Good wood - how have I never seen this before? Might just be the coolest pad I’ve posted to date… especially if you’re a hardcore skater. The ‘Merello House’ by WMR architects in Pichilemu, a coastal resort southwest of Santiago in central Chile.
Request: Then for the working legs au, he goes to her class one day and teaches the kids about science and stuff since she went to his work and BARRY!!!!!!!! btw I absolutely love your writings and they make me feel happy inside when I go on tumblr :) <3
It isn’t that Barry lied to the Captain, he just…fabricated the truth to his benefit. Really, he did have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, but it got cancelled. So, that gave him a little, or big, idea. At least, to him, the idea is big.
After storing away his equipment, he heads to the main lobby; wheels squeaking as Joe stands in front of him. Busted. Barry cringes, awaiting the long, drawn out speech about lying and ignoring your responsibilities. Except, it never comes. “It’s pretty cold outside, son.” Joe hums in his smooth tone, tucking his blue button down in his dress pants. “You might need a scarf…” he sways over to his desk, pulling a thick red scarf; it was Barry’s as a teenager. “Don’t need you getting sick.” He hangs it on his son’s neck.
Barry peers up at the man, thick eyebrows crinkled in confusion. The foster father wraps the ratty, faded scarf around his slender neck a few times, smirking. Before Barry can even question what’s going on, a crisp twenty dollar bill flurries from the old fabric, landing on his brown peacoat. “Buy her something on the way to the school.” Joe winks, patting his chest. How did he kno- well, he is his dad…
“Thanks, Joe.” Barry blushes, crumpling the money in his palm. With a tiny smirk, Joe nods, ruffling his messy brown hair and walking back to his desk. A smile teases Barry’s lips; he drives forward, opening the door and racing down the ramp, stopping abruptly at the end, yanking his cotton sleeve up to check his watch. 12:47. He has approximately two hours until school ends. Thank god for elementary schools.
Flinging the joystick forward, he zooms down the busy Central City streets, weaving through the crowd of people, occasionally throwing an apology over his shoulder. Okay, so maybe he is on the fastest speed, but, he can’t be late. Not this time.
The ends of his scarf fly behind him, making him feel like pilot Snoopy in those old Peanuts movies he used to watch as a kid. He’s so focused on getting there, he zips right by a flower shop. Wait. He reverses, hitting the automatic door button (a flower shop has one but the CCPD doesn’t?) and rolling inside.
Rows of colorful flowers line the mint green walls, causing the little shop to appear more open and full. Gulping, Barry slowly drives around the store, gazing at the flowers with a pained expression. Would you like flowers? Should he get roses? No, no, you two haven’t been dating that long. Not at that stage.
What about… he reads the tag, tilting his head to the side. Daffodils. They’re bright yellow and have long, floppy petals. Perfect. Barry nods to himself, pulling the bouquet out of the cardboard holder and rolling to the cash register. The woman smiles at him, ringing up the flowers. “$9.98.” He forks over the twenty dollar bill, sliding it on the gray counter. “Would you like a bag?”
Barry shakes his head, reaching for the flowers and change. “Thank you!” he exclaims, shoving the money in his coat pocket. Gripping the bouquet, he spins the joystick, heading to the door; he presses the blue button with his elbow.
If he squints, he can make out the school, which is a few miles away. Quickly, he drives forward, wheels spinning like a locomotive; he darts past a few elderly ladies feeding pigeons, holding the flowers to his chest while their wings flap around him in a sea of dark gray. “Sorry!” he yells, peering back with an awkward grin, still moving forward across the street. Luckily, he misses a truck, getting on the sidewalk alive.
A breath of relief escapes him and he runs a hand through his windswept hair. Okay, he almost died, erm, Joe doesn’t need to know that; what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right? Barry blinks before heading towards the wood makeshift ramp. He cracks a smile; he wouldn’t be surprised if you made it. You’re thoughtful like that.
He opens the door using his method, gawking at the high ceilings. Barry isn’t an architect, but he still appreciates beautiful buildings. His wheels cause the sleek dark mahogany wood floor to creak and he looks down, just in case. He refocuses in front of him, watching out for the small lockers against the cream wall.
Doors pass by and he tries finding the office. After a little roaming, he stops, scratching his head in confusion. There has to be an office, right? “Sir, are you lost?” He hears a gruff, manly voice come from behind him. Spinning his wheelchair around, he peeks up at the tan man wearing a suit similar to Joe’s.
Barry gulps, tightening his grip around the base of the flowers. “Erm, yeah.” he admits nervously, pulling at the ends of his scarf. “Do you know where I can find, Miss Y/L/N? I’m her, um, boyfriend?” he asks, lips pursed in a tight thin line.
“Yeah, second floor. Room 108.” the man says; Barry’s heart drops to his stomach. The school barely had a ramp! He doubts they have an elevator. “But, her class should be coming down to the music room in a few minutes, so if you want you can wait for her there. Or by the stairs.” the man points to the wooden staircase.
