatening.” Bryce insists.

Casey rolls her eyes. “Why are you here though? I’m in this hotel quarantining myself so I don’t get anyone else sick.”

Bryce waves off her concerns. “I have an extremely strong immune system. Haven’t been sick in like 15 years. So, I came to take care of you.” Bryce reaches to the nightstand. “Here, take these.” He hands her some medicine. “And drink this.” Some Gatorade.

Bryce gets up from the bed, moving over to the couch and opening a textbook he pulls from his backpack. “Now get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll make you some soup.” Bryce instructs.

“You really don’t have to do this.” Casey insists, eyes drooping from the sheer exhaustion of being so sick.

“I want to. Sweet dreams Casey.”

...

3 days later, Casey has recovered. And she hears from one of the surgical interns that Bryce is sick. She knocks on the door of his apartment. It takes him a while to answer the door, wrapped in a blanket and looking absolutely miserable. His expression immediately brightens when he sees her though. “Casey! What a pleasant surprise!” He greets, stepping aside so she can come in.

Casey can’t help but give him an ‘I told you so look. “So, I guess your super immune system failed you?”

“This is some bug you caught Casey. Takes a lot to take me down.” Bryce insists, slowly lowering himself back onto his couch.

“Have you eaten anything?” Casey questions.

“I can’t keep anything down.”

“I know, but you have to eat something anyway.” Casey insists, pulling some warm vegetable broth soup from her shopping bag. “I also brought medicine, and fluids.” She reveals, sitting beside him and handing him the soup.

“.... Did you think this would be the circumstances that would get you back to my apartment?” Bryce asks, chuckling weakly, but that quickly turns into a rumbling cough.

“I had thought the only thing that could get me back here is more hate sex, but I owe you one.” Casey quips.

Bryce laughs, taking a few small spoonfuls of the soup. He sets the soup to the side, leaning down to rest his head in Casey’s lap. Even she doesn’t have the heart to shoo him away when he’s so sick, especially when he’s sick because he took care of her.

“Sweet dreams Bryce.” She murmurs as he falls asleep. She turns the TV on mute, watching it with subtitles.

…

A few weeks later, Casey collapses to the floor of the supply closet as soon as she closes the door, tears wracking her small frame. She can’t believe she lost her. She ran so many tests, desperate to find why the young girl’s cell counts were so low. But she ran out of time, the child dying while Casey held her hand.

She knows who it is when the door opens, her suspicions confirmed when he gets onto the floor beside her and gathers her into his strong arms. She cries into Bryce’s chest, clinging to him desperately.

“Shh…. what’s wrong?” Bryce tries to comfort when her sobs show no sign of subsiding.

Casey just shakes her head, hugging him tighter as she continues to cry. Eventually, she’s all cried out. And then she tells Bryce about losing her patient.

Bryce wipes her tears away with his calloused thumbs, smiling sadly at her. “Do you want to know what I do when I lose a patient?” He questions.

Casey nods weakly, and Bryce stands, pulling her to her feet as well. He takes her hand, and gently leads her out of the supply closet, into the stairwell, and then up to the 6th floor. He walks her though the hallway and stops in front of the window of the nursery.

Casey looks at the newborn babies, all different shades and sizes. She can’t help but smile when she gazes at them, all bundled up in blue and pink hospital gear.

Bryce steps up to her back, speaking quietly behind her. “When I come up here, it reminds me that life goes on. It’s horrible to lose a patient, especially a young one, but you have to remember that you did all you could. And you’ll learn from this. And hopefully be able to save the next one. There’s always a chance to start over new Casey.” Bryce concludes.

Casey leans back into Bryce’s embrace, observing the room full of new beginnings.

…

After thinking long and hard about it, 4 days later Casey sends a text.

Casey Valentine: Do you want to get dinner? So we can talk about starting over new?

Bryce replies seconds later.

Bryce Lahela: Name the time and place, I’m there.

Tags: @octobereighth @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @regina-and-happiness @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @lizeboredom @desiree-0816 @hellooliviaolivia @dreaming-of-movies @friedherringclodthing @weaving-in-words @fairydustandsarcasm @goldenjellyfish12 @pessimystic-fangirl @mimikoasahina @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl @god-save-the-keen @caroldxnvxrs @cora-nova @emceesynonymroll @choicesgremlin @anxious-arliah @cordoniasmost @lahelable @ohsnapitzlovehacker @pixeljazzy @blk-girl-emoji

#bryce x mc #bryce lahela x mc #choices fanfiction #500 followers follow ups #open heart

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #323

“dehumanized upon a shell / we came to bleed it dry / obsessed with divine wealth / divide and multiply”

Have you ever drawn on someone’s face while they were sleeping? No. Would you scuba dive in shark infested waters if you had the chance? No thanks. What is your favorite slow song? There are so many, but one of the slowest and most beloved of mine is "Obstacles" by Syd Matters. It gives me goosebumps without fail. It's one song I know I want at my hypothetical wedding. If there were aliens on earth, would you be afraid? I mean, yeah. I'd want to know their intentions. If your best friend died, would you be able to speak at their funeral? It'd be extremely difficult, but if I had any say in it, I absolutely would. Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times it causes too much pain, depending on the pictures, of course. Do you tend to have a lot of drama in your life? Definitely not. My life is painfully uneventful. When’s the last time someone was disappointed in you? I don't know. Do you have a house phone? No. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? McDonald's. Have you ever met someone on the Internet in real life? Yep. What’s your favorite color to wear? Black. Do you like being in pictures? No. Do you travel a lot? Essentially never, even though I'd love to. Do you play any sports? No. Do you like pickles? Yesssss. How many times have you been kicked out of a store? Never. Is there things you’ve told someone that you’ve NEVER told anyone else? Probably. When was the last time you had alcohol? My birthday dinner last month. Are you one to often make typos? No, except when I'm texting. I have autocorrect on for a reason. On a hot day, would you rather prefer ice cream or a popsicle? Ice cream. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but I just didn't want to drink anymore at one point. I'm far from a lightweight, apparently. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a band you like with amazing music but a bad vocalist? Mother Mother immediately comes to mind, but not the main singer; he's great. The woman who occasionally joins in is fucking horrendous. Like, it hurts my ears. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't and never have really headbanged, surprisingly. It's a sure-fire way to make me dizzy. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I hope not... Sometimes I feel like it's time with photography, but I just. Can't. Have you ever captured a moth? I've raised a caterpillar into one before, then of course let it go. Is there a band/artist who has strange lyrics but you love them anyway? Otep, noteably. When was the last time you wore earrings? It's been a long time. How many pairs of heels do you own? I don't think I have any. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? Uhhhh it's been at the very least a month, but I know more. Would you consider yourself to be physically strong? Absolutely not, especially my legs. I struggle to fucking walk because they're so weak. Have you ever painted a piece of furniture? Yes, actually. I helped Jason paint his shelf black. Do you have a really fat cat? No, we never have. We've always been good about keeping our pets at a healthy weight. Do your initials spell a word? No. When was the last time you went to a playground? A year or so ago when I was taking pictures of someone's son, as well as just general family photos. That same family just had another baby the other day. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Do you have a favorite curse word in a different language? No. Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multipication times tables? Lol not most of them, no... It's been way too long. Do you have a favorite font on the computer? Of the basic ones, probably Garamond. Are you good at creating logos? *shrugs* I've only ever really made my photography watermarks, and I only JUST made one I like pretty well. How about catch phrases? I don't make those. Have you ever been severely burned? Not severely, no. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've actually had numerous dreams where I was pregnant, but I don't THINK I've had one where the baby was born yet. Do you or anyone you know have a rabbit? No. What was the weirdest thing you ever saw cross the road? Hm, nothing too weird, I think. Last song you got stuck in your head? "ALTÆR" by 3TEETH. Last song you listened to? ^ Favorite movie quote? I don't know. Maybe Rafiki's quote about the past hurting, but you should take that opportunity to learn. Favorite lyric? That is impossible. There are so, so very many that just like slather me in goosebumps. What magazine are you an avid reader to? None. Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? I have. How many relationships have you been in that lasted less than a year? Four. Have you ever been significantly more physically fit than you are now? Man, take me the hell back to my WiiFit days. I was pretty damn fit. The last time I did it, it was seriously alarming how much I struggled doing things that were once pretty effortless. When growing up, did you parents keep the house very tidy? "Very" seems a bit too much, but Mom definitely kept it in order. How many watches do you own? None. Should teenagers be allowed to have their cell phones with them in class? Yes. Emergencies happen. Do you have any gay relatives? Yes; my mom has a cousin who's gay. Have you unfollowed, deleted, or blocked anyone on social media recently? Not recently, no. If so, what was the reason? ^ What’s the biggest financial mistake you’ve ever made? Oh, y'know, dropping out of college three fucking times. Once I pay my own bills and I truly understand finances, that's going to fucking wreck me. Do you like metal music? Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck yeah. If so, what sub-genres of metal do you like the best? Heavy and symphonic. Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? My mom for bringing home lunch recently. Have you ever been in a relationship where there was a large difference in maturity levels? No. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? Maybe like a month when I was technically homeless? How bad was your acne when you were a teenager? It was preeeetty rough. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? A microwavable breakfast bowl. Do you go on the computer or watch TV more? Guess. Explain why you are single: Because I'm a very, very underdeveloped "adult" that has very little clue what she's doing. At my age, I and any potential partner should want someone with direction. What feature do you usually get most complimented on? My hair. Has anyone ever accused you of being gay? Well, I'm bi. I had this weird therapist once in middle school though who asked if I was a lesbian... Idk why she did? What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? I'm in an advanced ball python husbandry group, and while a lot of people there are utter, degrading elitists, they do have valuable information. Did you name all of your stuffed animals and dolls? I sure did as a kid. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Probably black dresses, and I think it'd be really cool if I were to marry a woman, the bridesmaids wear checkered Converses colored into a rainbow pattern, or something like that. Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska, if it was a good time to see the Northern Lights. Are you sick right now? No, thankfully. Do you feel loved? Yes. Do you like your butt? Why or why not? God no. I have such a flat ass. Are you ashamed of your faith? I'm assuming by this you mean religion, in which case, I don't have one and am not ashamed of that. Has anyone ever tried to force their beliefs on you? Yes. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? Again, I'm bisexual. I have never had a personal act of homophobia inflicted upon me, though. Have you ever been accused of being homophobic? Yes, because I was for most of my life. Fucking repulsive to remember. "Repulsive" is much too gentle a word, but yeah. It is so, so embarrassing to recall myself ever believing it was wrong because my then-religion said no-no. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I have two pets. I would be so, so lonely without any. :/ I've had pets my entire life. Who was the last person you went on a date with? Sara. How long has it been since that last time you went on a date? Like two or so years. Do you think babies are cute? They can be, but I usually don't find them all that cute, honestly. Especially newborns/very young infants. They're usually hideous. My youngest niece is actually the only newborn that I remember seeing that I thought was absolultely precious. What is your favorite style of pants? Ripped skinny jeans. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Who was the last person who broke your heart? Jason. ^Do you still miss this person? I'm sure I always will to some degree. Do you have someone to talk to and share your secrets with? Sara more than anyone, but Mom, too. Is there someone you feel extra shy around? Just men in general. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic. Closest living thing to you? My snake's terrarium is against the opposite wall. She's in her hide. Would you rather drown or burn alive? Drown. You go unconscious first, so. And I'd assume it to be faster than burning alive. Also me no like hot. :'''( Who is the last person you got really pissed off with? My stepmother posted some ignorant bullshit on Facebook about how people blow out of proportion our "supposed" environmental crisis. I nearly deleted her right then and there. I take that shit seriously. Most of her beliefs drive me insane, honestly, but she's a wonderful person at heart, so I just bit my tongue. Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? Girt. What type of sushi do you like to eat? Never tried it, don't want to. Was the last person you kissed physically attractive? Yes. Do you have any flowers in your room? No. Do you know anyone that owns horses? Yes. Well, I took pictures for her family, anyway. Do you know anyone who has road rage? Who? Jesus, yes. My little sister. Is your mom a big health freak or your dad? Or neither? Neither are "big" health freaks, especially not Dad when you consider he smokes and knows it'll be what kills him. My mom is diabetic though, so she's reasonably careful. Do you know anyone who wants to be the president one day? No. What kinds of chips are in the cupboards? We don't have any. Ma tries to keep snacks out of the house for both hers and my sake. If you were going out with your celebrity crush, what would you wear? OH BOY idk. I'd probably spend days planning the "perfect" thing. Do you have any friends who have naturally red hair? I do. Have you ever cried when a teacher retired? Yep, my band teacher. He was incredibly loved by literally everyone. Do you have your mom’s or dad’s eyes? Neither's. They both have brown eyes. What’s the best date movie? We gonna have a problem if you don't watch The Notebook w/ me if I have it on lmao. How long has your current best friend been your best friend? Many years now. (: Do you swear and yell while playing video games? I might swear under my breath, but I don't yell. Would you rather name your daughter Andrea or Eva? Andrea. If you were adopted, would you want to know? Yes. Do you know anyone who has grossly skinny eyebrows? I couldn't care less about someone's eyebrows. Do your pets chase after bugs? Oh yes, Roman certainly does. When’s the last time you were so excited you couldn’t sleep? Why? Hmmm... this actually happened recently, but I don't remember why... What is your mom’s favorite movie? I don't know, actually. I think it's some romance one. What TV family reminds you of your own family? None, really. Do you know anyone who always looks perfect? Who? One of my best high school friends Alon was like... just always pristinely beautiful, it seemed like. I haven't seen many pictures of her lately, but I'm sure that hasn't changed. Has anyone you know ever pulled the fire alarm in school, joking around? I think so once, yes. Who was the main character in the last book you read? A dragon named Sunny. Who are the last people you saw kiss? On the lips, I'm sure it woulda been my sister and her husband. Would you rather look at clouds or stars? Clouds, I think. Well, it would depend on their design, I guess, and time of day. When you get married, who will be the maid of honor/best man? Probably my mom. Does your best friend get along with their parents? She has a wonderful relationship with them. Have you ever been in a wedding? What were you? I was the fat, hideous, crying bridesmaid. ;x; Are you purposely hiding something from someone? No. What’s the most intimate thing you’ve discussed with a stranger? My suicide attempt with doctors. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I always get fries. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Are you in an argument with anyone right now? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? My grandmother. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes. Dad doesn't have one. What’s the last tourist area you visited? Chicago. Mice or roaches? Mice are precious, meanwhile I hate roaches. Did you give or get any Valentines this year? No. Well, Mom bought me and my sisters each a delicious candy apple, if that counts? What’s your homepage? Google. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''altaer" by 3teeth

