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study-coffee-chicago · 3 years

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Stupid Game...But They’re All in High School This Time AU (A Halstead Brothers + Halstead Sister Imagine)

Trigger warning for very graphic attempted sexual assault

"What are the rules?" Jay asked you as you double-checked your backpack to make sure you had everything for the first day of your freshman year of high school.

You sighed and zipped up your backpack. Your two older brothers, Jay a junior, and Will a senior, had already gone over and over this with you. "No spaghetti straps, no backpacks in class--"

"Not written school rules," Jay told you, abruptly cutting you off. "Unwritten school rules."

"Oh," you said as Will entered the living room, holding his car keys in his hand. "Walk on the right side of the hallways, always remember your locker combination or write it somewhere so you will remember it after long breaks, and no talking to the varsity football players unless it's Adam, Kevin, or Kelly because all the rest of them are absolute douchebags."

"There it is," Jay said and grabbed onto the handle of your backpack. "And if someone does this?" He tugged hard and you flew backward.

"Turn around and swing," you told him and quickly regained your balance once he let go.

"Jesus, Jay," Will said and smacked Jay upside the head, resulting in Jay letting out an ow in response. "Don't scare the poor girl. No one's gonna do that. It only happens in the movies." He turned back to you. "Don't listen to him."

"So, all that unwritten rules stuff I can just forget?" you asked.

"No, that was all legit. Just the backpack tug thing was a lie. Now let's go before--"

"Will, Jay, Y/N!" The three of you groaned when you heard your mom's voice calling you and then stepping into the living room. "Take off your backpacks and go on the front porch."

The three of you groaned again.

"Mom," Jay whined. "Do you we have to take a first day of school picture every single year?"

"Yes. And it's your brother's first day of senior year and your sister's first day of high school in general. So, get out on the porch and quit complaining. The faster I take this picture, the faster the three of you can leave."

You all grumbled and then went out on the porch to take a picture. Even though it was early September in Chicago, it was sweltering hot out. You thanked your lucky stars that Will's car had working AC because you knew that some of your friend's older siblings didn't have working AC in their cars and they always complained about how hot it was on the ride to and from school. But, it was better than taking the bus.

Once you had finished taking the pictures (and Jay pulled your hair in one of them so Will told Jay he has to sit in the backseat on the way to school and you got the passenger seat), you got in Will's car.

***

"So, meet you right here after school?" you asked Will when you entered the high school through the double doors of the main entrance.

"Yup. Jay, you got a ride home from soccer practice?" Will asked.

"Yeah. Adam's dropping me off at home. But I swear to God if I have to sit in the backseat one more time--"

"Give it a rest. I could've stepped on your foot, but I figured you'd need it for soccer. So, I let you off easy."

"Whatever," Jay mumbled.

You started to walk towards the freshman hallway and wondered why Jay and Will were still walking with you when you passed the junior and senior lockers. But, then you saw a huge group of varsity football players in the long hallway between the sophomore and freshman hallways, pointing at girls they thought got prettier or skinnier over the summer or new freshman girls for them to hit on or have a one night fling with.

"I'm gonna need to tell Kelly to keep his boys in line," Jay said to Will.

"No shit," Will replied.

"Don't you creeps have anything better to do?" Jay yelled at them. "And, I see at least three of you who are eighteen, so I'd recommend you stop ogling at minors and get back to watching tapes or something so we can actually make it to the playoffs this year."

"And what are you--" a football player who was obviously new on varsity stepped forward and started to say, but another one pulled him back.

"Dude, he's stronger than he looks and they're both best friends with Severide. So, shut the fuck up," he told the new varsity player.

"Yeah, listen to your friend," Will said. "C'mon, Y/N, just keep walking."

You did as he told you and shook off the weird encounter.

"They stop after homecoming," Will told you as he took a piece of paper from you and looked at what locker number you had.

"What do you mean after homecoming?" you asked.

Jay and Will shared a look. They had never told you about the game the football players had from late September/early October until homecoming which was usually mid-October/late October.

"We'll explain later," Will said. You walked a few more steps until you found your locker.

Next to you, there was a girl with blond hair who was wearing a flannel and jeans and brown combat boots who was helping a freshman with their locker as well.

"Alright," Will said. "So, this is your combination. Don't feel bad if you forget it after Christmas or spring break. Everyone goes to the office to ask for their combo when they get back, so don't feel embarrassed about it."

Will showed you how to unlock your locker, but it didn't budge. He tried it again. Nothing. Then, he let Jay have a go at it. Again, nothing.

"Need help?" the blond next to you asked. She was now done helping the other freshman with their locker.

Jay opened his mouth to tell her no, but you said yes faster than he could answer.

Will handed her the paper with the combination and she tried it. Nothing.

She looked down at another paper she was holding. "Ah, I know why this one isn't working. It's on the flagged list."

"The flagged list?" you asked.

"Yeah. They didn't have time to fix some of the lockers during the summer, but they'll be getting to them this weekend, so you should only have to deal with it being crappy like this the first week," she answered.

She tried your combination again, pushed up on the lock, and then kicked the bottom of the locker.

It opened.

"Upton!" A teacher yelled. "No kicking lockers!"

"This one was flagged!" she yelled back. "Only way to get it to open!"

"Fine. I guess it's okay for this week." The teacher narrowed his eyes. "Halstead."

"Mr. Williams," Jay said and then turned back and rolled his eyes.

"What's up with him?" you asked Will.

"Yeah, Jay may or not have fired spitballs at Mr. Williams freshman year," Will answered.

"That was you?" the girl asked. "I remembered hearing that a soccer player did it, but I never got the name. Guess now I know it was you, Jay."

"Yes, it was me, Hailey." So, this girl's name was Hailey.

"Wait, you two know each other?" you asked.

"We had what, an English class together last year?" Jay asked.

"Yeah, first semester because then I got put in the honors class," Hailey said.

"That class always seemed so much more for than the normal class," Jay mused.

"Too bad you can't write papers for shit," Will told his little brother.

"Shut up," Jay groaned.

Will looked up at one of the digital clocks in the hallway. "We should get going," he said. "We've only got fifteen minutes until we have to be in homeroom."

"Good luck, fresh meat," Jay joked and you rolled your eyes as your two older brothers walked off to their wing of the school that housed their lockers.

"Want some help putting your things in here?" Hailey asked. "I have a pass to get to class half an hour late since I'm on student council and helping you guys out."

"Uh, sure, since you're here. Mind if I close my locker and then try opening it myself?" you asked.

"Go for it."

You closed your locker and then did the exact same thing she did to get your locker open, including the kick. It opened on your first try.

"Perfect!" Hailey said. You unzipped your backpack and you and Hailey stooped down to grab folders, binders, and notebooks out of it. "I'm sorry, I never actually introduced myself. I'm Hailey Upton."

"Y/N Halstead," you replied. "Those two doofuses who just left are my brothers, Jay and Will, seems like you already knew Jay, though."

"I mean, I don't really know him. I guess I know of him if that makes sense."

"Makes total sense."

The two of you continued to put stuff in your locker until everything was in there, just in time for the five-minute bell to ring.

You looked at your schedule. "You don't happen to know where Mr. V's room is, do you? My brothers told me it's not in the freshman or sophomore halls."

"Oh, yeah. You just go down the connecting hallway and past the junior and senior lockers and then you'll see-- you know what, I'll walk you there. It's kind of hard to find."

"Thank you."

"No problem. We've all been freshmen before."

***

Hailey entered her AP biology class just as the late bell rang. She took the first empty seat she saw...which ended up being next to none other than Will Halstead.

"Hey," Hailey said. "This seat wasn't saved, was it?"

"No," Will replied. "It's yours now." He looked at Hailey. "You were the one who helped my sister with her locker this morning, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm Hailey."

"Will," he told her.

"So," their teacher, Mr. Davis began, "since this is an AP class, there will be a lot more homework than a typical biology class. I also know some of you are juniors, so I hope that you take AP anatomy and physiology next year with me if you do well in this class. As for you seniors who are taking this AP class and AP A and P--which stands for anatomy and physiology by the way--I know that the first three chapters of this class overlap a lot, so I'm sorry if you get bored.

"But, the person you have chosen to sit next to, will be your partner for any projects we have this semester. And, they aren't typical projects like presentations and the like. They're mostly practice AP tests that I want you to take with another person so that you can talk over the answers and make sure you don't make the same mistake twice. Obviously, around February, I'll ask you to take the practice tests by yourself so that you can practice for the real tests.

"Every chapter there will be presentations. I will give each pair a sub-topic of the chapter and I want you to do a five to ten minute presentation on it for the class. I also want you to put together a Kahoot for your subsection after the presentation because I found that that makes students pay way more attention than when there isn't one because everyone wants to win."

Hailey raised her hand. "Yes, remind me of your name," he said when he pointed to Hailey.

"Hailey," she told him.

"Hailey," he repeated and scribbled her name on the piece of paper with the seating chart on his desk. "Oh, and after I go over all this, I would like all of you to come and write your name on the seating chart. Hailey of course won't have to write her name because she doesn't need to be on there twice. Anyway, what was your question?"

"I was just wondering how many practice tests we'll have to take and how often you were should meet up with our partner outside of school?" Hailey asked.

"Both great questions. For the practice tests, we'll start taking them in November because that gives us time to go over the format and content. Don't worry, I won't put any new content on the practice tests. I'm not that mean. You'll take one in November, one in December, and one in January. These will all be done with your seat partner. Then, from February on, you'll have one every month, but these will be taken by yourselves so that you get used to it before the actual test.

"As for meeting up with your partner, I'd recommend every two weeks. That way you won't fall behind on the presentations."

Hailey nodded and scribbled this information down in her notebook. But, she was also nervous. She couldn't let Will come to her house. She just had to hope that Will would have all the meetings at his house.

***

"How was your first day?" Will asked when you met him at the main doors after school.

"It was good. Not as scary as you guys made it seem. Still need to make sure I get to my classes on time, though," you replied as the two of you walked out of the building and through the parking lot towards his car.

"They'll give you a grace period to get to class on time," Will told you. "It's usually a week, week and a half until they start handing out tardies."

You were about to ask how his day was, when someone yelling stopped you.

"Nice ass, Halstead!"

Your jaw dropped and your eyes bugged out of your head as you and Will both turned around. Of course, it was a varsity football player who yelled that, of course, it was.

Will put his hand in front of you. "Y/N, I'm gonna give you my keys and you're going to unlock my car and get inside."

"Will, he's not worth it," you argued.

"Y/N, take my damn keys. I don't want you anywhere near this."

You relented and took his keys and then went and got in the passenger seat of his car. But, you watched as everything unfolded.

Will stalked up to the football player, who he knew was Derek Evans, the school fuck boy who every girl liked because he was a shoo-in to get drafted by the NFL right after high school and had really good looks even though he was a total sexist asshole.

"What the fuck did you just say to my sister?" Will roared.

"Said she had a nice ass," he replied while shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"You son of a--" Will lunged at him but Kevin and Kelly ran in to hold him back. Turns out they were walking out of school and saw the entire exchange.

"Will! calm the fuck down!" Kelly shouted as he pushed Will back.

"Did you not hear what he said?" Will yelled as he kept reaching out to Derek.

Kevin was pushing Derek back, too.

"We did. But you can't be fighting on the first day. If you're gonna do it, do it somewhere else not on school grounds."

"Both you, take a damn breath and walk away," Kevin told them.

Kelly pushed Will back and then grabbed his arm and walked him towards his car while Kevin walked Derek towards the football field.

"You better fucking do something about that, Severide," Will told him.

"Believe me, I'll make sure he runs lap for the entirety of practice."

"I meant punch his face in."

"Can't do that, man. I got scholarships on the line."

"At least let me bring my baseball bat to school and bash his face in. If my batting average is any indication, I could knock him out and kill him in one swing."

"That would be murder and then you'd be in prison instead of going to med school." Kelly paused and took a deep breath. "I guess now's not a great time to tell you, but freshmen are up for grabs in the game this year. The players all said they weren't going to do it because the coaches banned it, but they're going to try and be sneaky. Only writing the points down on paper and burning it, no texting about it or putting it on social media, you can only talk about it on the phone or in person, and it can't be talked about at school."

"Fuck. So the girls won't really know what's going on until it starts."

"Exactly. Just, let Y/N know, okay? And have her pass it on to some of the other freshmen...because we both know if they go to Principal White he won't do shit."

"Yeah, he's as much of a son of a bitch as Evans. But, I'll tell her. Thanks, Kelly."

***

"Jay!" Will yelled when Jay walked inside all sweaty after his soccer practice.

"What? Dude, I need a shower," he said as he threw his soccer bag and his backpack down by the door.

"Better pick that up before Mom gets home. She'll be pissed if she comes home at 3 am and trips over it."

Your mom was a nurse and worked from 2:30 pm-2:30 am, which meant she only saw you in the morning for four days a week...even though she's only supposed to work three days a week, so 36 hours, but she always picked up an extra day so that she could put some money in all of your guys' college funds. Sometimes, she'd even work five days a week and she'd be exhausted once her week was over. But, she was the hardest worker you knew and inspired you to work as hard as you possibly could at everything you did; you never did anything half-assed because you never saw your mom do that. She always gave it her all.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But I want to shower," Jay said.

"Wait five minutes. This is important," Will told him.

Jay sat down on the couch next to him. "Fine. What is it?"

So, Will explained what happened when he and you walked out of school today and how Kelly had to hold him back so that he wouldn't beat Derek Evans to a pulp. He also told him that the game was still on...and this time freshmen are fair game.

"Fucking hell," Jay muttered.

"Yeah," Will agreed.

"Should we tell her?"

"Probably. The sooner the better, too."

"Okay. Let me jump in the shower and then we can tell her and tell her how to protect herself."

Ten minutes later, Jay was out of the shower and he knocked on your bedroom door, Will right behind him. When he didn't get an answer after a few rounds of knocking, he opened your door.

"She's sleeping. Guess we'll have to tell her when she wakes up," Jay said.

"As long as we tell her tonight," Will said. "The more time she has to prepare for what's to come, the better."

***

"Jesus. Fuck," you muttered as you rolled over and looked at the time on your phone. After stretching and jumping out of bed, you walked from your bedroom into the kitchen, to see your brothers both eating pasta. "Neither of you two bothered to wake me up? It's 6:30."

"Figured you needed the sleep," Will shrugged. "Dinner's in the fridge. Mom made lasagna."

You grabbed yourself a plate and then put some lasagna on it and put it in the microwave. Then you sat down across from Jay and Will who were both sitting on the same side of the kitchen table.

"How was your first day?" Jay asked.

"Good...other than Wiliams making me sit in the front right in front of his desk. I don't mind the front because then I can see the board easier, but his desk, really? This one's all your fault." You pointed your fork at Jay.

Jay held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, really wasn't thinking about you when I fired those spitballs."

"What were you thinking about?" Will asked.

"That I needed to aim for his head."

"My god, you're a child," you laughed. "And, Will about ripped a football player's head off today. I think his name was Derek? He would've, too if Kelly didn't hold him back."

"But he said you had a nice ass," Will quoted. "Pretty sure that warrants me ripping his head off."

"Will's right," Jay agreed. "I would've pushed past Kelly and beat Evans to a pulp."

"Good to know you guys have my back. But, I'm in high school now. You can't keep fighting my battles for me."

"Too bad," Will said. "You're stuck with us."

"Ugh," you groaned and took a bite of your lasagna. "How was your day, Will?" you asked once you had finished the bite. "Any talk of what the senior prank will be?"

"We didn't actually talk about that. But, the girl who helped you with your locker, Hailey, she's my partner in my AP bio class," Will answered. Jay coughed. "You alright there, Jay?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine."

"Anyway," Will began, "she'll be coming round here a bit because we have to do these presentations. She said her brothers are usually home, so she'll probably come here most of the time. Oh, Y/N, she also told me to tell you that if there's ever a day where you can't find anyone to sit with at lunch, that you can always sit with her."

"Really? That's so nice of her. I wish I had classes with her," you said.

"Okay, since it's obvious neither of you is going to ask about my day because I'm the forgotten middle child," Jay started, causing both you and Will to roll your eyes, "I'm just gonna tell you. Nothing important happened. They just drilled that we have to take the SAT into our heads. Oh, and we have read like this 16th century crap in English 11, so that sucks."

"English 11 is the worst," Will agreed. "Good luck."

The three of you continued to eat and the Will started talking again when he and Jay were finished and you were almost done.

"So, Y/N, there's this sick and twisted tradition at school," Will began with a worried look on his face. "And it ends after homecoming."

"So that's what you were implying earlier," you said.

"Yeah, so what happens is that the football players kinda sorta get dares to do, but they aren't specifically dares. It's like there's a list of things they do with a girl and there's points attached to them. Like, apparently if a guy grabs a girl's ass in the hallway or anywhere else on the school's campus or at a school event, it's 50 points. But, since that's pretty tame, that's the only one that actually has to be done on campus. The rest of them can be off or on-campus...but they'd probably be off-campus," Will explained.

"I'm confused. So they get points for assaulting us?" you asked.

"Technically, it's just harassment...but some of the other ones could be classified as assault. But, those ones are supposed to be consensual, so the only risk you really run is having your butt grabbed in the hallway. Jay, you wanna take it from here?"

"Uh, yeah," Jay answered. "Usually freshmen are off-limits, but this year they changed the rules, so they're allowed. But, Kelly, Kevin, and Adam opted out because they're decent human beings, so if you see them in the hallway, you're safe; you don't have to be scared of them."

"But the rest...?" you trailed off.

"The rest of the varsity football team you need to be aware of."

"So, when does this game start and what do I do?"

"It starts in two weeks and goes on for a month, so until homecoming. As for what to do, well most girls just wear long shirts to cover their butts and not wear super tight pants," Jay told you.

"And if me or Jay have a class close to one of yours, we can walk you to your locker or to your next class. That should help a bit," Will offered.

"Thanks. That might help. But, why hasn't Mr. White stopped it?" you asked.

"Because he's as much of a sexist asshole as the football players. But, it's only a month. You can get through it," Will promised.

"God I hope so."

***

It had been two weeks since you started high school and in two days that stupid game of grab ass would begin. Hailey and Will were currently working on their presentation in the kitchen and Jay was playing at an away soccer game...which is where your mom was, too. You were sitting in your room working on your planner for next week.

You looked at your planner and saw Monday was circled and said The Game in black ink. God, why did guys have to be such sexist pigs? Just because they were the football players didn't mean they got on pass on all the school rules and hell, even all the general rules of society.

You shook your head and turned up your music and started writing in your classes for that week in your planner.

A few songs later, you thought you heard a knock on your door, so you took out one of your headphones. "Yeah?" you asked.

"Y/N, it's Hailey. Can I come in?" she asked from the other side of your door.

"Yeah," you told her as you took out the other headphone and paused your music. "What's up?" you asked when she entered.

"Will told me you're really nervous for the game starting this week?" she motioned to the spot next to you on your bed. "Can I sit?" You nodded and she sat down. "Honestly, you just have to be on high alert for a whole month. Try to walk by other people whenever you can and, I think Will said they already told you this, but don't wear tight-fitting clothing."

"They did. I just don't know what to wear."

"Well, I can help you with that. Let's go through your clothes and we'll take out what you can't wear during this and put it in another drawer, okay?"

"That sounds good." You closed your planner and you and Hailey began going through your dresser and closet.

"Another tip," she started, "if you have the chance to knee one of them in the balls, then do it. Why do you think they stopped coming after me halfway through the game last year?"

"You kneed a football player in the balls?" you asked as your eyes went wide.

"Mhm. Did it to the captain of the football team last year. He was a senior, so he's not here anymore, but now all the football boys know not to mess with me."

"I will most definitely keep that one in mind."

***

Jay met up with you that Thursday after one of his classes because it was in the same hall as yours. "Day going good?" he asked as his eyes darted side to side, clearly in overprotective big brother mode.

"Yeah, and no one's tried anything yet, so I guess that's a good thing," you told him.

You were focused on dodging people in the hallway so you had time to stop by your locker and change out your books, go to the bathroom, and then get to your next class all within the span of five minutes (your school really needed to make passing time at least seven to eight minutes instead of five), so you didn't hear the booming laughter of a few varsity football players behind you...but Jay did.

"Back the fuck off," Jay growled as none other than Derek Evans reached out to grab your ass. But, Jay stopped him by turning around and walking backward to shield your backside and then grabbing Derek's outstretched hand.

"Aww, look guys, the little freshman needs her big brother to protect her," Derek mocked.

"From you, yeah she does. You're a sick fuck, Evans...and that goes for your posse, too."

"Let go of my hand, Halstead."

Jay narrowed his eyes, but he let go. "Next time you try to grab my sister, that arm will be twisted so far back behind you that you can kiss your senior season goodbye."

"Whatever." He rolled his eyes and then turned around to go back the other way, towards his actual class.

"Thanks," you said as you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Don't mention it."

***

Jay made his way out of a classroom later that day and saw Hailey, so he made his way over to her.

"I don't need protecting, Jay," she told him.

"I know," Jay replied. "Everyone knows about you kneeing the captain last year. Great job on that by the way. I know I'm a year late, but that was a good move on your part."

"Thanks. It was just a reflex, honestly."

"And thanks for helping Y/N with the clothes thing. She was really nervous."

Hailey waved a hand flippantly. "That was nothing, just a girl helping another girl out."

"As the world should be," Jay agreed. Hey, his mother taught him to look at women as equals and he was going to treat Hailey as such...now that he knew she could protect herself from all these assholes. Because if she hadn't kneed that captain where the sun don't shine last year, you best believe he'd be on high alert for the varsity football players just like he was with you a few classes ago. "So, our practice got canceled because of the rain and the football game got canceled, too. So, me, Adam, and Kelly were gonna go out for tacos at that place across the street, but Adam's bringing his girlfriend, Kim, and Kelly's bringing his girlfriend, Stella, and I don't want to third-wheel, so do you maybe want to go with me? That is if you don't have to be home right after school."

Her dad didn't get home until 5:30. "Sure," she told him. "I just have to be home by 4:30. But, I normally take the bus, so unless one of you can bring me home, I can't come." She figured getting home an hour early would work well so that she wasn't rushing.

"Adam's bringing me home, so I'm sure he can stop by your house, too. Where do you live?" Jay asked. She told him her address. "That's only a block away from me. I'm sure he can bring you home. I'll text him and then text you." He held out his phone. "Put your number in."

So, Hailey put her number in his phone. Then, she handed it back to him and they hurried to get to their respective classes before the late bell rang.

But, she was wondering why she was blushing so much as she turned away and why all these butterflies had erupted in her stomach when their fingers brushed against each other's when she handed his phone back to him. She wasn't falling for Jay Halstead. There was no way, right?

***

"So, party this weekend. Everyone in?" Adam asked as the six of them ate tacos.

"Whose house?" Kelly asked.

Adam said a name of a football player and told them it was Saturday night, and they all agreed to go...except for Hailey, who spouted off some excuse about how she had to be up early on Sunday, so she couldn't go. Jay was disappointed that he wouldn't have an excuse to dance with her, but he figured there'd be other parties.

"Mom's working that night," Jay said. "So, as long as I'm home by like 2:45, I should be good. Will will probably be down, too. Then Natalie will probably come."

"Great. I'll text him so he knows how much beer to have his older brother buy...but I'm sure they'll buy extra because more people usually show up anyway."

They talked and ate for another hour before they had to leave so Hailey could get home on time.

Jay and Hailey sat in the backseat of Adam's car while Adam and Kim sat in the front.

When they pulled up to Hailey's house, Jay offered to walk her to the door, but she told him no, that he didn't have to. He insisted, but she still said no, so he let it go and she got out of the car and went inside her house.

"Dude, you so like her," Adam said as they drove another block to his house.

"I do not. I don't know what you're talking about. She's just a friend," he argued.

Adam snorted. "Yeah right. And I'm the fucking king of England."

"You should ask her to homecoming," Kim suggested.

"Kim! Not you, too!"

"It's obvious. You should ask her. She might just surprise you."

***

You woke up Saturday night to your phone ringing and breaking you out of a peaceful sleep. You rubbed your eyes and looked at the time and the caller. Why the hell was Jay calling you when it was past one in the morning?

"Hello?" you asked sleepily.

"Y/N, me and Will need your help," Jay said.

You immediately sat up. "What do you mean? I thought you were home. Where the hell are you?"

"We went to a party and we couldn't risk you telling Mom, so we snuck out around 11 when we knew you were sleeping. But, Kelly's the DD and he had two drinks, so he can't drive us home. He's not drunk off his ass, but if we get pulled over and they pull out a breathalyzer, we're all shit outta luck."

"Why can't you do it?" you asked. "You sound pretty sober to me."

"I'm two and a half beers deep and it'll probably be four by the time you get here."

"Fucking hell, Jay. And me? You seem to forget that I don't have my license yet, just my permit. I can't come get you. You're just gonna have to wait until Mom gets home and call her."

"No! No way is Mom finding out!"

"What's in it for me? I'm not breaking the law and coming to get your dumbasses for free. And I need something from both you and Will."

"Fine," Jay huffed. "Name your price."

"You do my laundry for a month and Will does my algebra homework for a month."

"Two weeks. We'll do those for two weeks," Jay said.

"No. Three weeks or I'm not coming and you get to suffer the wrath of Mom."

"Fine," he relented. "I'll text you the address."

***

You drove Will's car like an old grandma on the way to the house party, sometimes going ten miles under the speed limit. There was no way you were getting busted for your brothers.

You turned off your car and parked in the closest spot you could find to the house where the party was at. Then, you pulled out your phone and texted both Jay and Will that you were there.

Five minutes passed...then ten and still no answer from either of them.

"Fucking hell," you muttered as you unbuckled and then grabbed the keys and got out of Will's car and locked it, safely zipping the keys in one of your sweatshirt pockets. "I swear to God if both of them are three sheets to the wind and I have to drag their asses out of there, I will not be fucking happy."

You started to walk towards the party, looking at your phone every couple of seconds to see if either of your brothers had texted you back.

You gasped when you felt someone grab your ass.

"Fifty points," he whispered in your ear and then grabbed your wrist.

Derek Evans.

"Let me go!" you told him as you tried to pull away from him.

"No can do, freshman. It's 500 points for fucking a freshman and there's no way I'm passing up that opportunity."

"Let me go!" you screamed. You even dropped your phone to the ground to try to use your other hand to pry his hand off your wrist. But, he just laughed and kept holding you. Then, he stomped on your phone, breaking it into pieces.

You kept screaming, but the music was so loud that no one could hear you. And, you tried to dig your heels into the ground to stop him, but it was no use; he was too strong.

Eventually, he got tired of dragging you and just picked you up. You punched and kicked him, but it didn't seem to work. It was like this senior was immune to pain.

He got to a shed near the side of the house and quite literally threw you against it. You groaned and took a few deep breaths. In that time, Derek had ripped his shirt off and grabbed your wrists with one hand. You dug your nails into his hands. You weren't going down without a fight.

"That's cute," he laughed. "You think some nails are going to stop me."

He dragged you over a few inches and then used some of his shirt to secure your wrists to the fence that separated this house from the one next to it.

"Help! Help!" you yelled. "Somebody help me!"

Your head flew to the right as he slapped you across the face. "Shut the fuck up!"

You whimpered and then started kicking your feet. But, he just walked away and watched you struggle as he removed his pants. Then, he sat on your legs. You couldn't kick anymore, so you started screaming even louder. He slapped you a few more times across the face until you finally shut up because, fuck, that hurt. That just left you whimpering at his mercy as he fumbled with the string on your pajama pants. (You hadn't bothered changing your pants when you came to get your brothers, only threw on a bra on under your t-shirt.) You didn't know what to do. No one was going to save you and you were completely and utterly helpless.

