#it looks like less homework than i was given last week though. hopefully | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luxekook · 4 years

Text

chapter one.

⇥ pairing: jungkook x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, kissing, hickies, drinking, tatted jungkook, nipple piercings

Chapter One

Fall of Junior Year – 8:57am

I curse every single decision that has brought me to this very moment as I power-walk across campus, sweating under the already blistering sun. Campus in August could easily be compared to a swamp given the amount of unearthly humidity, and I'm pretty sure I currently qualified as the local swamp thing.

The only positive feature in my morning has been the table of free coffee and doughnuts staffed by Student Government. The first day of the fall semester always seems to be accompanied by frantically wide-eyed freshmen and celebratory freebies. However, air conditioning is the only thing I would be celebrating today as I finally reach Tyson Hall – the destination of my 9:00am class.

As I rush to my classroom with one minute to spare, I slump into a seat in the far corner – my preferred location for people-watching out of the large windows and for getting away with doing homework for other classes.

Familiar faces surround me, an unsurprising observation given that this is our mandatory research seminar as psychology majors. I notice my friend Jenni sitting in the opposite corner, eyes glued to her phone screen.

Opening my laptop, I shoot her a text to come sit with me. Her head whips up, black braids moving every which way as she immediately piles up her things and hustles over, “(y/n), I forgot you were in this seminar! I just switched over from quantitative research because I couldn’t take any more statistics – or Dr. Harding.”

Dr. Harding is the dean of the psychology department and has been teaching here for ages. Feared by most psychology students for his tough grading and intimidating persona, he’s actually a huge softie – something I discovered by going to his office hours and seeing all 85 pictures of his grandchildren hanging throughout the room.

“He’s not that bad, Jen.”

She scoffs, “You would say that because you got an A in statistics like some sort of wizard. Besides, Dr. Newman is so much nicer.”

Jenni has an excellent point. Dr. Newman is the main reason I chose this seminar. As one of the most respected researchers at our university, she’s known for her qualitative studies on gender across cultures. I consider Dr. Newman to be a real badass woman and I lowkey stan her.

I turn to reply, but Dr. Newman begins taking attendance and class begins.

Fifty minutes later, Jenni practically drags me out of the classroom, “I cannot believe she kept us the whole 50 minutes. Is she aware that it’s syllabus week? It’s practically law to just read over the syllabus and then dismiss class. This is outrageous– (y/n), are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I totally had tuned her out, focusing on the number of students flooding the quad. I had missed this – the rush of students heading to class, the yells of people greeting each other from entirely too far away, the buzz of excitement over potential parties…

“Unbelievable. How did I forget you have this whole weird-ass feminist crush on her?” Jenni forges forth, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing tonight? You’re going out with us, right? Luna and I want to go to Hannigan’s.”

Since the three of us had all turned 21 over the summer, we finally could legally go to the bars in town. Hannigan’s currently holds the top spot on the list of bars that most of the upperclassman frequent. It’s a popular Irish pub downtown known for its cheap beer and mixed drinks.

It’s also BTS’s unofficial hangout – a fact that makes me slightly uneasy. After learning who the higher-ups are in BTS, I have taken to avoiding them like the plague. It was a relatively easy thing to do since the spring semester tended to be less focused on rushing and recruiting for fraternities and sororities.

But now it’s rush season, and I’m pretty much fucked. There will be no avoiding seeing BTS’s president Kim Namjoon out recruiting with his vice president Min Yoongi and his social chair Jung Hoseok. There will also be no avoiding pledge master Taehyung leading around new BTS pledges like a mother duckling. And don’t even get me started on how Kim Seokjin, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook will be popping up everywhere to advertise the latest BTS bash.

Sighing, I figure that the chances of actually bumping into them at the bar will be slim, given that it will most likely be super crowded and I can easily blend in.

I turn to Jenni as we keep walking towards our next classes, “Yeah, I’ll go to Hannigan’s. Are you going to come over to get ready at our place?”

Luna and I had moved into a cute little off-campus apartment over the summer. As it turned out, it’s cheaper to live off-campus than on-campus if you look hard enough. We also had it pretty good location-wise being just a few short blocks from both campus and downtown.