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bwayfanficblog · 5 years

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Opinions on the BMC OBCR!

(Friendly reminder this is just my opinion! I think this cast recording is over all insanely good, I’m just being a little nit picky because I’ve loved BMC for a while. I had the privilege of seeing BMC in NYC in March, which was amazing and the live performance did influence my opinions a bit. If you have doubts about Will Roland as Jeremy, seeing it live will flip your opinions. Trust me. ❤️)

(edit: my overall opinion of this is that it’s great, but it’s trying WAY too hard. Am I the only one who thinks that the try hard sound completely erases the actual message of BMC? that you don’t have to be someone or soemthing you’re not to impress someone? I feel like the old score was just as amazing and the new actors could’ve done it justice without all of these wild changes. They basically took the creepy retro vibes out of BMC to keep up with modern broadway. I don’t have a problem with it, I just think that it erases the actual message of the show to an extent. I am so in love with Will Roland! He was wonderful live. Feel free to message me and discuss this!)

More Than Survive

- Inclusion of more dialogue is good but I kinda think it breaks up the flow a little

- Will Roland yesss, this song is actually how he sounded live, I wish you could see how incredible he looked and acted during this song

- Inclusion of the “Boyf” dialogue is cute and definitely should’ve been added to begin with

- The new harmonies on “Christineeee” where Jeremy goes up a step is so nice

- Michael’s new part is just as adorable as before, kinda sad they took out the “so own it!” line tho

- Buttt more sweet giggles from Michael makes up for it!

- I don’t like how they cut off the last Canigula so quickly to make room for the chorus singing though idk

- The louder beat slaps tho

- I don’t like how Chloe’s last “I like gay people” is isolated unlike the original cast recording

- Will gives a heartbreaking “I’m never gonna be the cool guy” performance though like damn I almost cried

- The “na na na” is now “na ahh ahh ahh” if that makes sense and it doesn’t give as much impact which makes me wanna die bc that part was so pretty

- Will’s riffs at the end make up for it

I love play rehearsal

- There’s more instruments at the start and I think a flute which is so pretty!!

- Stephanie yessss with those improved vocals

- I think the extra instruments overpower her soft sweet sound at some points in the song tho

- YESS the dialogue that’s now included yesss

- The extra instruments at the end actually add more tho I love it

- A little more dramatic

More than survive (reprise)

- ICONIC

- IM SO HAPPY THEY INCLUDED THIS

- nothing bad to say other than I’m not a fan of the weird pop-y instrumental at the end, when I saw it I think it was a little more spread out instead of included in the song but I could be wrong

The Squip Song

- Gerard’s vocals have gotten even better like yes

- The instrumental sounds about the same as the old recording which makes me glad they didn’t change it too much

- Jeremy sounds scared when he says “you got quick” and I don’t know why ? That’s kinda odd like buddy are you good

- Is rich ok like at all in this song

- The song isn’t as like soft if that makes sense

Two Player Game

- Michael sounds like wants to die when he says “apocalypse of the damned” at the start shaksksks

- BUT THIS SONG IS SO GOOD it’s another one they didn’t change very much

- The instrumental is a little more pop-y but otherwise it’s still got that retro vibe

- George was keeping it real and not changing his vocals in the song for us thank u

- Will Roland come thru with those harmonies once again

- Jeremy’s verse is really soft and sweet and I love it he just sounds done

- The extra lil video game sounds are spot on

- The “You know that you are my favorite person” lines are done so perfect but I’m sad Michael’s little giggle isn’t as prominent

The Squip Enters

- Jake’s “that freak is freaking out” isn’t that funny in this recording sjsksksksk I’m sad

- The Squip’s surfer voice was less prominent live and more realistic and I’m not sure I like it that much in the recording

Be More Chill PT 1

- The Squip has a solo part at the start!! It’s adorable

- Jason Tam yessss

- The Squip calling Jeremy Bae and Boo makes me wanna die tho

- The first part isn’t sung anymore which makes me wanna die too bc he has such a nice voice

- The Squip’s vocals in the chorus tho yes ma’am

- Instead of Jeremy saying “Jesus” he just has a lil panic attack that poor boy

- The Squip kinda sounds British in some parts of it

- You can hear George doing a funny voice for his mall character which makes me laff

- “Jerry?” —“jerry-ME” I love Will

- Chloe is a lot more pissed in this song

Do you wanna ride

- The instruments overpower Brooke in some parts

- They didn’t change the vocal lines too much but they did slow the song a bit ?

- The harmonies are really nice though come through Brooke and Chloe

- The end is also sped up a little

- Brooke’s giggle and the little French at the end was so cute

Be More Chill PT II

- “Everything about me makes me wanna die” LINE WAS SO SAD

- the instrumental build up was so incredible !!

- This is probably my favorite song for the Squip he just brings it vocally

- JEREMY’S LITTLE GIGGLE AFTER “be mORe CHILL” I CRIED

Sync Up

- This replaces the original More than survive reprise

- I don’t like how it takes Michael’s little part out of it because I think it was necessary plus the instrumental part of that slapped

- Also I think it gives us a good insight into the characters but it could’ve been placed somewhere else maybe?

- I also think the beat isn’t very uniform and is kinda messy and the dialogue is more interesting than the actual song

- It shows how nice Jeremy is tho

- I liked this song live better because the actual song just isn’t interesting enough to be a song on its own

- Jeremy and Brooke’s interactions in the song is really nice

- I love the distorted little “na na na” from more than survive though you can tell it’s slightly off

- I don’t like “head to play rehearsal” instead of “drama practice” though I don’t think it flows well

- I’m sad they changed one of my favorite songs !!

A Guy That I’d Kinda Be Into

- Once again stronger instrumental, especially guitar

- The vocal track doesn’t seem to be changed very much again thank u god

- Weird clappy sounds ??

- The harmony on “absolutely” YES

- Christine’s little breathy laugh after “I guess there’s a part of me that wants to” yes sir

Upgrade

- Brooke speaking French at the start SNSKSKSKSOSK

- I think the dialogue gives more insight into Brooke and Jeremy’s relationship

- “Jere-Bear” NAJAKAKA

- THEY TOOK THE LITTLE “damn” OUT NO

- Jake and Christine’s part is cute but it felt a little out of place for some reason and I don’t know why, like the little sad dialogue they have about Jake’s parents feels weird but it’s really

- “I’m tired of being the person everyone thinks that I am” feels like it should’ve been a part of sync up instead of upgrade

- Brooke saying she was happy Jeremy looking at her instead of Chloe first made me wanna bawl

- Also it makes me wanna punch Jeremy

- Poor Jenna got like 1 like in this song

- I feel like it wasn’t smooth transition into Loser Geek Whatever at the end I don’t like the whole weird chorus thing leading into it at all

- Feels out of place without Michael’s little part at the end, I’m sad they’re cutting significant Michael parts, I know they kept it in LGW but it felt more in place in upgrade

Loser Geek Whatever

- It’s great and Will re recorded it for the album because it seems to have more emotion and be more genuine

- He sounds super excited at the start and it makes happy

- One of the few songs that managed to keep BMC’s kinda creepy computer tech vibe which is weird because it wasn’t even in the original album I wonder if it was written newly or was a draft from the first run back in 2013-2015

- A little more upbeat but in a good way

- Will’s vocals sound a lot better than the first recording

- Extra beeping at “my one real friend” was nice

Halloween

- Brooke does a little bark at the start awe

- The beat doesn’t go as hard as the OG cast recording which sucks bc it went hard

- Everyone kinda sounds like they wanna die at the start again which seems like common theme??

- The chorus doesn’t slap either what

- The song also got cut a little short I think unless I’m crazy but I feel like it was longer than this?

- Extra verse at the end and I don’t really like it

- Kinda boring now and doesn’t give you a panic attack vibe like the OG one did

Do You Wanna Hang

- Only song where they changed a lot that made it better

- Included the dialogue at the start which makes the song make more sense

- The Squip’s Voice is so smooth ssnskskskw

- Chloe’s losing her mind a little but I love it

Michael in the Bathroom

- Jesus George’s vocals OWN MY WHOLE ASS

- He’s only gotten better somehow

- No to the new pop-y sounds in it it takes sad creepy feel out of it

- Too much instrumental added bc it doesn’t sound like ballad anymore

- I dunno how I feel about it because George’s vocals are perfect but the instrumental is doing him dirty and not making it sad enough

- This song gives me anxiety now wjsjsksks and I don’t know if that’s good or bad?

- The few lines and instrumental lines are the same as the OG which is good

A Guy That I’d Kinda Be Into (reprise)

- SO HAPPY THEY INCLUDED THIS TOO

- Whoever’s playing that flute was told to play that shit LOUD

- Jeremy’s “Christineee” omg he’s so in love

The Smartphone Hour

- The new instrumental sounds at the start sound bonk

- The phone sound effects make me wanna die dndkjssk

- Tiffany Mann’s voice COME THROUGH

- The “whoaaaa” was changed which makes me sad

- I’m glad they specified it was Jake’s house because when I listened to the OG one at first I was like did he just burn down a random house ??