***

Kelly Severide knew you were coming to pick them up as Jay had told him that when he was on his way to grab his fourth beer. He hadn't heard anything from Jay or Will yet but figured they were both shit-faced. So, he tried to text you. No reply. He tried to call. No answer.

So, Kelly walked out onto the back porch and started around the side of the house to see if you had parked. But then, he heard whimpering and what sounded like a slap and then a yelp. He started running.

When he saw what was happening, he saw red.

You were lying on the grass whimpering while Derek was just in his boxers. You wanted him to stop smacking your thighs and face because god, you were fucking hurting and you were also fucking terrified about what was going to happen next.

"Please," you whimpered. "Please, st--"

"You son of a bitch!"

Before you could even register who yelled that, Derek was thrown off of you and to the ground.

You caught your breath and just laid there panting and crying while Kelly did a number on Derek's face. He sent more punches to his stomach until he finally doubled over and groaned in pain. Then, he kicked him in the back and he fell to the ground. Kelly placed his foot on Derek's back. "Stay the fuck down you fucking bastard."

He pulled out his phone and called 911. "Hello, I'd like to report a sexual assault."

***

Will felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. "Kelly, where the hell are you, man?" he asked as he dirty danced with Natalie on the dance floor.

"Will, you need to come out by the shed now," he said, still with his foot on Derek's back, keeping him down. Kelly felt terrible that he couldn't untie you, but he couldn't risk Derek getting up and trying to finish what he started.

"Why? You snorting coke out there? Because count me out. I don't do that."

"No. It's Y/N. She was- she-- It's that stupid fucking game some of the bastards I call teammates are playing. An ambulance and the cops are on their way."

Will's mouth went dry. It went dry when he heard the game part, but now it was as if it was sandpaper.

"Jay's by me. We'll be there in a second."

Will pocketed his phone and let go of Natalie. "Baby, what's wrong?" she asked.

"It's Y/N. I think one of those football players got to her."

"Fuck a freshman." Adam's eyes went wide as he let go of Kim.

"What? What about fucking?" Jay asked as he went to take another sip of his beer, but Will swatted it out of his hand.

"We need to go. Now." He grabbed Jay's arm. "Adam, explain."

The three of them started running, Jay barely being able to run in a straight line and Natalie and Kim hot on their heels, and Adam explained how he heard about one part of the game that was called fuck a freshman. But, he thought it was a joke because he didn't know for sure because he didn't sign up for the game.

"Well, obviously it's not a joke!"

Will saw Kelly with his foot on Derek's back before he saw you.

"You fucking son of a bitch!" he yelled.

"Will!" you cried.

"Y/N, hold on. We're here, we're here." He knelt down next to you and untied the t-shirt that kept your wrists tied to the fence.

It took Jay a minute, but then he realized what happened...it also took Kim shaking him and telling him she was going to slap him across the face and then actually doing it. Now that sobered him up.

You could hear sirens in the distance.

"Me and Natalie will go get them," Will said. "You three good here?"

"We're good. Now go get help," Kelly said.

***

The ride to the hospital was a blur. You were still freaking out, so the paramedics had to give you a light sedative to calm down. You remembered your brothers being in the back of the ambulance with you and you remembered Jay puking in a bucket from all the beer he drank.

You vaguely remembered the doctors asking you questions and taking pictures of your bruises. You also remembered them telling the three police officers that they couldn't question you yet. And then, you fell asleep.

***

You slowly opened your eyes and squinted against the bright hospital lights.

Damn, it must've taken me a helluva long time to get the boys out of that party if I'm waking up when the sun is this bright, you thought to yourself.

But, then you looked at your surroundings and it all came flooding back to you.

"Mama, Mama," you cried.

"I'm here, honey, I'm here," she said as she gently grabbed your hand.

You tried to sit up, but your thighs and stomach hurt so bad from Derek hitting you that you couldn't.

"I want a hug but I can't sit up," you cried as tears started to stream down your face.

She stood up and bent over the bed and wrapped her arms around you. It was an uncomfortable position for her because she was bending over to hug you, but she didn't care. You were her little girl and she'd do anything to make you feel safe and loved.

Will and Jay sat in the chairs on the other side of your bed. You hadn't even realized they were there. Will had tears in his eyes and Jay had a hand over his mouth trying to stop a sob from coming out. God, if he wouldn't have called you to pick them up, then this wouldn't have happened. It was all his fault this happened to you.

A knock on the door sounded and your mom let go of you and the two of you looked towards the door.

It was Hailey.

Jay looked to you to see if it was okay that she came in and you nodded.

"Hey," she said as she entered. "I brought donuts. Figured you might be hungry."

You were glad she didn't ask if you were okay because it was apparent that you most definitely were not okay.

You nodded and she walked over to you and opened the box. "You get first pick."

You picked a raspberry-filled one and then proceeded to take tiny bites of your donut. It hurt too much to open your mouth a lot because your cheeks and chin were heavily bruised.

You almost finished your donut, when there was another knock on the door. This time it was three police officers. Then, they opened the door.

"Y/N, I'm Trudy Platt and this is Detective Alvin Olinsky and Detective Hank Voight. We're here to take a few statements about what happened," the officer told you.

"Am I in trouble?" you asked. You did drive without a license.

"No, not at all. We just need to know what happened. We can give you a minute to finish eating if you would like?"

"Can I do it now?"

"Of course." She turned to your mom. "Mom, you want to stay in the room?"

"If I can--"

"I don't want you to know the details, Mom. Please," you pleaded as more tears fell.

"Are you sure? I'll love you no matter what, honey. Good or bad, you're still my little girl."

"I know. But I just- I want to be alone."

"Okay, me and the boys and Hailey will be right outside."

The four of them left and the two detectives left as well, leaving only you and this officer known as Trudy Platt.

"Am I in trouble?" you asked when the door shut.

"Oh, honey, no," Trudy said as she sat down in the seat your mom was previously sitting in.

"But, I drove without my license be- because they asked me to pick them up and then- and then--"

"Y/N, you are not in any trouble. Kelly Severide told us most of the story about what happened, but we need to hear it in your own words. And you can take as long as you want. Take as much time as you need."

So you told her what happened.

"It's all my fault. If I would've never agreed to go pick up Will and Jay--"

"This is not your fault. None of this is your fault," she told you.

"But why does it feel like it is? If I could've just fought him off, maybe this wouldn't have happened." You wiped your eyes with the heels of your hands and let out a strangled sob which was more like a yell. "Why do boys get away with everything?"

She pulled the chair closer to your bed. "Y/N, you have my word that he won't be getting away with what he did to you. I promise you he won't get away with it."

"But how do you know that? You can't possibly know that!"

"Because I have two of the best detectives working with me and I just know that he won't get away with what he did to you."

After a few more minutes and explaining that you really didn't want to go through a trial, Trudy left the room. She also handed you her card in case you changed your mind about the trial.

Then, Trudy Platt went to the bathroom where she saw the other girl who was in the room with you while she was washing her hands. As the girl was scrubbing her hands, Trudy noticed a bruise on her arm, a little above her wrist. It was low enough that it could be hidden by long sleeves, but that it could also ride up when the girl was washing her hands.

"You're one of Y/N's friends?" Trudy asked.

"Yeah. Me and her brother got paired up for a project and I was supposed to meet him this morning, but he texted saying family emergency. So, I thought I'd bring them breakfast," Hailey answered.

"That's very kind of you. Were you at the party last night?"

"No, I was at home."

"Is that where you hurt your arm?"

Hailey quickly pulled on her sweatshirt sleeve "No, I uh, I hit it on my locker a few days ago."

Trudy knew this girl was lying. She had worked enough domestic and child abuse cases to know the usual excuses. So, she pulled out her business card and handed it to Hailey. "This is my business card. My cell phone number is on there as well. Call me if you need help getting out."

***

Trudy, Hank, and Al entered the district and then went into the basement where there were no cameras.

"I think we can all agree on not putting that the girl was driving without a license in the reports," Trudy started.

"Agreed," Al said. "What about the boys?"

"We leave out that they were drinking, too," Hank said. "The only people who know that they were drinking are us three and them since they obviously can't take a breathalyzer now, there's no use in putting it in the reports. They were just kids being kids."

"Yeah, except for the asshole who assaulted her," Al stated.

"Yeah, except for him. We're throwing the book at that bastard," Hank agreed.

"She said she didn't want to go through a trial," Trudy said.

"What? Why not?" Hank asked.

"She said that she didn't think that anyone would believe her. He's a senior who everyone likes, hell, this whole town knows he's going to be drafted. So, she thinks he wouldn't get in trouble if he does actually go to trial."

Hank sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Well, we have 48 hours to hold him, and then me and Al will figure out how to take care of this."

***

"Are you hungry?" your mom asked when you got home later that day. The hospital had discharged you since all your injuries were superficial, such as the bruises on your face, wrist stomach, and thighs.

"No," you muttered. "I'm gonna go to my room."

"Okay, well if you want to be alone, that's fine, but I took FMLA leave, so I'll be home for a while. Take all the time you need, honey."

You nodded and then walked into your room and cuddled under your blankets. Since it was the afternoon, there was still a bit of sunlight coming in from beneath your blinds, which you were thankful for. You turned on your fan and allowed it to blow lightly on you. You were glad that you always used your fan for white noise so that you could sleep, but it also helped to muffle your quiet sobs as you cried into your pillow.

Meanwhile, Hailey, Will, Jay, and your mom were in the kitchen. Hailey had come home with you and your family so that she and Will could work on their presentation. She said it was fine, that she could go home, but Will said working on the presentation would be a welcome distraction.

"What's FMLA leave?" Jay asked.

"It's the Family Medical Leave Act," she answered as she sat down at the kitchen table. "It means I can have up to twelve weeks unpaid leave at work and still be guaranteed a job when I get back. But, I'll probably just take half of that, because uh, I won't be making any money during that time."

"I can see if I can get my summer job back," Will immediately offered. "I know I said I can only work during the summer, but I can work on the weekends even if it's only ten hours a week and I've only been off for a month, so they should probably be able to rehire me--"

"Honey," your mom said, cutting him off. "I really appreciate you thinking of that. But it's your senior year and you're taking four AP classes. School comes first. We'll get through it. This is only temporary and I do have a savings account in case of emergencies and we should be fine."

"Okay, well, you can always tell me to talk to my boss if I need to," Will said. Then, he turned to Hailey. "I'll go grab my stuff and then we can work on the project."

Will walked away to his room, leaving Jay, your mom, and Hailey. "Can I get you anything, Hailey?" your mom asked. "Water, coffee?"

"Oh, no. I'm fine," Hailey said. This wasn't about her. She knew that you needed your mom and that your mom needed time to feel what happened as well. "Thank you, though."

"I'm gonna go check on Y/N and then go for a drive. If anything happens with her, Jay, I need either you or Will to call me right away."

"We will, Mom, don't worry."

Your mom pulled Jay into a hug. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Mom." Normally, Jay wouldn't have hugged his mom when his friends were around--or whatever he considered Hailey--, but he knew his mom needed it, so he returned her hug.

"Be back soon."

Then, she checked on you and seeing that you were asleep, grabbed her keys, and left.

"I'm gonna put on a pot of coffee," Jay said. "I know you said you were good, but you can have some if you want." He made his way to the cupboard and grabbed the container of ground-up coffee beans and started putting them into a filer.

"Thanks. Might take you up on that when me and Will are working. A little liquid focus never hurt anyone," she replied.

"No doubt."

Hailey paused, she wanted to keep talking with Jay but didn't know what to say. She didn't want to mention last night either. "So, are you taking any AP classes?" she asked. "You know, since Will's apparently taking four."

"Will's a psychopath and no, I'm not. Too much work if you ask me. If I was planning on going to college, I might take a few, but I'm not."

"Oh. Then what are you planning to do?"

"Maybe the army. My mom doesn't like the thought of me fighting in wars, but she supports my decision. I just don't feel like studying is for me."

"What branch?" Hailey asked.

He raised his eyebrows at how interested she was. "I was thinking the Army Rangers. They're the first ones on the ground in war zones."

"Sounds dangerous. You're practically flying blind."

"Oh, but that's what makes it fun."

Hailey laughed. "You're an adrenaline junkie, aren't you?"

"Oh, yeah. I love rollercoasters...and anything else that gets my heart racing."

"Hear about that new coaster at Cedar Point?"

"Yeah!" Jay exclaimed. And, before he even had time to process what he was about to say, he blurted it out anyway. "Maybe we could go together sometime."

Did he just ask me out? Hailey thought to herself. "I'd like that." She smiled.

"Am I invited?" Will asked as he walked down the hallway, overhearing their conversation.

"Uh," Jay blanched.

"Dude, chill. I know you were trying to ask her out--"

Jay's phone rang before he could yell at Will to knock it off and Hailey just took a seat at the table blushing really badly while she did so.

"It's Kev," Jay said while glaring at his older brother. "I gotta take this." He accepted the call and started to walk down the hall to the bedroom that he shared with Will. "Hey, man."

Jay closed his bedroom door and sat on his bed. "Adam just told me that Evans tried to rape your sister?"

Jay ran a hand down his face. "Uh, yeah, if Kelly wouldn't have gotten there when he did, who knows what would've happened."

"Is she okay? Is he in jail? Is she in the hospital?"

Jay knew that Kevin would react protectively since he had a younger sister, Vanessa, who was in seventh grade, just two years younger than you.

"I mean, physically her injuries are just bruising." He took a deep, shaky breath to stop himself from crying. "I think they're holding Evans and we just got home from the hospital. Y/N's sleeping now."

"Evans is so fucking lucky I wasn't there. Adam said that Kelly beat his face in pretty bad, but I'd do worse. I probably would've killed him, at least given him brain damage from a concussion."

"You and me both."

"And, uh, Adam said the cops are gonna talk to all the football players?" Kevin asked.

"Yeah. The detective did mention that. He also told me and Will not to go after Evans, but--"

"You're not gonna listen?" Kevin asked.

"I'll probably wait two weeks so he thinks he's safe and then go after him. You're more than welcome to help."

"I'll cover for you that night."

"Thanks, man. So, the cops talk to you yet?" Jay asked.

"Not yet. But I really don't have anything to say. I didn't participate and I would never participate. Might mention that White never tried to stop it and Coach Davis said it was off-limits, though."

"You think Davis knew what was going on?" Jay asked.

"There's no way. If he knew, he would've kicked all of them off the team. He doesn't fuck with stuff like that. White, on the other hand, well, we both know how that cat rolls."

"I should've mentioned that when they were talking to me earlier this morning. I was just, I was so worried about Y/N."

"I get it. I'd be the same way if this happened with Vanessa. I'll tell them about it. You just make sure she's okay. And, if you, her, Will, or your mom need anything, gimme a call. I'd be happy to help."

"Thanks, Kev."

"Good luck planning your revenge. Tell me what the cover is."

"Oh don't worry, I will."

***

Two weeks later

Jay popped the screen out of his window. "You can put this back in, right?" he asked Will.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. Go give Evans hell for what he did to Y/N," he replied as he got out of bed and stood by the window.

"You know, still time for you to come with me."

"I got accepted to college already. I'm not about to jeopardize that. Cover still that Kev called and needed help babysitting Vanessa and Jordan?"

"That's the one. I'll crash at his house after this is done just so it seems believable. See you tomorrow."

"See you. Don't get beat up too badly."

Jay scoffed. "Yeah right."

Then, he started the three-mile walk to Derek Evan's house.

So, Jay had decided not to actually beat him up because his parents were home and he didn't want to have to deal with the parents. Derek and the cops he could handle, but having his parents yell that they want to press charges and scream at him, yeah no. He had stashed a can of black spray paint in a bush in his front yard and grabbed it when he was leaving. He planned on spray painting rapist on Derek's white car. Even though he didn't technically rape you, he tried to, so the word still stands.

Jay got there and pulled his hat down over his face. Then, he walked up the driveway and to Derek's car. He shook the can of spray paint and took the cap off. His finger was down on the button--

"Chicago PD!"

Fuck.

***

"Your last name's Halstead?" the cop who picked him up asked when they entered the 21st District.

"Yes, sir," he answered, his head hanging low and the can of spray paint still in his hand.

"Well, I need you to take a seat right there while I make a phone call. Do not move."

"Yes, sir."

Jay sat down on the bench across from the front desk and pulled out his phone. He sent texts to both Kevin and Will.

Cops caught me. At a police station right now. Will, don't you fucking dare tell Mom.

They replied that they were shocked, but Kevin said he could always come pick Jay up if he needed it. He figured Jordan and Vanessa would be okay by themselves for half an hour. And Will promised he wouldn't tell Mom...unless Jay needed bail money, then he'd have to tell her.

"Halstead," a gruff voice barked from the side of him.

Jay looked up to be met with one of the detectives who had worked your case. But, instead of being in his uniform, he was in normal clothes. The only thing that could tell anyone that he was a cop was the badge pinned to his jeans and the gun in its holster at his side.

Jay stood up.

"I had a feeling something like this might happen," Hank Voight stated. "So, I put a patrol car in front of the Evans' house."

"Am I under arrest?" Jay asked.

"You're not. But follow me."

Hank opened the door to the office next to where the bench was and Jay followed him in.

"Have a seat." Jay sat down in the chair in front of the desk and Hank sat in the chair behind the desk. If Jay didn't know any better, he'd say he was in the principal's office. "Jay, listen."

"Wait, how do you know I'm not Will?" Jay asked.

"I know that Will had red hair. And, you told the responding officer your full name, remember?"

"Yes, sorry."

"It's okay. A little questioning never hurt anybody. But, Jay, listen. You can't go and beat this kid up or destroy or vandalize his property." Jay opened his mouth to protest, but Hank put a hand up to stop him. "I understand that you're angry and want to get revenge for your sister. But, that's not going to make it like it didn't happen. And, you'd be the one getting in trouble, not him. Severide already did a number on him."

"But, Y/N doesn't want a trial because she doesn't want to relive it!" Jay argued. "I just have to let him get away with it?"

"He's not going to get away with it, I can promise you that. I just don't want you to be the one getting in trouble for bringing a little justice to the world. I can promise you justice will be served, though."

"How? If there's no trial and I can't go after him, how will justice be served?"

"Jay, just let it run its course. Now, I'm assuming your mom doesn't know you're here?"

"No, she doesn't. I planned on going to a friend's house after."

"I'll drive you there. All this vandalism stuff will stay between me, you, and the patrolman."

Jay's jaw dropped. "Wow, thank you so much."

"Hey, I would've done the same thing if I was in your shoes. Now, c'mon, let's get you to that friend's house."

***

One month later

It was your mom's first day back to work. She said she would stay home longer if you wanted her to, but you told her you were fine. And, she thought that as well because you had been coming out of your room more these past two weeks.

You walked to the kitchen to go get some water which was normal for you. All you had been doing since you were almost raped was sleeping. You'd occasionally have dinner with your family, but that was it. You also started seeing a therapist a week after the attempted rape, which helped immensely. But, when she saw your symptoms, she had suggested anti-depressants after you had talked to her for a couple weeks. So, you were on them.

After a week, you started to gain some energy back. It wasn't back to normal yet, but it was enough that you would watch movies and tv shows, read, and journal in your room instead of lying in bed staring at the ceiling and sleeping all day.

You were on your way back to your room with your glass of water when you heard a familiar opening line to one of your favorite Disney Channel movies: Lemonade Mouth.

You poked your head into the living room. "Are you guys watching Lemonade Mouth?" you asked your brothers.

"We were gonna change it to watch some hockey," Jay said. Then, he saw Will's pointed look. "But, if you want to watch Lemonade Mouth, then we can."

Will paused the tv. "Are you sure?" you asked.

"We're sure," Will replied. "I'll go make us some popcorn while you get comfortable."

And thus started the plan of watching a movie every night to get you out of your room. Sometimes, Will would have too much homework, so you'd watch a movie with Jay. Sometimes Jay would have a soccer game, so you'd watch a movie with Will. Sometimes, Will would have a ton of homework and Jay would have a soccer game, so you'd watch a movie with your mom. Either way, it was nice to know that they were there for you and that you didn't have to talk about anything with them.

"Hey, like my new shirt?" Jay asked.

"When did you go shopping?" Will asked as he looked up from his textbook.

"Practice got canceled because Coach is sick and Hailey wanted to get some food and go to Goodwill, so we got food and went to Goodwill."

"Jesus, man, you are so whipped. Didn't you just become boyfriend and girlfriend last week?"

"Yes. Y/N you-- what's wrong?"

Your breath was caught in your throat and you felt like you couldn't breathe. If you could see yourself right now, you knew you'd look like a ghost.

"Nothing. I- I just need to get some water and then I'm gonna go take a nap."

"Okay," Will started, "you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

You walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water, but you also grabbed your bottle of antidepressants and put them in the pocket of your sweatshirt. Then, you made your way to your bedroom and locked the door.

How the hell did Jay manage to find the exact same shirt at a thrift store? It was a navy blue shirt with the Abercrombie and Fitch logo on it...the same exact shirt Derek was wearing on the night of the party.

It all came flooding back to you. You screaming...him slapping you...you crying...

You couldn't breathe.

"Ahhh!" you sobbed and dropped to your knees and curled up into a ball, taking the pills out of your pocket.

You continued sobbing and then you heard a knock on your door and heard the doorknob rattle.

"Y/N, Y/N, I need you to open this door," Will told you.

"No! Leave me alone!" you yelled.

"Can't do that. Mom left us in charge since she went back to work. If you don't open this door in three seconds, we're coming in somehow."

He got to two and you relented and opened the door.

"Y/N...what--"

You thrust the bottle of pills in his hand. "Take them! Take them, please!"

"Were you...?"

"I don't know! I don't know, Will! Just get them away from me!"

He pocketed them. "Okay, what's going on? What happened?"

Jay came around the corner.

"It's the same- the same--"

"Y/N, I need you to take a deep breath for me and then we can talk about this."

After five minutes of Will calming you down, you were finally able to catch your breath enough to talk.

"Jay's got the same shirt!" you wailed.

"The same shirt as who?" Will asked gently, careful not to touch you for fear that it would send you into another anxiety attack.

"Derek!"

Will turned around. "Jay, go rip that fucking shirt off and fucking burn it!" Jay just stood there, shellshocked. "Jay!"

He turned around and went to his room to take it off and get rid of it.

"Now, can I give you a hug?" Will asked. You nodded and allowed him to embrace you. When he pulled away, he asked, "Were you really going to do that? With the pills?"

"I- I don't think so," you told him. "I just saw them when I was getting water and grabbed them. I don't want to die."

"That's good. That's really good. But, you know we have to talk to Mom about this, right?"

"Yeah. And, I know I'm supposed to go back to school next week, but I- I don't think I can handle it, Will."

"Then we'll talk to her about that, too."

Jay ran out of his room--in a different shirt--holding his phone in his hand and looking frantic. "We have to go now!" he yelled.

"Why?" Will asked. "Where?"

"Mom just called and said she had to check out Hailey in the hospital."

***

"Hailey!" Jay yelled as he entered her room. He saw her bruised face and her arm in a sling. "Baby, what happened?"

"He- he--" And then she erupted into sobs and reached her good arm over to Jay.

You noticed that one of the officers who worked your case was also in the room.

"Hailey, honey, do you want to press charges?" Trudy Platt asked.

"I can't!" she wailed as she lifted her head off of Jay's chest. "I know I called you, but he's my dad!"

Jay let go of her. "Your dad did this? That son of a--"

"Jay!" your mom yelled.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Hailey reached for her water, but you noticed it was slightly out of her reach so you handed it to her. You hated seeing the girl who you considered your best friend in this much pain, at the hands of her father of all people.

Since you were only in school for less than a month before everything happened and didn't have time to form real, long-lasting friendships you didn't really have any close friends besides Hailey. And now, you knew how she felt when she saw you in that hospital bed six weeks ago.

"Hailey, I can't let you go back to that house," Trudy said.

"But I don't want to press charges! Can't you just pretend you didn't see that? That I didn't call you?" Hailey argued.

"Honey, since you're a minor, I'm supposed to press charges no matter what."

"But he's my dad!" she cried. "I know he's horrible, but I don't want him to rot in prison."

"Hailey, listen to me," Trudy began. "I am giving you an out here. I won't press charges, but for me not to press charges, I need you to be in a safe home."

"You're saying I need to find to find someplace else to live?" she asked.

Trudy nodded.

"Mom, can she...?" Jay asked as he looked up at his mom.

In that moment, your mom saw in Hailey what she had seen in you six weeks ago: a scared little girl who needed the comfort and love of a parent. And, your mom knew she wasn't her actual parent, but she had been over so much recently that it was hard for her to see Hailey as just one of Will's classmates...especially now since she was your best friend and Jay's girlfriend.

"She can stay. As long as she doesn't mind sharing a room with Y/N," your mom agreed.

And, it was that day that Hailey Upton decided that she wanted to become a cop.

***

Hank Voight pulled over Derek on his way home from school.

"Is there a problem, officer?" Derek asked as he rolled down his window.

"First of all, it's detective. And second of all, there is a problem. The problem is that you almost raped a girl," he stated.

"And she didn't file charges, so until she does, I didn't do that."

Hank reached over and grabbed Derek Evans by the collar. "Listen here. In two weeks, you are going to write a letter to your parents saying that you're running away because of all the ridicule you've faced because of this. And then, you're going to meet me at this address." He thrust a piece of paper into his hand. "Oh, and if you think I'm not serious, let me know if your principal shows up to school tomorrow because I can promise you he won't be there. He'll be in prison...or dead. I'll let you think over which one it is." He let go of his collar. "If I were you, I'd show up or it will be a whole lot worse for you."

Derek swallowed. "Okay."

***

Two weeks later

Hailey was settling in at your house, but you still weren't ready to go back to school.

"Y/N," your mom called from the kitchen. You walked out there. "I talked to one of your counselors. They said that they think online school would be helpful. Is that something you might be interested in?"

You never thought your mom would cave to this, but you were on cloud nine. "Yes, please."

"Okay, but can you try to go back at the beginning of next year?"

"I don't know, Mom."

"That's okay. I shouldn't have asked you that. You'll know when you're ready." She paused. "But, one of the things I'm worried about is you not getting any social interaction."

Will walked out of his room. "What if I do it with her?" he asked. "I could go to school for my AP classes and then take the other ones online. The AP ones are really the only ones that matter."

"Will, it's your senior year," your mom argued.

"I know. I can still do all the fun senior stuff, but I wouldn't have to be at school all day."

"Can I do it, too?" Jay asked. "And, I can still go to school for math and English because we know how I am in those subjects. I can even ask Hailey and text some friends if they want to do online school, too," he suggested.

Tears formed in your eyes. Your brothers were giving up their high school experiences for you.

"Boys, I don't know--"

"Mom, you said the issue was social interaction," Will began, "if we're there and other people are there, she wouldn't be missing out on social interaction."

Your mom sighed. "Are you two sure about this? This isn't a decision you can take lightly." They both said they were sure. "Okay, I'll call the school."

"I'll ask Hailey and make some phone calls," Jay said.

And so, three days later, you, your brothers, Hailey, Kim, Adam, Kevin, Natalie, Stella, and Kelly were all sitting in a coffee shop working on online school.

***

Derek Evans walked a block before he got in Hank Voight's car.

"You have everything?" Hank asked, referring to Derek's backpack filled with clothes, toiletries, and other necessities.

"Yes, sir," Derek answered. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," was all Hank said and then he started driving.

They pulled up to a dirt area on the water with four huge silos. "What are we doing here?" Derek asked.

"Get out of the car."

Derek listened and then Hank followed him around the car. He pulled his gun out of his holster and pressed the cool, black metal against Derek's temple. Derek froze.