“Yes!” Jenni replies, slowing to a stop out front of the science building, “I’ll be over around 8 with tequila. I’ll text you later. I’ve got to go to neuro-psych lab now,” she rolls her eyes, “Hopefully we won’t be kept the whole time.”

Waving, we part ways, and I shake my head.

Tequila never leads to anything good.

Hannigan’s – 10:54pm

Fate seems to be on my side for once in my life. As soon as Luna, Jenni and I walk into Hannigan’s, my eyes are drawn to the back table where the BTS usually sits. It’s empty.

It’s practically an unspoken rule that no one else can sit there, and even though the bar is packed with all other tables accounted for, that one remains vacant – and for good reason.

Greek life essentially has a cult following around here. The Greeks provide status for those who are into that whole exclusivity thing. They also provide the best parties because of the size of their houses and because the university will never complain about one of their best sources of revenue.

I didn’t to rush a sorority way back in freshman year because I couldn’t feasibly afford it. The dues were way out of my price range, considering I was already paying for my education on my own. Luna, on the other hand, is in Epsilon Xi Delta (EXID) and consistently makes me and Jenni tag along to different Greek parties with her.

"Come on, bitches! Let's get some drinks," Jenni drags me and Luna through the packed room towards the bar that is already encircled by a crowd of thirsty students.

Tonight’s plan is simple – stick together, have fun, scope out cute seniors. Having already taken some shots before we left (saving that coin), we’re definitely feeling ourselves, flaunting our outfits like we didn’t spend a good hour picking them out earlier.

I had settled on a black t-shirt dress with a checkered flannel tied around the waist and some black Doc Martens. Luna and Jenni had tried to convince me to wear heels with them, but I knew syllabus week was a marathon – not a sprint. My feet would thank me later, and theirs would be crying.

As the bartender slides us our beers, the opening beats of Cocky AF by our badass queen Megan Thee Stallion blast through the speakers dispersed throughout the bar. Turning immediately to each other, we clink our beers together, take a sip, and head to the makeshift dance floor.

We squeeze and push our way through the masses until we reach a spot towards the back where the crowd has thinned out a little more. Within seconds, we’re in motion, hips swaying in time to Megan saying ‘bitch, I look good and you know that’.

Shaking out my hair, I get in the zone and lose count of how many songs we dance to. Eventually, our beers empty and Luna turns to me, “Another?" She accompanies her shouted question with an unnecessary charade of shot-gunning a beer in case I couldn’t hear her. I roll my eyes, laughing while I nod in response.

“Save our spot!” Jenni yells and disappears into the crowd of dancers with Luna towards the bar.

I continue dancing on my own. Swaying my hips, I decide to put my hair up to try to cool off a little in the sweltering bar. The music shifts into a new song, this one slower, more seductive, a favorite of mine – Lost in the Fire featuring The Weeknd.

As Abel’s angelic voice flows over me, a pair of hands slide over my hips from behind me. I start to pull away, but then I notice – the hands are tattooed. And for some reason, that hot little fact makes me relax into the large body behind me.

Those tattooed hands tug me back even more, bringing me flush against him as he falls into time with my movements. God, this guy can dance – a rarity these days.

His body is all hard muscle and heated skin. His mouth is hot against my neck, alternating between kissing, sucking, and biting. My skin buzzes. Fuck, I haven’t felt this way since–

Turning my head slightly, I can make out the vague outline him and it confirms my sinking suspicion... He’s a BTS boy.

"Hey, noona," he murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing over it as he speaks.

Fuck my life, I think as I shiver involuntarily in response. Spinning to face one of Satan’s henchmen, I toss my ponytail over my shoulder and jut a hip out in both defiance and defense. But really nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Jeon fucking Jungkook, the golden boy of BTS.

He somehow looks like he’s gotten even bigger since the last I saw him playing pong against Taehyung at that party – information that I cannot even comprehend. His left arm is completely tattooed, along with a few smaller ones dotting his hands. I glare at them, blaming those hands for throwing me off.