- The dialogue between Chloe and Brooke is kinda dramatic now but it’s not a bad thing

- KATHYLN CARLSON’S VOICE IN HER SOLO CHORUS YES SIS

- the whistle noise has gotta go that’s what my track coaches whistle sounded like when I wasn’t running fast enough

- I’m scared now the dance break sounds like salsa music

- “Matches, ashes” was changed to “drama, drama” girl what

- Brooke’s screams yes

- The random auto tune voices in the back are trying to capture the creepy vibe that this song originally has but isn’t doing it

- This song isn’t changed much though and still has the OG vibes which is good

The Pants Song

- The weird piano at the start scares me

- The lyrics have changed a bit too

- I’m not too familiar with this song because I don’t listen to it so often but it doesn’t sound too different from the OG cast recording which is good instrumental wise

- The chorus sounds different though I don’t know how I feel about it

- The “Michael in the bathroom” melody playing in the back during the dialogue YES

- Omg the dialogue where Jeremy’s dad tells him to say it like he’s in the army omg I’m weak

- YES THE HARMONY RIGHT AFTER RHAY DIALOGUE

The Pitiful Children

- My fav song

- Not this version I don’t think but

- I don’t mind the lyric changes but I think it takes the dark creepy techno vibe out of the song

- If it was anyone other than Jason Tam singing this version I wouldn’t like it

- The chorus lost its punch with this new pop sound

- I’m really confused as to why the lyrics had to change tho these make less on an impact, I think a solo song with Jeremy and the Squip about Christine would’ve cooler

- The Squip and Jeremy’s harmonies tho like fuck me up

- The techno voice singing “lets save the pitiful children” is eh like it makes it cheesy

- I’m scared of the Squip singing “Squip Squip Squip”

- “Everything about us” run is still amazing as always

- I just realized the Squip is using Christine to manipulate Jeremy into squipping everyone that makes sense that’s why the lyrics are changing

The Play

- The dialogue at the start is different but it makes sense, it’s Jeremy realizing the Squip made him Squip the whole cast

- The instrumental sound is the same thankfully

- “Michael makes an entrance” sounds like Michael wants to die is he good

- It adds Michael and Jeremy’s fighting dialogue in it which I like and adds the two player game melody in the back

- Jake’s “living the upgrade” line was cut short :((( I love his voice

- They changed the “having sex” convo between Brooke and Chloe which doesn’t make it relevant to that scene anymore ?? But they also validate each other so idc

- The “I love play rehearsal” melody playing when Christine talks yes ma’am

- “I’m stronger than you think I am” I LOVE JEREMY

- The LGW melody playing when Jeremy is telling the Squip to fuck off

- Jeremy and Michael saying “oh god” back and fourth to each other in different tones of voice is an accurate representation of having a best friend conversation

Voices in my head

- The start sounds like pac-man and I’m so here for it

- RICH HAS HIS LISP YES QUEEN also his harmonies !!

- This instrumental is kept pretty much the same too which I’m happy about

- “Don’t dump her on Halloween” BYE I love u Brooke

- “We are your squad” AWE

- It’s so pure

- The second verse has some lyric changes but I like them more

- LGW melody is playing when he and Christine talk which is so soft bc he’s like owning being a loser?

- The “bowling alley performance art” line wouldn’t make sense if you haven’t watched the show but it’s cute

- The loud flute is present again shsksksksks

- Awe the ending harmonies are soft

- The Squip was tripping balls in the end of that wtf

- The “na na na” runs at the end don’t sound like the more than survive ones sjsksksk

- “You ready?” I LOVE

- Jeremy is such a dork and I love that so much in this song

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golgoterror · 4 years

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Alright, this is ungodly long, but I just wanted to talk about something regarding Jake.

A lot of this fandom -- at least, from what I’ve seen -- label Jake as stupid. Some may even say Jake and smart are antonyms. This could not be further from the truth. It almost irritates me how much the fandom places this mischaracterization on him. Also, I get to talk about The Lad™ for about ten pages worth of words on Google docs, which is always very, very fun for me.

Well, first things first, let’s talk about the child genius and multi-billionaire polymath that is Jake English.

Puzzle Modus.

Let’s begin with something small. Jake’s modus is of puzzlekind! This is described as:

It's quite a handy modus, allowing you to captchalogue objects of any size, as long as you can fit them all in a finite space by maneuvering the cards around like a big game of Tetris. You like it because it keeps you sharp for solving any puzzles you might find when you go out raiding hallowed tombs, which is never. (x)

He likes puzzles! This is a huge headcanon I absolutely adore that has a basis in the comic: He’s a puzzles guy! This is just sort of a neat little fact about him that I adore to the moon and back. Just the idea of Jake fiddling about with a Rubik’s Cube is kind of adorable.

This is how he goes about doing everything every day of his life. I think that’s just amazing! And incredibly smart of him, I might add.

Skaianet.

Jake is shown in the credits to take over Skaianet after the game ended. For those unfamiliar, Skaianet made many things for the game, including but not limited to: the interstellar travel we see, transportalizers, the lab by Rose’s house, all Jake’s fancy-schmancy computers, and Sburb itself. In the beta timeline, Grandpa Harley founded Skaianet. In the alpha timeline, Grandma English did. I know Jake didn’t start it up and trying to pass off his alt-timeline self as him is a bit far-fetched at best, but he had the spoons to take it over. I think that speaks volumes for Jake’s intelligence -- this implies, at the very least, he can understand mathematics and physics at a high level. Remind you of someone we already know?

It is also important to note that Jake does, in fact, build the company back from the ground up, because it went to shit before his grandmother died:

GT: Pretty sure her company made a tidy fortune til it went belly up. At least i still have a few of her knickknacks for keepsakes. (x)

So he built an interstellar company back up -- using what his intelligent grandmother had once used -- to being very useful and practical once again.

As someone with a degree in mathematics and about to finish a degree in physics, I can say this sort of work would for sure require at the very least a decent understanding of quantum mechanics, statistical mechanics, electrodynamics, calculus (vector and differential forms), ordinary and partial differential equations, and perhaps other things like topology. I don’t know about you -- and I’m probably tooting my own horn a bit by saying this -- but I think that’s pretty nifty, if I do say so myself.

Actor.

Once again, I’m reaching into the credits to show that Jake has become a movie star after the game ends. Memorizing all those lines, slipping into characters... Being an actor is no easy feat.

( Side note: This leads into my headcanon that Jake can imitate accents and voices on a whim. No more arguing about whether he has a British, American, or Australian accent -- you’re all right! )

And I would like to add he has two jobs! Skaianet and being a movie star! This guy’s a fucking polymath for Christ’s sake.

Reading People.

Let’s start of simple: Brain Ghost Dirk. I can hear the outcries now of Dirk’s powers being the cause for this. And, yes, I can’t ignore Dirk’s influence in this, but Jake’s hope powers were also needed for the projection to come alive. And the fact he was able to make such a startlingly accurate projecting of Dirk in his own mind is astounding -- even BGD himself thinks so!

TT: You could view me as a projection of the real Dirk within your mind, as expressed through all of your thought patterns about him. TT: So I'm kind of a splinter of his corporeal self who happens to live in your awareness. TT: I'm a startlingly close approximation to the real thing, for all intents and purposes. GT: Just how startlingly close are we talking? TT: I'm not going to give you a bogus percentage like the glasses cause that's not my shtick. TT: But pretty damn close. (x)

A very deep understanding of the other is needed for Jake to do this. That is pretty fucking incredible. He can clearly read people really well -- he had a few times where he was cluing in on Jane and Dirk have feelings for him:

TG: its one of those things jane likes about u so much GT: It is? TG: which TG: errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr im not supposed to talk about 2 u evr so nm GT: Talk about what? TG: nope GT: You mean how um... GT: Well a way in which i suppose... TG: no nope GT: Jane is prone to looking upon me with what i fathom to be more than just friendly affection? (x)

TT: I guess call it an extra birthday present. But instead of a present that's awesome, consider it more like a weird confession that may change the way you feel about me. GT: Whoa uh... GT: Dirk are you... uh... GT: Saying what i think? (x)

He’s not completely clueless on people! In fact, he seems to have a really good understanding of his friends. That’s something a lot of people seem to forget because of the incident that I will be getting to later on.

Fending For Himself.

I’ve already written quite a bit on this, but I’ll sum it up here: Jake is exceptionally good at living in the wild and taking care of himself. Sort of like a wild garden; he doesn’t need to be taken care of. Survival skills, especially around fighting and fending off things, aren’t something everyone has. This, once again, counts in his favour, even if it doesn’t line-up with “book smarts”.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

That’s five things! It’s clear Jake is, in fact, a polymath and incredibly intelligent. So, what’s with the fandom painting him as being dumb? What’s with people actually thinking he’s stupid? I think we can all take several wild guesses as to why that’s the case.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Takes things literally.

This is something that plagues Jake quite a lot. Case in point:

GT: Wow like the epic kevin costner film? TT: Almost exactly. Especially by the same degree of shittiness. GT: Oh man does that mean you have to drink your own pee?????? TT: You get used to the taste. Welcome it, even. TT: That takes about 15 days in a row of hard piss drinking though. GT: Ewwwwwwwwwwww no dude. No ew. :( TT: Relax, I don't drink any goddamn piss, ok? GT: Oh ok. Whew. (x)

But, well, let’s address the elephant in the room. The chat I laughed so hard at when I read it the first time due to pure, unadulterated second-hand embarrassment: Jake asking Jane if she had feelings for him.

Let’s analyze this, shall we? Jake starts off by being vague as all Hell, and I’ll spare those details, until finally...

GT: Just come out and say it. Do you fancy me? GG: No! GT: I see. GT: Very well then. GT: Jeez i mustve really misread that one! I feel like kind of a bone head now. (x / x)

Okay, she says no, and he backs off. That’s fine and dand--

GG: No!!!!!! GG: Oh my God, what am I saying here? GG: Jake, I didn't mean it! I didn't want to make you feel that way! GT: Now jane lets not backpedal here. GT: Youve spoken the truth and i greatly appreciate and respect you for that. GT: But now that i think about it you know what? GG: ... GG: No? :( GT: Please dont take this the wrong way but your answer is actually kind of a relief! (x)

... Oh, right. Yeah. It keeps going. It just keeps--

GT: Actually since youve made your feelings apparent and only see me as a friend that makes it a lot easier! GG: Haha, yes! GG: Friends!!!! GT: Maybe you could help me sort out some stuff that has been weighing on me lately? GG: Well what are friends for Jake!!!!! (x)

Sweet Jesus, Jake.

GG: Me? GG: HOO HOO HOO! GG: I'm just GG: Terrific! GG: I'm feeling so... GG: Friendly!!! GG: I clearly just want to be a good friend and bring all my AMAZING FRIENDLINESS to bear on your problems. GG: Friendlystyle! Ahahahah? GG: Shit I mean GG: Ahahahah! GT: Thats aces. Jane youre a sweetheart. (x)

Alright, alright, enough! You all remember the fucking chat.

Regardless, it’s very apparent Jake takes things at face value. I also will cite him talking to Jane before her birthday, but not list examples, because what happened above will just happen once again.

Okay, so he takes things at face value. What’s wrong with that? He trusts people to not lie to his face -- to not sugarcoat things or beat around any bushes. Perhaps I’m projecting a bit, but I do the same damn thing. I think a lot of people do! I don’t think reading things as fact over text is a good measure of someone’s intellect. All it does is show he has issues with communication. Okay, so he struggles with one thing. Sue me.

Doesn’t catch things right away.

Yeah okay I’m just gonna dump a few examples of this.

GT: Haha wow. Must have been a hell of a guy. TT: So... TT: You're not making any connections there? GT: Where? Huh? TT: Famous comedian, about the age of your grandma, inheriting the family name of the Baroness... TT: Not ringing a bell? GT: What are you talking about! Dirk stop speaking in riddles and keep telling the story i am on tenterhooks here! TT: Ok, well it's not like it's that important. Just a super obvious thing that'll probably occur to you later when you're looking in the fridge you don't have, at which point you'll feel like an idiot. GT: Oh my god you can be one opaque motherfucker just clue me in bro! TT: Nah, it'll be funnier this way. GT: STRIIIIIIDEEEERRRRRRRR!!!!! TT: Moving on. (x)

GT: Whats going on? TT: Took you long enough to figure it out. TT: Pages really are a slow burning class. Damn. GT: Figure what out! TT: You're asleep. (x)

This leads into the point above. His mind doesn’t work that way -- but that doesn’t mean he’s not intelligent. He needs everything laid out in front of him so he can make the connections and understand what’s happening, but there’s no real harm in this, and it certainly doesn’t dictate whether the guy is “intelligent” or not.

There are many, many more examples in canon depicting Jake as having difficulties with communication and you all can open most of his pesterlogs and probably find one. I’m not going to list anymore. But, hold your horses, I swear I’m getting to a point!

Difficulty reading.

A lot of the media Jake consumes is picture-based. Movies, comics, even the puzzles are most likely spacial and probably not riddles. It’s not far to imagine Jake might not be a terribly good reader, considering nobody was really around to make him read. Of course, his grandmother was around when he was little, so he can read -- and he can read just fine. But he probably isn’t very good at it simply from lack of practice. He also has terrible grammar, something Jane picks on him for, so it’s entirely possible that’s a contributing factor. He may just have trouble reading and writing.