"Walk," Hank commanded.

Derek listened and he walked with Hank still holding a gun to his head.

Hank told him to stop and then he drew a line in the dirt with his foot.

"You see this line?" he asked.

"Uh huh," Derek answered while visibly shaking.

"If you ever cross this line again, there will be a bullet in your head. Walk and don't come back." Hank lowered his gun and Derek started walking, not looking back, doing exactly as Hank had told him to do. "Nobody fucks with my city, Evans," Hank said to his retreating back. "Nobody. Not even you."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this rewrite! Thank you for reading! Please remember to reblog/like and comment because I always love when those notifications pop up and I love reading your comments!And, if you like my writing, you can support me at buy me coffee here. It's only a dollar and it's through Paypal and any currency can be used, no subscription required! (I write these fics for free, so I figured I'd try this out!) As always, if you want ti be added to my taglist, just comment that and I’ll add you

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yunkiwii · 3 years

Text

—potions gone wrong—

☆ hogwarts au ☆

pairing: bsf!hyunjin x gn!reader | ft. jeongin and mentions of minho

supportive oc: angela, female

genre: sfw. comedic and chaotic, may be considered fluff by some people

wc: 2.4k

warnings: hints of jealousy, mentions of illegal (magical world wise) actions, potion-induced obsession

a/n: i'm pretty sure that in the harry potter series amortentia doesn't work the way i described here, but let's just ignore that shall we? ♡

summary: two boys decide to make a love potion to conquer the crush of one of them. unfortunately, something seems to have gone wrong and y/n needs to step in..

shout out to: ficscafe prompt dialogue event ♡

↳ "I'll give you 20 bucks if you kiss me."

↳ "I don't think that's legal, but we can work around it."

↳ "Shut up, this isn't a wattpad fanfic"

Completely imersed in the pile of books you gathered in the library in order to try and understand more about potions, you get startled when a boy throws himself into the chair next to you, a yellow stripped tie hitting your head in the process.

"I'll give you 20 bucks if you kiss me."

"What? No!", you give him a disgusted and confused look before digging your head into the old dusty pages again.

"Come on!! Angela keeps coming to me trying to snuggle and kiss me and-", as dramatic as he is, Hyunjin pretends he is going to be sick, exaggerating on the nasty sounds way too close to your ear.

"What? Why?", your bestfriend finally caught your full attention as you turn to face him, "Wait, Angela as in like, Angela your major crush perfect-Angela? Weren't you supposed to like, I don't know, enjoy the attention?" But then the face he makes, his cheeks turning shades of pink as his gaze drifts away from you and he sinks down in his chair in embarrassment, realization hits you, "No! No you did not! Are you like what, dumb?", you flick is head inducing a loud squeal to come out his mouth.

"It was Jeongin's idea!", his voice three pitches higher than before, "And I can't be that dumb if I managed to make that stupid love potion work. But that's beside the point, will you do it or not?"

"Do what? Kiss you? And how will that help you dimwit?", you went to flick his head again because, to be fair, he deserved it, but Hyunjin knew you too well and held your hand in time to stop you from hurting his pretty face, as he likes to state.

"To break the curse! Make her give up on me by making her think we're together or something!"

"What curse? There is no curse! And she isn't even thinking right now, she might just kill me out of jealousy!", at this point you're pratically yelling at each other and are forced to leave the library, resuming this odd conversation on your way to Ravenclaw's common room.

"I still can't believe you let yourself go with what Jeongin tells you. He's evil you know?"

"Should've guessed by the green scarf huh?", you slap his arm lightly, not very fond of the jokes made regarding the fact your other best friend is a Slytherin.

"So, how do I solve this?", he basically pleas at you as you sit down on the desk next to the fireplace, as far away as possible from your housemates. Every two in three students has made, or attempted to make, some sort of potion or spell to have something in their advantage. However, amortentia wasn't just "some potion", and if some were to find out that Hwang - head in space - Hyunjin succeded at his attempt they would never leave his poor ass alone, so for now your plan was to keep this subject as low-key as possible.

"Marry her." you say nonchalantly while, without his knowledge, already looking up all about amortentia, its possible side effects and how long it would take to wear off - if ever-, receiving a whine in return.

"It was really fun at first, you know? The flirting was cute, the smooches were great," and boy he put some emphasis on that adjective,"but now it's like she's obsessed with me! She's clingy and talks with that annoying voice and I can't seem to get rid of her!" Hyunjin throws himself face down into the old couch and whines again, words muffled by the pillow where he burried his face. "She's probably standing right outside the door just now!"

"Wait, what do you mean it was fun at first? How long has this been going on Hwang Hyunjin? And why am I only knowing of this now?", you turn around in your chair way too fast, hitting with your knee on the other chair next to you before facing the mop of brown hair all spread around the blue pillow.

"Well, I barely ever saw you all week!", the boy turns his head just the minimum amount to look at you, "You're either with your nose buried in those old books, or with your hands all over Lee Minho! Not my fault you no longer have time for your friends..."

"First of all," you pull out the pillow he's laying on, his face falling on the black cushion as a few curses leave his lips, "lower your tone! I did not spend the week with my hands all over Minho, I am tutoring him in potions!"

"Which you're not that good at, that's why you walk everywhere with those fat books..." Hyunjin rolls his eyes at you as he recovers the pillow from your hands again, "Don't deny it (y/n), you've got the hots for him!"

"Oh sweetie, I sense jealousy in your tone... is that why you gave Angela a poorly made potion?", you show him the page you've been reading between the backs and forths of your not so relevent argument, only for him to realize the potion should've worn off two days ago. Instead, it only got worse. "Perhaps you could use some reading too huh?"

The boy rips the book from your hands, grunting between his teeth sounds you doubted to be words as he makes his way out, only to shut the door as soon as he opens it, squealing loudly when his eyes meet the ones from the Gryffindor's brunette standing right in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm telling you (y/n), she won't leave me alone! It's like she's obsessed!", Hyunjin keeps his back against the door, afraid the girl could open it by some miracle driven by her potion induced feelings, hence she doesn't have the password.

"Well, you see Hyunjin... that's because she is! And it's your fault, you should simply face it..."

"Oh I'm going the kill Jeongin...", the boy grunts ignoring your words completely as the whines coming from the other side of the door overlapped them, "Can you go get him? Or get rid of her?"

You make your way to the door Hyunjin refuses to unblock and, when words and pushes didn't make the tall boy move, you had to resort to your wand, although the simple threat was more than enough for him to make way for you. He stayed hidden in the corner as you parted the door slightly to tell the girl her beloved had disapparated from there, and she should probably look at the quidditch court. The fact she believed you only proved how strongly she was affected by the potion, since everyone knew Hyunjin would never go to a sports court by his free will and disapparating into and out Hogwarts wasn't possible at all.

As soon as the path got clear you both made your way to the shrieking shack through the whomping willow everyone was so afraid of, but that was exactly why the three of you claimed it as your secret meeting place.

Jeongin was already waiting as you sent him a message through your magic notepad when you got rid of Angela, and you had to secure Hyunjin to not throw the book at the Slytherin boy who only laughed in return. The laughter didn't last long though, because you only stopped Hyunjin so you would be the one scolding the younger one, flicking his head the same way you did to the lover boy earlier.

"Hey! What did you do that for?", the boy frowned at you rubbing his forehead.

"To bring you back to reality, so you can both fix the mess you made!"

"But what's the problem?" Jeongin looked at you with honest confusion on his face, "Is this about the potion? You know that thing wears off in like a week or so right?"

"Exactly... do the math now genius..." Hyunjin rolls his eyes before leaning his back against the spiderweb covered walls.

The three of you spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out what went wrong in the first place, you analyzing every single detail of the procedure, and the boys trying to recreate every step they took to reach the final product. But, after hours of research and theories nothing seemed to have gone wrong, well except for the exaggerated and long-lasting effect of the potion.

"We should just obliviate the poor girl..." suggested Jeongin at one point, head in his hands as a sing of withdrawal.

“I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it...” You agree with him closing the book you were now reading for the fifth time.

"Are you guys serious? Because that sounds great! Can we get away with it?" Hyunjin's eyes were sparkling in hope as he shifted in his seat to a more straight up position, ready to do whatever it took to get to walk in peace around the school, without being unexpectedly smooched in the cheek and squezeed into a hug every time the girl spotted him.

"No, it's a joke!" You both sigh at your friend's desperation before calling it a day, deciding to resume your research first thing in the morning.

As per usual, you met with the boys for breakfast at the dining hall, though this time they weren't alone and you couldn't help out a giggle when Angela, as glued to Hyunjin as possible while feeding him something funny looking with a spoon, winked at you as soon as you sat in front of her and next to Jeongin. The latter looked almost as horrified as the pampered boy, and you had to focus to try and keep yourself from bursting into laughter before the scene that was unfolding in front of you.

Hyunjin looked like an annoyed pouty baby slumped in his chair - as an attempt to go unnoticed -, while the smiley girl, - one that seemed to have way too much energy in the morning -, pulled some strands of the boy's hair behind his ear before kissing his cheek, "You're so pretty Hyunnie-jin, and I hate to leave you," the girl pouts as she pinches his cheeks rather aggressively, "but don't worry sugarplum, I'll be waiting for you in the astronomy tower when you leave class." This time the kiss is aimed at his lips, but Hyunjin antecipates her intentions and dodges his head with a slick move, just not fast enough to be fully free of her, ending up with her lips awkwardly attached half to his jaw, half to the corner of his lip.

"So you decided to give in?" You couldn't help the grin that was forming on your face, finding it hilarious how the universe always had a way to keep things balanced.

"Shut up. I had to if I didn't want to starve myself, it was one sacrafice I was willing to take." Hyunjin furiously rubs his face with a napkin, as if it would erase the memory of the previous demonstration of affection.

"I say it's the karma, you were basically playing and manipulating her the moment you gave her the potion, now you face the consequences."

"It's like she's taking revenge..." Jeongin mumbles more to himself than to his friends, but he was still heard, and had now two pairs of eyes locked on him waiting for a further explanation to what seemed to be a pretty plausable theory. "We already concluded we didn't do anything wrong, right?"

"Yes, it's still hard to believe though..." you take a sip of your pumpking juice with a raise eybrow, honestly still impressed at how they pulled that off.

"So what if she got aware that Hyunjin gave-"

"We, Jeongin, we!! This wasn't just me okay? I just got the, uh, benefits?"

"Ok, sure, whatever... What if she became aware that we," emphasis on the pronoun as he glanced at Hyunjin, "gave her a potion and now that it wore off she is pulling this act as a pay back? Because, according to our lover boy, if it was nice at first then why would she suddenly start acting all obsessively?"

Both you and Hyunjin took a moment to reflect on this new theory, one Jeongin was really proud of as showed by his smug grin when he crossed his arms and relaxed back in his chair.

"I hate to admit it, but that makes a lot of sense... and explains why she winked at me when I got here..."

"Okay yes, she is faking it... why else would she wink at (y/n) when I'm the one she's supposed to be focused on?", the boy threw his arms up with a questionting - and slightly offended - look.

"Time for confrontation!" you were already standing up with Hyunjin following the lead, but you held yourselves back when you realized Jeongin wasn't moving, looking between the both of you still grinning.

"I've got a better idea..."

It was a terrible idea, you thought, and wanted no part in it at all so you let the boys discuss the details while you just sat there judging their poor life decisions.

The plan was for Hyunjin, instead of confronting her and get it over with as you suggested, to play along as if he too was deeply in love with her, and see who would break out of character first. As much as you tried to explain how childish and stupid the plan was, the boys simply wouldn't listen to you, convinced this was the best idea they've ever had.

Hyunjin got oddly excited about this and ran to astronomy class, already antecipating the act he would pull off when he'd see the girl waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when he'd get out, leaving you and Jeongin alone in the dining all. The contrast of your opinions on this was pretty clear in your faces, Jeongin laughing loudly, you furrowing your brows and shaking your head in disapproval.

Then, all of a sudden, the boy stops laughing and looks at you, "What if they actually end up falling in love after all this?"

He sounded seriously concerned yet amused at the same time, while you only rolled your eyes at him before collecting your books and leaving for class as well.

"Shut up, this isn't a wattpad fanfic."

networks: @ficscafe @k-library @k-dinernet @districtninewriters

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#ficscafe dpe #klibrary #kdiner #districtninewriters #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #stray kids scenarios #lovestaynet #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin sfw #hyunjin crack #hyunjin hogwarts au #stray kids hogwarts au

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iconic-ponytail · 3 years

Text

there's always money in the banana stand

riverdale promptathon week 3: yellow + business

Even as the sun sets, even as the breeze blows, the hell furnace of July in Riverdale burns on. It’s triply as sweltering inside the tiny booth running three freezers, offloading heat to sustain the frozen merchandise inside. “How can it be so hot in there when we are supposed to be selling frozen bananas?” JB complains, at least twice a week.

She’s twelve. Complaint is her new first language. She complains about being left in Riverdale while Gladys went back to Toledo. She complains about living in a trailer park that usually does not have warm water. She complains about their father being imprisoned for covering up a gruesome murder. But most of all, she complains about working in the banana stand.

Child labor laws aside, Jughead can’t blame her for that one. He hates the damn banana stand, but it’s their best shot.

Gladys’ monthly check covers rent and utilities for the trailer. Everything else is on him, now. The idiot eighteen year old who decided to petition the court to be his sister’s legal guardian. Well, and his idiot mom who signed off on it. So he needs money, and the Jones family has never been particularly flush with cash, just trampled over by FP’s failed “business opportunities.”

Enter: the banana stand.

It’s not the fastest revenue stream, Jughead finds. But it’s got potential.

Initially, Dilton doesn’t let him sell during the Twilight Drive-In’s concession stand hours. Before or after the movie, sure, but no overlap. “I’m not worried about competition, Jones. It’s just too humiliating for me to watch you sweat through that horrible yellow polo you call ‘branding.’”

But when customers asked him more than twice a night when the banana stand would be open, Dilton caved.

It’s not like being open during the screening hours is a whole lot more preferable. He only just transferred from Southside to Riverdale High last spring; now he’s the rising senior who hands out phallic symbols from inside a giant phallic symbol. Not exactly a boon to his popularity.

Still, recently the money is enough to pay the internet bill and keep JB fed for dinner when she can’t go to the summer breakfast and lunch program at the local park district. It’s still not enough for him to eat particularly well, and the smell of hot dogs and slurp of his classmates’ slushies makes the heat feel like a minor inconvenience.

He eyes the tip jar, willing himself to wait on rampaging the concession stand until the beginning of the film roar dies down. It’s a double feature tonight, which means maybe he can score enough cash to cover those damn college application fees his counselor will start hounding him about week one of school.

Then he sees her—Betty Cooper. She’s laughing, watching Archie Andrews try to catch popcorn in his mouth, tossed by his paramour, Veronica Lodge. She pauses to sip from her slushie straw, her lips—which he’s watched argue against homophobic and racist comments in their advanced lit class, or pressed to the cheek of her other best friend, Kevin Keller. Which he’s imagined, doing slightly less savory things, though the mere thought of said imagining has his heart pounding wildly.

(Jughead’s been eating way too many fucking bananas. Someone needs to check his potassium levels.)

His absolutely pathetic gaze, once available three times a day in their shared classes where Jughead has still not managed to exert any confidence whatsoever regarding speech, eye contact, or general acknowledgement of Betty Cooper’s existence other than whatever drooling may or may not be happening, all of which he finds he has no control over… is all interrupted by the absolute polar opposite of Betty Cooper. Hiram Lodge zooms up to the banana stand on his segway, angling to a stop just before taking out the stand’s foundation.

“Still getting a hang of that, Mayor Lodge?”

Hiram grimaces. “Just checking that you’ve renewed your business permit, Jones.”

They do this once a week. It’s still the same permit.

“You know,” Hiram starts as Jughead rustles for the paperwork to make him go the fuck away, “I could find you an arrangement with a better banana supplier. For a discount. If you’re interested.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not interested in your GMO, black market bananas, Hiram.”

Hiram gives him a pointed look. Jughead rolls his eyes even harder. “Mayor Lodge.” He proffers the papers, Hiram waves them away. “I’ll take one chocolate peanut butter dip. With peanuts.”

Jughead kisses his teeth. “That will be $3.50.”

Hiram’s whole face goes serpentine. “Not between business partners, Jones. Put it on my tab.”

Jughead grits his teeth, handing the finished banana so aggressively he hopes that the chocolate splatters and stains Hiram’s $500 tie. It is only slightly worth it to watch Hiram struggle with navigating the segway one-handed, frozen banana in the other.

He muffles a chuckle before realizing he’s used the dead end of the chopped peanut topping, and exits the stand to update the order board hanging on the outside. It’s mostly an excuse to feel a ten degree drop in temperature, a sweet relief he might be able to extend by grabbing a hot dog before the intermission rush.

He’s crossing off peanuts from the topping list and spinning around when he hears a shriek and a sudden, cold slosh across his chest. The yellow polo drips with artificial blue slushie, but Jughead swallows his fucking hell when he sees that the shriek, gaping stare of horror, and stumble in question all belong to his very own blonde kryptonite.

“Oh my god. Oh my GOD, jesus, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Jughead is frozen while Betty grabs about half his napkin dispenser and starts pawing at his shirt in a vain attempt to right the giant sticky blue mess all over his chest.

Finally, Jughead swallows the golf ball in his throat and chokes out. “Honestly, it’s fine. That stand is a sauna. I needed that.”

Betty stops, both her blotting and her stream of apologizing (which includes a fair bit of cursing, and he is a little revolted with himself by how much this turns him on).

“It’s going to get very sticky, soon. Maybe I should buy a bottle of cold water?”

Jughead can’t help himself. “Oh, impromptu yellow t-shirt contest?”

Betty grins.

I did that.

“Do you have any employees who could bring you another shirt?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Just my sister. She’s playing video games at home. There’s no earthly way she’ll bring me a spare.”

Betty cocks her head. “I had a feeling you were more than the silent back row kind of guy.”

The fact that Betty Cooper has, at any point, considered what kind of guy he is triggers full-on nervous blathering. “I’m usually very tired at school. I have this little sister—but I’m kind of um, her guardian. So I’m doing this stupid banana stand thing because it’s like one of the three assets to our entire family name I guess? Anyway, it’s hard to engage with Haggly’s basic discussion questions at eight in the morning when you spent the whole night dreaming about wholesale banana margins.”

He’s essentially vomiting words, but Betty is still smiling.

“Anyway, I should crawl back into my fruit-shaped purgatory and let you go back to your friends.”

She’s biting her lip, hedging. “Honestly, they’re probably using the alone time to make out in the car, and I’d rather let them get all their sexual tension out so that I don’t have to feel it radiating off of them for the whole second half of the double feature.”

Jughead laughs and tamps down the impulse to offer her a frozen banana, because he cannot possibly say something like that without making it sound sexual.

“What are frozen banana profit margins like, anyway?” Betty asks, either genuinely interested or legitimately flirting with him. Jughead finds both potentials baffling.

Jughead hesitates, then ducks inside the stand, pulling out his spiral bound notebook. “I’m still kind of figuring it out. All my records are in here.”

Betty sidles up to the stand, taking up the whole window. They’re both leaning over the scribbled line items on college ruled paper; he can smell her shampoo. She takes the notebook, scanning thoroughly.

“Do you have a pencil?”

He hands her one and observes her going to work, writing out some algebraic formula and calculating quickly in her head. There is a calculator within his reach, but he thinks handing it to her might come off as an insult. (Jughead wouldn’t know; he assumes Betty is in an advanced math class. Jughead is not.)

After a few minutes of watching her devoted focus, thinking about her hands touching his pencil, thinking about her hands wrapped around his hand, or his—

“I don’t know how to tell this to you, Jug.”

The shortening of his name stops his heart for a jolt, and his response is embarrassingly delayed. “What is it?”

Betty winces but smiles through it, a combination she’s surely learned to use when delivering bad news. It’s well earned, it really does soften the blow.

“There’s no money in the banana stand. At least, not with these margins.”

Jughead finds himself less than devastated by this news, mostly because it makes a hell of a lot of sense. The messenger doesn’t hurt, either.

“But,” she interrupts. “I don’t know if you’ve nailed down your course load for senior year. But I’m taking AP Econ? This could be, um, a good project. Like, if you want to take the class. Or even if you don’t. Not that you’re like a project or… whatever. I’m just saying we could figure it out. Make lemonade out of… bananas.”

Betty Cooper is extremely cute when she stammers.

Jughead doesn’t know what to do, so he gives her an easy out. “I can’t like, hire you, if that wasn’t obvious by the whole… deficit spending or whatever the whole negative circled number at the bottom of the page really means.”

She flushes. “No, that would be highway robbery. I just thought there might be an… opportunity. For um, us. I mean, for you and I. I mean—” she clears her throat, as if it’s closing up. “An academic opportunity. Or, in your case, professional. Well, a betterment of your livelihood. Okay, um, shit, just… I should go!”

She turns away, her face the deepest scarlet he’s ever seen.

“Betty, wait.”

She pivots back, eyes down at the ground.

“How about I buy you a new slushie and you come back into the booth. Tell me everything I’m doing wrong for the rest of the night.”

Betty looks up, biting the corner of her smile. “Sounds like a deal.”

They shake on it.

#this is unhinged but i had to ok #I HAD TO #riverdalepromptathon #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fanfiction #riverdalepromptathonweek3

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captmickey · 2 years

Note

I already had my turn, so feel free to disregard, but I thought I'd send another prompt your way in case you were rarin' to do another.

I liked how Vee squeezed the Three Adventurers into a prompt together, so:

3 Adv: Terror 10 or 15.

Everything felt like a haze for Guybrush. Between the smell of fried food and the sounds of laughter somehow being both incredibly loud and incredibly muffled disorienting him, all he wanted to do was curl up and hide. He hated this. He hated feeling like this as it made him feel captured, chained down, surrounded.

The only sounds he could hear loudly and prominently however was that of his own labored breathing and his heart beating harshly against his ears.

But his sight… it was all dark. He couldn’t see and that sent him into even more of a panic. Faint images of a time he faintly recalled overwhelmed him, with the bright carnival lights, the shrill laughter, that cold hunger… his breathing sped up. He wanted out, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to see but it felt like something was blocking his vision. Desperation clawed at him as he began scratching whatever it was that was obscuring his vision but only felt leather.

No, no no no no no no please…!

The grip over his eyes tightened and muffled words soon overlapped the sounds of laughter and desperate gasping. Please, let go. Let go let go let go…!

“Guybrush, stop.” A familiar voice spoke, cutting through that muffled noise.

He gasped, wanting to beg but not sure as for what. He clawed and heaved, desperate to see, to know where he was… needed to know he was anywhere but that God forsaken hellhole of a cell. Please, anywhere but there. “I can’t see…!”

“I know. That’s because of me. So please stop trying to scratch off my hand.”

He stopped. Scared and already planning… he gave a nod.

“Alright, I’m going to move my hand. Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes.”

He felt the hand get off of him, but he felt even more the urge to see what he was being denied from seeing. Guybrush slowly adjusted his eyes into the light and that was when his heart sunk, his body felt cold and all he wanted to do was scream when he saw the gaudy colorful light, the various tents that littered about with games and prizes, the bizarre attractions that littered the streets, and that laughter. That endless sound of laughter. Guybrush panicked and stumbled, trying desperately to get away, to run away. Everything in him was screaming to run, run now and run fast when a blur of green rushed over and all he saw was that familiar darkness again.

“Guybrush!” A figure in a feather cap and red cloak gasped, a look of pure panic on his face. “Close your eyes!”

He couldn’t help but let out a cry as he fell to the ground, scrambling backwards. He was back. He was back at that hellhole! No… no he wasn’t back, he never left. He was always trapped there, how stupid and moronic to think he had ever escaped. Tears swelled up as he ignored his hands getting scrapped on the floor. “Please…! Please, please let me go… I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…!”

His words were cut short as he felt that familiar hand over his eyes, letting a small cry and began clawing at it once more. “Guybrush, stop. Breathe!”

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t focus. He was scared. He felt another pair of hands blocking his ears, everything muffling away, vanishing slowly… leaving him shaking as those two voices cut through once more…

“Hey, breathe… it’s Link and Graham.” The one covering his eyes spoke, albeit in a muffled tone. “Deep breaths.”

Those names… it struck something deep, and shifted the feeling of fear and despair to something else, though he couldn’t say what it was. “I’m sorry…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” The one covering his ears– Graham, spoke. “It’s okay, we’re here.”

There was warmth in what he said. And it clicked for him who they were… where he was. And it left him feeling pathetic that they even saw him like that.

“We’re going to pick you up… keep your eyes closed. For us. Please?” Link’s voice spoke through.

Guybrush nodded.

“Alright… up and at ‘em.” Graham said as Guybrush felt for hands carefully picking him up. “Boy, you really are light.”

“Graham.”

“Sorry, just trying to make light.”

“...I know.” Link sighed. “C’mon, let's head to the inn.”

Guybrush shook, trying to keep his eyes closed, trying desperately to focus on the two adventurers’ voices as it was the only thing pushing away those horrid thoughts and memories while they led him away from where he was. And as long as those two were here… he could lower his guards and trust them.

(x)

#mickey writes #the three adventurers #monkey island #kings quest #legend of zelda #sorry it took me a moment to pick which of the trio to scare!

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agent-cupcake · 3 years

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So happy you but up the headcanons! All of them are gems and I love them so much. Rereading the Dimitri and Felix rivalry hc made me want to ask for claude and yuri rivalry, but dark of course because both of these boys are sane and logical and would move on if they both caught feelings for you and weren't attached to you by a dark obession lol.

Sorry, I know you asked for love rivalry but I simply could not help myself and got a little carried away with seeing the so-called rivalry to his inevitable conclusion :3c

~Not that it’s probably necessary, but I had to consider the timeline for this. A rivalry between them wouldn’t fit in the events of the game because of Claude’s ambition, but he leaves the country in most endings. My solutions would be to have Claude split his time between Fódlan and Almyra as a politically active prince such as in his solo ending or to propose that Yuri would spend a lot of time in Almyra. Reasons for this could be that he went in aid of his good friend and military commander Balthus (Yuri would make for an awfully good royally sanctioned spy) or that he’s abusing the newfound system of open-market international trade for his criminal enterprise. Either way, Claude is powerful Almyran royalty and Yuri is a shady figure of the underworld. Not too unlike a story I’ve written, but this is separate from that. None of this really matters, ultimately, but whatever I like to think of how this would work out.

~Both men are powerful and ambitious. Both of them are emotionally isolated despite (or because of) their positions. They’re friends, or at least on friendly terms so there’d be a lot of overlap in social circles. And, really, they are quite similar so it’s plausible that they’d go for the same type.

~I’ve since changed my stance on reasons why Claude might develop a fixation on someone. He is concerned with the intrinsic value of a person. He values the thoughts, feelings, and especially the perception of people he is close with. Claude is also a loner, a fundamentally lonesome person who wishes to be seen and loved on his own merits despite the guard he puts up and the social games he plays. Not to say I entirely retcon my previous opinion, but I focused too hard on the idea that he would need to dehumanize you by zeroing in on utilitarian usefulness rather than be driven to darker feelings by his fear of being alone and need to find a connection.

~This all goes for Yuri too, although it’s easier for me to imagine Yuri getting his authentic feelings twisted up and dark. Yuri’s circumstances were somewhat similar to Claude’s, except that he was shown genuine affection by his mother and the old man. Therefore, he knows what it is to lose that. He learned early on what it is to have people die because of him, to shoulder the burden of guilt that comes with such profound loss. Yuri’s scarred by a brutal, painful upbringing where “love” was a commodity to be traded in for favors (even by his mother) and genuine, honest relationships became nearly impossible to comprehend. If he met you and developed those true, affectionate feelings, if he found a so-called light in the darkness, maybe it’d make sense that he’d do everything he could to keep it from losing it.