Gulping down his anxiety, Barry nods, “Okay, thank you.” he whispers, backing up; the man nods, heading down another hallway. His wheels creak on the floor as he makes his way to the stairs, checking his watch when he parks at the bottom. Is this too romantic? Barry really isn’t the romantic type…now he’s rethinking all of this. Maybe he should just go -
Then he hears your perky voice echo through the hallways and shifts in his seat. Be cool, be cool, he reminds himself. “- good for Mr. Mandy, then afterwards we can read a chapter of Junie B. Jones, then you can go home!” you tell your students, following them down the steps; your black ankle boot heels clicking against the wood. He can see your shoes, then your black tights that hide under the skirt of your pearl white dress with black ruffles, a matching bow around your waist.
Barry glances down at his outfit, suddenly feeling underdressed; his black peacoat ends just below his ass, meaning that he’s sitting on it, and his blue jeans are cuffed at the bottom, topped with his signature converse. He flashes a smile when you see him, watching you cover your mouth with your hands, black blazer scrunching at your elbows. “Surprise?” he bites his lip, trying to ignore the nine kids staring at him.
“Who are you?” one of them says. Barry blushes awkwardly.
You put a hand on the student, grinning as you try not to cry. Can’t ruin the makeup. “Kids, this is, um,” you move your hands around your stomach, “one of my very…close friends, Mr…Allen.” Boy, that sounds weird. “Here, let’s go to music class!” you beam, ushering the kids towards the classroom. “Thank you. They are beautiful.” you whisper, taking the flowers and pecking his lips softly.
He blushes, smiling from ear to ear as he follows you to the classroom, making his chair roll at the same pace as you walk. “I, um, got off work early and thought I’d surprise you.” he mumbles. Wow, that came out lame. “I mean, I can go and come back later -”
“Are you sure?” you interrupt, turning to face him while walking; your silver necklace dangling on your stomach. His blush on his face matches his scarf. “You could always stay for music class…and I don’t know if you heard but I’m reading Junie B. Jones… But I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.” you smile, stopping in front of the door.
That smile. Oh boy. “Okay. I’ll stay.” he says against his better judgement, green eyes glistening as you let a gleeful cheer out. You peck his lips before opening the door, dress swaying around your thighs as you walk to the back of the room, Barry follows, turning his chair off when you plop down on the colorful carpet. The teacher, who he met earlier, has the children sit in a circle, clapping a song to his guitar. “I thought you taught first grade?” he asks, gazing down at you.
You crinkle your eyebrows together, looking at him with your hands in your lap, your hair falling in your eyes. “I do.” you nod proudly. Barry tilts his head to the side. He’s kind of like a puppy. “This, um, this school is for…” your hands twitch in your lap; gaze drifting to the group of children, “for children who need more help?” you say in a question, turning your head to Barry but keeping your eyes on the beaming kids. “I like seeing their face when they get something right and how…how we think it’s so…simple, yet for them, it’s like asking them to do the impossible… And when they do get it, it’s - it’s like they conquered the world’s puzzle.” you sigh, cracking a slight grin.
Oh damn. He thinks he might have a heart attack. He wants to say so many things; that you are amazing, that this is such a wonderful school, that he feels like he should make out with you right here, right now, in the music room… But all he breathes out is… “Wow.”
This Day in WCW History: WCW Halloween Havoc Took Place in New Orleans, Louisiana
[October 24th, 1993]
In Mick Foley’s 1999 autobiography Have a Nice Day! A Tale of Blood and Sweatsocks,
Foley revealed an interesting and crazy tidbit regarding his match
against Vader at Havoc ’93. The level of intensity in the main event was
by design, specifically because Foley had planned on injuring himself
legitimately during it as a way to collect some major $$$ from a
insurance policy he gotten through Lloyds of London. Sure, the
legalities behind such a thing are murky at best and could be seen as
insurance fraud, but apparently Mick Foley was hellbent on to crippling
himself during the match as a way to get out of the “bullshit” that was
“When many fans think about Halloween
Havoc 1993, they may recall a particularly painful move that for my
money was the single most gut-busting, suicidal maneuver I’ve ever
tried. In actuality, I really was going to commit suicide: career
suicide. I was trying to end my career right there in the Lakefront
Center in New Orleans. The plot to end my eight years in the ring began
when I placed a sleeper hold on Vader, who was staggering on the wooden
“I jumped on Vader’s back, still
holding in the sleeper, causing the Mastodon to stumble like a drunken
sailor with a 300-pound weight on his back. Here it comes, I thought,
bracing myself for the pain and hoping that it would be severe. With a
sudden burst of energy, Vader put my plan into effect. He dropped
straight back while kicking his legs up in the air, literally crushing
me between the bulk of his 450 pounds and the unforgiving wood of the
entrance ramp. Vader rolled to the side, and I instinctively rolled into
a fetal position, secure in the knowledge that my career was over.”
“There was only one problem. Me. My
body had become so conditioned to taking punishment that it had somehow
managed to take this. So I did the only thing I knew how. I got up.
Slowly. And then, as in Germany [when my ear was partially ripped off
during a match], I went on as best I could.”