Speaking from experience, I have dyslexia. As such, reading and writing are incredibly hard for me. I never read the books in my literature classes -- both in English and French -- but I did get the gist of the books (enough to get a decent mark in the class at least) by watching a movie adaptation of the novel. I don’t think it’s that far-off to think Jake may, indeed, do the same thing.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

NOTE: This next part is a bit hard for me to write, because I don’t want to vilify any of you. It might not have clued in on anyone or maybe you just saw Jake as a sort of comic relief and meant no harm by it. And I hope shining a light on this will make you all think twice about the guy. However, I can’t really avoid this next part, and I may get a bit emotional in it. Just a bit of a warning.

All of the above points are just me trying to say Jake probably has undiagnosed learning disabilities and perhaps autism. I don’t think I need to go into detail about how those don’t make someone “stupid”. If you think that’s the case, fuck you. I can’t argue with ableists, much less do I actually want to.

NOTE: I wrote a thing on his speech impediments. That may be of interest too. I don’t really know, but here it is nonetheless.

My take-away message here is: just because someone struggles with socialization or other things doesn’t mean fucking anything in terms of their intelligence. Jake is very clearly smart and has the ability to read people incredibly well -- to the point of making copies of them! Perhaps it’s just a bit easy to underestimate the guy compared to other characters, though.

There are other things that muddy this up a bit, unfortunately.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Trolling.

Jake is such a fucking troll. Jesus shitting Christ, does he get a kick out of acting stupid just to make the other person look silly. Or perhaps even to make himself laugh in the process. Case in point:

uu: I WILL JUST BE YOUR PATRON DUDE. uu: OR MAYBE. YOUR PATRON MANBRO. GT: Sounds pretty gay. uu: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? GT: Whats what? uu: GAY. WHAT'S GAY YOU IDIOT FUCK. GT: Oh right. GT: Forgive me i forget you arent familiar with all of my earth lingo. GT: Its like... GT: How do i explain. GT: You know. Its a rather old fashioned term for being jolly and festive together. GT: Like "that rollicking time we had scrumming the other eve sure was gay." uu: I SEE. uu: THEN YES. YOU ARE CORRECT. uu: THIS IS GOING TO BE GAY AS HELL. (x)

Look at his goddamn face during this exchange:

That little bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

And these aren’t stand-alone events! Jake is very, very silly and will use the fact others see him as stupid to have a little fun. May as well, right? And, in the process, he makes others look pretty damn stupid.

But sometimes it’s a bit hard to tell when he’s acting stupid against when he’s genuinely not getting something. I think he even fools himself sometimes! So you have to be a bit careful about fake-outs. I’m sure even the other alphas have trouble deducing when he’s doing this -- which only adds to the myth of him actually being “stupid” when viewed on first-glace.

He probably also does this with crushes, purposefully ignoring the signs because he doesn’t want to deal with it or may not believe anyone could like him that way. After all, if he’s wrong, he may think himself to be conceded and having a big head. So, he ignores the signs, thus convincing himself the feelings aren’t there. Then he gets absolutely fucking bamboozled beyond belief to find out they actually do like him. But that’s just a little side-note.

Thinks he’s stupid.

This one is just a bit... Sad. Very sad. Jake genuinely does think he’s stupid. Quite a lot, really.

GT: I shoulda asked where he fit into the picture if you were raised alone. I can be dumb as a bag of penny candy sometimes. (x)

Just... Man, he’s been called and treated as stupid so many times, he’s at the point where he believes it. If you asked him, he’d say Dirk is a genius, Roxy is always smart and sassy, and Jane is brilliant. (I don’t have a source for that last one but... Come on. She lectures him about grammar. Don’t fuck with me.) But when it comes to himself? He can’t say the same. Of course he then acts that way. He sees himself as a burly adventurer who is also a gentleman and tries to live up to that. No where along those lines does he think he’s intelligent. And that’s just... a little heartbreaking, really, all things considered.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Can’t believe this blog is just me going, “Wanna see how fast I can talk about Jake?”, and a shit-ton of people all nodding before I talk for six hours straight. Anyway, take-home message is: Jake’s smart. Jake’s very, very smart. He’s also a himbo, but he’s incredibly smart. Just because he has learning disabilities doesn’t mean fuck-all.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk. There are drinks and refreshments in the back. Have a safe trip home. Remember to tip your waiters and waitresses. Jesus fuck can I run this gag any harder into the ground? Giving me language was a mistake. No but, really, if you read this whole damn thing, thank you! I hope this was as fun to read as it was to write.

#ooc.#headcanons.#about.#ableism tw #and i hate to do this but after the speech impediment post i must:#dont steal these headcanons.#(unless youre a jake rper then by all means thats fine!)#yes these arent exclusive to jake but this took a lot of time and effort #id appreciate it if youd all respect that #tia! <3

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pixieungerstories · 5 years

Text

Housemates 15

Kogan was waiting on a park bench. He was wishing he smoked. If he had a cigarette, the campus security guard wouldn’t be watching him so intently. He would have a reason to be here. As it was he was just lottering. That wasn’t as socially acceptable as a cigarette break.

He snorted quietly to himself. Yeah. If he was out here getting lung cancer and sharing that opportunity with everyone who walked passed, he would be fine. As it was not bothering anyone was going to get him in trouble.

The library was closed. The campus coffee shop was closed. He was a big scary orc, lurking in the dark, waiting to pick up a co-ed. He stood up and went into the building. He could waste some time if he found a bathroom and took a piss. Maybe. Vinny’s class was supposed to be over five minutes ago. He didn’t want to miss her if she came out while he was hiding from security. Part of the deal was someone to walk her home from these-

“Sir! Can I see some ID?”

Shit. Well, at least it was ‘sir’ and not ‘Hey! You!’ He knew this song and dance. He turned and faced the man in his twenties, who was armed, but mostly holding a big flash light like a billy club. “It’s in the inside pocket of my jacket.” He explained, moving slowly as he unzipped his coat.

“I bet you don’t have a student ID,” the kid snarked.

“Nope. But I can show you my Veterans ID if it helps.” Kogan handed the kid his drivers license. The brat didn’t even look at it, but kept shining the light in Kogan’s eyes.

“Can you tell me your business on campus tonight, sir?”

“One of the people in my building is taking a Chem lab here tonight. If you notice my address is right across the park. She asked me to walk her home rather than have to cross campus alone in the dark.”

“Night labs were over ten minutes ago, sir. Can you be more specific about which student or which class?”

“Chem 403, and her name -”

“Ah!” he interrupted with sudden understanding. “Yeah. Dr Gilchrist always goes at least ten - fifteen minutes long on these things.” He tossed the wallet back at Kogan without more than glancing at the ID. “Are you walking her home on Wednesday and Friday too?”

Kogan narrowed his eyes, “She said the lab was only Monday and Wednesday, but yeah, either me or someone from the building will be walking her home.”

“Kogan! Hey, Stu!”

The security guy finally pointed his flashlight at the ground, “Vinny? I thought you lived with your mom.”

“Yeah, well, I have Math in the morning and you know how it is.”

“If you are living just across the park, you can always call one of us to walk you home,” Stu offered.

“Nah, safe walks aren’t a priority and I don’t want to get stuck on campus for an extra hour if you are called out to something more exciting. You giving Kogan a hard time?”

Without the light shining in his eyes, Kogan could read the security guard's ID, Stuart Johnstone. He made a point of memorizing the employee number as well.

“Uh, yeah. He’s lurking on campus, after dark, wearing a biker jacket.”

Vinny gave Stu an easy grin, “Well, no one is going to try anything when I have him walking me home.”

“Are you sure you want to leave with this guy, Vinny?”

“Absolutely. He’s been driving me to church every Sunday all summer. Anyway, I have Math at 8AM, so we are going to head out. Unless you want to card me too.”

Stu pretended to consider it. “Nah. Have a good night, Vinny,” and in a much cooler tone he added, “Kogan.”

Vinny looped her hand over Kogan’s elbow as she led him away. That was new. They were well into the park before she spoke. “I am so sorry about Stuart. I think he’s on nights so he doesn’t have to interact with people.”

Kogan just snorted. “Derick says I need to make you go to sleep because class tomorrow is early.”

Vinny nodded. “Straight home, brush my teeth, off to sleep. As soon as I just finish up a few notes.”

Two hours later, Kogan gave up on the pointed looks. He brought Thea into Vinny’s room. He walked over to the desk, closed her books and said, “You have a full day of classes tomorrow. You only have six hours to sleep. Now. Are you going to go to bed and stay there or do I need to make Thea tie you to the bed frame.

Vinny stared at him. Thea looked appalled. Kogan kept talking. “I mean it. Brush your teeth then go to sleep and since we’ve already had this conversation four times, what do you expect me to do to make it stick? If you aren’t getting more sleep than you would at your Mom’s she isn’t going to let you stay here.”

Vinny scuttled off, brushed her teeth and put on her jammies in the bathroom then was back in her room and under the covers in a flash. Kogan was still watching. Thea was still looking awkward.

“Right!” He announced. Then he crawled into her bed with her. “Thea, you take the other side. And poke me if I snore.” The drider looked decidedly uncomfortable with the idea, but rested his arachnoid half on the floor so that he could rest it humanoid half over the bed. Vinny gave him a sleepy smile and pulled Thea’s arm around her as she let Kogan spoon her.

The kid was more tired than Kogan had guessed because it only took a few moments before her body went slack and her breathing slowed. Thea tried to ease away from her.

“Don’t you dare!” Kogan hissed. Thea froze. “She could have asked you to leave. If you really want to go, fine. But this is your chance to get used to the idea of being close to her without sticking your foot in your mouth.”

Thea nodded and settled back onto the bed.

-----

Vinny woke with a curse when her alarm went off. She knew she wasn’t running with Derick on Tuesdays and Thursdays now that classes had started, but it was still a jolt thinking she was late. She wiggled away from Thea, crawled over a snoring Kogan, grabbed her clothes and headed to her bathroom to get ready. It was surprisingly cool that morning. She made a note to find some slippers and make sure the curtains were closed before bed.

As she bounced into the kitchen and headed to the industrial grade coffee pot, She waved at Derick eating his supper before bed. Tristan threw another bagel into the toaster for her.

“Supper tonight will be a little early. I’m making stew so that everyone one can help themselves when they are ready.”

Bazur nodded as he read the paper. “What is on that you need to be out of here early?”

Vinny made her coffee and carried it to the table. “Today I have two classes from eight until eleven, homework from noon until three, then shopping and cooking so that I can be at work at the coffee shop from seven to ten. Then I come home and start all over.”

“When do you sleep?” Bazur asked.

Vinny blinked as she sipped her coffee. “From eleven until six, then running before breakfast and back to class. Monday, Wednesday and Friday I have three classes, 9am, 10am and 12pm. Then homework, grocery shopping, and cooking dinner before my Monday/Wednesday lab from 7:30 to 10:30.”

“Closer to 10:45,” Kogan rumbled from the stairs. “Then homework until almost 1am or I threaten you to make you sleep. And you are working 8-4 on the weekend. This doesn’t seem sustainable.”

“It’ll be fine. I don’t have the party lifestyle. Trust me, I’ve been managing for the last three years. I got this.”

Tristan cleared his throat, “I bet that your mom has been taking care of groceries and cooking for the last three years.”

“Yeah, but I also had a hour bus ride to and from campus everyday.” The guys around the table shared a look. “What?” she asked.

It was Dren that cleared his throat. “You could study on the bus. The time you are working for us is coming out of your sleep time isn’t it?”

Vinny looked a little guilty. “It will be fine,” she repeated. “I only have a year left. It will be fine.”

No one said anything.

It took less than two weeks for it to become apparent that it wasn’t fine. The second Sunday after classes started she fell asleep on the bus on her way to work. She missed the start of her shift and had to get a cab from the end of the bus line to the cafe. The cab fare ate up most of the income for the day. She also got a lecture from her boss not to make a habit of it. Her concentration was shot. She was making mistakes in customer orders and her penmanship deteriorated to the point where she was having a hard time reading her notes.

She came home and while the chickens were roasting, tried to figure out her budget to see if she could give up the weekday shifts at the cafe. There was lots of muttered curses at the computer.

Kevin was watching from the shadows, “Why don’t you get a loan?” Vinny froze. “Lots students have loans,” he continued.

“I can’t.”