~Their similarities in this instance would work out for this scenario. Somebody useful to them, somebody authentic enough to appeal to their deeply ingrained sense of loneliness, somebody clever or interesting or fun… There’s a lot of reasons they could develop unhealthy feelings for you born out of an innocently platonic friendship.

~And it would have to be platonic on both counts. Yuri and Claude are too self-aware for them to make a move if you made a choice early on. Or, I don’t think it’d become as big of a production because they wouldn’t have emotionally invested so much in you. Leading them both on unintentionally just by having a normal human friendship is kinda sad but also kinda funny.

~They’d know that you were close with the other. Of course they would. Maybe it would hurt, but neither would express that feeling to you. Claude would ask pointed (but not direct) questions about your feelings and dazzle you with grand overtures. Yuri would work the seductive and sweet angle, trying to win your heart the old fashioned way. But, you know, with more uncomfortable subtext and innuendo.

~Something that has not changed is my opinion that Claude would be obsessive about his darker feelings. Not on a consistent, all the time basis, but more like a hobby. A puzzle he couldn’t solve, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He’d search for all of the pieces of you in the hopes that the final picture would allow him to understand his increasingly dangerous feelings. Claude’s not stupid, he’s really self aware. Enough to feel guilt, enough to recognize that what he’s doing isn’t right, and enough to justify himself out of the responsibility of doing amoral things for the right reasons.

~Yuri, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so… aggressive about it. He’d want you to come to him, to return to him again and again to prove to himself that what he feels isn’t wrong, to ingratiate himself into your life in a way that validated everything he felt for you and put you on more equal footing. He’d internalize everything a lot more, feel a lot of guilt about the intensity of his feelings, but he’d find ways to keep you close. Or, for you to keep him close.

~Don’t get me wrong, though, you wouldn’t get so much of a glimpse of this weaker, more vulnerable Yuri. He’d go the opposite direction of his guilt or doubt, wearing an impenetrable smiling, sarcastic, playful mask. My main point is that I see him as being more emotionally wrecked by having these dark feelings due to his self hatred. I also think Yuri would be more generally sensitive to unhealthy romance dynamics, especially if it became physical at all.

~In an interestingly twisted way, Yuri hypocritically recognizing Claude’s behavior as being dangerous would encourage him to be more proactive about his own feelings and feel less guilty about doing so. Being the protective type rather than the obsessive really just fits Yuri so much better, although I see it as one ultimately leading to the other.

~It’s not about winning. They’d be competing, clearly battling against each other for you in a way that would not only be creepily objectifying, but also emotionally strenuous, but they’d keep on insisting that it wouldn’t be about winning. They’d just want you to be happy, to be safe. They both would just want what’s best for you. And what is best for you? Just ask them.

~Claude’s argument: Yuri’s lifestyle is dangerous. He’s a good guy, Claude really does trust him, buuuuut he’s not exactly the type of man you’d be safe with, you know?

~Yuri’s argument: Claude’s not treating you right. He’s obviously manipulating you, how could you possibly miss that? You deserve better, don’t you agree?

~But in the same breath they’d both insist that if you didn’t want to be with them romantically, that would be fine. They both, truly and unselfishly, would just want you to be happy. Just want to stay close with you. Veeeeeery unselfishly.

~Their interactions with each other would be amazingly fake and aloof. Making small talk and smiling all the while vying for your attention in a nearly juvenile tug-of-war. Still, I don’t think, even through all of this, that they’d dislike each other. It’s not about winning, right? It’s not a game, right?

~Okay, so, I know the whole thing with scenarios like this is an inability to face rejection, but if you were to chose Yuri over Claude or vice versa, that’s where it would end. Committing yourself to one of them still wouldn’t work out super well because that’s the nature of giving into such dark and unhealthy feelings, but it would no longer be a rivalry.

~Let me propose, then, that you would eventually reject both of them. At first, the whole thing would have been so fun and so nice. Getting all of this attention from two powerful and attractive guys would be exciting. You’d feel so lucky, they’re both charming and friendly and kind. But then things would have gotten more intense and there’s this weird love triangle that is incredibly trite and uncomfortable and you wouldn’t have wanted to hurt either of them so it’s better to just leave it, right?

~Yuri would be more likely to use his personal feelings as a tactic of manipulation, I think. Worse, he probably wouldn’t see it that way. He knows, he truly knows, how dangerous and terrible the world could be and he’d do anything to shield you from it and his feelings would reflect that. Granted, if he felt you weren’t getting it, I don’t think Yuri would exactly be above veiled threats or bludgeoning you with fear tactics and even a dash of shame for how you’d played with both their hearts.

~Claude would do his best to convince you that you didn’t actually want to go. You didn’t have to chose either of them, but you couldn’t leave, either. That was way too dramatic. Besides… wasn’t it a little selfish? This was where you were needed, he relied on you. He trusted you. Sure, Claude’s a visionary, but what does that vision matter if the one who he shares his dreams with is gone?

~Maybe that wouldn’t work, though. Long term, it probably wouldn’t. I mentioned before that they wouldn’t hate each other, so if it came down to actually losing you, why not work together?

~Love triangles are for chumps, invest in a horribly unhealthy three person dynamic with possible kidnap and very overt tones of mental and emotional manipulation.

~That would solve all the the problems, wouldn’t it? Why would you try and leave them after they made so many compromises for you? Really, would you be that ungrateful and callous? They would both care about you so much, love you, even. Yuri and Claude would be trying to make it work despite the fact that it came down to essentially a tie in this bizarre game, why couldn’t you do your part? Landing such attractive and powerful guys, having them lay their hearts at your feet, you’d have to be a really terrible and selfish person to reject that. Not that you’d be given a lot of choice, but the devils in the details and if you fought them on this, it probably wouldn’t end up very pretty for you.

~Not saying either of them would hurt you. Physically, I mean. Probably.

~In some ways, the compromise would make the guilt easier for them to bear. The fact that they were also being forced to deal with something they wouldn’t necessarily want to would be a leveling ground for them to justify any of your unhappiness with the situation. Like, it was all an equal amount of compromise to make things work for all three of you.

~Claude would know how much Yuri meant to you and feel like the fact that he hadn’t taken that away from you absolved him of a lot of the responsibility of the other things he’d taken from you. Plus, Claude’s a distracted guy who’d lose track of things sometimes, always getting caught up in whatever project he was working on at the time, so he’d know that you wouldn’t be lonely during those times.

~Yuri would see Claude as being, in many ways, a better person than him. More out of a horrible sense of self perception than fact. So Yuri could have his piece of you with the recognition that Claude was there to balance the worst parts of himself and make you happy in ways this dark, twisty version of Yuri might not think he could.

~I don’t think that either Yuri or Claude would ever truly get along because of how similar they are and the fact that they both kinda lost to the other but I also don’t think that would be a huge issue. Their verbal sparring would be entertaining, honestly.

#claude von riegan #fe claude #yuri leclerc #fe yuri #yandere #yandere headcanons #claude von riegan headcanons #yuri leclerc headcanons #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #headcanons #i am trash garbage :)#yuri is so emo i hope it makes sense why

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childishfluff · 3 years

Text

Little Kitten- [TommyInnit Pet Regression Oneshot]

Pet Regressor/Kitten!TommyInnit, CGs/Handlers!Wilbur and Tubbo

Tommy liked feeling small. But more then that, he liked feeling like a small kitten. He liked cat ears and playing with balls of yarn, and curling up in a little ball to take a nap. None of this was a problem until Wilbur and Tubbo came to stay at his house for a week, and he had to hide both a littlespace, *and* a kittenspace. And when Tubbo continuously calls him a "kitten" due to his results on a stupid internet "what animal am I" quiz, and Wilbur literally pets him while cuddling, he realizes he wasn't going to last a day. He was simply a little kitten. And now his friends knew that. -- This is non-sexual, sfw age+pet regression, dni if your nsfw/abdl/ageplay/petplay/cgl/ect. If any of the creators included in this work say *anything* about being uncomfy with fan fiction/of agere content including them, I will take this down and/or modify it appropriately. If they have already said something that I'm unaware of, please let me know.

A/N: so I was reading some tommy centric fics and the idea of Catboy!Tommy popped in my head, which eventually evolved into Kitten Regressor!Tommy as I brainstormed and this 4000-something oneshot happened. To my knowledge, there are no other pet regression fics in this fandom, and this is my first pet regression fic. If I misrepresented something, or you just wanna tell me something cool about pet regression in the comments, feel free too lmk in the reblogs/replies/in my ask box after reading!

For those who don't know, pet regression is similar to age regression. Pet Space (kittenspace,puppyspace,ect) is a separate headspace that someone can slip into, where they act like a different critter or creature. It can be used for all the same reasons as agere, and the online communities overlap a ton! You can look into it more, but that's the gist of it! It's nonsexual, safe for minors, and it ISN'T P3TPL@Y! also warning for a very brief mention of kinks and "getting off" (tommy basically saying that he's not into petplay) at the beginning.

Tommy liked feeling small. But more then that, he liked feeling like a small kitten.

Figuring this out was confusing for him. Even after discovering why he liked acting like a toddler sometimes, and why it helped him, he had to figure out why he also found comfort in pretending to be an animal. At first, he thought that this cutesy cat-like headspace was just him playing around while little, pretending to be one of his favorite creatures.

But then, he noticed how different his behaviors were when he got like this versus when he was just being a kid. It was really annoying, because he could research anything without stumbling across kinks that he was sure he wasn't into.

Just because the thought of wearing cat ears and curling up in someones lap and being pet softly made him happy, didn't mean he got off on it. Eventually, though, he discovered pet regression.

The pet regression community was overlapped, heavily, with the age regression and age dreaming ones he already secretly took part in. He was shocked he hadn't stumbled across it during his late-night scrollings through the "littlespace" tumblr tags.

Just like when he discovered his littlespace, he bought things online with money saved up from streaming, telling his family it was supplies for a video, and created a secret little box that sat under his bed for whenever he wanted to indulge in that headspace. Choker necklaces that resembled kitty collars, cat ears, certain sensory toys, different snacks.

Now, none of this would be a problem, if it wasn't for the fact that Wilbur and Tubbo coming over to stay at his house for a week while his parents were on vacation. Yes, he had pushed to stay home, preferring that he was babysat by someone he saw as his older brother, instead of being forced to go on a boring trip and go on a forced streaming break.

But he didn't quite think out how he'd pull off not regressing in front of either of the two of his friends, for a whole week. Tommy regressed the most when his parents weren't home, and now he couldn't do that.

All he could do is hope that he wouldn't slip, and that they wouldn't discover either of the two boxes under his bed. He'd quickly find that that was really hard when he had two friends that constantly teased and babied him.

"So, what should we do this week? Besides streaming and gaming, of course," Tubbo questioned from his spot where he laid on Tommy's bed, staring up at the ceiling. Tommy shrugged, spinning a bit in his gaming chair.

His parents had left a few hours ago to catch their flight, after Tubbo and Wilbur were dropped off early that morning. Tubbo had gotten settled, and Wilbur took the responsibility of making them lunch. So now, the two teenagers sat in Tommy's bedroom.

"I don't know. We'll obviously film some videos," Tommy spoke casually, biting the inside of his cheek. All the excitement and anticipation had worn off, and now they were bored. Yeah, they could start a stream or boot up a game, but it felt right to just enjoy each others company. They had sat in silence for a while, their previous conversation falling off when they ran out of things to say, until one of them tried to start another.

Tubbo had gone through a lot of trouble with his parents to be there, doing everything he could to convince them that Wilbur was responsible enough to watch over him for a week. Tommy wasn't just gonna shove a mic in his face and tell him to entertain his twitch viewers.

"I have an idea!" Toby gasped, sitting up suddenly.

"What is it?" Tommy laughed a bit at his sudden realization, and how his friend had replied to it.

"We should take online quizzes together," he suggested. "Hogwarts house, personality type, whatever you want, and compare our results. You in?" he questioned, standing up and coming over to sit in the wooden chair to the left of Tommy's.

For now, the blonde had two of his kitchen chairs in his room, so that the three men could huddle up together at his PC for streams throughout the next week. "Sure," Tommy nodded a bit, booting up his computer.

"We should start with the Hogwarts House quiz, don't ya think?" Tubbo asked, watching him open his browser.

"Sounds good to me," Thomas agreed, following his suggestion and searching up the desired quiz.

After a handful of quizzes, most of which Tommy deemed "inaccurate" due to results that didn't make any sense to him, they took a "what animal are you" quiz. Tommy knew what his results would be, he's taken tests like this a million times.

It'd most likely label him as a cat. He figured that Tubbo would be none the wiser, clicking through the test and answering honestly. He was a little taken aback when the result screen specifically told him that he was a "kitten".

"Aww," Toby cooed in a teasing voice. "I thought that you might've gotten 'cat', but kitten? That's so cute." he laughed a bit.

"It's probably because they just put kitten in place for cat," Tommy scoffed, hoping with every ounce of his soul that he was pulling off the "shocked and annoyed" act, which he hoped covered up his nervousness.

"Let's see," Tubbo took control of the mouse, click on the drop down arrow next to the blue text that read 'All Possible Results'. "See! There is an option for cat, and it called you a kitten!" he cheered, causing Tommy to roll his eyes a bit.

"Whatever," he said, "It said you were a Golden Retriever, so..."

"Tom-Tom's a little kitty!" Tubbo ignored his statement, talking loudly in a sing songy voice. Tommy knew that he wasn't doing this to be mean, and that he was just joking around, but it did hurt a bit. Because he was a kitten sometimes, and it felt like his friend was making fun of it.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, but the food is ready," Wilbur's voice joined the conversation, the older man suddenly appearing in Tommy's doorway. Tommy jumped to defend himself, but Tubbo got there first.

"We took an online quiz that said Tommy was a kitten! 'Cat' was an option, but it said that he was a little kitty," he laughed again.

"Oh, don't tease him." Wilbur said, "Those tests are crap anyway, I'm sure there was a question you misunderstood or something." he claimed as he came closer to them, standing behind the two chairs as he looked at Tommy's monitor. He could tell that the teasing was making Tommy a bit uncomfortable.

He didn't know why for sure, figuring that it had something to do with being called a 'kitten' feeling to childish for him. "Maybe," Tommy agreed, looking up to Wilbur thankfully. Tubbo must've realized that he accidentally upset Tommy when Wilbur intervened and Tommy immediately seemed relieved, because the next thing he did was apologize.

"I'm sorry, Tommy," he spoke up. "I was just teasing, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's all good," Tommy smiled a bit, shrugging, feeling a little better with the reassurance that it was all just a joke. "Most of the tests were crap anyways."

The three of them shifted their conversation to other topics, making their way out to the kitchen to eat the food Wilbur made. Later on, they all gathered up blankets and pillows and snacks to watch movies in the living room.

Tommy was a little worried that the Disney movie Wilbur picked would make him go into littlespace, but that seemed to be the least of his worries as they tried to figure out their cuddling positions for the movie. Of course, they didn't need to cuddle, but it seemed that they all silently agreed that they would be.

"I wanna lay down," Tommy whined, re positioning a pillow near one end of the couch.

"Come here, you crybaby," Wilbur ordered, grabbing his arm. Tubbo was curled up to Wilbur's side, one of the older mans arms around him as he settled into the warmth of the embrace. Wilbur guided him into laying down so that his head was in his lap, a few layers of soft fabric between their skin.

Tommy didn't fight against this, blushing just a bit as he curled up, letting Wilbur lay a blanket over him. "Is this okay?" he asked in a soft voice, looking down as him. Tommy nodded softly, glancing up at him for a moment before he looked away shyly. Why was he so bashful right now?

"Cuddly," he mumbled simply, settling into the position mindlessly. Wilbur seemed pretty amused by this, using his nails to scratch his scalp, the action not unlike how he'd scratch a kitten's head if one curled up in his lap. Again, Tommy didn't protest, leaning into the touch a bit.

Wilbur continued doing things like this as the movie played, sitting back and lightly petting the boy. He'd play with his hair, or run his fingers over his skin in simple patterns. It was just a cute way of showing affection, and the blonde teenager seemed to enjoy.

Meanwhile, Tommy was holding back kittenspace and trying to focus on the childish movie. His petspace was voluntary, to his knowledge. But Wilbur treating him like a cat, giving him the simple affection he's secretly wanted for so long, made him want to regress to the state of a kitty so bad. He was halfway there already.

He just wished that he could put on his little cat ears. He always looked to cute when he did.

His friends did notice that he stayed very quiet throughout the movie, not really replying to their joked or adding onto their commentary of the movie. They didn't say anything, though, assuming that he was just sleepy earlier than usual, joking amongst themselves as the plot of the movie played out on the screen.

At one point near the end of the movie, Wilbur reached over and scratched the patch of hair closest to Tommy's ear, earning a hum from him. It sounded much closer to a kitten's pur, which shocked Wilbur. He looked over to Tubbo, leaning close to him and whispering, "He really is a little kitten, huh?" as he continued to scratch his scalp.

Toby giggled a bit, nodding in agreement. Tommy seemed to suddenly realize what he was doing when Wilbur pulled his hand away for the time being, cutting out his low hum and burying his now-red face in the blankets across Wilbur's lap.

Wilbur could help but think about how cute he looked doing that, immediately feeling the need to cuddle the boy close and protect him.

Eventually the credits started rolling, and Wilbur told the boys to get off of him. Tubbo did it with little complaining, stretching a bit and standing up with a yawn. Tommy, however, completely lost in his kitten space as this point, whined, pouting.

"I know you're comfy, and probably sleepy, but it's time to get up, Toms." Wilbur told him, fighting against the urge to just push him off the couch. Yes, it'd be funny, but it'd also be mean. Wilbur didn't wanna upset him.

When Tommy didn't reply, remaining curled up with his head in Wilbur's lap, the pet his head softly once again, pushing back the blanket that laid over him a bit. Immediately, Tommy switched his position so that he was laying on his back, swiping his hand at Wilbur's, scratching him a bit.

Like a playful kitten.

Wilbur gasped, seemingly confused as he tilted his head. He dropped the blanket, pulling the attacked hand to his chest defensively. Tommy didn't hurt him all the much but he did just try to scratch him in response to his blanket be taken away. It was funny, and cute, but also confusing. "Ouch! Why'd you do that?" Wilbur asked, pulling his hand away immediately.

Tommy pouted up at him, not knowing exactly how to verbally apologize. He decided on his next actions, rolling over so that he was on his stomach and stretching out. He then adjusted himself so that he was on his knees and hands, looking at Wilbur with a slight head tilt.

There was still a clear pout on his face, his eyes innocent and cute. "What are you doing?" Wilbur chuckled, not understanding his behavior. He couldn't blame all these absolutely adorable actions on being sleepy, surely. He was acting like a kitten, undeniably.

"He's a kitten!" Tubbo said, coming closer to him and scratching Tommy's head. Tommy nuzzled into his hand as he leaned into the touch. "Pet regression," he remembered the name for it, saying it suddenly a few moments later. "I thought Tommy might've been a little but I didn't know about this."

"What?" Wilbur questioned, only more confused than before.

"I think Tommy's an age regressor, and a pet regressor, too, apparently," Tubbo looked to Tommy for some sort of confirmation. Tommy nodded a bit, shyly, confirming both of his guesses. "He can revert back to the state of a child, and also a kitten! He's in a cat-like headspace, so he's going to act like a baby kitty." Tubbo giggled, wiggling his fingers over Tommy's head and watching as he swatted at it. Toby pulled his hand away at the last second.

"I researched age regression because Tommy was acting a bit childish during a late night call a while back, and came across petre too," Tubbo added. "I was planning on asking him about the little thing while I was here, actually."

Tommy didn't know that Tubbo already knew. If anyone could've guessed, it would've been him. They were best friends. He'd call him a lot when upset, or stressed, to talk about what was bothering him. It wasn't a shock that the main person who saw him when he needed something to help him feel better had started to pick up on the traits that hinted toward the coping skill he used to feel better.

Wilbur seemed to understand. For whatever reason, Tommy liked acting like a cat. It was a sort of headspace that he could get into, that Wilbur must've accidentally triggered. Tubbo continued to play with and pet Tommy, explaining the basics of both age regression and pet regression to Wilbur.

"They can both be done for coping, voluntarily or involuntarily. It seems that all the cuddling and petting made him slip. I think he's nonverbal, too, at least as a kitten," Tubbo said, running his fingers through Tommy's hair. At some point, Tommy had sat down, still playing along and swiping at his hands here and there. Tubbo seemed so excited to play with him, and that made him happy!

"Agere and petre can intersect, too. So he might just act childlike with kitten-qualities mixed in," Tubbo continued to explained. "There's also pet gear and little gear, stuff you use when you get into those headspaces. Do you have any of that, kitty?"

Tommy nodded a bit, reaching over and pressing on Wilbur's shoulder, as if telling him to follow as he stood up. He didn't like traveling on all fours all the time in kittenspace, and would only crawl short distances. Otherwise, he would just walk like he would usually. Maybe skip, if he was in a good mood.

Wilbur followed his nonverbal request, following the two teenagers to Thomas's bedroom. Tommy dropped to the floor next to his bed, Tubbo following suit. Tommy pulled out one of the boxes, Toby grabbing the other. "So what is pet and little gear for?" Wilbur asked, curiously.

"I'm sure Tommy will be willing to tell you more when he's up to talking," Tubbo's words earned a slight nod as the regressor opened the box. "But it's basically stuff to help you according to the headspace your in. Comfort items, childish things for littlespace, stuff to make you feel more like a pet for petre."

"Like cat ears or collars for kittyspace!" he added with a chuckle as Tommy pulled those items out of the box, waving them around as an example. His cat ears were all on headbands. He had white and orange ones, black ones with little ribbons, another set with little bells, he didn't know which ones he wanted.

Tubbo realized that his box was little gear, sliding it back under the bed and focusing on Tommy, who seemed happy.

He bounced in place a bit, very excited and playful now, despite being sleepy before. He was happy! When Tubbo believed that his friend might've been different, instead of judging him, he researched a ton and then jumped in to help him when he needed it. And Wilbur, who didn't completely understand what was happening, was still being supportive, just asking questions.

He thought that they were gonna weird about it, or judge him. But here Tubbo was, playing with him and answering questions for him because he understood his nonverbalism. "When will he be....not a cat, anymore?" Wilbur pondered.

"Depends. Regression can last a few minutes to a few days, who knows. But while he's like this, we should make him comfortable, don't ya think?"

Wilbur hummed a bit. He could ask more questions later, directly to his friend that actually experienced this stuff and would be able to tell him more. For now, he'd do his best to make Tommy comfortable, like Toby had said.

Tommy grabbed the cat ears with the bells, white furred ones with pink inside the ear, little pink bows and gold bells on them. He shook it in his hand, like a rattle, listening to the music it made. He made a squeak that sounded suspiciously like a "meow", before giggling. "Did you cat those ears, Tommy?" Wilbur asked, softly taking the headband from him.

Tommy pouted, nodding as the ears were taken from his very pa- hands. He wasn't actually a kitten, he had human hands. He giggled at his own thoughts, snapping out of it when he felt the headband slip onto his head. Wilbur adjusted it.

"There." he stopped after a second, looking him up and down. "You're adorable," he complimented. Tommy blushed, smiling. He looked back down to the box, pulling out a white choker, which had another pink ribbon in the front, with a larger, silver bell hanging from it. He immediately put it on, fiddling with the bell.

"Did you wanna change? There's some clothes in that box," Tubbo asked. As expected, Tommy didn't verbally reply, digging through his box and pulling out a white adult onesie, designed to resemble a real baby one. It was plain, with pink lining, obviously picked out to go with the choker and cat ears.

"Aww," Wilbur cooed, immediately. "You want the onesie, sweetheart?"

Tommy nodded a bit, also grabbing pastel pink shortalls. He might've been happy, and seemingly comfortable, but he was not walking around in just a onesie. "That'll look cute together," Tubbo approved of his outfit choice. Tommy grabbed a few more things from the box, either setting it in a pile, or holding it in his arms.

He left to go to the bathroom, pushing the box back under the bed and leaving without another word. "What all did he pull out?" Tubbo asked, looking to the pile with curiosity.

"A stuffed kitten," Wilbur stated, looking at the white stuffed toy. "It seems that he dressed up to look like this toy," he chuckled. Tubbo laughed, too. "Uh, there's a ball of yarn, and a little white ball?" he sounded curious, picking it up. Quickly, Wilbur realized that it rattled.

"Oh, he likes things that make sounds," Tubbo reasoned. "Rattles and bells. That's cute," Tubbo smiled. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, a pink scarf." Wilbur replied. "Does he just play with anything?" he laughed.

"Isn't that what actual cats do? They scratch at and play with anything in sight," Tubbo joked.

"Fair enough."

They kept talking until they heard shuffling by the door. There, stood Tommy, clad in his cute little, perfectly planned-out outfit. Just his presence earned coos from his friends, who immediately complimented him. "You look so adorable, kitten!" Wilbur said, motioning him over. Tommy approached them, dropping to his knees and hands when he got close to them, 'pouncing' across the carpet.

He giggled, returning to his previous sitting position next to his pile, grabbing the stuffed kitty. "You look just like your toy, y'know." Tubbo told him. Tommy smiled wide, as if he was proud of this fact, nodding quickly. He wore knee-high socks with his out, white and pink striped to match the rest of the outfit. It seemed he took pride in color-coordinated, cute outfits, unlike when he was in his usual headspace. He usually just threw on a baseball shirt and jeans.

"She kitty, and m' kitty too," he mumbled, speaking for the first time since entering his kitten space earlier that day. He didn't talk much in kittenspace, he always had to pull himself into an "in-between" headspace to do so, but he could if he wanted or had to.

"Aww, the kitty can talk. Yes, you are both very adorable kittens," Wilbur cooed from his spot next to the regressor, wrapping his arms around him. Tommy melted into the embrace, nuzzling the side of his face into the part of Wilbur closest to him, his arm.

Tubbo didn't interrupt their moment, waiting for one of them to speak. After a bit of silent cuddling, Wilbur spoke up. "How about we all move back to the living room and set up a little play area for you, yeah? I'll turn on some cartoon, and make some snacks, and we can have fun until bedtime. Does that sound nice, kitty?"

He swayed in place a bit, moving Tommy with him. Tommy nodded excitedly. "Snuggles," he mumbled when Wilbur pulled away from their hug, pouting. "Snuggle me! M' a cute kitty!" he giggled, pointing to himself. He scrunched his nose a bit.

Tubbo and Wilbur knew that the boy was very different off camera. Sometimes, he was still loud, and cursed a lot, but others, he was chill. And apparently, he could be soft sometimes, too.

"I have no doubt about that," Wilbur chuckled, tapping the button of his nose with his index finger, Tommy swatted at it, a bit confused on what to do next when he successfully got ahold of his finger. He put his other 'paw' around it too, dragging his hand to his mouth and biting on his finger.

Wilbur pulled back his hand quickly, shocked. "Bad kitten! We don't bite," he scolded, tapping his head lightly with his hand. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to let him know that he wasn't supposed to do what he just did. Tommy pouted again, his eyes immediately glossing over.

Again, he felt like he couldn't verbally apologize, to upset to pull himself out of headspace enough to talk. This frustrated him and only upset him more. He took the hand he had bit by the wrist, nuzzling his hand into it.

The main difference between Tommy in kittenspace and a real kitten is that he still had, at the very least, a child's level of emotional intelligence. Which meant that he was able to tell when people were upset with him. And he didn't like it when someone was upset with him.