“Like them?” Jungkook waves his fingers in front of my narrowed eyes, “I got them this summer.” Smirking lazily, Jungkook makes his own perusal of me – taking extra time along the way.

His jaw flexes as his eyes turn molten, “You’re killing me, noona. Tae didn’t mention…” He trails off, swallowing hard.

I follow his gaze. Oh fuck. I had forgotten I decided to forego a regular bra tonight because I wanted to show off my piercings. Just having a thin bralette under my dress, my pierced nipples are definitely noticeable under Jungkook’s heavy stare.

Refusing to give into him, I square my shoulders, “Yeah, I got them this summer, too. But, I don’t see how that’s either your or Taehyung’s business.”

At my words, Jungkook rips his eyes away from my tits to finally meet my own eyes again, “Oh, but it really is our business. Tae said we’d like you and I agree.”

His voice is low and rough, and I swear I can feel it washing over my body, making all of my synapses fire in response.

“We?” I choked out. In full panic mode, I spin and try to leave, but I barely make it a foot away before getting stopped by a now-familiar tattooed hand wrapped around my wrist.

Luckily, a crashing sound echoes from the back table where the other BTS boys must be, and Jungkook lets out a string of curses, “Fucking hell, listen I have to go make sure no one’s hurt, or Joon will kill me. Stay here, okay? I’m not done with you, (y/n).”

His hand rushes up to the nape of my neck, pulling me into him. Our lips fuse together in a brutally hot kiss, his tongue slipping against my bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

And then he’s gone – disappearing rapidly through the fray to manage whatever trouble his frat has gotten into.

I stand there, shaking fingers on my lips wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

“Hey, sorry we took so long! This bitch cut in front of us and I swear she ordered for the entire fucking population of North America—”

Luna smacks Jenni’s arm, cutting her off, “You okay, (y/n)?” Luna peers closer at me, “Holy shit, is that a hickey? We were only gone for 10 minutes!”

My hand flies to my neck as both Jenni and Luna grab me, dragging me to the slightly quieter back alley of the bar. As they conduct the second Spanish Inquisition, I spill the details on what happened.

After a moment of silence following my explanation, they both start talking at once:

→ Jenni: “Hell yes, girl, go off! Jeon Jungkook is fine as fuck…” → Luna: “(y/f/n) (y/m/n) (y/l/n), have you lost your damn mind…”

→ Jenni: “…I’d hit that in a heartbeat. I’m so proud!” → Luna: “…Do you not remember last semester? Are you high? Oh my GOD, did he drug you?!”

“Stop!” I slap a hand over each of their mouths, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you guys are impossible. I am not ‘hitting’ anything, and, no, he did not fucking drug me.”

Sighing, I continue, “It was a lapse in judgement, okay? I remember last semester more than anyone, but he’s just so powerful and I don’t seem to have any common sense around BTS.”

I take my hands away from their mouths and immediately Jenni asks, “Wait, what happened last semester?”

Luna slings an arm around my shoulder, “Come on, let’s go get pizza and a six-pack from Ralph’s. We can go out another night this week.”

“Take-out from Ralph’s?” Jenni’s eyes widen comically, “This must be major tea. Let’s go.”

Instinctively, we clink our beers together for the second time that night and chug the remainder of our bottles in true broke bitch fashion (never leave paid-for beer behind).

With that, we trek back through the door and out of the bar. We finish our night filling in Jenni with our less than savory experience with the infamous BTS fraternity last semester.

But, as I lay in bed for the night, I can’t help but wonder if Jungkook had looked for me that night after I left… Or if he told Taehyung...

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa

1K notes · View notes

pluto-art · 3 years

Text

Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind.

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

-------------

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

92 notes · View notes

siriuslyshewrote · 4 years

Note

Can I request Shelby sis running away with Bonnie and they travel the countryside, Bonnie provides for his family by boxing in fairs maybe, and the Shelbys arr going after them to try to bring her back, but she won't go?

Would you write for Shelby sis being their half sister and Linda insults her, saying she's not their real sister etc and the sister runs away (she's like Bonnie's age and she stays away for months cause she thinks no one wants her there anymore) and she meets bonnie and they talk about it and in meetings he starts making remarks towards Linda, till they ask him why and he tells them everything and they go with him to meet her?