“I know it would suck, but it would only be one year, not four.”

“No. I really can’t. My father makes too much money for me to qualify for an official student loan and I can’t get a line of credit without a co-signer. Ma’s credit is still shot from the divorce so she can’t.”

“And your dad won’t co-sign for you?” It was the wrong thing to say. Kevin could tell as soon as it was out. There wasn’t away to take it back.

“My father is busy with his new family and his younger wife out west. We haven’t had so much as a Christmas card from eight years. I did call to ask when I first got into school. He told me to figure it out. Said it would help me build character.” Vinny closed her laptop with a snap and went upstairs to her room.

Kevin kept an eye on the chicken. When Vinny didn’t come back downstairs, he was the one to turn off the oven when the timer beeped.

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j-writes-and-suffers · 6 years

Text

NaNoWriMo Day Six

Anxious for his upcoming performance, Philip had struggled to get to sleep. Nonetheless, he got up with an unusually early alarm, remembering his promise to Lucien about being on time. He downed two full cups of coffee to fight the lingering drowsiness before grabbing his bag and heading off towards campus.

By the time he reached the academic hall, Philip was bouncing off the walls. Maybe he hadn’t needed quite so much caffeine. The extra energy was sending his anxiety through the roof, and he found himself pacing nervously to kill time before the poetry slam started. Staring intently at the ground as he walked, he was too caught up in his own nerves to notice Lucien walking up behind him. The older man put a hand on Philip’s shoulder, causing the young blond to shriek in surprise.

“Fuck! How do you sneak up on people like that?”

Lucien shrugged. “Libraries are quiet. It wouldn’t suit me to be a lumbering oaf. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

Philip sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just nervous to perform. I haven’t actually been in a poetry slam since high school…”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. You’re very animated, I bet your delivery will be excellent.” The lanky brunette rested a hand on Philip’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Besides, I’ll still make you dinner if you bomb.”

“So you think I might bomb?” The younger man asked, wringing his hands together.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “No, that’s not what I said. Stop being so pessimistic.”

Philip groaned. “I’m not trying to! I’m just scared.”

“Most of the people performing are over-dramatic undergrad hipsters that can’t actually write to save their life. I promise, you won’t be nearly the worst act.” Lucien reassured him. “Come on, everyone is gathering.” He led Philip into the lecture hall nudging him towards the front where the other performers were waiting.

The anxious blond fiddled with one of his earrings, bouncing where he stood. Dr. Samuels, the head of the English department, was currently greeting the audience, going off on some long-winded rant about the importance of poetry. When he finally shut up, he stepped aside, calling forth the first student.

About five or six people went ahead of Philip, and he started to relax as he realized most of them were pretty shit. After an absolutely awful love poem finished, he was called up, and he felt his nerves fading a little. He spied Lucien as he scanned the crowd, and shared a brief smile with the older man.

“Hello, everyone. I… I’m Philp Valentine, the new English professor. Here’s a piece I wrote a few years back. It’s… It’s called Late Nights.” He cleared his throat, taking a slow, deep breath before he began.

“There's a monster in my house. He roams the house at night. He screams, he hunts, he breaks things; The house is filled with fright.

No one steps outside their room after the midnight hour. A vicious, violent demon, the monster has the power.

One night, I kept a vigil to face the awful beast. The hour didn't phase me-- I like the dark, to say the least.

I didn't notice anything; I waited till the dawn. The monster always comes at night. Did I do something wrong?

As I went to lie down, I walked by the bedroom mirror. Thinking I saw something odd, I paused to see it clearer.

Menacing and soulless, the piercing eyes glared. Too mortified to look away, I analyzed and stared.

I saw hatred in the face, the scowl angry and bitter. Something seemed to click, so I looked a little deeper.

Somewhere beneath the malice the soul was worn and lonely. A silent plea for what once was: ‘Can't someone find the old me?’

I sank into an epiphany as I rubbed my tired eyes: the demon faced me in the mirror; the monster was inside.”

The audience was silent for a moment. Once the awe faded, a round of applause filled the room. Though Philip was no Robert Frost, it was easily the best piece at the show, and most of the students looked pretty damn impressed. He beamed to the crowd, grinning as he walked offstage. Lucien, however, didn’t seem as happy. His eyes had grown dark a few lines into the poem, and his expression was still dour in its aftermath. As Philip moved to sit down, he saw Lucien’s distaste, and his face quickly fell.

“You didn’t like it…” He sighed, sinking down in the seat Lucien had saved for him.

The older man snapped out of his morose state, turning to Philip and shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not that. It just got me thinking. You’re a good writer. Certainly better than any of the clowns before you.”

“Oh…” Philip perked back up, “It made you think? For real?”

“Of course. It was inspiring. You painted a vivid picture.” Lucien offered a smile.

The younger man blushed, the pink tone highlighting his freckles like a backlight. “Thank you! That means a lot, you know… You’re kind of an expert on literature.”

Lucien laughed, “You hold me too highly.”

“I respect your opinion, you old fart! Don’t brush off my compliment.” Philip stuck his tongue out.

“There you go calling me old again! For god’s sake, I’m maybe ten years your senior!”

“My senior citizen.”

Lucien huffed, rolling his eyes and giving Philip a playful shove. “You’re horrible.”

“Yeah,” The younger man grinned, “but you like me anyway.”

“I know.” Lucien chuckled, shaking his head and turning to listen to more mediocre poetry.

The rest of the slam went well, considering the quality of the poetry being read. Everyone seemed proud of their stuff, even the ones that definitely shouldn’t have been, and afterwards, the head of the English department passed out punch and cookies. The kids got to chattering, some asking questions of the teachers as well. Philip made friendly small talk, basking in the praise the students gave him for his poem. Once the kids were bored of him, he got distracted eating, too busy sucking down cookies to notice Lucien slip away. He turned to make a rude joke, only to realize he was alone. Feeling a little rejected, Philip moved to the corner, shoving another cookie in his mouth.

As the students dissipated from the lecture hall, Philip got up, dragging his feet as he reluctantly helped his fellow English professors clean up. He greabbed a trash can, gathering all the stray cups and napkins that assholes had just left on desks. Once the room was actually clean and presentable again, he walked out of the building, headed towards his apartments rather than the library. He assumed Lucien had finally gotten bored of him, and certainly wouldn’t want to see more of him. He trudged along so slowly that his hour-long walk home took a good chunk of the afternoon, and upon returning to his apartment, he simply dropped onto the couch, turning on some mindless Netflix series to distract himself.

Philip ended up passing out on the couch, sleeping through the night and well into the morning. When he finally woke up, sunlight was already pouring in the windows, and he grabbed his phone to check the time. Getting only the black screen of dead battery, he cussed and hurried to his room, plugging it in and looking at the alarm clock.

1:47.

“Fuck!”

Throwing on a clean shirt and grabbing his bag off the floor, Philip bolted out of his apartment and down the stairs. He had been due at the dodgeball game over an hour ago, and it would take him another hour just to get to the school. He was going to be in so much trouble. Lucien’s warning about tardiness echoed in the back of his mind, and Philip cringed, still feeling shunned after yesterday. By the time he got to campus, the game was long over, the teachers having beat the students 5 - 3. He waved sheepishly at Dr. Samuels, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Heyyyyy….”

“Where were you?” The professor demanded, glaring down at Philip.

The younger man shied away, sheepishly mumbling, “I… I overslept.”

The tubby older man huffed angrily, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let it happen again, Valentine. You’re not making a good first impression.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry sir.” Philip cringed, feeling his soul wither. “Can I do anything to help now?”

“Just go to the parade tomorrow, help clean up after the picnic, and don’t make any more of a fool of yourself. Do you think you can handle that?”

Philip nodded. “Yes sir.” He shuffled away before Samuels could dig into him any more; his self-esteem was frail enough already.

Not having any other obligations for the day, Philip simply dragged his sorry ass back home. He checked on his phone, which had barely charged while he was gone. Ugh. His charger was a fraying piece of shit, but he hadn’t had the time or money to get a new one. Oh, well. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere with it right now, anyway. He curled up on the couch, trying to ignore the growing storm of negative thoughts in his mind. He was such an idiot. Not only had he scared off Lucien, but now his boss was pissed at him, too. God, this week was a mess.

Philip was half asleep on the couch when his laptop started beeping. Who was skyping him? It’s not like he had friends that cared enough. He rubbed his eyes, opening up the computer to answer the call.

“Mom?”

“Hi, honey! How are you?”

Philip yawned, brows furrowing in confusion. “Since when do you know how to use skype?”

“Your brother taught me!” She smiled, “I wanted to see you. So does Callie. Come here, Callie!”

A loud bark echoed through the speakers as a long, furry face popped into view. Philip grinned broadly. Callie was a loving Afghan that had been his best friend since late high school, and he had been missing her tremendously. “Hi, Callie! How are you? Are you being good for mom?”

“Woof!” She replied, clearly just as excited to see him.

“I’m gonna come home and visit you as soon as I can, okay?” Callie barked again, bumping her nose against the screen. Philip laughed quietly, his spirits lifted. “I’m glad you called, mom. I’ve been missing you guys. Is something up? Did you need to talk?”

“No, I just thought I should check in on you. Something told me you could use a smile today.”

“You’re not wrong.” Philip smiled ruefully. “It’s been a hell of a day. I overslept and missed the dodgeball game. Dr. Samuels was piiiiissed.”

“Philip!” She rolled her eyes. “You promised me you were going to be better about your alarms this year.”

The young blond pouted. “I have been, I swear! Yesterday was just a bad day, and it threw me off.”

“Is there something you need to talk about, honey?”

Philip shook his head. “Nah, it’s… it’s fine. It’s nothing important. I’ll get over it soon.”

“Are you sure?” His mother sounded worried, “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“I know, I know. I promise, I’ll talk to you if it’s serious. This is just dumb drama.” He reassured her.

“Okay, honey. As long as you’re doing okay.” She paused briefly to sniff the air, recognizing the aroma of slightly burning seasonings. “Oh dear, I need to go check on the chicken. I’ll talk to you later.”

Philip chuckled. His mom was just as scatterbrained as he was, with the tendency to forget about something the second he looked away from it. “Bye, mom.”

“Bye honey!” She hung up, running off to pull her chicken out of the oven.

Stretching back out on the couch, Philip closed his eyes. He was more relaxed than before; just seeing his family and talking to someone that actually cared had taken a huge weight off his chest. Besides, it was hard to be upset with Callie around. A faint smile still on his face, he drifted back off to sleep.

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2017 #fantasy #modern fantasy #comedy #school #my writing

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hissyfitprincess · 7 years

Text

My Thoughts On The First Semi Final of Eurovision 2017

1. The hosts this year are definitely not as entertaining as Måns and Petra (the hosts last year)

2. The stage this year is beautiful!

3. I have mixed feelings about the opening performance this year. The song wasn't my favorite and I still think the best opening performance was in Eurovision 2015, but there was a certain part of the song that the stage did this cool effect, and I thought that was awesome to watch.

4. Jamala (the winner last year) performed twice in the show. Her first song was a redone version of her winning song, "1944", and the only changes made to it was that the song was made to sound more dramatic. Her second song, "Zamanyly" was...different. The background effects were strange, and the song was something you don't hear every day. However, I will admit, her voice was amazing.

5. Sweden: Robin Bengtsson - I Can't Go On The performance was nearly identical to the National Final performance. The song itself is fun to listen to, and reminds me a bit of Justin Timberlake. The stage effects were great, and the fact that he and the background dancers spent most of the song dancing on treadmills were fun to watch.

6. Georgia: Tamara Gachechiladze - Keep The Faith I don't like this song. I never did. It was a fairly nice, stong ballad, but it wasn't a song for Eurovision. I will say, the stage effects were pretty, and her voice is pretty. BUT...that outfit was not flattering. It was similar to that Britney Spears bodysuit that made her look like she was naked, but covered with diamonds. Think of that outfit, but replace the diamonds with sparkly ketchup. That was Tamara's outfit.

7. Australia: Isaiah - Don't Come Easy I'm slightly disappointed with this one. I LOVE the song, but his vocals weren't up to my expectations. He tried to sound better by adding extra flair to his voice, but it didn't work out for him. At one point, he tried to hit a high note. Ugh....no. That was not a good choice. I know I sound biased, but this performance was nothing compared to Dami Im's "Sound of Silence" from last year's Eurovision. And yes, I'm still highly upset about that.