He didn't have kitty teeth! Which meant that his bites hurt a lot more then a kitten's, he reasoned mentally. Wilbur was upset because he hurt him. Cuddles would make it all better, because cuddles made all boo-boos better, he decided.

"Oh, you're okay, baby," Wilbur assured, scratching at his scalp and playing with his hair again. "You didn't really hurt me," he said, as if he was able to read his mind. "You don't need to cry, little kitty."

Tommy kept nuzzling his hand, blinking away his unshed tears. Tubbo leaned close to Wilbur, whispering into his ear.

"Call him a good kitten."

Wilbur nodded, figuring that that made sense. Wilbur had reassured Tommy in every other sense, but he was still guilty. There was a good chance that his emotional response was to the term "bad kitten!".

"You're such a sweet, good kitten."

As predicted, his head perked up at that. He tilted his head, as if to ask 'really?'. "A very adorable, sweet baby kitten," Wilbur ran his fingers through Tommy's hair, his words and affection earning a smile from the pet regressor. "Let's gather up these toys and go set up in the living room, kay? Is there anything else that you need?"

Tommy nodded shyly, crawling over to the edge of his bed and pulling out the little box. He located a light pink plastic item, holding it up. "No more bitin'," he said, slipping the adult pacifier into his mouth. It only added to the childish look.

Wilbur and Tubbo smiled at him. Wilbur was glad that he picked the right cuddling position that somehow led to this, and Toby was glad that he did all that research over the past few weeks. And they were all glad they had planned this one week meet up.

They moved out to the living room, where they played and watched cartoons late into the night. The following morning, Tommy thanked the two of them for everything, and they had an honest conversation about it, telling them everything. How long he had been regressing, both for little and kitten space, how often he did it, when he got all the little and kitten gear.

Wilbur and Tubbo asked a ton of questions, and Tommy answered every single one. Over the next week, between streams and video-filming, Tommy would regress and let his friends learn more about little him, and kitty him. Who Wilbur and Tubbo started calling 'Tom-Tom', by the way.

Eventually, Wilbur would become Tommy's caregiver and handler, after babysitting him over discord calls many, many times. All thanks to that one week visit.

Tommy was so glad he ended up slipping that night, even if it was inconvenient at first. Everything worked out in the end, and he wouldn't change the events of that night if he could.

It all led to him being Wilbur's 'good kitten'.

A/N: let me know if you have requests for any agere/age dreaming/pet regression fics involving some of the DreamSMP members, lmk! I may not write it, due to not knowing to much about a specific youtuber or being uncomfy w/the prompt, but I always love hearing ideas! Please leave feedback/your thoughts on this in the reblogs/replies/my ask box too, I definitely would like to hear them! I hope y'all enjoyed, I spent a while writing this and I hope it makes *someone* happy!

-Apple

#TommyInnit #little!tommyinnit #kitten!tommy #dream smp petre #cg/handler!wilbur+tubbo #cg!wilbur #cg!tubbo #Dream SMP #age regression #kittenspace #pet regression #pet regressor!tommy innit #dream smp agere

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magicalcrwn · 3 years

Text

lost, then found // ksj

pairing: Seokjin x Reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: non-idol, roommates au, requited feelings, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

warning(s): going in deep here so do not take these lightly, talks of loneliness, existential crisis, mental health issues, implied suicidal thoughts, mostly unedited

summary: “When it comes, the two hands overlap / Then the whole world holds its breath for a moment / Zero o’clock“

Life is hard, sometimes you just gotta take a step back and breathe.

a/n: been feeling horrible this year, so i poured all of my thoughts into this fic to just lighten the load i guess. this could also be considered as a late jin day gift, he’s been my ult and my main emotional support kpop boy for two years now and abyss even got me finishing up this fic. so in a way, it’s more of a vent fic but also a thank you for keeping a smile on my face. with that out of the way, i hope you’re all taking care of yourselves and maybe find some comfort in this. who knows? links: txt m.l || bts m.l

Sleep has always been an escape for you, especially from reality.

Everybody has those days, feeling lost and depressed no matter what happened -- could be out of nowhere, could be from exhaustion -- but today? Today is just too much, and you don’t know why. You feel heavy, drained both emotionally and physically, and want only to sleep the day or maybe the rest of the year or more away. Honestly, that doesn’t sound too bad -- an eternal sleep. In your dreams, you can do anything without a worry. An eternal dream would be heavenly, doing whatever you want with no pressure and stress from the world, doing whatever at your own pace instead of being pressured to keep up with the rapidly moving public.

So that’s what you do, or that’s what you try to do. It’s nearing sundown and you stay curled up under your bed on your phone while scrolling through social media, you only get up to get food and water and to use the bathroom. Anything else? That’s it. You look through every single platform you’re on underneath the blanket while cuddling RJ stolen from Seokjin’s bed.

Speaking of Seokjin…

You’ve been living with him as roommates for the past three years, and you have known him since high school when you were a freshman and him a sophomore. Whenever you two hang out together, some could easily mistake you as siblings, sometimes as lovers. You, however, don’t consider him a lover -- he’s just your best friend who agreed to live in this apartment together. Yep, just friends. Nothing more. Just friends. You don’t pay attention to his cute stupid grin whenever he makes a cheesy dad joke, nor his squishy cheeks that puffs up whenever he smiles. You also don’t pay attention to how he’s humming little melodies you’ve memorized overtime while he cooks, and you don’t pay attention to how he gets all giggly and happy whenever he gets excited. Though you do acknowledge how safe you feel around him, how comfortable it is to be around him.

He’s out today, working late as a recently hired producer and artist for Namjoon’s also recently opened company, MONO Entertainment, leaving your lonesome self the entire day. Speaking of loneliness, it feels more suffocating than usual. Music quietly plays through your phone’s speaker, you pull the sheets closer to your body as you try to dig deeper into the warmth of your safety. This duvet can’t keep you safe and warm, you’re well aware of that, you’ll have to eventually leave and rejoin the overwhelming society you know as reality.

Growing up, you always believed reality is perfect, a place where it has so many possibilities for you to strive for a better future -- or better yet, a better self. Oh, has the world proved you wrong.

The security alarm echoes throughout the apartment, accompanied by the sound of the door unlocking and opening. He's already home? Nevertheless, you stay in your bed, sliding even deeper into the duvet. Your name is called from the entrance, but you shut your eyes as you attempt to sneak in a nap. Today's pretty much not a social day, you just want to keep the talking to a minimum. Especially with your roommate. The door shuts, keys jingling in the distance followed by shoes thumping.

Soft padded footsteps nears your doorway, a crack between the frame and the door peeking into and out of your somewhat messy room. Seokjin, still wearing his fuzzy orange hoodie, gently pushes the door as he tries not to disturb you. Upon spotting the you-sized lump protruding from the blanket, he sighs with a small smile on his face. He walks to the nearest side of your bed, closest to the door, which surprisingly you left space for your full sized bed.

Once more, he calls your name, but you still don't respond. At least verbally. You just shuffle in place and push yourself even more deeper into the duvet. A light chuckle grabs onto your ears. Your friend sits on said empty spot of your bed and gently rests a hand on the lump, landing on your left arm.

"Hey bub," he says while gently rubbing your arm in small strokes. Seokjin moves his hands towards the edge of the covers to pull it down, but you whine as you feel the sudden shift in air once he moves it down at least an inch. A frown dons his face, "C'mon, you can't breathe if you stay down there."

You shake your head. "Come back in 2-3 business days," you mumble.

Surprised by your sudden remark, he lets out an airy laugh a moment sooner. You feel shifting behind you, the heavy duvet being moved around. A warm presence slides into your cocoon, inching closer to you. If you're not getting out, might as well get in.

"Jin," you whine pathetically, "get out."

"Aw, c'mon, can't I at least get a hug?"

You blink your eyes, practically rolling them at the end. He's pouting, you know he is. In fact, if you turn around right now, you'd see his pouty lips especially in the dark. With a straight face, you slowly flop over to your right to face exactly what you expected. A pouty Seokjin with -- oh no -- how dare he use those puppy eyes against you out of all people! Without even realizing it, you hold your breath as you two stare each other for a long, long time. At each passing second, you feel the effects of the forbidden Seokjinnie Pout™ dealing blows at your already rapid beating heart. Your face grows redder and redder as you continue staring directly at his face.

When your ears starts to burn enough, you release your breath and surrender, "Fine, you can hug." His eyes brightens at your words, his cheeks rounding up as a smile pushes through the pout. Has he always been this close before? Just inches away from your faces touching. You blink thrice then stammer, "Just... just once."

An arm suddenly reaches for your curled up body, Seokjin pushes himself towards you with his other arm on the bed. His warmth right against yours as he snakes his limbs around you, pulling you into his embrace. Out of habit, your arms wrap around his torso as you lean further into him and squishing RJ in between.

A hand reaches for your head, gently stroking it. His chest rumbles against your forehead while he asks, "Bad day?" Of course he'd notice, so you nod your head. He hums, still continuing his petting, "Thought so. Did you get up at all?"

"Only to go to the bathroom and eat," you reply back, subconsciously nuzzling into his fuzzy clad chest which steadily moves up and down with his breathing.

"Haven't gone out at all, hm?" This time you shake your head. He lets out a huff, patting your head twice before looking down at you, "What's wrong? You can tell me."

Your lips puckers into a pout, you smush your face closer into him as you mumble, "'s just -- I dunno -- just unmotivated I guess. Like there's nothin' I can do even though I know I can do it but -- yeah. That and just... lonely."

"Lonely? I'm right here, y'know," he lightly jokes as an attempt to lighten the mood.

"I know but like, the different type of lonely. Y'know, the type of lonely where you feel like you're just awkwardly standing in place of somewhere where you clearly don't belong. The type where you feel like you've been left out from everything that's happening no matter how fast or slow time goes by, even getting to the point where you feel like you’re lost." You swallow shortly afterwards, continuing with another mumble. Your arms tighten, "The type where you don't feel like you're alive."

He quietly stares at you, watching you breathe in his arms. Suddenly, you felt yourself being pulled up and out of the covers, being placed on the pillows while still in his embrace. You lift your head and look at him with an exhausted yet confused gaze. Both of you stare right into each others' eyes for a while, the slightly audible music still playing on the other side of yourself on the bed. "How about now? Do you feel alive?"

His sudden question caught you off guard, not even letting you respond with a suitable answer. Seeing your bewildered eyes, he repositions yourselves on the bed -- lying on his back and you resting your cheek on his chest, allowing you hear the faint thumps of his heartbeat. Right when you open your mouth, he immediately cuts you off, "What am I saying, it's much more easier said than done. Alive... It's a strange concept if you think about it. It all depends on how you live it, but how we live it is always the big question."

Leaning his head back onto the pillow, gazing up onto the ceiling, he subconsciously continues stroking his head as he too continues his train, "Sometimes I feel like I'm alive, finally getting a head start on my music career thanks to Namjoon, but sometimes? Sometimes I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if I enjoy what I'm doing, I don't know if I am doing what I'm capable of doing in this life. I don't know if I'm living a life that I want to live, a life where I feel alive." He slightly tips his head towards your side, lowering just a bit to look back at you. "Even though I'm familiar with the loneliness, I don't mind it. Sure it sucks, but it helps you even when you don't think it would. Gives you time to reflect, gives you time to think, and most importantly, it gives you time to rest."

Turning towards the window, he faces the sky at the blue hour after the sun has set. The faint sound of vehicles moving throughout the streets muffles against the wall and the window. "Yeah, the world's fast, a lot of us are moving fast -- moving onwards without looking back. Whenever I look at those people, I always think to myself, 'Wow, these guys... I can't keep up.' I still think of it to this day. Whatever they did in their day, no matter how big or small, they're always moving at their own pace to keep up with the world. I don't doubt it though, feeling the same loss and loneliness we feel every now and then. It catches us off guard, especially to them at least once in their lives. Just like today." Once more, his gaze falls back onto you. You , who stares with wide eyes as you listen to his philosophy.

His lips curls up into a small smile, warm enough to comfort you. "No matter how many times you feel this way -- everyday or every other day -- you're still you. The loneliness isn't always there to torment you, it's there to guide you, help you. Don't ever try to force it out, like misery, it loves company. Company that it can be useful to. No matter where or what you're doing in the world, you will seek that life again. The life you believe that you will fulfill to the end, the life that will make you feel alive even just by a smidge."

Loneliness. You never thought of it that way, honestly. You'd always think of it as an obstacle, something annoyingly in your way. Something which seems to be impossible to overcome. Shuffling up, moving into a more comfortable position, you rest your ear onto his chest. Hearing Seokjin’s voice say your name, you look up again.

In just a split second, he places a light feathery kiss on your forehead, immediately burning your ears red. "Take a break," he murmurs against your skin, "I mean it."

Underneath your head, you feel him shuffle as he starts to make his way out of the bed. "Seokjin," you instantly call. He pauses, a leg sticking out of the duvet and bare foot planted on the floor, then he looks back. Without even realizing, you ask him, "Can you stay here with me? Please?"

Blinking once then twice, his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and slowly nod. Zipping off the hoodie, letting it fall onto the floor, he crawls back into bed and repositions himself in the same spot he was in.

You reach for your phone, turning off the music then placing back behind you in its original spot. Climbing up to him, you readjust yourself into your position from earlier, curling up against his warm body. Shutting your eyes, you whisper, "Thank you."

You didn't elaborate nor was there a need to. Seokjin watches you breathe, his gaze soft at the sight. Wrapping his arms back around you, he places another kiss on your head, "You're welcome. Have a nice sleep, love."

Love? Your heart stutters at the word, a grin threatening to burst out.

Tomorrow will be another day, the day where you'll put yourself back on track and pick up where you left off. While the world doesn't wait for no one, the only one waiting for you is yourself and maybe a specific somebody keeping you close to his heart.

a/n: it’s normal to feel lonely, even if you see it as a threat. remember that it will teach you to take care of yourself better. first things first, take a step back and just breathe.

#bts #bts imagine #bts oneshot #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts angst #kim seokjin #jin #seokjin #seokjin fluff #seokjin angst #jin fluff #jin angst #seokjin oneshot #jin oneshot

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jared-19-cant-reid · 4 years

Text

A Study In Behavior: Chapter 1

A Study In Behavior (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Obsession

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.8K

Series Summary: When you signed up for Professor Reid’s class, you were expecting a low effort but interesting class to fill your psychology elective credit. Instead, your fascination with the professor leaves you spending more time than you’d expected in office hours.

Chapter Summary: A strange dream and an unusual professor make today’s lecture much more interesting than you thought it would be.

Warnings: teacher/student relationship, cursing, mentions of anxiety, suggestive language, implied age gap.

A/N: I’m planning on making this an eventual smut slow burn, since this is one of my favorite tropes and I want to make it a Realistic daydream lmao. This chapter is focused on introducing you to the world, reader, and this version of Spencer. Lots of potential here, I already have a million different ideas of how this should go... as always dms and asks are open!

The pattering of rain on the tin roof seemed to crescendo, a million drummers tapping out a perpetual drumroll on steel drums above your head. You’d always complained you couldn’t hear yourself think with all that noise, but you missed it despite yourself when you left Seattle for college. You were pulled away from that brief moment of self awareness by the touch of a cold hand, clutching yours as if you might be snatched away at any moment if the grip were to loosen.

You opened your eyes, finding yourself in a bed you knew all too well. A bed you’d spent too many hours in, slept too many nights in, and yet was not your own. Turning your head to the right, you took in the sight of your sleeping mother, her expression of serenity contradicted by the deep creases in her face, betraying the frown that she wore most of her waking life. Your gaze trailed down to your hand in hers; her knuckles were turning white from her tight grip, but you didn’t feel any pain.

Laying next to her, you watched her face for what felt like hours as her chest rose and fell in the lazy patterns of slumber, too afraid of waking her with your movement to breathe. She almost looked happy like this. Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud beeping sound. You looked around for the offending fire alarm, but as you scanned the ceiling it began to dissolve before your eyes, the grip on your hand loosening until you broke free from the scene fully.

You opened your eyes with a start as you sat up quickly, feeling out of place in your own room. You were a painting placed in the wrong section of a museum, an unintentional imposter. Nails digging into your comforter, you tried in vain to slow your shallow breaths as you looked around wildly for something to remind you of where you were, of who you were.

Your eyes skipped from your stack of records from your childhood leaning casually against the wall beside the record player on your desk, to the stacks of books watching over you from the top of your bookshelf, unable to fit on the shelves but too close to your heart to part with. Your gaze finally settled on the floor, taking in the mess you’d been meaning to clean up for days now.

As you returned to your body, you could no longer ignore the blaring of your alarm, groaning as you reached for your phone on the nightstand. A glance at the screen had you shooting out of bed. Shit, I have to be at class in 20 minutes. You got up, muttering to yourself about how 8 A.M. classes should be considered cruel and unusual punishment, and maneuvered around your clothes strewn across the floor.

As you raced to your closet, your eyes scanned the clothes you owned, speeding through mental images of a million combinations before giving up and reaching for your comfort clothes. You pulled on the green high waisted cargo pants that you’d owned since high school. Nobody to impress in this class anyway, you reasoned, grabbing the fitted white crop top that your friend had embroidered your name on.

You tore through the apartment in the most violent and rushed performance of a morning routine the world had ever seen, only half trying to keep quiet for the sake of your neighbors. Hair tangled between your fingers and makeup was swiped on haphazardly as you struggled to make yourself presentable, cursing at the time and throwing random belongings in your bag.

Calling out a goodbye to your roommate only to be met with silence, you realized that in your frenzy you had forgotten that no sane college student would willingly be up at this hour. Shaking your head as you rushed out of your building, you mused that you’d just gotten all your stupid mistakes for today over with quite efficiently.

Three years of mediocre dorm experiences had left you desperate for a change, and luckily your now-roommate Jordan volunteered to split the rent for the 2 bedroom you now called home. You’d both agreed to ignore whatever ghost stories scared off previous residents and earned you a fair price for a decent place close to campus; ghosts would just add a little intrigue to your domestic life, you’d joked.

Checking the time once more, you cursed under your breath and broke out into a run. God, I should work out more, you thought as your lungs began to burn, I wouldn’t stand a chance in a zombie apocalypse. Racing through campus, you finally reached the doors of the lecture hall that held your class… which had started three minutes prior. You tried to catch your breath before opening the door, cringing as you heard the professor pause mid-lecture.

You tried not to meet anyone’s gaze as you quickly made your way to a seat. The first one you could find was in the third row-- close enough to the front to make out the facial expressions of your professor, who had continued his train of thought after you entered, choosing to ignore you in favor of finishing his idea.

As you got settled and tuned into the lecture, you realized the professor was still reviewing the syllabus. Pulling it up on your laptop, you looked at the top to remind yourself of his name: Dr. Spencer Reid. Finally looking up, your mind went blank. Oh. Not only was your professor way younger than you’d expected, he was... well, attractive. Thats’s a reasonable objective assessment, right? You knew he was just as knowledgeable as older professors-- you’d chosen this course for its fantastic reviews from previous students-- but his youth was a welcome change from the dinosaurs you were so used to in the neuroscience department.

As you studied him, you only became more sure in your original assessment; he was tall, with tousled brunet hair and a face that was… well, unfair. You weren’t surprised to catch a few other girls unabashedly staring at him, clearly drooling over the man as he spoke animatedly about his favorite parts of the course.

You shook yourself-- this man was your professor. You shouldn’t think about how attractive he is, it’s unprofessional. You also shouldn’t look at his hands the way you are right now, following them as he gestured along with his words you still weren’t paying attention to. You definitely shouldn’t think about what those hands could do.

Oh my god, snap out of it, you reprimanded yourself, you can’t afford to spend the semester fantasizing about your professor, focus on the class! You finally tuned in to the lecture, catching the end of what sounded like a tangent about the difference between triggers and stressors. For the rest of the class, you listened intently, drawn in by Professor Reid’s clear excitement about the topic.

Your efforts to ignore your professor’s appearance were somewhat successful, but as you listened to him speak passionately about the value of profiling as a tool for certain types of criminal investigations, you knew you were done for. His excitement about sharing his knowledge left you fighting back a smile, watching intently as he gestured wildly. You’d always liked listening to fellow nerds, eagerly basking in the pure delight beaming from their faces as they ranted about their subject of interest.

You sighed internally, preparing yourself for a semester of unreasonable dedication to this class, which was meant to be your chill psych elective to leave you more time to spend in the lab. It’s not like this topic wasn’t interesting to you, it was just that you weren’t expecting to be obsessed with it-- or more accurately, the man teaching it.

Before you knew it, the class was over. Professor Reid told everyone to finish the assigned reading by next class in preparation for a discussion, dismissing the class and walking over to his desk. You gathered up your belongings and the remnants of your dignity before slowly making your way to the exit, lost in thought about the overlap between your field and his.

Your feet changed course before you could stop to think about what you were doing. When you tuned back in, you were horrified to find that you were walking towards Professor Reid. Right when you were about to turn around and try to escape without further embarrassment, you were stopped by his curious but friendly gaze. Ignoring your inner voice’s screams of horror, you composed yourself and made your way over to his desk.

He spoke before you could, greeting you with a small smile and a polite “how can I help you?”

“Hi! Um, I just wanted to come apologize for being late today. I promise, it’s really unlike me, and I just don’t want you to think that I don’t care about your class or anything, because it seems really cool so far and I’m so interested in seeing how this could apply to my research and I was only really late because of this dream I had-”

You stopped before going into detail, saving yourself from your nervous rambling, and he spoke your name hesitantly. Your confusion must have been apparent on your face, because he looked at your chest, clearly having made the connection from the word embroidered on it. The devil on your shoulder whispered that his eyes had lingered there longer than they needed to, but you dismissed that thought quickly.

“There’s no need to apologize, as long as you don’t make a habit of it we should be fine,” he reassured you, “and judging from how well you paid attention today, I have no doubt you’ll more than make up for it next class in the discussion.”

You bit back a smile at his praise, shocked he’d noticed you at all. You thanked your lucky stars he’d interpreted your staring as interest in the class, rather than the glaring sign of attraction that it would easily be identified as in any other setting. You quickly nodded, thanking him for his understanding and promising it wouldn’t happen again before exchanging goodbyes as you turned and walked out of the room.

Bursting out of the lecture hall, you finally filled your lungs with air fully, trying to regain some sense of control over your feelings. As you walked to the library to study, your mind wandered back to Professor Reid. It’s not like he’d ever feel the same way, what’s the harm in a little daydreaming? You decided you could live with a harmless crush. Keeps things interesting, you thought. Stepping into your castle of books, you pushed the events of the morning to the back of your mind, but one thought lingered: This is going to be one hell of a semester.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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goose-books · 3 years

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stars: an excerpt from act 2 of darkling [image credit] word count: 1.3k aka: the most holiday-appropriate excerpt darkling has. by which i mean it takes place sort of near christmas & doesn’t make me feel like a crying cat image

context: this takes place about three years before canon (in the text it’s a flashback!); jasper goes to boarding school & only really comes home for the summers and for winter break. cw for misgendering a few times

Vee’s - fifteen when he gets his license; no, sixteen, seventeen maybe - no. It has to be sixteen; fifteen’s too young and Jasper isn’t Jasper yet; seventeen is when it starts to hurt, really hurt, every day. Sixteen is chess and the cane as a friend, not an enemy. And the car keys. Sixteen is the car keys.

He plans it out two weeks ahead of time, in December when his school break overlaps with Jasper coming home - pulls out his little school assignment book, notes down when Dad’s driving to work, when Dad’s working from home, when they’ll be expected to show up at some public Christmas event, what the weather forecast says. “You really think she wants to go sit in the cold and look at stars with you?” Dad says. Not like it’s an attack; more like it’s never occurred to him. Vee should correct him on the pronouns (Vee’s been practicing, even if Dad hasn’t), but he doesn’t, just tilts his head and says, “But I can have the car, right?,” gets a nod and a skeptical eye-roll in response.

He picks three days before Christmas. They leave around eight, when it’s already dark. It’s also cold. Really cold. “This is your plan?” Jasper grumbles as he flips the seat-warmer on. “To go outside? Right now?”

Vee is - Vee is feeling some regret already. He is having some second thoughts. He is shaking like a battery-powered children’s toy, even inside the car. But goddamnit, he made a plan. “Trust me,” he says, trying to tug his gloves on with his teeth so he can keep one hand on the wheel. “It’s gonna be good. Just trust me.”

Jasper arches his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. Just pulls his slush-glazed shoes up onto Dad’s nice leather upholstery.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive - out of Dovermorry proper, up the winding mountain roads at the very edges of the city. Vee spends most of it trying not to think about, and thus thinking about, how weird it is that he only sees his sibling every few months. It’s not like Jasper goes off to school and comes back a different person. No dye jobs; no piercings. He looks the same as he did when he left at the end of the summer, right down to the loose unruly curls he brushes out of his eyes. That’s what makes it so weird. Behind those bright eyes are four months spent somewhere Vee will never be, with people Vee will never meet, and sure, Vee still texts him, still reads his emails, but he barely gets any information out of that. It’s like there’s another layer of Jasper’s world, one Vee doesn’t have. Jasper told them about his new name over the summer, but Vee’s seen the comments on his Instagram posts. No one from his school has called him Circe since April.

“You have your license,” Jasper says, looking straight ahead.

“Yeah,” Vee says, swerving sharply around a branch that looms out of the road’s darkness.

Jasper looks at him sideways. “I don’t know if you should.”

“Dad says I’ll get better.” Vee ducks his head to hide his sheepish smile, but he doesn’t miss Jasper’s snicker.

The wheels whir over the road. Driving in the snow makes him nervous; up here the roads aren’t paved half as well. Still. They’re almost there.

“He’s gonna put Circe on my Christmas presents,” Jasper says, very flatly.

It’s too dark in the car to make out his face, even if Vee felt comfortable taking his eyes off the road, which he doesn’t. He feathers the brake, edges around a snowdrift encroaching on the sheer black pavement. He knows what he’s supposed to say. I’ll talk to him. (He won’t. He’s tried; he gets tongue-tied.) He just needs some time to get used to it. (He knows very well how stupid Jasper will find that.) It’s not like he’s going to lie, either. Dad is going to put Circe on Jasper’s Christmas presents.

“Well,” Vee says, biting his lip, “I won’t.”

They drive the last half mile in silence.

When they stop, they can just barely see the lights of Dovermorry glittering over the ridge. Up here, up higher in the mountains, it’s dark-dark. Real dark, not city dark. Vee unlocks the car, takes his cane with him when he steps out, comes around to the passenger side and opens Jasper’s door. Not out of gentlemanliness so much as a fear that Jasper won’t move.

He does move - albeit with a hiss of, “God, it’s cold as shit out here.” Still, when Vee’s cane slips on a patch of ice under the snow, Jasper catches his arm with ease, unpanicked, unrushed, and Vee steadies himself and smiles at him and gets a quick-flashed smile in return.

They leave the car and walk up the road, footsteps crunching crisply in the fresh snow, until they round the bend and the hills block out the last bit of city-light. Jasper’s a step behind, blowing on his hands, and Vee catches the moment when his face changes - when he looks up and sees the sky bursting with stars above them.

If there’s one advantage to living in the mountains, to standing above the rest of the world, a city closed off with its nose turned up - it’s this. The clear sky, dark and rich as paint, pinpricked with white light. The thousands on thousands on thousands of stars, like sugar spilled across dark cloth.

Up here above the city it’s like there’s nothing else. It’s like the heavens could swallow the world.

Vee stays silent as long as he can. Then, finally: “It’s crazy, right?”

“Yeah,” Jasper breathes, head tilted back, lips parted. “Oh my God.”