8. Albania: Lindita - World Again, I have mixed feelings. She has a great voice, but the song just didn't do it for me. I liked the stage, though! For the first half, the stage looked like a giant clock, and then transitioned to having a bunch of clouds and flying ships. I don't know how I feel about her costume though. She looked like a disco ball with a wedding veil on.

9. Belgium: Blance - City Lights I'm worried for her. I don't like the song, but after watching her perform, I want to see her do well. She was so nervous. You could see the fear in her eyes and towards the end of the song, her voice was shaky and sounded like she was about to start crying.

10. Montenegro: Slavko Kalezić - Space I was disappointed. He wasn't terrible, but it wasn't on par with my expectations. The song is super fun to listen to and the stage was awesome, but his voice wasn't that great. However, I could not get enough of what he looked like. Picture a flamboyant, muscular, bearded white dude wearing a transparent shirt, black sparkly pants, and his hair tied in a braid the length of Rapunzel's hair. Oh, and that braid? He was swinging it around! This would've been a perfect performance, and was one of the main acts I was looking forward to, but his voice just wasn't there.

11. Finland: Norma John - Blackbird Absolutely amazing. Loved it. It was a depressing ballad with barely a beat, but her voice was powerful and sent a chill up my spine. During the song, all you could see was her singing and the guy on the piano, surrounded by fog. It may not be the kind of song for Eurovision, but it was still a beautiful. Its the kind of song that'll make you start thinking about exes you don't even have.

12. Azerbaijan: Dihaj - Skeletons This. Song. Holy crap. Her voice was powerful, and the props on the stage were interesting as hell. You have her surrounded by giant chalkboards that she was writing on at one point, and later on in the song, the chalkboards became platforms that she sang on top of. Also, there was also a guy standing on top of a ladder wearing a horse mask.

13. Portugal: Salvador Sobral - Amar Pelos Dois This song wasn't my favorite, but I can see why everyone loved it. This guy sings a song in Portuguese in a high pitched, hushed tone, which sounded absolutely adorable. It reminded me of old school Disney movies.

14. Greece: Demy - This Is Love Again, mixed feelings. I find this song bland as hell. It's just a boring, unchallenging love song with an EDM beat to it. She didn't hit a lot of the high notes of the song (which weren't even that high in the first place), and overall I just wasn't feeling it. I will say, the performance was indeed better than a lot of the other ones. Not to mention, who wouldn't like seeing two shirtless guys splashing around in a kiddie pool while a woman sang about love?

15. Poland: Kasia Moś - Flashlight I don't have a lot of things to say about this one. I didn't like the song, and I missed a lot of it due to real life things happening that forced me to leave my computer for a few minutes. I will say, her dress was alright and the stage was pretty.

16. Moldova: Sunstroke Project - Hey Mamma Here we go...for all of you who remember the "Epic Sax Guy" meme, he's back for round two. The band consists of four guys who were all dressed in tuxedos, then you have three female backup singers wearing white dresses. Yes. They had a wedding on stage. Plus, the women's dresses started off as short white dresses with black bottoms, but at one point the singers did a little twirl, and the outfits transformed into wedding dresses. Definitely, one of the best performances today.

17. Iceland: Svala - Paper I wasn't a HUGE fan of this song during the months leading up to the contest, but it grew on me at the last minute. It's slow, powerful, and the artist says the song is about Anxiety. The performance, however, had me a bit worried. It was elegant, but simple. She wore a white pantsuit with a cape that blew in the wind. Not amazing, but I like it.

18. Czech Republic: Martina Bárta - My Turn It didn't do it for me. The song was nice, but boring. The stage was a pretty purple color, and her outfit was a pantsuit made out of a material that looked like bronze tin foil.

19. Cyprus: Hovig - Gravity It was...alright. Wasn't a huge fan of his outfit, which was black pants, a black shirt, and a black jacket that looked like it was decorated with pearls. The song wasn't amazing, but the stage effects were interesting.

20. Armenia: Artsvik - Fly With Me SHE CAME THROUGH! I'M SO GLAD! The song was great, her voice was AMAZING, the stage was gorgeous, and the choreography was cool! They did a lot of those moves that you see in Indian dancing, where it looks like she had six arms. And the end of the song blew me away! The only thing I don't understand is why her outfit looked like the top part of it was made of chain mail.

21. Slovenia: Omar Naber - On My Way I liked the song. It was dated, but still interesting. A power ballad with strong vocals and a bunch of key changes. He wore a sparkly black tux, and the stage had a bunch of spinning spotlights on him. I also like how the song is about someone running away.

22. Latvia: Triana Park - Line What the hell was she wearing? Her hair was a lavender color with two golden pigtails on top. Her outfit looked like it was decorated with a bunch of giant zipper, and the stage made you think you were at a rave...on acid.

COUNTRIES THAT QUALIFIED FOR THE FINALS 1. Moldova 2. Azerbaijan 3. Greece 4. Sweden 5. Portugal 6. Poland 7. Armenia 8. Australia 9. Cyprus 10. Belgium

COUNTRIES THAT DID NOT QUALIFY 1. Albania 2. Czech Republic 3. Finland 4. Georgia 5. Iceland 6. Latvia 7. Montenegro 8. Slovenia

23. I was really hoping Finland, Iceland, and Montenegro would've made it, so I was furious when they didn't.

I wanted Finland to qualify because the song was beautiful. However, like i said before, it wasn't a song for Eurovision. Because of that, I'm not surprised.

I felt Iceland truly deserved to go to the Grand Final. I guess people in Europe don't agree with me.

Montenegro not making it pissed me off! His song was one of the most fun songs this year! But as I watched the performance a second and third time while I was writing this post, I can understand why the performance wasn't good enough.

25. With the first Semi Final out of the way, I'm looking forward to the second one on Thursday. I'm expecting Anja (Denmark's singer) to blow me away. Please don't let us down!

#eurovision #eurovision 2017

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simusks · 7 years

Text

LaLu Week Day 2

Prompt: War.

Word Count: 3246

Characters: [Laxus, Lucy]

When Lucy had walked in the front door, she could sense it.

Something was most definitely not right.

Looking both left and right she tip-toed past the kitchen, into the living room, her eyes drifting around. "What the fuck did you do now?"

She stepped into the bedroom, opening the door and stepping to the side, waiting for something to fall from the ceiling. She bent at the waist looking in all directions. Lucy tip-toed over to the bed, pushing on different corners, waiting for something to happen.

She moved herself into the bathroom, turning the tap on slowly. When nothing happened she hesitantly picked up the soap, sniffing it.

"Still the same."

Walking to the toilet, she lifted the lid, looking from all angels to see if he had put cling film over it. She flushed it once. Twice. Three times for good luck.

Frowning Lucy moved to the shower, the one place that he always resorted to. Taking the first bottle of shampoo, Lucy rubbed a bit on her arm. When nothing happened, she took the conditioner, doing the same. When she rinsed it off, Lucy looked on with satisfaction as a patch of her arm hair washed off.

She threw the bottle into the trashcan, the bottle going in effortlessly. She took her body lotion, rubbing it on her other arm. While she waited she unscrewed the top of the shower head, checking in the filter for anything suspicious.

Frowning, Lucy screwed it back on. She checked her arm, shaking her head at the darkened skin on her arm. Chucking the bottle in the bin, she continued on her quest.

Her hair mask had green hair dye in it, something that irritated her when taking into consideration just how expensive the product was. Her soap bar was left untouched, her shaving cream had been replaced – with what she could tell – with hair mouse, her razor had had the blades taken out of it.

She didn't even risk her toothbrush – not wanting to know what her husband could have possibly done with it – immediately throwing it in the bin. She had more hidden anyway. After she had checked the remainder of the bathroom, Lucy sighed and had a shower, one free of malicious pranks.

When she got out, dressed herself in her comfiest pyjamas, slippers on her feet and her hair wrapped in a towel above her head.

Still, the feeling of unease did not go away.

Sighing in defeat, Lucy carelessly walked out of the bedroom, opening her laptop. She was feeling in the mood to write. Lucy frowned, moving her wireless mouse, trying to get the damn thing to work. Groaning she flipped it over, pulling the sticky note off the bottom of it.

"Really, Laxus? Couldn't be a little more creative?"

Besides her mouse moving unbearably slow, Lucy was quite content. She didn't really need her mouse anyway. Cracking her knuckles, Lucy read over the last chapter of her novel. When she made the necessary changes she missed while writing it, she began writing the new instalment.

It wasn't until she was done that she began editing, not wanting to lose her flow while writing it, that her mouse started thoroughly pissing her right off. She picked it up again, checking the bottom again, slamming it onto the mouse-pad a few times. Groaning, she tried moving it again, that same agonisingly slow pace seeming to fuck with her more and more with each passing second.

Opening her browser, Lucy began typing into Google.

Why is my mouse mov-

And then her computer screen flashed black, coming back on to display the restart screen.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no–"

Close tabs?

Automatic closing in process.

"Don't you fucking dare!" her eyes drifting to the bottom of the page:

Do you want to cancel restart?

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes–" she moved her mouse to the cancel button, it moving too slowly for her to actually reach it. Still, Lucy didn't give up, watching, eyes wide, as the automatic restart count was decreasing. And then her screen turned off. Coming back on with a loading page the word 'restarting' sitting proudly in the centre of the screen.

Lucy was very comfortable admitting that she stared at the screen for an agonizingly long five minutes. Even when the screen came back on, she didn't make an attempt to open the document.

Lucy stood, moving emotionlessly to the lounge, sitting down and staring straight into the dark screen of her TV.

"I didn't save." she mumbled. "I didn't save once." She laughed a little heh before it turned into a sob. Picking up her phone from the cushion to the left of her. Pressing on her husband's contact, she stared blankly at the numbers. And then the front door unlocked and in walked her husband, in all his smirking glory.

"Hello," he said, hanging his keys up on the hook. He took one look at her, another at the computer – at the untouched opening screen – and stifled a laugh. "That's for the ghost pepper cookies."

"My computer," she didn't look at him, keeping her eyes on the TV. "Is strictly off limits." She stood from the lounge, picking up her phone. "Put whatever you want in my shampoos, dye my hair any colour, shove my toothbrush as far up your ass as you want. But my computer," she looked at him, the iciest glare Laxus had ever seen was present on her face. "Is off limits."

Turning, she moved towards the bedroom. "Cook your own dinner. Good night."

Laxus may have been feeling a little bit guilty. As he sat in the living room, eating his dinner by himself, he reflected over everything that had led to this point. It had started off simple enough, Laxus had put baby powder in Lucy's hair dryer, and then she had retaliated by putting itching powder in his shoes when she knew he would be hiking.

And in that one retaliation, an all-out prank war had begun. And in the year that he and his wife had been at it, the pranks had slowly become more and more ruthless.

So, in order to get revenge after she had made his grandmother's cookies –with ghost chillies – he had stuffed around with some of her beauty products, all of which she had discovered. But, because Laxus was not a one-plan-only-man, he had called one of his college friends, Hibiki. Said man had kindly repayed Laxus an owed favour and had set Lucy's mouse to the slowest setting.

Oh and had programmed Lucy's computer to shut down each and every time she opened her Internet Explorer.

And maybe it had been a tad-bit mean, but revenge was revenge.

Which meant – from both the severity of the prank and Lucy's reaction – Laxus needed to watch his back. So, he called in his trusted ally.

She was on speed dial, and had picked up within the first two rings. "Levy, I need your help."

"What happened?"

"Lucy's very angry,"

There was a pause.

"I'll tell you as soon as I hear anything."

And then the librarian hung up.

Laxus and Levy's arrangement was a complete secret to Lucy. If the blonde found out that he was taking extra precautions – going as far as to get intel from his wife's best friend – then Levy wouldn't be told anything in the future. And that was something Laxus couldn't risk.

If he had no intel then he would have absolutely no way to prepare himself. And if he had no way to prepare himself…

Well he was well and truly fucked.

Lucy's favourite part of this prank war was the revenge part. More so the reaction than anything, but the planning, well that was fun too. The first thing she needed was an abundance of cotton balls. So she called one of her husband's best friends. "Hey Gajeel, how are you?"

"I'm not too bad, how are you doin, Bunny, heard about the BFG's prank yesterday. Sorry I couldn't help ya sooner."