Vee could say more - about how he was just driving around, just trying to practice with the car, just trying to get out of the house for a little because when Dad isn’t there it’s far too large. How he found the place by accident. How he sat on the hood of the car until he lost track of time, sat back and stared at the swirling stars until his teeth chattered. How he doesn’t want to show anyone else except the two of them. How places get less lovely when everyone knows about them.

But he doesn’t need to. He thinks Jasper knows that already. Anyway, it’s enough standing here, surrounded by stars, glowing with them, reflecting them, watching Jasper stare up at the sky.

“Perseus, there,” he says after a few moments, pointing. Jasper side-steps closer, interlocks their arms. “And Aries. That line there.”

“Where?”

“Those ones.” Vee traces a line in the sky with one fingertip.

“How the hell is it a deer?”

Vee isn’t very good at judging when Jasper is joking. He ventures a sideways look. He doesn't think it’s a joke. “Come on.”

Mimicked back: “Come on.”

“It’s a ram.”

“Whatever,” Jasper says, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Sure as shit doesn’t look like a ram, either, Vee.”

“But people saw one,” Vee says, and he draws out the path with his finger, imagines connections sparking between each star. “To the point where - where we’re still seeing it. However many years after. You know?”

Jasper doesn’t say anything. But he sets his head, very lightly, on Vee’s shoulder.

They both have thick coats on; the touch doesn’t itch like it usually does. Besides, Vee’s so cold he doubts he’d feel it anyway, layers or not. So he steps a little closer, so Jasper can lean on him, and they tip their heads back and gaze up at the sky and Vee feels like he could drink the whole night, like they’re both glittering with constellations.

They stand there for five, ten, fifteen minutes - Vee doesn’t know. Just until he can’t take it anymore, until he says through chattering teeth, “You wanna go back and turn the car heater on?” and Jasper says, “Oh, my God, yes.”

He doesn’t run ahead, though. He keeps their arms linked - Jasper on one side, Vee’s cane on the other - and they scramble back as fast as Vee can, and then they turn the car on and sit in it parked and hold their hands over the heater and shiver and laugh.

#max.txt #darkling tag #vee greenwood #jasper greenwood #griffin greenwood #now this excerpt does not make me feel like the crying cat image. but you know what does.#editing this & then going directly to writing the next chapter of act six :(#max actually writes

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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I was talking to Sarah yesterday and I had a revelation I think is worth sharing.

Let’s begin at the beginning. About a month ago, Instapundit posted this.

Now, I’ve been thinking of the rise and fall of civilizations lately. I can’t think why it’s been on my mind. It’s a tale as old as time—a civilization emerges, establishes a new worthwhile order, the good things brought forth by said order soften up the people maintaining it, the softening turns to decadence, and the decadence gives way to the barbarians, who clean the slate. Where would you say things are lately?

…

In short—the federal government of the United States of America has become impotent at almost all good things.

Expanded out—There is no start to its talents. It cannot maintain its borders. Since the “election” it doesn’t even try. No surprise there. It cannot maintain friendly relationships with allies—as our recent screwing of Britain on our way out of Afghanistan shows. The “leader” of the “free world” could not be bothered to pick up the phone for our closest ally. Speaking of Afghanistan, it can’t win a war. It can’t even lose gracefully. In fact it fucked up leaving so badly some people are entertaining that it intended to fuck it up, because how the fuck does somebody above the age of six not notice that pulling the military out first and the civilians out second is not even a remotely workable strategy? Resulting in leaving millions of dollars of equipment—and—excuse me, what? Millions of dollars of dollars in the desert? Fantastic.

It makes self sabotaging and idiotic choices to stymie its own domestic oil industry, while accepting a pipeline not from Canada, but one that’s a joint Russian-German venture instead. Which means the problem, contrary to any environmentalist whining, isn’t the pipeline—it’s the pipeline with a friendly country. Big surprise— its only true interest in the environment lies in international agreements that hamstring us while doing nothing to China, the world’s largest polluter. It either can’t be trusted on energy production and the environment, or is trying to get it wrong.

It can’t manage its economy. What could have been a “V” shaped recovery has been turned into an “L” shaped one. What could be contributing? Paying people to do nothing? Rampant inflation? Meanwhile all the dumbasses running the country can think of is spending several billion more dollars that don’t exist. The country has infrastructure problems for a fact, but they’ll only acknowledge that to the extent of cynically plastering the word on an “infrastructure” bill which is in fact just a far Left wishlist that largely ignores actual infrastructure, in the hopes people will be dumb enough to support it because it has the right label.

And on.

What aptitudes does it have besides taking money, trampling civil liberties, and ignoring constitutional laws at gunpoint? News flash, dummies: We don’t need peaceful protestors incarcerated without a trial. We don’t need the weight of the federal government turned to the problem of violating states rights because Texas passed a law Biden doesn’t like. We need military egresses that look like they weren’t planned by Bozo the clown and an economic plan better than something China would design for us as an attempt to permanently sink the country. Is there anyone at all in DC who can provide that? If not, is there anything useful they can do? I’ll wait.

…

This is what decadence looks like. When the government stops even attempting competence because nothing and nobody that currently exists can replace or displace them so who cares about results? When comfort and plenty have become so common, been taken for granted for so long, that the question of utility or even basic sanity isn’t even distantly considered. When it’s assumed that self-harming policies that will obviously damage the country won’t really matter because nobody has ever known a world without America and fundamentally has no idea how the present day came to be. When the country’s most educated start chasing bizarre and unimaginably stupid ideas on economics that boil down to “inflation won’t happen if you double the monetary supply by printing money, if only you just believe hard enough”. In fact, when education stops being a means to greater insight, more useful abilities, and a better life, and becomes a cult devoted to the kind of idiocy that can survive only with strenuous censorship, the tenets of the cult being treated by the indoctrinated as a collection of sacred mysteries and deeply-thought paradoxes— while to those not similarly trained it is self-obviously a collection of contradictory and self-serving lies.

Verily, decadence is here. We can infer that what comes next is the barbarians. And we have options. Mexican illegals? A heady mixture of poverty-stricken Marxists who have never known a system that wasn’t corrupt, functionally lawless, and devoted to the tenets of voting oneself rich; and outright criminals with lives like “a demon’s resumé”? Perhaps radical Muslims? By sheer numbers worldwide they’re the most likely option. The Taliban just got a huge infusion of cash and a big boost in morale. In a few short days we’ll know whether they’ve arranged a thank you gift for Zho Bi-Xen and his kleptocrat marching band to commemorate his intended pull-out date. But even if, and God I hope, they have not, we can expect an uptick in terrorism and quite shortly. Or perhaps China? The Middle Kingdom would laugh at being called barbarians, but I call genocidal communists like I see them. Mao was morally three steps below a pig and Xi has enough power to aspire to greater depths. As is I wouldn’t dream of feeding a pig Mu Shu Xi due to the great risk of poisoning the pig.

But there is a barbarian group not considered. Us.

Hang on. Before you balk, listen. Look again at what these idiots are selling as the fruits of civilization. Defenses of pedophilia and urinals as art. And more, too—sterilization and disfigurement of teenagers in the form of sex changes. Black supremacy as a panacea to made up threats of white supremacy. Books nobody reads, movies nobody watches, paintings that exist only to launder money—even the ones not made by Hunter Biden.

What good person would not be proud to be considered a barbarian by these miserable, over-decorated Faberge people? I’d be mortified if they agreed with me! So they think I’m a sexist or a racist or whatever. Fine. They do not use these words to mean the same things I mean, so it’s a pointless argument, and they are now officially beneath my explaining myself to them. When the people who are calling me names are so morally opaque that the Taliban can make devastating critiques of them just by referencing the foundational works of their own gender studies programs, I’m done caring about the names. Fine. I’m what you think is a racist. I’m what you think is a sexist. But you think a lot of very stupid things, and as the curtain continues to draw back on the carnival of madness that’s been behind the scenes the entire time it’s occurring to me that what you think and reality overlap so seldom that the only time not to ignore you is when I can ridicule you. If that is your civilization, someone hand me a pointy horned helmet.

…

Yes, this is a moment of peril, but also opportunity. See in your country what every hostile group listed above sees in it—the makings of great civilization, along other, less stupid lines. All of it guarded by weak, fat, stupid people with no will and no self-belief. Take that mindset and go forth.

Get involved in your local systems. There is an old prayer for God to make ones enemies ridiculous. Congratulations to whomever was still praying it. Your prayers have been answered. Will you tell me that you cannot defeat these people? People who lose casual debates to terrorists not on principle but on basic facts?

…

You can’t reason with them so don’t bother. Recent events have made it clear you may as well try to talk sense into a three-day-old mackerel. Just confront them with their own stupidity so that people who see the inevitable video understand what this is about, and don’t feel that you are too good to shout them out of the room. You’re the barbarian, remember? Not like the nice civilized people with their gender-queer Tik-Tokers pushing vaccine propaganda. That means you’re excused from conversations with morons. Don’t bother trying to find common ground. Look at where they’re standing! Do you want to try to find the midpoint between that and reality? Silly. Pointless. Send them back to their walled online gardens to whine to their equally stupid friends about the barbarians.

Can we take it back from the ground up? I don’t know. But hey, it’s got to be worth a shot. Join the fun! Find some friends and locate a low-hanging political event to raid. When was the last time you went to a town hall for your town? Isn’t just a part of you curious to know whether your local county commissioner starts by declaring her pronouns? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see someone like that made very uncomfortable? You can make that happen. You can probably do it within the next month. Bring a few friends! Or a few dozen. Some of the people reading this probably were afraid to do that kind of thing for fear of losing their job. The Biden economy might have freed up some of your time. What have you got to lose now? More importantly, the way things are going, are you going to lose it anyway if things continue as they are? Think on it.

#thomas kendall #sarah a hoyt

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voidwaren · 3 years

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so it’s been an entirely unintentional five months since I last updated my Sterek fic, Oak and Mistletoe, but the starting scene for chapter six has been finished since I published chapter five and I figured I should at least put that bit up even if the following scene is being a monster to finish. (she real thicc and she’s only getting thiccer, because I don’t know how to shut up and let a scene end.)

anyway, if anyone happens to pop by here looking for what tf happened to that WIP, here’s the first scene of Oak and Mistletoe, chapter six, just for you:

He showed up three days later, arrogant as always, disdain for everyone in the general vicinity written all across his features, and completely alone.

London had done nothing for Jackson’s shitty attitude towards anything either not earning his approval or not worshipping the ground he walked on, and Stiles had found this out the hard way by barging into the loft on the day they were all scheduled to meet and figure out what the hell was going to happen, only to find Jackson borderline posing in front of the giant windows and left utterly to his own devices, which spelled nothing but trouble for Stiles and his big mouth.

“You’re still alive?” was Jackson’s chosen greeting upon noticing Stiles as he stumbled over the threshold of the door and into the room, spoken in such a way that the fact Stiles was still kicking was clearly something he considered to be a great dismay to his own livelihood. Apparently, Deaton had been very minimalistic with his reasoning to get Jackson back in America if he didn’t know Stiles was even alive anymore.

Or Jackson just being a dick. Which, honestly, would be very on-brand for Jackson anyway. He didn’t trek all the way back to America because he missed them, that much was certain.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Stiles countered drily, dusting himself off like he could brush away the fumble.

“It’s what you’re best at,” Jackson returned, sighing halfway through the sentence, with the most blithe tone Stiles was pretty sure he’d ever heard Jackson use. He turned his head slightly, like he was dismissing Stiles’ presence altogether, and it took a beat for Stiles to realize it was actually because Derek was coming down the stairs, and Jackson had heard him far before Stiles had and just hadn’t said anything. Stupid werewolves.

His back straightened slightly as soon as Derek was fully in the room, like, despite the fact Derek was not his alpha, Derek’s presence demanded the minute attention. Maybe it had something to do with their former relationship. Stiles didn’t care enough about Jackson to wonder much beyond that, though, so he didn’t.

Instead, he lifted a finger and, with the utmost of maturity, pointed accusingly at Jackson. “Douchebag McGee over here doesn’t know why we called him home. Also,” he tacked on quickly, flipping the pointer finger into a middle one without changing the subject of who he was directing the gesture at, “he wants me dead.”

Derek, only just barely having made it over to them by the time Stiles had stopped talking, crossed his arms and turned to Jackson. Before he could say anything, though, Jackson said, “I’m here because you went and got cursed, Stilinski.”

Stiles threw his arms wide in a “what the fuck” gesture. “What? Then why were you acting surprised that I’m alive?”

“Surprised?” Jackson scoffed. “That was disappointment and you know it. I had just hoped it had killed you before I got here.”

The noise of offense Stiles made in return would have done a valley girl proud. In the very least, it made Derek give him one of those half-alarmed looks that he outright ignored as he said, “Is that why it took you so damn long to call us back?”

“No,” Jackson corrected, rolling his eyes. “I had to locate the person you were looking for before I flew over. And, do you have any idea how long flights are from Britain to America? California, America?”

Stiles stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. Derek, who had been turning his attention back and forth between the two of them as they talked, continued to watch in silence.

“Wait,” Stiles said after he’d had a moment to process that. “Wait, wait, wait. You already knew who we were looking for?”

Jackson gave Derek a look. “Did you knock his head against a wall one too many times?” he asked, outright Stiles from the conversation. “I don’t remember him being this stupid.”

“No,” Derek offered. “That’s just his age catching up with him.”

“Then where is she, Jackson?” Stiles cut in through gritted teeth, one arm flying up between them like it could do anything to stop them from talking to one another like he wasn’t there.

Jackson sighed. “Do you really think she’d get here faster than me? I know you’ve seen a map before. Guess which country is closest to America in Europe. Go on,” he urged sarcastically, waving his hand in a pseudo-encouraging gesture, “guess.”

Stiles opened his mouth to tell Jackson just where exactly he’d be shoving that hand if Jackson didn’t stop taunting him, only to be thwarted by the loud arrival of Scott, Isaac, and Erica as they burst into the room, arguing profusely about something Stiles couldn’t discern as they overlapped each other without allowing any one sentence to be finished.

“Oh, good,” Jackson said with no small amount of sarcasm as Boyd quietly strode into the room a beat later, smirking at the cacophony the others were making, “everyone’s still alive, then?”

“Nice to see someone’s still a pompous asshat,” Erica greeted, halfway through whatever she’d been saying to Isaac and Scott, leaving both of them visibly blindsided.

Isaac opened his mouth to say something, but was overlapped by Scott when he looked around and said, “Wait. Where is everyone else?”

“Who are we missing?” a voice said from the door, and in strolled Lydia with Allison by her side. Allison raised her hand in a silent greeting, smiling at what was probably only Scott. “Hello, Jackson,” Lydia continued stiffly as her eyes locked onto him and her expression immediately flatlined into the same person she used to be before Allison arrived and cracked her shell.

“Lydia, Allison,” Jackson returned, clipped, but with an underlying vein of something Stiles most definitely wished he couldn’t detect. Unresolved feelings? Hell no. Stiles would sit that one out, thanks. Jackson pursed his lips for a moment as everyone in the room exchanged looks, counting out who might still be left before they got started retconning Jackson’s arrival and involvement, and then turned to Derek and said, “Where’s that creepy uncle of yours?”

“Definitely didn’t miss you,” the creepy uncle in question said as he plodded down the staircase like Jackson had summoned him. If Jackson had also heard him coming and was pretending he hadn’t, he didn’t look like it. If anything, he looked more than slightly put off that Peter was indeed accounted for. “Cora’s at work,” Peter continued as he joined the weird conglomeration they were creating in the main room of the loft, “so that should be everyone accounted for.”

“Who the hell is Cora?” Jackson asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said at the same time Scott said, “Derek’s little sister.”

“There are more of you alive?” Jackson said in legitimate surprise as Derek leveled Scott with a glare.

“Save it for later,” Derek ground out, clearly already aggravated by all the people in the room. “We have a matter at hand here, and Cora’s not necessary at the moment. We have to lay out the game plan while we have the time to and discuss what information Jackson got for us.”

“Wait,” Scott cut in, just as Jackson was opening his mouth. He shut it again with a click even Stiles heard, but Scott paid him no mind as he continued, “Where’s Deaton? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He’s waiting for Morgan to show up, isn’t he?” Isaac said, but he sounded unsure of the fact.

“He is,” Derek confirmed, nodding his head at Isaac. Isaac nodded his head back, then made a face like he was just realizing that was a stupid move. Stiles did him the favor of not offering scathing commentary, just that once, and only because he was in the process of opening his mouth for another sentence.

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know,” was the start of said sentence, spoken in a way that he hoped clearly articulated how he thought the fact they weren’t with Deaton was extremely useless, since they’d just have to rehash everything for the man who was basically in charge of them all, “wait for him? I thought we were meeting to discuss Morgan with Jackson.”

“We are,” Derek said, again in confirmation, because, apparently, that’s all he was good for right now. And then, as if sensing Stiles’ internal snark, he continued, “We don’t need Deaton for that.”

“We might need Deaton for that,” corrected Peter, and Derek just gave him a look. “What? The spaz has a point. Deaton’s taking the mantle of liaison from our lizard boy, he should probably be here if we’re talking about the very thing he’s going to be liaison of.”

Stiles fought a grimace. He never much enjoyed being on the same side as Peter, especially when it was the side with less support overall. He didn’t miss the way Jackson threw Peter a very pointed glare, clearly not happy with the nickname he’d been bestowed, though the fact Scott was standing between them dampened the effect just a little. Scott didn’t seem to be aware of his intrusion, and Peter ignored Jackson all the same.

“Jackson can relay his information to Deaton later,” Derek said.

Peter made a noise of annoyance and flung a hand in Jackson’s direction. “I’m sorry, we’re trusting that guy to handle something that could possibly wipe us off the map with one wrong move?”

“That guy?” Jackson repeated, affronted. He reached out and grabbed Scott’s shoulder, wrenching him out of the way, and Scott spluttered something incoherent as he stumbled into Isaac and nearly wiped out. “I don’t know if you noticed, old man, but I’m risking my skin just as much as you are. I’m the one who found her in the first place, and, let me tell you” —he barked a harsh laugh, and the sound was so very Jackson that Stiles almost had a moment of nostalgia before realizing just who exactly was inciting it— “that was neither fun nor easy, and I absolutely would not have done it if it was your ass on the line.”

“Charming,” Peter spat.

“You’re doing it because it’s my ass on the line?” Stiles asked, a little wistfully, as the meaning of Jackson’s ire hit him. “Aw, Jackson,” he cooed, just as Jackson’s expression darkened, “I didn’t know you cared!”

“I don’t,” Jackson hissed.

“Evidence points to otherwise,” Stiles said, one finger up and dangerously close to Jackson’s chest, like Jackson hadn’t literally greeted him with disappointment over the fact he was still alive and kicking not twenty minutes before.

Jackson just looked at him, his lips parted slightly like he was gearing up to say something and just wasn’t sure exactly what it was he wanted to say yet, but then turned to Lydia and said, “He really has gotten stupider. How is that possible?”

“Don’t bring me into this,” said Lydia, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Maybe we should wait for Deaton,” Boyd chimed in, apparently deciding he no longer wanted to simply watch the garbage fire raging right in front of him. Very unusual for Boyd, actually, and Stiles wondered if that wasn’t a decent indicator of just how bad the quality of conversation was getting. “I don’t think this is getting anywhere fast.”

Derek shook his head, his arms now crossed tight along his chest like they did when he was getting frustrated. “We would have to wait for Morgan to arrive. He’s the one meeting her first to make sure she checks out.”

“Wait, she’s not even here yet?” Isaac asked loudly, peering around Scott, who was still pretty much being held up by him, to look at Jackson in confusion. “I thought she was coming with you. Didn’t you both come over from Europe?”

Jackson threw his hands up in exasperation. “Does no one understand how air travel works?”

Allison made a face, tilting her head in that way she did when something odd was occurring to her. “Morgan le Fay, the great sorceress of legend, is flying in a plane to get here?”

That seemed to stump them all, because the whole room abruptly went quiet. Even Jackson, who had suggested the idea in the first place, seemed to suddenly realize how ridiculous that idea was.

“Well,” Isaac said, breaking the silence first, “how else would she get here?”

“Teleportation?” offered Scott.

“I don’t think that’s a real thing,” Derek countered.

“That has to be a real thing,” said Stiles immediately, shaking his head. “Maybe not across continents and oceans,” he amended quickly when Derek only gave him an exasperated look, “but too much weird shit has happened to us for there not to be some kind of teleportation in the world.”

Derek made a gesture with his head to indicate Stiles had a point, but it was overshadowed suddenly by the sharp alert of a cell phone. Derek fished it out of his pocket and tapped on the screen, already frowning. Peter took the chance to be, well, Peter.

“One wrong move, lizard boy,” started Peter the second Jackson was within his line of sight, his hand already held out in as accusing of a gesture as possible, “and I will not hesitate to off you and make up for all that lost time. I don’t care if you technically died the last time we saw you.”

“Peter,” Derek warned without looking up from his phone, but Peter held up a hand.

“We’re not negotiating this one, Derek,” he retorted. Then, before Derek could continue, Peter dropped the hand and turned his attention back onto Jackson. “How about you get us our magic lady as promised and then shut up until further notice?” Peter nodded his head once, not waiting for an answer. “Yes. I like that deal. End of discussion, I think.”

Jackson’s face took on an expression that explicitly conveyed an attitude of “not today, bitch” as he tilted his nose up, eyeing Peter scathingly, and said, like everything that had just came out of Peter’s mouth was nothing more than noise on the wind, “I don’t think so. I think I’m calling the shots here, and you know what I say?” In true Peter fashion, Jackson didn’t even wait a beat for anything resembling an attempt at an answer before he continued, “I say your existence is intruding on mine. I’m going to need you to fuck off.”

Surprisingly, Peter barked a laugh. “Oh, I’m using that one. Kid’s got good lines,” he said, apparently to Derek specifically, jabbing a thumb at Jackson. Behind him, Jackson narrowed his eyes dangerously at the back of Peter’s head.

“Alright,” Erica said cautiously, “let’s not poke the bear before we have a chance to get things straight with the sorceress who could easily obliterate us if we don’t get our act together, yeah? Something tells me she won’t appreciate playing counselor to us, and I’d like to live to see my college years.”

“He started it,” Jackson accused at the exact same time Peter did, before they each turned to glare at the other.

“Are we all going to die?” Isaac asked.

“Possibly,” Boyd replied, utterly nonchalant.

“Hey,” Stiles barked, throwing his hands out like he was breaking up a wrestling match. “I’m the one gagging up florals. I’m the one in immediate peril here, okay? Stop trying to encroach on my thunder here.”

“That’s not how the saying goes, Stiles,” Lydia muttered in exasperation.

“Florals?” Jackson repeated, the previous grievance with Peter suddenly pushed aside in favor of what was apparently new information. Jackson frowned at Stiles, clearly confused. “You’re cursed with flowers? What?”

“He’s throwing them up, actually,” Isaac offered helpfully. It didn’t make Jackson look any less confused, but it did give him the added benefit of also looking disgusted. Stiles, for once, couldn’t really blame him for that one.

“What kind of curse is that?” asked Jackson.

“A stupid one,” said Boyd.

“Clearly. Of all the things to be cursed with, you had to go for flowers, Stilinski?”

“You’re acting like I asked for it,” Stiles retaliated. “Do you really think I walked up to the witch and went, ‘Hey, ma’am, you know what I could really use right now? A good stabbing and a curse that makes me choke up flowers without any semblance of rhyme or reason to it, and I think you’re just the lady to do it to me.’ No, Jackson, I didn’t!”

Jackson turned his attention onto Lydia again. “Stabbing?”

Lydia nodded. “With a necklace.”

Closing his eyes like he was in pain, Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m suddenly remembering why I was thrilled to get away from Beacon Hills and all of you. A necklace?”

Instead of offering anything more by ways of verbal information, Stiles sighed, held up a hand to tell Jackson to wait, and dug the necklace out of his pocket. He’d been tasked with keeping an eye on it back when they’d realized nothing beyond the name was any help, and had unceremoniously shoved it in the pocket of his jeans without a second thought, meaning to look into the lore behind the flower of choice at a later date and never actually getting around to it. Honestly, it was pure luck he wore that same pair that day, because he’d kind of forgotten all about it up until he was already halfway to Derek’s place and realized, maybe, Morgan might want her necklace back. Jackson watched warily as the pendant unfurled from Stiles’ fist with a quiet tinkling rattle of metal chains snagging on metal petals.

Stiles held the pendant out at arms length in Jackson’s direction. It swung with the motion, reflecting back the dying light of the day behind them, and everyone seemed to take a half step back. Jackson tilted his head, looking almost, strangely, pleased at the sight of the flower-shaped bauble.

Weird.

“Are you checking yourself out in the reflection or something?” Stiles accused, making no effort to disguise his disgust at the idea.

Jackson scoffed. “You wish. That’d be the only time you’d ever have anything remotely appealing about you.”

Stiles took a step back, his mouth dropping open in shocked offense, and next to him Scott barked a half-restrained laugh that he clearly hadn’t meant to let out. Allison smacked him on the shoulder, but the damage was done. Stiles rounded on Scott, who only gave him a sheepish smile and a very guilty shrug.

In the background, Erica sighed dramatically. “One day I’ll have someone who looks at me like Jackson looks at himself.”

“Looks like you gotta step up that game, Boyd,” Isaac said as Jackson pivoted and leveled Erica with a glare that did absolutely nothing to wipe the smarmy smirk off her face. Beside her, Boyd just rolled his eyes.

“No one in the world looks at anyone else like Jackson looks at himself. You’re setting me up for failure.”

“You’re right,” Erica agreed, sounding distinctly disappointed. “There needs to be an ego of unparalleled proportions attached to something like that, and Jackson already lays claim to the title.” She crossed her arms and shook her head sadly. “Maybe in another life.”

Jackson cocked his head and scrutinized Erica in that ruthless way he had. “Try a little harder at being a bitch, would you?” he said silkily. “You’re not quite meeting my standards.”

“No one meets your standards, sweetie,” Lydia chimed in, pating Jackson on the back in such an obviously demeaning way that Jackson had no choice but to glower silently in her direction as she moved the conversation along.

With one deft movement, Lydia snagged the pendant out of Stiles’ hand and moved behind him. Stiles barely had time to react before he realized what she was doing, and then the deed was done.

“Lydia,” he croaked, hand flying up to the pendant that now sat snug just below the dip of his collarbones. It felt strangely hot, even through the layer of shirt between it and his skin. “Take me out to dinner first, jeez.”

“You shouldn’t be keeping something that important in your pocket,” was all she replied, making her way back to Allison’s side.

“This meeting is becoming increasingly pointless,” said Peter. He gave Derek a pointed look, his arms crossing across his chest in disdain. “Why do our meetings always end up pointless? Aren’t we here to talk tactics and not waste time giving out the information we’re only going to have to repeat once the witch is here? You’re wasting my precious time here, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Sorceress,” Lydia corrected, just as Derek’s phone started to ring. Shooting Peter a quick glance, Derek swiftly answered the call and made his way to the edges of the room, like everyone around him hadn’t immediately gone deathly silent at the sudden attempt at communication. They all watched him go, not a word spoken between them, Derek muttering something into the device that was too low for his ears but was likely easily picked up by all the werewolves in the general vicinity, judging by the way every single one of them suddenly had their head slightly cocked.

“I hate you guys,” Stiles hissed. “Just in case anyone managed to forget,” he continued when Scott gave him a confused look. It didn’t lessen the confusion, but it made Stiles feel marginally better.

“Who’s he talking to?” Allison whispered, lilting her head towards Scott.

Scott opened his mouth to likely give the answer she wanted, but Peter cut him off with a sharp growl of a tone as he said, “Why don’t you just ask him?”