Gajeel was her inside man. Not that Levy and Laxus knew – though they definitely thought she didn't know about their arrangement. But they still hadn't caught on to her and Gajeel's planning.

"You know that guy you get your supplies from?" she asked, "The one that gives you the good discounts?" The man was a childhood friend of the tattoo artist, one that gave him mass supply for cheap prices.

Just what Lucy needed.

He hummed, "What about 'im?"

"I'll pay you for everything, but I need you to buy. . . five-thousand cotton balls…" Hearing the silence on the other end she quickly added, "Please."

"Yea alright, but you gotta tell me what yer plannin."

Lucy giggled, "Of course."

"Alright, see ya, Bunny,"

Lucy grinned. "See ya!"

Lucy looked at the stand in front of her, looking down at her empty cart. At six dollars for a thousand, Lucy knew this was going to be ruthless. She took four bags, putting them in her cart before moving down the aisles and into the arts and craft section. Taking several tubes of glitter and adding them to the pile of sweet revenge, she moved to the register, ignoring the look the cashier was giving her.

There were many pros to having a split bank account, namely was the that neither spouse could see what the other had bought. Which meant that she could spend as much as she wanted on whatever she wanted, without having to worry about him seeing it.

It also meant that she could hire a storage garage and let these jelly balls grow without her husband knowing. So that's exactly what Lucy did.

After a short car drive she arrived at the storage warehouse and, after a pleasant conversation with the owner – who had guaranteed that there was in fact a water supply – led her to the garage she had hired. She had her supplies inside the staked tubs she had brought and set them on the floor, albeit one. She took the tub and filled it with water and then added the balls.

She continued until all the balls were inside the tubs. Then she slid the door down, locked it and returned home.

Laxus was on edge. Everyone had noticed, and everyone close to him understood why. And anyone else found out shortly after. He checked every room before he entered it and eyed everything suspiciously. When he had finally had enough – which was only after he picked apart the layers of his lunch, he dialled Levy's number.

"Has she said anything?" It was mumbled, and Laxus listened in the silence for any beeps that might indicate that Lucy had bugged his phone.

"The only thing she's told me is that you should definitely be worried."

Laxus groaned, sighing, "Great." He scowled, tipping out his mug of cold coffee – barely comfortable to admit to himself that he hadn't drunk it out of fear – "Just fan-fucking-tastic."

"I gotta go, Laxus, but I'll tell you if anything comes up."

After saying goodbye, Laxus hung up, locking the office doors and driving home.

It was while he was parked at a red light that he looked out his window. His wife's car was stopped next to him, waiting patiently for the light to turn green. He didn't need to roll down his window, because, as if sensing his stare, Lucy looked at him.

And then she smirked, her lips pulling up in a way that suggested she had well and truly won.

And Laxus was about ready to accept defeat.

Lucy had dropped into the library Levy worked at. It was quiet at this time of day, so – while still quiet – Lucy began chatting with Levy. It had started out perfectly fine, and then, oh so slyly, Lucy brought up Laxus' last prank. Lucy had to admit, Levy's shocked face was well and truly convincing, and if Lucy hadn't already known that her best friend and husband were conspiring against her, she would have fell for it.

"What are you doing for revenge?" Levy asked, giving her a wide-eyed look, "And I'm sorry about the chapter, Lu,"

Lucy waved her hand, "Don't worry about it, Levy," she smirked, "As for the revenge, well," she drawled out, "I might need your help."

Levy nodded excitedly, genuinely, "What do you need me to do?" she rolled back on the balls of her feet.

"I need you to convince Gajeel to take him out," Lucy grinned, "I just need one night, then everything will be in fine order."

"What are you up to, Lu?" Levy asked, apprehension clear in her voice.

Lucy shrugged, "I just wouldn't be wearing any of his going out clothes, that's all."

The conversation drifted soon after, and Lucy had excused herself, leaving the library so she could go and add more water to the jelly balls – not that she would tell Levy, of course.

So Levy waited until the coast was clear, pulled out her phone and dialled Laxus' number.

"Don't wear any of your fancy clothes, you're going out with Gajeel on Saturday night, buy an outfit. Do not wear anything you already have." She paused, "Goodbye."

When Saturday had in fact arrived, Lucy had been working while Laxus had had the day off. She had taken his car, making sure that when she arrived back home he wouldn't be there. It wasn't hard considering she had had to get the cotton balls from Gajeel – that had taken up the entire front seat and floor, as well as some on her lap – and the jelly balls from the garage, which had taken up her boot space and back seat.

And then she was at home, Laxus gone, having taken her car just as she had planned. She parked it in the driveway, stepping out, Lucy shivered. It was only six-thirty, but with winter drowning out the sun, it was already chilly, just as she had wanted.

She took the cotton balls out, stacking them on the driveway; she emptied the boot and back seat next to the cotton.

"It's gonna be a long night." She was grinning from ear to ear, shivering in the cold.

She put a hand on the front of the car, pulling it back quickly at the sharp coolness.

She took an extra tub, running over to the front yard tap and filling it. After Lucy managed to haul it back to the car, she took the first cotton ball. Squatting down low, she dipped it in the water and then pressed it to the bottom of the car. Like a tongue on a freezer, it stuck.

Lucy grinned maniacally, picking up the next cotton ball, continuing even when her hands were red and blotchy and had loss feeling.

After three long and cold hours, Lucy had managed to cover the entirety of Laxus' car. It looked like a walking fluff ball, and Lucy couldn't help but laugh looking at it. Opening the garage door, she drove in.

Grinning, Lucy ran inside, taking the glitter from her underwear draw, running back to the garage. She turned the car on, sitting on her calves so she was roughly Laxus' height. Turning on the heater, she began tilting the vents, making sure they all hit her face. Then she turned the car off, taking the little vials of glitter, she carefully lined each slot in each vent with purple, pink, blue, and green sparkles.

Stepping out of the car, she laughed once more at the appearance. Then, after dragging all the tubs of jelly balls and draining the excess water, she poured them into the car through the sunroof.

Once everything was done, Lucy put the tubs inside her car, locked the garage and the car, and stared at her work. Honestly though, Lucy thought it was a little underwhelming. So, taking the vials of glitter from its place on the floor, she emptied two of the vials inside the car, and with the rest, she emptied on the cotton balls.

Looking proudly at her work, Lucy went inside and slept like a baby, knowing Laxus would be far too tired to check on his car.

Laxus woke up pleasantly; Lucy was cuddled into his side, a long breath escaping her as she smiled softly. Leaning down he pressed a kiss to her hair, watching as her eyes flickered open. The soft smile was still on her face as she pulled him closer, her eyes closing again.

Yesterday was spent solely lounging around all day, as they had promised their Sunday's would always be. It was a nice change, he wasn't on edge, he was completely relaxed. Yes, definitely a nice change from his usual tenseness.

Turning his head Laxus checked the time, feeling his heart come out his ass, he jumped out of bed, pulling on the first clothes he could. "Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck."

Lucy awoke at the noise, staring at him pull a button up shirt over his shoulders. Checking the time, she felt her eyes widen, "You're a bit late, babe,"

"You don't say," he pulled on his shoes and ran into the kitchen, slamming two pieces of toast into the toaster.

Lucy followed him out, putting on her slippers and dressing gown in an attempt to fight the cold.

Hopefully the cotton balls stayed on…

He buttered his toast at lightning speed – not even putting anything else on them – and shoved the first piece in his mouth. He speed walked towards the door leading to the garage. He had parked Lucy's car outside on Saturday night, his car all by itself in the garage.

Lucy held her breath, her grin forcing its way onto her face.

Laxus flipped the light switch on, his head still facing their kitchen, "See ya later, babe, love–"

Lucy figured that Laxus had turned his head forwards at that point, because there was a frost in the air as everything froze, and then a strangled noise came from him.

"Lu-Lucy…" his tone sounded so defeated that Lucy almost felt bad.

Almost.

"How do you like it?" she grinned.

Growling, and no doubt scowling, Laxus ripped the driver's seat door open. Lucy stifled her laughter as the jelly balls tumbled out.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Laxus, with his large hands, started sweeping the balls out of the car, decorating the garage floor with them.

Decorating his pants with the glitter.

"You've got to be FUCKING shitting me!"

After clearing as much as he could, Laxus started the car, slamming the door closed, Lucy watched as one lonesome cotton ball fell to the ground.

Laxus ground his teeth together. He fucked with her laptop, so she did this? He would enjoy the revenge immensely. His arse was already getting cold, the jelly shit had apparently started leaking, and his vigorous sweeping had only managed to mush them further into the seat.

Grinding his teeth together, he wound down the window, turning the heater on, "I hope you're fucking–" Laxus coughed, rubbing his eyes and choking as something small and grinding made its way down his throat. Looking onto his lap, he glared at the glitter surrounding him, gagging and spitting out as much as he could.

He could see Lucy on the step, laughing away as if this was the funniest fucking thing the world had ever seen.

"You're a fucking dick!" And with that he sped out of the driveway.

Walking into his office shouldn't have been as shameful, but with the entire company seeing his car do an impersonation of a giant acid-tripping q-tip, then him getting out of it, more of that jelly bullshit spilling out of his car like it was a unicorn's seeping asshole. Then all of them seeing his tangled hair, wet arse, and the glitter covering the majority of his body, Laxus knew he was never going to live this down.

And maybe he could have overridden it all with his proud ego, if only his grandfather hadn't come in for a surprise visit. Because after everything that had happened, all he truly needed was his Grandfather seeing him while he looked like the fourth PowerPuff Girl. He had been laughed at, which, if the roles were reversed, he was sure he too would have done.

But his Grandfather had been silent. Eerily silent. And then his wise old voice had muttered something that had Laxus collapsing into a chair:

"I take it the married life is doing you well."

All Laxus knew was that Lucy not going to like the taste of revenge.

#lucyheartfilia #laxusdreyar #fairytail #lalu #lalu week #war #prank

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lesbianrewrites · 7 years

Text

The Martian Chapter 13

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page.

This is a Lesbian edit of The Martian by Andy Weir.

Chapters will be posted every day at 2pm EST.

Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

CHAPTER XIII

The employees of Deyo Plastics worked double shifts. There was talk of triple shifts if NASA increased the order again. No one minded. The overtime pay was spectacular and the funding was limitless. Woven carbon thread ran slowly through the press, which sandwiched it between polymer sheets. The completed material was folded four times and glued together. The resulting thick sheet was then coated with soft resin, and taken to the hot-room to set.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 114 Now that NASA can talk to me, they won’t shut the hell up. They want constant updates on every Hab system, and they’ve got a room full of people trying to micromanage my crops. It’s awesome to have a bunch of dipshits on Earth telling me, a botanist, how to grow plants. I mostly ignore them. I don’t want to come off as arrogant here, but I’m the best botanist on the planet. One big bonus: Email! Just like the days back on Hermes, I get data dumps. Of course they relay email from friends and family, but NASA also sends along choice messages from the public. I’ve gotten email from rock stars, athletes, actors and actresses, and even the President. The coolest one is from my alma-mater, the University of Chicago. They say once you grow crops somewhere, you have officially “colonized” it. So technically, I colonized Mars. In your face, Neil Armstrong! I go to the rover five times a day to check mail. They can get a message from Earth to Mars, but they can’t get it another 10 meters to the Hab. But hey, I can’t bitch. My odds of living through this are way higher now. Last I heard, they solved the weight problem on Ares 4’s MDV. Once it lands here, they’ll ditch the heat shield, all the life support stuff, and a bunch of empty fuel tanks. Then they can take the seven of us (Ares 4’s crew plus me) all the way to Schiaparelli. They’re already working on my duties for the surface ops. How cool is that? In other news, I’m learning Morse Code. Why? Because it’s our back-up communication system. NASA figured a decades-old probe isn’t ideal as a sole means of communication. If Pathfinder craps out, I’ll spell messages with rocks, which NASA will see with satellites. They can’t reply, but at least we’d have one-way communication. Why Morse Code? Because making dots and dashes with rocks is a lot easier than making letters. It’s a shitty way to communicate. Hopefully it won’t come up.