Somehow, that seemed to get Derek’s attention, because he looked up sharply the moment the words left Peter’s mouth, the phone still pressed firmly to his ear, and he looked so much like his old self in that moment that Stiles almost did a double-take.

“What?” Stiles asked warily when no one else bothered to open their mouths and ask first.

“It’s Deaton,” said Derek solemnly, almost gravely, and Stiles felt his heart drop to his toes when Derek looked directly at him and said, “Morgan is here.”

“Great,” Peter spat, jerking his head in a viscous eye-roll that was nearly a full-bodied motion, and then he turned and strode from the room. For once, Stiles kind of wished he could do exactly the same.

#teen wolf #Sterek #the hanahaki wip #WIP Wednesday #work in progress wednesday #I'd link the fic but Tumblr goes feral on linked posts half of the time

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“Throughout the nineteenth century and into the twentieth, more girls than boys went to secondary school in an increasing ratio in all parts of the country. Girls represented 53 percent of all students in 1872 and 57 percent in 1900. They were especially overrepresented in public schools. Although private schools had equal percentages of male and female attendees, by 1900 about 60 percent of the students in public high schools were girls.

In the West girls attended high schools at an especially high rate in relation to the attendance of boys, whose labor was generally too valuable for families to forgo. Most students in secondary schools lived in the Northeast, however. The educational historian Joel Perlmann’s rich statistics from Providence, Rhode Island, allow us to consider the role of class and parentage in determining girls’ high school attendance.

In 1880 about 14 percent of all teenage girls were enrolled in high schools in Providence, compared with perhaps 2–3 percent nationally. Although high schools were supported by public funds, those who sent their children needed to be able to do without their labor. Native whites in Providence sent a third of their teenage daughters to high school and nearly a quarter of their sons. White-collar workers (whether immigrant or native) also sent a third of their teenage daughters and just over a quarter of their teenage sons to high school. (The elite were more likely to send their children to private schools.)

Where class and native-born parentage overlapped, as it often did, secondary school attendance was especially high. Yankee, white-collar parents sent the highest proportion of both daughters (46 percent) and sons (36 percent) to secondary school. Though a significant majority of teenage American girls could not afford to go to school, those who did represented a growing and influential segment of the youth population.

These carefully compiled statistics raise some important questions. Why did girls go to secondary school in higher numbers than boys? How might one explain a family’s decisions to allow a girl to remain in school while sending her brother out to work? Conventional wisdom cites the lower ‘‘opportunity costs’’ of educating girls. Girls’ work was sufficiently devalued in the urban labor market that families would consider forgoing the potential income for other desired ends.

One such end, as we have seen, was the goal of refinement, that eighteenth-and nineteenth-century project designed to demonstrate the genteel sensibilities of aristocracy as a means of securing middle-class respectability. The historian Richard Bushman has pointed out the numerous contradictions of this aristocratic aesthetic which coexisted both with a capitalist culture based on labor and a republican tradition that dignified it. He has also argued, however, that the strongest constraints on conduct in the name of gentility were levied on young women, who from the eighteenth century forward were expected to demonstrate reserve and grace to establish their family’s standing.

In the late eighteenth century, this quest for refinement fostered a gendered, ornamental female education. Eliza Southgate, attending school in Boston, responded to her brother’s compliments on her letter writing with thanks and her ‘‘hope I shall make a great progress in my other studies and be an ‘Accomplished Miss.’’’ What that might mean was fleshed out a bit by Rachel Mordecai’s report for her mother of her younger sister’s progress.

She noted that her young charge read well, knew several pages of French nouns, added and multiplied, knew first principles in geography, knew parts of speech and conjugated verbs in grammar, played a number of songs. Mordecai concluded: ‘‘She sews plain work tolerably well, and has marked the large and small alphabet on a sampler.’’ The seamless blending of parts of speech and piano, sums and sampler, characterized an era in female education in which accomplishments were equally academic and ornamental. An educated and accomplished miss was expected to call a certain attention to herself.

The common-school movement of the early nineteenth century educated boys and girls together, and with the republican and Jacksonian revolution in culture, commentators grew less comfortable with the ornament of aristocratic accomplishment. Instead they praised the restraint, reserve, and womanliness of well-educated girls. Refinement in lessons as in life might be measured less by conspicuous self-display and more by selflessness, by learning what not to do, and how not to be. Youth’s Companion expressed these lessons in an 1868 story of an exemplary schoolgirl:

‘‘She was quiet, almost to reserve, though her dimpling smiles were prettier than any language; but when she did speak, her words were well chosen, though few.’’ She had applied the same lesson to her music. Though she played the piano well, ‘‘Jenny made rare use of her accomplishment. She never bored anybody, as the best players do at times.’’ All in all, Jenny had grasped the true restraint which represented a gendered lesson well learned. Whatever it actually delivered (and I shall argue that it largely delivered something else), school seemed to be the best strategy for ensuring that at least one member of the family—the one whose wages could most easily be forgone—might embody the class aspirations of the rest.

To demonstrate class standing, increasingly, young women did not work for wages. The irony was that attending school equipped young women for work—especially for one of the few semirespectable jobs available to them. Accompanying the message that education was refining and improving was a parallel rationale that was often hidden: in the unstable economy of the nineteenth century, education provided an entrée to the job of schoolteaching, a tolerable means of wage-earning for young women in need.

With the expansion of school systems in the nineteenth century and the growth in the national economy opening more lucrative opportunities for men, low-paid women increasingly replaced men as the nation’s teachers. By 1870 about two-thirds of the nation’s teachers were women, a proportion that increased to nearly three-quarters in 1900. In the major cities of the Northeast, more than four-fifths of the teaching profession was female.

Undoubtedly, girls filled high schools in part because high schools prepared them for teaching jobs. Much has been made of the low wages paid female teachers, and that was certainly part of their appeal to cash-poor local school districts. Yet girls had fewer occupational options than boys, and schoolteaching paid better than those other options. As two economic historians put it, ‘‘Access to good jobs for men was acquired through on-the-job training, while access to the good jobs for women was acquired in schools.’’

A contemporary report on the public high school in Chicago in 1899 reported an especially skewed ratio of girls to boys because of this fact. Describing Chicago’s public high school as ‘‘almost entirely a professional one,’’ a reporter noted that 70 percent of the student body was female, with 60 percent of them seeking admission to normal school, the training ground for teachers.

The statistical correlation between girls’ attendance at high school and the feminization of teaching suggests a powerful economic undercurrent to girls’ high school attendance. Yet especially at midcentury, few parents, commentators, or girls themselves would confess to such vocational thinking. Teaching was to be either a temporary expedient or an insurance plan for daughters who would find their highest destiny within the domestic sphere.

Writing in the 1840s, Jason Whitman, in his Young Lady’s Aid to Usefulness and Happiness, had cautioned girls concerned about self-support against learning a trade, instead suggesting inculcation of ‘‘the whole round of ordinary, domestic, female duties and labors.’’ Such training would allow a girl to dismiss her father’s servants, or to take their place in someone else’s house. As a last resort only Whitman recommended paying attention in school, so that a girl could become qualified to teach.

A fictional heroine too suggested that in genteel circles, teaching was the dirty secret, rather than the noble end, of school attendance. In Anna White’s novel Kate Callender, subtitled School-Girls of ’54, the heroine’s impoverished parents consider teaching as an option for a daughter they can scarcely support. ‘‘But would she accept it? Ah! there was a doubt. He had heard her say more than once that she would pull weeds, rake and pitch hay, even; but she would not sink into the insignificance of a ‘schoolma’am.’’’

Writing in the South following the Civil War, one diarist expressed sympathy for a classmate confronting the need to make her own living. After describing her as ‘‘well educated,’’ ‘‘a strong, intellectual woman,’’ with ‘‘open candid eyes,’’ she acknowledged, ‘‘It is a pity anyone like her should have to teach, while a great many, worthless, stupid girls seem to be the favorites of fortune.’’ Few families seemed to want to admit to the increasing likelihood that their daughters would teach.

The ability to teach then was a subtext rather than the professed rationale for school attendance for many girls in the second half of the nineteenth century. Even historians looking back at the evidence have hedged their bets. Catherine Kelly notes the ‘‘haphazard approach’’ of families and daughters who ‘‘agreed on the value of an education’’ yet were ‘‘uncertain as to how the particulars of that education might be turned to the service of kin and community.’’

Kelly concludes that secondary education was ‘‘not a necessity, part of a rational plan to prepare their daughters for careers in teaching.’’ John Rury found no statistical evidence to argue that girls attended high school in order to teach, although that was often the outcome of their educations. Instead, girls’ school attendance was inspired by several complementary but not equally acknowledged motives.

Privileged parents might send their daughters to school to occupy and improve them during years they might otherwise be underoccupied, before anticipated marriage. (They might send their sons to high school, too—on their way to college.) Striving lower-middle- class parents might send their daughters to high schools with similar aspirations, while sending their sons directly onto the job. This difference in plans for sons would account for the greater numbers of girls in schools.

Both sets of parents would likely agree on the preferred outcome for their daughters: comfortable, refined homes with good providers. Both sets of parents, however, would welcome the insurance plan provided by schooling for girls. Being a ‘‘schoolma’am’’ was not a glamorous or an attractive option within the context of genteel Victorian culture. Aside, perhaps, from pseudonymous writing, there was no attractive vocation in those terms. Schoolteaching, however, was the better option among degraded alternatives, including domestic service and factory work, and that was good enough.

The reason that public secondary schools could seem a route to class mobility was that education had long been a critical marker of class. In the early republic, only daughters of men of wealth and standing could secure an education at young ladies’ seminaries, institutions opened following the Revolution as a means of securing ‘‘republican mothers’’ for a new citizenry. Beginning in the Northeast and spreading west and south in the nineteenth century, the common-school movement offered free primary education to all children. Often set in a rural one-room school with students ranging in age from six to twenty, the nineteenth-century common school attempted to fulfill the democratic promise of the republic by educating an intelligent citizenry.

At the secondary level, though, until the 1850s and thereafter students would need to pay, either at young ladies’ seminaries, Catholic convent schools, or at the privately funded ‘‘academies,’’ many of them coeducational, that were scattered throughout the Northeast. Catholic convent schools and young ladies’ Protestant seminaries both offered religious programs taught by staffs of mostly unmarried women.

That the two venues shared many fundamental principles emerges in the enthusiasm with which Protestant men of property, especially in the West, supported ‘‘the Sisters’’ in their project of supplying schools for their daughters. In fact, the efforts of Catharine Beecher, an early–nineteenth century advocate for female education, were in part competitive, as the Catholic orders began to build a significant network of secondary girls’ schools, numbering 202 in 1860. Some convent schools in the West educated more non-Catholics than Catholics and advertised their openness to Jews as well.

The founding of the public high school was an outgrowth of the same Jacksonian, democratic principles which promoted elementary, common schools. The first ‘‘free’’ high schools opened in the 1820s, and indeed Massachusetts directed its towns of more than five hundred families to build high schools in 1827. Many of the early high schools subsequently closed, though, and the public high school movement in Massachusetts languished until the 1850s. (One early high school, Boston’s Girls’ High School, apparently closed shortly after it opened in 1826 because it was besieged with applications from more than three times the number of girls that it could accept.) It was only in the 1880s, according to one historian, that public high schools nationwide educated more students than private secondary schools.

It would be easy, though, to overestimate the distinctions between these high schools and one class of precursors, the private academies that preceded and coexisted with high schools scattered through the Northeast. Academies often drew on a diverse rural population, including farmers’ sons and daughters, and were not primarily designed to prepare students for colleges or more advanced learning.

The tributes accorded rural academies mirror twentieth- century tributes to the urban high school as the source of encouragement and social mobility for hardworking and able youths of humble background. Often early so-called public high schools were not in fact free, and equally often, local townships bore some of the costs of supporting local academies.

One other way in which public high schools resembled academies was that they were sometimes coeducational and sometimes single sex. Given the gendered divisions within nineteenth-century society, it made sense that citizens who proposed public secondary schools for youth initially imagined separate academies for girls and boys. The city of Boston, which opened the first publicly funded secondary schools, reflected that predisposition in its separate girls’ and boys’ high schools. Based on that prototype, Boston and a number of other northeastern urban school systems retained separate boys’ and girls’ high schools well into the twentieth century. (New York City’s famous all-girls’ high school, Hunter College, still reflects that heritage.)

The fact was, though, that the economics of school funding militated against sexually segregated schools. As it was, it was a hard sell to persuade taxpayers to support another tier of schooling on top of the commitment to primary grades. School districts founding high schools in the latter half of the nineteenth century concluded that there were neither the money nor the students to maintain two separate secondary systems.

In debating the merits of coeducation, the nation’s magazines—and especially a new journal, Education—vigorously debated what was largely a fait accompli by the late century. By 1890 a national advisory board announced: ‘‘The question in its practical aspect, is settled. . . . The public mind is made up.’’ Five years later, 94 percent of American cities provided only coeducational public high schools.

The debates about the relative merits of same-sex and coeducational learning for girls have been reignited in recent years, though, so it is of interest to consider the nineteenth-century evidence. How did girls’ descriptions of coeducational academies and public high schools compare with all-female seminaries and private girls’ day schools in curriculum, culture, and expectations? And how did both compare with the home environment and its domestic culture? Given the heterogeneity of nineteenth-century schooling, it is difficult to make useful generalizations. It is clear, though, that for different reasons but with similar impact, girls’ schools and coeducational high schools challenged the dominance of domesticity in defining girls’ lives and their expectations.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Competitive Practices: Sentiment and Scholarship in Secondary Schools.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

#how young ladies became girls #victorian #education #gender #american #class #history #jane h. hunter

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calpalirwin · 4 years

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Papa’s Job

Summary: Mason gets introduced to Ashton’s line of work.

A/N: Smushed a few ideas together. Also this piece delves deeper into Mason’s special needs diagnosis/lack thereof. And while I’ve done a fair amount of research both over the years for various reasons, and while writing this, I am by no means an expert, and my research is no substitute for personal experience. So please, feel free to offer constructive and KIND feedback in ways I can better write Mason. Happy reading!

Word Count: ~2k

And away, and away we go!

It seemed to Vanessa like wherever she turned, Mason was underfoot. “Fuckin’ hell!” she swore as she turned and almost tripped over the little boy.

Mason’s bottom lip trembled as he clapped his hands over his ears at her outburst.

She sighed and crouched down in front of the almost three year old, keeping a careful hold on Bailey who had been particularly fussy since her first round of shots the day before. “Sweet boy, you’re too close. I have the baby, we have to be careful.”

“Baie,” he nodded, reaching for his sister.

“You wanna hold her?”

Another nod.

“Okay, sweet boy. Let’s go sit, and you can hold Bai.”

Mason sprinted to the living room, flinging himself onto the couch. He grabbed the boppy and put it on his lap. “Momma. Baie.”

“Yes, Mase.” Vanessa said a silent prayer that Bailey wouldn’t kick up a fuss about not being in her arms as she placed the two month old on the boppy.

Bailey twisted her mouth to start crying, but Mason was quick to place his hand by her, her little fingers grasping around his slightly bigger index finger. “Baie, Baie, Baie,” he sang softly to her as she settled down.

“Bailey, Bailey, Bailey,” Vanessa sang with him, sitting down next to her son.

Mason continued to sing nonsense sounds at his sister, who slowly drifted off to sleep. Once Vanessa was sure she could move Bailey from Mason and upstairs to her crib to continue sleeping, she reached for her daughter. Mason whined low in his throat, placing his hands gently over Bailey. “Momma,” he warned in a low whisper.

“I know. I’m gonna go put her in her bed, sweet boy,” she answered back, her voice just as low.

Mason’s whine got more pronounced.

Vanessa pressed a finger to her lips. “I know you love her and want to hold her. You’re a great big brother, Mase. But sissy went night-night. You can hold her when she wakes up, okay?”

He pouted, but moved his hands away so Vanessa could take the sleeping infant. But clearly he wasn’t too thrilled at his sister being taken away because as soon as Bailey was in Vanessa’s arms, he chucked the boppy to the floor. “Mason Nicholas!” Vanessa hissed through her teeth as the toddler took off.

She held back the sigh, focusing on getting Bailey into her crib without more fuss.

Mason, in his quest to hide so he could continue to pout in peace, ended up at the top of the staircase leading to the basement. “Hey, Mase,” Ashton smiled when the little boy came stumbling down. He gripped the cymbal of his drum set between his index finger and thumb to silence it, setting his drumsticks aside. “Where’s Momma and Bailey?”

Mason jutted out his lower lip and pointed up the stairs.

“Aw, did Momma put Bailey down for a nap?”

Mason nodded. “Baie, Papa,” he whimpered.

“Aw,” Ashton chuckled, patting his lap. “Wanna come sit with me?”

He wiped at his face, walking over to Ashton and crawling into his lap. “Baie, Papa,” he repeated in a hiccuped sob.

Ashton wrapped the boy into him. “I know you’re sad. But Bailey needs to sleep. When she’s awake you can hold her some more.”

“Momma,” Mason mumbled.

“Yeah, I’m sure Momma did tell you the same thing. But it’s okay. You can still be sad about it.”

Mason let out a shuddery breath of acceptance before pushing at Ashton’s chest. Ashton opened his arms, expecting the boy to climb down from his lap. But to his surprise, Mason reached forward to tap his hands against the various drums, liking the sounds he produced. “Papa!” he beamed.

Ashton lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yeah? You wanna play the drums with me?” Ashton grabbed the drumsticks. “Look, bud,” he said, striking at the drums.

Mason laughed with glee at the sound, clutching on to Ashton’s wrists.

“Here, you try,” Ashton said, handing Mason one of the drumsticks.

Mason looked at it in uncertainty and back at Ashton.

“Like this,” Ashton demonstrated again.

Mason copied what Ashton had done as best he could.

“There ya go! Just like that!” Ashton encouraged, shifting Mason so that the boy was on one his knees, freeing up his other leg to kick up a steady beat against the bass drum.

“Mason?!” Vanessa’s frantic voice called down the stairs. “Ash, is he down there with you?”

“Yeah, we’re down here, baby.”

She came flying down the staircase, halting at the bottom, eyes wild as they landed on Mason sitting happily on Ashton’s lap playing with the drum kit. “You scared the crap out of me!”

Ashton’s own eyes went wide. “Me? What did I do?”

“Not you, him!” She pointed a finger at Mason. “He got mad that I put Bailey down so he took off to hide. I thought he went to hide in his room. Fuckin’ damn near tore the house apart looking for him.”

“Whoa,” Ashton eased, standing up and adjusting Mason on his hip. “Take a minute. He’s been with me. He’s fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that… Here, I’ll take him back upstairs.”

Ashton waved her off as Mason squirmed in his hold to reach for the drums. “Nah, I got him, it’s fine. We’re having fun, aren’t we, bud?”

Mason smacked on the cymbal with his stick, giggling at the sound.

Vanessa’s heart melted. “Alright. But, you, mister Mason,” she said, wagging a finger at the boy. “We do not throw things when we are upset.”

“Uh-oh,” Ashton tsked, looking down at the boy in his arms. “Momma’s right, Mase. Throwing things isn’t nice. What do we say after we do something that’s not nice?”

“Momma!” Mason grinned, blowing Vanessa a sloppy toddler kiss.

She crossed over to her boys, kissing Mason’s cheek. “I forgive you, sweet boy. So what are you and Papa doing?”

“Teaching him how to play drums. He seems to really like it,” Ashton told her, sitting back down with Mason so they could go back to playing.

“Yeah, they say music’s really good for him.”

“Who’s they?”

“They. The doctors. The research. Something about the repetitive nature helping with his speech. I dunno, a lot of the scientific mumbo jumbo goes over my head.”

“Well, why don’t we get him in like a class, or something. They have those, right?”

“Yeah. And I’ve been meaning to. But every time I think to look into it, something else comes up. And without a formal diagnosis, it’s hard to find the right class for him.”

“He doesn’t have a formal diagnosis? What does that mean?”

“It means they, the doctors, just have a lot of really good guesses but not any real answers because he’s still so young. It’s currently a toss up between aphasia and autism.”

“Okay, I know what autism is more or less. But what the fuck is that other word?”

“Fancy talk for speech disorder.”

“That is so fuckin stupid… they can’t tell if he has a speech disorder? He’s damn near three years old and only says 4 fuckin words. I may not know a whole hell of a lot about child development or whatever the fuck, but pretty sure three olds are supposed to say a lot more than 4 bloody words.”

Vanessa stifled her laughter as Ashton vented his frustration. She wondered how many times you had raved the exact same thing to Finn, almost verbatim. “They can tell he has a speech disorder, love. They just can’t tell if it’s just it’s own thing, or if there’s more to it than that. Autism and speech disorders tend to overlap.”

“Yeah, and I bet you had to pay out your fuckin ears for all those doctor visits, and specialists, and shit. God, your healthcare here sucks.”

This time, she did laugh. “Yeah, but Finn and I both have pretty good insurance plans so it wasn’t too bad.”

“Yeah, and we can always just do this,” he told her, jerking his chin about the room. “Do our own music therapy here in the basement.”

“Now, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Man, I can’t wait to start touring again. I mean, I’m gonna miss you guys like fuckin’ crazy. But god, I can’t wait to show you guys around when we do our gig here. You’re gonna fuckin’ love it, baby.”

“It might just be me coming to see you, babe. I don’t know how Mase will handle all the noise, even with headphones.”

“Shit you’re right… well maybe you guys should come to a rehearsal then. Give the headphones a proper test.”

“A private concert all our own, huh? I think that sounds perfect.”

~~~

Mason gasped in excitement as they walked into the rehearsal space and he saw all the instruments. “Momma!”

“Yeah, I see, sweet boy. Are you excited to watch Papa and Uncles?”

“Momma,” he nodded.

“Go say hi to everybody, and then we’ll sit and listen, okay?”

Mason dashed off to press his forehead against Calum, Luke, and Michael who all murmured their own hellos to the boy while Ashton helped Vanessa get settled down with Bailey. “Ikey!” Mason screeched when he got to Michael, reaching up to touch the man’s fringe that poked out of his hat.

“Yes!” Michael whooped in victory. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” Michael said pointing at Calum, Luke, and then back at Calum with each “fuck you.”

Calum rolled his eyes while Luke pouted, “How is ‘Mikey’ easier to say than ‘Luke’? How does he like your hair better? I have curls!”

“Oh, just let him have the win, Luke,” Ashton said, straightening up to his feet. “You guys ready or what?”

After making sure Bailey and Mason had their ears protected, the men all situated themselves with their instruments and started playing.

Mason managed to sit quietly through about two and a half songs before he got up and went over to Ashton, resting his small hand against the man’s leg. Ashton nodded for them to keep going when Calum, Luke, and Michael turned to look at him in a silent question. Between beats, Ashton scooped Mason up into his lap and finished the song. “Whatcha think?” Ashton asked both everybody and nobody as he pushed sweaty locks of hair back away from his face.

“Transitions sounded better this time,” Michael commented.

“Sounded better than better. Sounded tour ready,” Luke corrected.

“Could do without audience participation,” Calum teased with a playful look at Mason on Ashton’s lap.

“Just because you missed a beat, doesn’t mean you have to be bitter, Cal,” Ashton teased back. “And speaking of audience participation. What’d ya think?”

With all four men watching her, Vanessa shrugged her shoulders. “I’m no music expert, but I’m with Luke and Mike. Sounded really good.”

Mason, displeased that the music had stopped, reached across Ashton’s lap to strike at the cymbal with his hands. “Here,” Ashton told him, handing Mason the drumsticks. “With these.”

Mason tried again, shrieking with excitement at the sounds he produced from hitting the different parts of the drum set. Much like how he had done in the basement a week ago, Ashton shifted so Mason was fully seated on one leg so he would work the bass drum with his free leg without jostling the boy too much in the process. “Atta boy, Mase!” Ashton praised.

Rehearsal was quickly disbanded in favor of giving Mason a turn at all the other instruments in the room, letting him choose his favorite. Mason sat with Michael the longest, happily swiping a guitar pick against the strings. “Well, now we know what to get him for his birthday,” Michael grinned, sticking his tongue out at Calum and Luke.

Calum grumbled that this was barely a win for Michael because all this proved was that Mason definitely liked guitars, making it a win for everyone except Ashton, while Luke pouted more about how unfair it was Mason liked Michael more than him because “We play the same bloody instruments! I have CURLS!”

Ashton laughed at his friends, letting Michael gloat in his little victories a little bit longer before getting Mason’s attention. “Mase? Drums?” He drummed a quick and small beat that had Mason launching himself off of Michael and across the room to Ashton’s lap.

“Ha!” Calum smirked, flipping off Michael. “Now who’s Mase’s favorite?”

“Bailey,” everyone answered without needing to think about it.

Tag List

@frontmanash @goeatsomelife @flameraine @creator-appreciator @cxddlyash @1-irwin-94 @sparkling-calm @tea4sykes @youngblood199456 @5-seconds-of-obsession @gosh-im-short @aquarius-hood1996 @talkfastromance4 @itjustkindahappenedreally @philthepegacorn @boomerash @teenwolfss24 @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @stormrider505 @cashtonisruiningmylife

#papa's job #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton&vanessa #ash&mase #mase&bai #papa!ash #uncle!sos #galcal irwin

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morwensteelsheen · 3 years

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I’m starting grad school this autumn and honestly I’m getting nervous. Like yes I am v excited about the whole prospect overall and I do miss being a student but am intimidated by 3 hr long seminars and thesis writing and massive amounts of reading… everyone keeps saying it’s gonna be very different from undergrad so okay, but how specifically? Is it the large amounts of reading? I already had insane amounts of reading (humanities degree hurrah) especially in my last two years but could you expound on your own experience and how you take notes/read quickly/summarize or just how to deal with first time grad students?

Oh, yeah for sure! A necessary disclaimer here is that I'm at a certain poncy English institution that is noted for being very bad at communicating with its students and very bad at treating its postgrad students like human beings, so a lot of these strategies I've picked up will be overkill for anyone who has the good sense to go somewhere not profoundly evil lol.

So I'll just preface this by saying that I am a very poor student in terms of doing what you're supposed to. I'm very bad at taking notes, I never learned how to do it properly, and I really, really struggle with reading dense literature. That said, I'm probably (hopefully?) going to get through this dumb degree just fine. Also — my programme is a research MPhil, not taught, so it's a teensy bit more airy-fairy in terms of structure. I had two classes in Michaelmas term, both were once a week for two hours each; two in Lent, one was two hours weekly, the other two hours biweekly; and no classes at all in Easter. I also have no exam component, I was/am assessed entirely on three essays (accounting for 30% of my overall mark) and my dissertation (the remaining 70%), which is, I think, a little different to how some other programmes are. I think even some of the other MPhils here are more strenuous than that, like Econ and Soc Hist is like 100% dissertation? Anyways, not super important, but knowing what you're getting marked on is important. I dedicated considerably less time than I did in undergrad to perfecting my coursework essays because they just don't hold as much weight now. The difference between a 68 and a 70 just wasn't worth the fuss for me, which helped keep me sane-ish.

The best advice anyone ever gave me was that, whereas an undergrad degree can kind of take over your life without it becoming a problem, you need to treat grad school like a job. That's not because it's more 'serious' or whatever, but because if you don't set a really strict schedule and keep to it, you'll burn yourself out and generally make your life miserable. Before I went back on my ADD meds at the end of Michaelmas term, I sat myself down at my desk and worked from 11sh to 1800ish every day. Now that I'm medicated, I do like 9:30-10ish to 1800-1900 (except for now that I'm crunching on my diss, where, because of my piss-poor time management skills I'm stuck doing, like, 9:30-22:30-23:00). If you do M-F 9-5, you'll be getting through an enormous amount of work and leaving yourself loads of time to still be a human being on the edges. That'll be the difference between becoming a postgrad zombie and a person who did postgrad. I am a postgrad zombie. You do not want to be like me.

The 'work' element of your days can really vary. It's not like I was actually consistently reading for all that time — my brain would have literally melted right out of my ears — but it was about setting the routine and the expectation of dedicating a certain, consistent and routinized period of time for focusing on the degree work every day. My attention span, even when I'm medicated, is garbage, so I would usually read for two or three hours, then either work on the more practical elements of essay planning, answer emails, or plot out the early stages of my research.

In the first term/semester/whatever, lots of people who are planning on going right into a PhD take the time to set up their applications and proposals. I fully intended on doing a PhD right after the MPhil, but the funding as an international student trying to deal with the pandemic proved super problematic, and I realised that the toll it was taking on my mental health was just so not worth it, so I've chosen to postpone a few years. You'll feel a big ol' amount of pressure to go into a PhD during your first time. Unless you're super committed to doing it, just try and tune it out as much as you can. There's absolutely nothing wrong with taking a year (or two, or three, or ten) out, especially given the insane conditions we're all operating under right now.

I'll be honest with you, I was a phenomenally lazy undergrad. It was only by the grace of god and being a hard-headed Marxist that I managed to pull out a first at the eleventh hour. So the difference between UG and PG has been quite stark for me. I've actually had to do the reading this year, not just because they're more specialised and relevant to my research or whatever, but because, unlike in UG, the people in the programme are here because they're genuinely interested (and not because it's an economic necessity) and they don't want to waste their time listening to people who haven't done the reading.

I am also a really bad reader. Maybe it's partially the ADD + dyslexia, but mostly it's because I just haven't practiced it and never put in the requisite effort to learn how to do it properly. My two big pointers here are learning how to skim, and learning how to prioritise your reading.

This OpenU primer on skimming is a bit condescending in its simplicity, but it gets the point across well. You're going to want to skim oh, say, 90% of the reading you're assigned. This is not me encouraging you to be lazy, it's me being honest. Not every word of every published article or book is worth reading. The vast majority of them aren't. That doesn't mean the things that those texts are arguing for aren't worth reading, it just means that every stupid rhetorical flourish included by bored academics hoping for job security and/or funding and/or awards isn't worth your precious and scarce time. Make sure you get the main thrust of each text, make sure you pull out and note down one or two case studies and move right the hell on. There will be some authors whose writing will be excellent, and who you will want to read all of. Everything else gets skimmed.

Prioritisation is the other big thing. You're going to have shitty weeks, you're probably going to have lots of them. First off, you're going to need to forgive yourself for those now — everybody has them, yes, even the people who graduated with distinctions and go on to get lovely £100,000 AHRC scholarships. Acknowledge that there will be horrible weeks, accept it now, and then strategise for how to get ahead of them. My personal strategy is to plan out what I'm trying to get out of each course I take, and then focus only on the readings that relate to that topic.

I took a course in Lent term that dealt with race and empire in Britain between 1607 and 1900; I'm a researcher of the Scottish far left from 1968-present, so the overlap wasn't significant. But I decided from the very first day of the course that I was there to get a better grasp about the racial theories of capitalism and the role of racial othering in Britain's subjugation of Ireland. Those things are helpful to me because white supremacist capitalism comes up hourly in my work on the far left, and because the relationship of the Scottish far left to Ireland is extremely important to its self definition. On weeks when I couldn't handle anything else, I just read the texts related to that. And it was fine, I did fine, I got my stupid 2:1 on the final essay, and I came out of it not too burnt out to work on my dissertation.

Here is where I encourage you to learn from my mistakes: get yourself a decent group of people who you can have in depth conversations about the material with. I was an asshole who decided I didn't need to do that with any posh C*mbr*dge twats, and I have now condemned myself to babbling incomprehensible nonsense at my partner because I don't have anyone on my course to work through my ideas with. These degrees are best experienced when they're experienced socially. In recent years (accelerated by the pandemic, ofc), universities have de-emphasised the social component of postgrad work, largely to do with stupid, long-winded stuff related to postgrad union organising etc. It's a real shame because postgrads end up feeling quite socially isolated, and because they're not having these fun and challenging conversations, their work actually suffers in the long term. This is, and I cannot stress this enough, the biggest departure from undergrad. Even the 'weak links' or whatever judgemental nonsense are there because they want to be. That is going to be your biggest asset. Talk, talk, talk. Listen, listen, listen. Offer to proofread people's papers so you get a sense of how people are thinking about things, what sort of style they're writing in, what sources they're referring to. Be a sponge and a copycat (but don't get done for plagiarism, copy like this.) Also: ask questions that seem dumb. For each of your classes, ask your tutors/lecturers who they think the most important names in their discipline are. It sounds silly, but it's really helpful to know the intellectual landscape you're dealing with, and it means you know whose work you can go running to if you get lost or tangled up during essay or dissertation writing!

You should also be really honest about everything — another piece of advice that I didn't follow and am now suffering for. The people on your courses and in your cohort are there for the same reasons as you, have more or less the same qualifications as you, and are probably going to have a lot of the same questions and insecurities as you. If you hear an unfamiliar term being used in a seminar, just speak up and ask about it, because there're going to be loads of other people wondering too. But you should also cultivate quite a transparent relationship with your supervisor. I was really cagey and guarded with mine because my hella imposter syndrome told me she was gonna throw my ass out of the programme if I admitted to my problems. Turns out no, she wouldn't, and that actually she's been a super good advocate for me. If you feel your motivation slipping or if you feel like you're facing challenges you could do with a little extra support on, go right to your supervisor. Not only is that what they're there to do, they've also done this exact experience before and are going to be way more sympathetic and aware of the realities of it than, say, the uni counselling service or whatever.

Yeah so I gotta circle back to the notes thing... I really do not take notes. It's my worst habit. Here's an example of the notes I took for my most recent meeting with my supervisor (revising a chapter draft).

No sane person would ever look at these and think this is a system worth replicating lol. But the reason they work for me is because I also record (with permission) absolutely everything. My mobile is like 90% audio recordings of meetings and seminars lol. So these notes aren't 'good' notes, but they're effective for recalling major points in the audio recording so I can listen to what was said when I need to.

Sorry none of this is remotely organised because it's like 2330 here and my brain is so soft and mushy. I'm literally just writing things as I remember them.

Right, so: theory is a big thing. Lots of people cheap out on this and it's to their own detriment. You say you're doing humanities, and tbh, most of the theory involved on the humanities side of the bridge is interdisciplinary anyways, so I'm just gonna give you some recommendations. The big thing is to read these things and try to apply them to what you're writing about. This sounds so fucking condescending but getting, like, one or two good theoretical frameworks in your papers will actually put you leaps and bounds beyond the students around you and really improve your research when the time comes. Also: don't read any of these recommendations without first watching, like an intro youtube video or listening to a podcast. The purists will tell you that's the wrong way to do it, but I am a lazy person and lazy people always find the efficient ways to do things, so I will tell the purists to go right to hell.

Check out these impenetrable motherfuckers (just one or two will take your work from great to excellent, so don't feel obliged to dig into them all):

Karl Marx and Fredrich Engels (I'm not just pushing my politics, but also, I totally am) — don't fucking read Capital unless you're committed to it. Oh my god don't put yourself through that unless you really have to. Try, like, the 18th Brumaire of Louis Napoleon for the fun quotes, and Engels on the family.

Frantz Fanon — Wretched of the Earth. Black Skin White Masks also good, slightly more impossible to read

Benedict Anderson — Imagined Communities. It's about nationalism, but you will be surprised at how applicable it is to... so many other topics

Judith Butler — she really sucks to read. I love her. But she sucks to read. If you do manage to read her though, your profs will love you because like 90% of the people who say they've read her are lying

Bourdieu — Distinction is good for a lot of things, but especially for introducing the idea of social and cultural capital. There's basically no humanities sub-discipline that can't run for miles on that alone.

Crenshaw — the genesis of intersectionality. But, like, actually read her, not the ingrates who came after her and defanged intersectionality into, like, rainbow bombs dropped over Gaza.

The other thing is that you should read for fun. My programme director was absolutely insistent that we all continue to read for pleasure while we did this degree, not just because it's good for destressing, but because keeping your cultural horizons open actually makes your writing better and more interesting. I literally read LOTR for the first time in, like February, and the difference in my writing and thinking from before and after is tangible, because not only did it give me something fun to think about when I was getting stressy, but it also opened up lots of fun avenues for thought that weren't there before. I read LOTR and wanted to find out more about English Catholics in WWI, and lo and behold something I read about it totally changed how I did my dissertation work. Or, like, a girl on my course who read the Odyssey over Christmas Break and then started asking loads of questions about the role of narrative creation in the archival material she was using. It was seriously such a good edict from our director.

Also, oh my god, if you do nothing else, please take this bit seriously: forgive yourself for the bad days. The pressure in postgrad is fucking unreal. Nobody, nobody is operating at 100% 100% of the time. If you aim for 60% for 80% of the time and only actually achieve 40% for 60% of the time, you will still be doing really fucking well. Don't beat yourself up unnecessarily. Don't make yourself feel bad because you're not churning out publishable material every single day. Some days you just need to lie on the couch, order takeout, and watch 12 hours of Jeopardy or whatever, and I promise you that that is a good and worthwhile thing to do. You don't learn and grow without rest, so forgive yourself for the moments and days of unplanned rest, and forgive yourself for when you don't score as highly as you want to, and forgive yourself when you say stupid things in class or don't do all of (or any of) the class reading.

Uhhhh I think I'm starting to lose the plot a bit now. Honestly, just ping me whatever questions you have and I'm happy to answer them. There's a chance I'll be slower to respond over the next few days because my dissertation is due in a week (holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) but I will definitely respond. And honestly, no question is too dumb lol. I wish I'd been able to ask someone about things like what citation management software is best or how to set up a desk for maximum efficiency or whatever, but I was a scaredy-cat about it and didn't. So yeah, ask away and I will totally answer.

#asks

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finnyboywolfhard · 4 years

Text

Song That The Morning Brings (Chapter Nineteen)

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

catch up here

summary: The group finds out new information about their problem and face a stepping stone in the right direction.

warnings: cursing, angst-ish, fluff, spoilers ig

word count: 3.8k

When she arrived home that night, all she wanted to do was put on some warmer, much drier clothes and to go right to bed. However, Dustin always found a way to change her plans.

“Y/N, we gotta talk.” He said coming into her room after they had both gotten changed. Sighing, she took a seat on her bed and placed herself underneath the covers. She patted a spot on the bed for Dustin and he took that as his cue to say what he wanted to say. “What the hell is happening between you and Steve?”

“What do you mean?!” She exasperatedly said.

“You guys have been different recently. It’s weird.”

“How are we different?” At this point, worry started to flood through her. What if Dustin somehow figured out how she was feeling or even what had happened between the two?

“I mean, you guys have always been close but it seems like you‘re closer. It’s almost like you’re taking your names of Mom and Dad literally. Plus, I saw you guys holding hands on the roof, even if it was for a second. Plus he gave you his sweatshirt after you guys stayed in the car together. So I want to know, what’s going on?”

“Dusty…” Y/N took a second to collect her thoughts. There was a few ways this could go: She could tell him everything; she could tell him some of the truth; or she could tell him nothing. “First off, I had this hoodie from October last year until like a month ago when I returned it to him, he just gave it back to me because I was cold. I hung back earlier in the car, because I’m scared Dustin, and I didn’t know who else to talk to but him, he is my best…he’s my best friend, remember?”

Dustin paused for a few seconds, obviously gathering his thoughts about what she had just said to him. It felt like there was a rubber band being pulled between the two of them threatening to snap.

“But you want to be more than best friends, don’t you?” Dustin said looking down at his hands. Y/N pulled her eyes away from her brother. She knew that he knew, but she couldn’t seem to let herself say yes to him.

“Would you be mad at me if I did?” She said, just barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know. Steve is my best friend and you’re my sister. I care about you both so much, but if something happened, I feel like I’d have to side with you.”

“Dusty, seriously? You know that I would never make you chose between the two of us if something happened.”

“So there’s my answer. You do want to be more than best friends.” He said, voice edging towards anger. The girls hands started to shake a bit as she reached her hand out towards her brother.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me for that. There’s a lot that has happened between me and Steve that you don’t know about. It’s not like he wants to be more than that either, so it’s okay Dusty. Please don’t be upset.” Wariness laced her voice, as her concern grew stemming from her brother’s silence.

“You have to be stupid to think he doesn’t feel the same way about you, and besides, I’m not upset, I’m just a little scared because I don’t want you guys to lose what makes your relationship so special. You both just care about each other so much, and you’re both so willing to dedicate your time to others. What if that changes if you guys get together?”

“I can pinky promise you it won’t.” She said, reaching her pinky out. Her brothers pinky wrapped around her own. She released her hand and pulled him into a hug. They stayed in that position so long that they eventually dozed off.

The alarm startled them both awake, way earlier than they would have liked to have been woken up. But they still scurried around their house preparing themselves for the day of planning and adventure ahead. The drive to the mall was filled with Dustin’s zany ideas for what they should try to do next, most of which she had shut down as soon as they left his mouth. The only one she agreed to was allowing him to stake out on the roof while they all continued to work back at Scoops, because even though the three ice cream shop employees wanted to focus on the Russians, they still had jobs to fulfill.

Steve was sitting in the back room on his ten minutes off scooping, watching Y/N organize some files and then start to organize some of the toppings so she could restock them in a bit.

“Hey Y/N/N?” He asked, only receiving a hum in response, “Are you feeling any better from last night?”

Memories of her and Dustin’s conversation from last night filled her brain. Although in the moment it stressed her out, she felt at least a bit more relieved to have at least one problem off her chest to her brother. However, the imminent doom of the Russians was still largely at play. She stopped shuffling around to look at Steve, and his eyes were already on her. For some reason, his gaze sent shivers down her spine. She snapped herself back into reality after realizing how silent she had become just staring back at him.

“Um, I guess a little bit. I’m obviously still scared but talking to you helped, and knowing that Dustin always has multiple ideas is also kind of relieving.”

“Your brother is crazy smart. I don’t understand how smart he is sometimes.”

“Hey give me some credit! I’m pretty smart too, I’m not Dustin smart, but the Henderson family isn’t a dumb one.”

“Of course you’re smart Y/N, but Dustin…Dustin’s a full on nerd. Some may even say Dork.”

“I appreciate a good nerd or dork in my life. Don’t say em like it’s a bad thing, and don’t sell yourself short there either Harrington. You’re a dork too.” She smiled at him, noticing his cheeks flush a dimmer hue of red. His breathing became erratic, and he suddenly seemed to have forgotten how to form sentences. “Are you embarrassed Stevie?”

“No…just confused…how am I a dork?”

“You’re pick up lines are so cheesy and dorky, and you also know a lot about the things you are passionate about. You are a dork for things that matter to you. It’s endearing.” The two kept chatting for a bit until Dustin burst through the doors of Scoops, explaining what he had seen, pulling Robin into the back as well.

“That keycard opens the door, but unfortunately, the Russian with this keycard also has a massive gun. Whatever’s in this room, whatever’s in those boxes, they really don’t want anyone finding it.”

“There’s got to be a way in.” Robin said.

“Well, you know…I can just take him out.” Steve said, leaning cockily against the table.

“Take who out?” Robin and Y/N said in unison.

“The Russian guard.” All three of the other members of the group started to give him confused and concerned looks before he decided to continue explaining his plan. “What? I sneak up behind him, I knock him out, and I take his keycard. It’s easy.”

“Did you not hear the part about the massive gun?” Dustin says, defining the idiocy in his statement.

“Yes, Dustin, I did. And that’s why I would be sneaking.” Y/N was trying desperately to hold back laughter as he continued trying to defend his plan.

“Well, please, tell me this and be honest, have you ever actually…won a fight?”

“Okay, that was one time-“

“Twice, don’t forget Jonathan after the whole Nancy the Slut Wheeler thing.” Y/N interrupted, pulling some angered thoughts from the recesses of her “King Steve” memories.

“Listen, that doesn’t count.”

“And why is that? He beat the shit out of you. You fared far worse that he did.” Y/N said once again.

“It was…” Steve tried to defend and explain how Jonathan didn’t count before Dustin interrupted him this time.

“You got a fat lip, crooked nose, swollen eye, a lot of blood…” Dustin and Steve’s argument started to overlap before Y/N noticed Robin say,

“That just might work.” She stood up from the table and ran out to the front counter. Her hand went into the tip jar to grab the money from it hastily.

“Robin, hey, what’re you doing?” Y/N said, trying to break Robin from her zone however it didn’t work.

“Hey! Robin! Hey! What-What are you doing?”

“I need cash.” She said not fully answering the question asked of her.

“Well, some of that is mine.” Steve said, earning a slap to the arm from Y/N. “Where are you going?”

“To find a way into that room, a safe way. And, in the meantime, sling ice cream, behave and don’t get beat up. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“God, I really hope she knows what she’s doing.” Y/N said before looking over to see her brother licking Steve’s engraved ice cream scoop.

“Oh, dude! Come on, man, not my scooper.” Steve spun the scooper around his hand a few times before tucking it securely into his side pocket. It was a sight to behold from Y/N’s up close perspective. Their dynamic was hysterical to her.

“Dusty, come back here with me. Stevie, could you please scoop for a bit? I’ll come help you after I finish refilling the toppings.”

“Of course, Y/N/N, I’ve got it.” He flashed a smile, leading her own lips to upturn into one as well.

For the entire time Robin was gone, the three went about their business quietly. Dustin had stolen paper to write out a set of different plans of how to get into the room. Steve stayed out in the store front and scooped ice cream to the oblivious citizens visiting the mall. All the while Y/N was trying to focus on her work, wanting to keep that and the Russians separate. The silence in the backroom was interrupted by Robin pulling Steve into the back room once again, cohesively bringing them together once more. They all shared glances before Robin interrupted the still air.

“It’s fascinating what twenty bucks will get you at the county recorder’s office. “ And with that, she pulled out a set of blue prints for what looked like the mall and set it down onto the table. “Starcourt Mall, the complete blueprints” She said as her hands went across the thin paper to smooth it out onto the surface.

“Not bad.” Dustin said, appreciating her accolades.

“So this is us, Scoops, and this is where we want to get.” Y/N couldn’t quite understand what she was seeing standing across from Robin, so she moved to stand behind Steve, eventually leaning over his chair and shoulder, bringing her face right next to his. She stayed still there for a bit, despite the battling feeling of tension by being in such a close proximity. However, she quickly snapped back up when he began talking.

“I mean, I don’t really see a way in.”

“There’s not if you’re talking exclusively about doors.” She lifted the first set of blueprints up to expose another set.

“The air ducts.” Y/N said, making eye contact with Robin for the first time since she came back. Robin’s smile gleamed when Y/N realized what she had meant.

“Turns out, this secret room needs air just like any old room.” She walked over to grab a marker from the board before continuing what she was saying. “And these air ducts lead all the way here.” As she was talking, she drew connecting circles from the air ducts at scoops to the vent in the room. All four members glanced up to the vent in the room, all knowing exactly what needed to happen now. Steve immediately found a screwdriver and flashlight so he could give access inside the vent, while Dustin explained that he could fit into it to follow them there. Steve climbed up a ladder and unscrewed the vent cover, passing it down to Y/N before asking for the flashlight. He looked in again, scanning the entire surface area in his vision.

“Yeah, I don’t know man. I don’t know if you can fit in here. It’s like…super tight.”

“I’ll fit. Trust me. No collarbones, remember?” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her little brothers off handed remark about his condition. Just as Dustin was about to climb up the ladder, Robin remarked at his comment.

“Excuse me?” Before Y/N could even answer Robin’s question, Steve answered first.

“Oh, uh, he’s, yeah, he’s got some disease. Chrydo- uh, It’s Chrydo-something. I dunno.”

“He has Cleidocranial Dysplacia, basically his bones and teeth had developmental problems. Good try though Stevie.”

“Yeah, I don’t really know. But he’s missing bones and stuff. He can bend like Gumbo.” He quipped up once again.

“You mean Gumby?” Robin asked, dumbfounded.

“I’m pretty sure it’s Gumbo.”

“Stevie-“Before Y/N could continue, Dustin’s voice echoed down from the vent.

“Steve, just shut up and push me!” Steve reluctantly agreed to help try to push Dustin further into the vent. Y/N went to stand next to Robin, hopelessly watching the two try and fail to push her brother into the vent.

“Not my feet dumbass, push my ass.” Dustin commanded Steve.

“What?”

“Touch my butt! I don’t care! Come on Harder! Push harder!”

“I’m pushing.”

“Oh my god this is a shit show. Robin, I’m so sorry you have to see this.” The two boys continued to bicker while the girls just sat back and observed, slowly losing their patience for the plight playing out in front of them. The bell obnoxiously started ringing from the front of the store, grabbing both Y/N and Robin’s attention from the boys.

“Ahoy Sailors! All hands on deck!” Erica’s bratty voice resounded to the back room. Both of the workers let out a sigh at the thought of serving her especially as she was continuously ringing the bell. Robin leaned over to Y/N and said, “She is small enough.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, although the idea was quite literally the most insane thing she heard all day, she didn’t quite hate it either. It could very well work to her advantage. The girls went out into the store front and asked Erica to come to the back room. The explanation took a little less time than they thought, but they knew it was going to take way longer to convince her to go in for them. They watched as she climbed up the ladder and peered into the duct. She came back down and turned to face the entire group.

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?” Y/N asked first, her brother following a second later.

“You don’t know if you can fit?”

“Oh, I can fit. I just don’t know if I want to.”

“Are you claustrophobic?” Robin inquired from the girl. Steve looked beside him towards Y/N, causing them to make a split second worth of eye contact, both clearly showing annoyance of this situation.

“I don’t have phobias.” Erica laughed off Robin’s question.

“Okay, well what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, I still haven’t heard what’s in this for Erica.” Condescension waded through her tone like ducks in a pond.

“Erica, really?” Y/N asked the brutal little girl.

“Yes really, you’re asking me to risk my life, and for what? You’re the only one getting advantages.”

“Erica, I will literally give you as much free ice cream as you want, Right Now, if you go out there and sit in the booth until we figure out what is in this for you.”

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re the only one who seems to care.” Y/N could hear Steve to start doing his breathy laugh, cluing her in to how angry he was becoming, so she reached her hand over and up, just slightly to place her hand on his arm, this got him to stop, just long enough for Erica to leave the room. Once the door was completely shut again, Y/N dropped her posture to a slouch and mumbled the words, “Fuck me.” To herself before addressing the group once more.

“I vote we just butter her up until she says yes. The worst thing that can happen is she says no and we have to give up.”

“We can’t just give up Y/N! We are the ones who solved this code; don’t you at least want to find out what it is? We could be heroes!” Her brother quickly defended the plan and its honor.

“Yes Dusty, I know we could be heroes, but there’s only so much we can do safely. We need her help, regardless of how rude she can be, so I think we just try to convince her.” The room went silent for a beat before a voice interrupted the silence.

“Y/N’s right.” Steve agreed with his best friend.

“I’ll go start scooping.” Robin said, showing her agreement. The three workers immediately left to go make all of the treats they could use to bribe Erica. They sat down in the booth and slid each and everyone towards her. As Steve slid the final banana split to her, she looked up into his eyes and uttered the demand for more fudge. It took her demanding twice and for a small plea from Y/N for him to actually stand up to go get the small girl more fudge. Within seconds of Steve leaving the table, Robin immediately picks up and starts explaining the plan to Erica.

“Alright, you see this? This is the route you’re gonna take. Then we just wait until the last delivery goes out tonight. Then you knock out the grate, jump down, open the door.”

“Then you find out what’s in the boxes.”

“Exactly!” Y/N agrees optimistically.

“Mm-hmm. And you say this guard is armed.”

“Yes, but he won’t be there.” Dustin says way softer than he was speaking to Y/N a few minutes prior.

“And booby traps?” Erica asks, causing Robin to repeat it questioning what she meant. “Lasers? Spikes in the wall? You know what this half baked plan of yours sounds like to me? Child Endangerment.” She made sure to pronounce it slowly and articulately.

“We’ll be in radio contact the whole time-“Robin said, trying to make it sound safer and more hashed out.

“Ah, ah, ah! Child Endangerment!”

“Erica? Hi…uh…We think these Russians want to do harm to our country. Great harm, don’t you love your country?”

“You can’t spell America without Erica.” She quipped back in response.

“That’s…actually true.” Y/N said dumbfounded before allowing her brother to continue his attempt to convince her.

“SO, don’t do this for us. Do it for your country. Do it for your fellow man. Do this for America…Erica.” He said, completing in a poetic nature. Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes at her brother’s attempt to be noble. Clearly, this also hit Erica in the same nature.

“Ooh! I just got the chills! Oh yeah, from this float, not your speech. Know what I love most about this country? Capitalism. Do you know what capitalism is?”

“Obviously we know what that is.” Y/N responded.

“It means this is a free market system, which means people get paid for their services depending on how valuable their contributions are. And it seems to me, my ability to fit into that little vent is very, very valuable to you all. So, you want my help? This USS Butterscotch better be the first of many, and I’m talking free ice cream FOR LIFE.” Y/N sat back while Robin just looked the girl up and down. Y/N looked at her little brother who was just starting at all the ice cream laid out in front of him. Her gaze fell back to the counter where Steve was helping some customers. She admired how even though he should have been included in this deal, he would want them to do whatever they could to help out as many people as they could.

“I can’t guarantee for life necessarily, but I can guarantee free ice cream the entire time I work here.” Y/N finally broke the tension filled surface of the table.

“And I can add on for the entire time I work here, which will probably be longer anyways.” Robin backed Y/N’s end of the deal.

“I said FOR LIFE.” Erica leaned back and crossed her arms. Y/N once again rolled her eyes and let out a sigh.

“Fine, how about this, we each tell one new employee that you get free ice cream whenever we get replaced and that it must be honored by everyone but our boss. That way, as long as employees are here, they know that you get free ice cream. Deal?” Erica pondered it for a second before finally agreeing to it. Y/N excused herself from the table while Robin and Dustin stayed with Erica to go over the plan more in depth. Y/N walked up to the front counter just as Steve was wrapping up with the line of customers.

“Hey Stevie, could I talk to you for a sec?”

“Uh, yeah, of course. Did she agree to do it?” He asked as they passed through the doorway into the back room.

“What?” She asked before realizing that she heard what he asked. “Yeah, she agreed, speaking of we have to give her free ice cream when she comes, for life, apparently. But that’s beside the point. I just…I really need to know if this is something you are truly okay with going through with. I know Dustin and Robin really want to do it, and I’ll do it if I have to, but I don’t want to drag you into Dustin’s mess, because I really care about you and I don’t want you, or really any of us getting hurt. I care about you so much Stevie and I am so scared that something bad is gonna be in those boxes. So basically what I’m asking is if you are sure that you want to-“

“Y/N/N?”

“What?”

“Come here.” He opened his arms, which she immediately was wrapped in once she laid her head upon his chest. “ Y/N Henderson, I am doing this if you are doing this. I will not let you go into something potentially dangerous alone. You’re the most important person in my life, okay? Don’t worry about me. I’m right here. I’m gonna be right here.” The girl stayed in his arms for a few seconds, taking in his warmth and his smell and his touch. She cherished moments like these, even though they made her feel so much more confused on where their relationship stood. But in those moments, they kinda felt okay. They felt natural, and peaceful. And that’s exactly what she needed.

taglist:

@mochminnie @voidnarnia @queen1054

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n

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