All chemical reactions complete, the sheet was sterilized and moved to a cleanroom. There, a worker cut a strip off the edge. Dividing the strip in to squares, he put each through a series of rigorous tests. Having passed inspection, the sheet was then cut to shape. The edges were folded over, sewn, and resealed with resin. A man with a clipboard made final inspections, independently verifying the measurements, then approved it for use.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 115 The meddling botanists have grudgingly admitted I did a good job. They agree I’ll have enough food to last till Sol 900. Bearing that in mind, NASA has fleshed out the mission details of the supply probe. At first, they were working on a desperate plan to get a probe here before Sol 400. But I bought another 500 sols of life with my potato farm so they have more time to work on it. They’ll launch next year during the Hohmann Transfer Window, and it’ll take almost 9 months to get here. It should arrive around Sol 856. It’ll have plenty of food, a spare Oxygenator, Water Reclaimer, and comm system. Three comm systems, actually. I guess they aren’t taking any chances, what with my habit of being nearby when radios break. Got my first email from Hermes today. NASA’s been limiting direct contact. I guess they’re afraid I’ll say something like “You abandoned me on Mars you fuckwits!” I know the crew is surprised to hear from the Ghost of Mars Missions Past, but c’mon. I wish NASA was less of a nanny sometimes. Anyway, they finally let one email through from Martinez: Dear Watney: Sorry we left you behind, but we don't like you. You're sort of a smart-ass. And it's a lot roomier on Hermes without you. We have to take turns doing your tasks, but it's only botany (not real science) so it's easy. How's Mars? -Martinez My reply: Dear Martinez: Mars is fine. When I get lonely I think of that steamy night I spent with your mom. How are things on Hermes? Cramped and claustrophobic? Yesterday I went outside and looked at the vast horizons. I tell ya, Martinez, they go on forever! -Watney

The employees carefully folded the sheet, and placed it in an argon-filled airtight shipping container. Printing out a sticker, the man with the clipboard placed it on the package. “Project Ares-3; Hab Canvas; Sheet AL102.” The package was placed on a charter plane and flown to Edwards Air Force Base in California. It flew abnormally high, at great cost of fuel, to ensure a smoother flight. Upon arrival, the package was carefully transported by special convoy to Pasadena. Once there, it was moved to the JPL White Room for probe assembly. Over the next 5 weeks, engineers in white bodysuits assembled Presupply 309. It contained AL102 as well as 12 other Hab Canvas packages.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 116 It’s almost time for the second harvest. Ayup. I wish I had a straw hat and some suspenders. My re-seed of the potatoes went well. I'm beginning to see that crops on Mars are extremely prolific, thanks to the billions of dollars worth of life support equipment around me. I now have 400 healthy potato plants, each one making lots of calorie-filled taters for my dining enjoyment. In just ten days they’ll be ripe! And this time, I’m not replanting them as seed. This is my food supply. All natural, organic, Martian-grown potatoes. Don’t hear that every day, do you? You may be wondering how I’ll store them. I can’t just pile them up; most of them would go bad before I got around to eating them. So instead, I’ll do something that wouldn’t work at all on Earth: Throw them outside. Most of the water will be sucked out by the near-vacuum; what’s left will freeze solid. Any bacteria planning to rot my taters will die screaming. In other news, I got email from Venkat Kapoor: Maia, some answers to your earlier questions: No, we will not tell our Botany Team to “Go fuck themselves.” I understand you’ve been on your own for a long time, but we’re in the loop now, and it’s best if you listen to what we have to say. The Cubs finished the season at the bottom of the NL Central. The data transfer rate just isn’t good enough for the size of music files, even in compressed formats. So your request for “Anything, oh god ANYTHING but Disco” is denied. Enjoy your boogie fever. Also, an uncomfortable side note... NASA is putting together a committee. They want to see if there were any avoidable mistakes that led you to being stranded. Just a heads-up. They may have questions for you later on. Keep us posted on your activities. -Kapoor My reply: Venkat, tell the investigation committee they’ll have to do their witch-hunt without me. And when they inevitably blame Commander Lewis, be advised I’ll publicly refute it. -Watney

The presupply probes for Ares-3 launched on 14 consecutive days during the Hohmann Transfer window. Presupply 309 was launched third. The 251 day trip to Mars was uneventful, needing only two minor course adjustments. After several aerobraking maneuvers to slow down, it made its final descent toward Acidalia Planitia. First, it endured reentry via a heat shield. Later, it released a parachute and detached the now expended shield. Once its onboard radar detected it was 30 meters from the ground, it cut loose the parachute and inflated balloons all around its hull. It fell unceremoniously to the surface, bouncing and rolling, until it finally came to rest. Deflating its balloons, the onboard computer reported the successful landing back to Earth.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 117 The Water Reclaimer is acting up. Six people will go through 18 liters of water per day. So it’s made to process 20. But lately, it hasn’t been keeping up. It’s doing 10, tops. Do I generate 10 liters of water per day? No, I’m not the urinating champion of all time. It’s the crops. The humidity inside the Hab is a lot higher than it was designed for, so the Water Reclaimer is constantly filtering it out of the air. I’m not worried about it. Water is water. The plants use it, I use it. If need be, I can piss on the plants directly. It’ll evaporate and condense on the walls. I could make something to collect it, I’m sure. Thing is, the water can’t go anywhere. It’s a closed system. Plus, I made like 600 liters from MDV fuel (remember the “explosive Hab” incident?). I could take baths and still have plenty left over. NASA, however, is absolutely shitting itself. They see the Water Reclaimer as a critical survival element. There’s no backup, and they think I’ll die instantly without it. To them, equipment failure is terrifying. To me, it’s “Tuesday.” So instead of preparing for my harvest, I have to make extra trips to and from the rover to answer their questions. Each new message instructs me to try some new solution and report the results back. So far we’ve worked out it’s not the electronics, refrigeration system, instrumentation, or temperature. I’m sure it’ll turn out to be a little hole somewhere, then NASA will have 4 hours of meetings before telling me to cover it with duct tape.

Lewis and Beck opened Presupply 309. Working as best they could in their bulky EVA suits, they removed the various portions of Hab canvas and lay them on the ground. Three entire presupply probes were dedicated to the Hab. Following a procedure they had practiced hundreds of times, they efficiently assembled the pieces. Special seal-strips between the patches ensured air-tight mating. After erecting the main structure of the Hab, they assembled the three airlocks. Sheet AL102 had a hole perfectly sized for Airlock 1. Beck stretched the sheet tight to the seal-strips on the airlock’s exterior. Once all airlocks were in place, Lewis flooded the Hab with air and AL102 felt pressure for the first time. They waited an hour. No pressure was lost; the setup had been perfect.

LOG ENTRY: SOL 118 My conversation with NASA about the Water Reclaimer was boring and riddled with technical details. So I’ll paraphrase it for you: Me: “This is obviously a clog. How about I take the it apart and check the internal tubing?” NASA: (After 5 hours of deliberation) “No. You’ll fuck it up and die.” So I took it apart. Yeah, I know. NASA has a lot of ultra-smart people and I should really do what they say. And I’m being too adversarial, considering they spend all day working on how to save my life. I just get sick of being told how to wipe my ass. Independence was one of the things they looked for when choosing Ares astronauts. It’s a 13-month mission, most of it spent many light-minutes away from Earth. They wanted people who would act on their own initiative, but at the same time, obey their Commander. If Commander Lewis were here, I’d do whatever she said, no problem. But a committee of faceless bureaucrats back on Earth? Sorry, I’m just having a tough time with it. I was really careful. I labeled every piece as I dismantled it, and laid everything out on a table. I have the schematics in the computer, so nothing was a surprise. And just as I’d suspected, there was a clogged tube. The Water Reclaimer was designed to purify urine and strain humidity out of the air (you exhale almost as much water as you piss). I’ve mixed my water with soil, making it mineral water. The minerals built up in the Water Reclaimer. I cleaned out the tubing and put it all back together. It completely solved the problem. I’ll have to do it again some day, but not for 100 sols or so. No big deal. I told NASA what I did. Our (paraphrased) conversation was: Me: “I took it apart, found the problem, and fixed it.” NASA: “Dick.”

AL102 shuddered in the brutal storm. Withstanding forces and pressure far greater than its design, it rippled violently against the airlock seal-strip. Other sections of canvas undulated along their seal-strips together, acting as a single sheet, but AL102 had no such luxury. The airlock barely moved, leaving AL102 to take the full force of the tempest. The layers of plastic, constantly bending, heated the resin from pure friction. The new, more yielding environment allowed the carbon fibers to separate. AL102 stretched. Not much. Only 4 millimeters. But the carbon fibers, usually 500 microns apart, now had a gap eight times that width in their midst. After the storm abated, the lone remaining astronaut performed a full inspection of the Hab. But she didn’t notice anything amiss. The weak part of canvas was concealed by a seal-strip. Designed for a mission of 31 sols, AL102 continued well past its planned expiration. Sol after sol went by, with the lone astronaut traveling in and out of the Hab almost daily. Airlock 1 was closest to the rover charging station, so the astronaut preferred it to the other two. When pressurized, the airlock expanded slightly; when depressurized, it shrunk. Every time the astronaut used the airlock, the strain on AL102 relaxed, then tightened anew. Pulling, stressing, weakening, stretching…

LOG ENTRY: SOL 119 I woke up last night to the Hab shaking. The medium-grade sandstorm ended as suddenly as it began. It was only a category 3 storm with 50kph winds. Nothing to worry about. Still, it’s bit disconcerting to hear howling winds when you’re used to utter silence. I’m worried about Pathfinder. If the sandstorm damaged it, I’ll have lost my connection to NASA. Logically, I shouldn’t worry. The thing’s been on the surface for decades. A little gale won’t do any harm. When I head outside, I’ll confirm Pathfinder’s still functional before moving on to the sweaty, annoying work of the day. Yes, with each sandstorm comes the inevitable Cleaning of the Solar Cells. A time honored tradition by hearty Martians such as myself. It reminds me of growing up in Chicago and having to shovel snow. I’ll give my dad credit; he never claimed it was to build character or teach me the value of hard work. “Snow-blowers are expensive,” he used to say. “You’re free.” Once, I tried to appeal to my mom. “Don’t be such a wuss,” She suggested. In other news, It’s seven sols till the harvest, and I still haven’t prepared. For starters, I need to make a hoe. Also, I need to make an outdoor shed for the potatoes. I can’t just pile them up outside. The next major storm would cause The Great Martian Potato Migration. Anyway, all that will have to wait. I’ve got a full day today. After cleaning the solar cells, I have to check the whole solar array make sure the storm didn’t hurt it. Then I’ll need to do the same for the rover. I better get started.

Airlock 1 slowly depressurized to 1/90th of an atmosphere. Watney, donning an EVA suit, waited for it to complete. She had done it literally hundreds of times. Any apprehension she may have had on Sol 1 was long gone. Now it was merely a boring chore before exiting to the surface. As the depressurization continued, the Hab’s atmosphere compressed the airlock and AL102 stretched for the last time. On Sol 119, the Hab breached. The initial tear was less than 1 millimeter. The perpendicular carbon fibers should have prevented the rip from growing. But countless abuses had stretched the vertical fibers apart and weakened the horizontal ones beyond use. The full force of the Hab’s atmosphere rushed through the breach. Within a tenth of a second, the rip was a meter long, running parallel to the seal-strip. It propagated all the way around until it met its starting point. The airlock was no longer attached to the Hab. The unopposed pressure violently launched the airlock like a cannonball as the Hab exploded. Inside, the surprised Watney slammed against the airlock’s back door with the force of the expulsion. The airlock flew 40 meters before hitting the ground. Watney, barely recovered from the earlier shock, now endured another as she hit the front door, face first. Her faceplate took the brunt of the blow, the safety glass shattering into hundreds of small cubes. Her head slammed against the inside of the helmet, knocking her senseless. The airlock tumbled across the surface for a further 15 meters. The heavy padding of Watney’s suit saved her from many broken bones. She tried to make sense of the situation, but was barely conscious. Finally done tumbling, the airlock rested on its side amid a cloud of dust. Watney, on her back, stared blankly upward through the hole in her shattered faceplate. A gash in her forehead trickled blood down her face. Regaining some of her wits, she got her bearings. Turning her head to the side, she looked through the back door’s window. The collapsed Hab rippled in the distance, a junkyard of debris strewn across the landscape in front of it. Then, a hissing sound reached her ears. Listening carefully, she realized it was not coming from her suit. Somewhere in the phone-booth sized airlock, a small breach was letting air escape. She listened intently to the hiss. Then she touched her broken faceplate. Then she looked out the window again. “You fucking kidding me?” She said.

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