I will be doing a part two!!! I’m aware this doesn’t cover all of the request, I wanted to do some backstory xx

Runaway - Shelby!Sister

You were the bastard Shelby child, and you had always known that, really, from the moment you came home sobbing on your first day of school, the dress Polly had spent hours making dirtied and slightly torn, proclaiming that the other children had called you a bastard. You didn’t know what it meant, not then, only knew that it made the other children laugh at you, trip you over, pull at your hair ribbons, until Finn - the same age as you - had jumped in, his tiny fists flying, his scuffed shoes kicking, his little red face furious. Polly had scooped you up, smoothing your hair that was so similar to hers, murmuring some small comforts to you, until you calmed down. She had explained to you that day, your heritage. You were informed, gently, with Ada trying to mop up Finn’s bloody nose, that whilst you shared a father with your older siblings and Finn, your mothers were different. You had sniffled, not understanding then, but the way Polly explained it, it didn’t sound so bad. You were half siblings with your family, she had said, and you had asked her tearily if she was just your half Aunt, not really understanding. She had laughed then, telling you of course not, and then given you some jammy bread, which had cheered you up significantly.

It was the day after your sixteenth birthday that you found out just who your mother was. You had never really wanted to know - she had given you up to Polly when you were barely six months old, so you had no interest in meeting her, you told your family. Secretly, deep down, you did wish that you knew who you got your eyes from, or if the woman - your mother - had the same loud lilting laugh as you.

You had stayed back from the family trip to the Garrison that night, mumbling something about some maths homework , sitting quietly in the betting room with Scudboat, scribbling on your page with a blunt pencil. You were half considering going to find Michael and ask for some pointers with your work - Maths was always your worst subject , when the door burst open. Scudboat reached for his gun, as you heard the familiar click of the gun loading, looking up to see the woman in front of you.

She was clad in a rather dirty shawl, her hair half messy, half tidy, her chin tilted up in what almost seemed defiance. It was the same expression you wore, a lot, and before she even spoke, you felt a feeling in your stomach, like an almost recognition.

Her eyes locked with yours, pupils wide, with anxiety or drugs, you couldn’t tell.

“Y/N?” She breathed, stepping towards you, her hands going to cradle your face. You were frozen, Scudboat looking over the scene as if completely unsure what to do.

“Who-who are you?”

She bit her lip. Her breath smelt of cigarettes, but it wasn’t comforting like it was with your siblings. It scared you, but you couldn’t move. You knew who she was. You could tell in the eyes, in the expression.

“I’m your mother! Don’t you recognise me?” She laughed awkwardly.

Tears started to fill your eyes.

“I- What do you want?”

Your sentence was fast, frantic, not wanting to remember this woman in front of you, the woman who sealed your fate as a bastard, the outsider of the Shelby’s, though they always insisted you weren’t, the half sister that didn’t really look like any of them, the very existence of whom had potentially pushed Elizabeth Shelby - their mother - over the edge.

“I wanted to see you ... you must be, what, seventeen now? You’re so beautiful - chip off the old block, eh?”

You didn’t bother correcting her on your age. You supposed she could have been beautiful, underneath the bad eyeliner, and premature wrinkles, and sad, empty eyes.

Scudboat cleared his throat.

“Miss, if you could just step away from Y/N, here. You’re making her uncomfortable, see?”

She didn’t move.

“Why did you come ...” You trailed off. Your lungs were starting to feel suspiciously right again, as if you were about to go into one of your episodes, where it was hard to breathe, to know where you were, to even stand up.

“I’m your mother-“ She started again, an almost angry look on her face.

“You left me.” Your voice cracked. “To be a bastard. You left me.”

“Now, look here, I had no choice-“

“Get off me.” Your voice broke, tears starting to stream down your face. “Get off me! Get off me!” You pushed her hands away, moving as fast as possible away from her, your maths homework fluttering to the floor as you darted towards the kitchen.

You bumped into a warm chest, looked up to see the familiar face of Finn, and sobbed, wrapping your arms around him tightly, your knees threatening to buckle. Your mother had not been a pleasant surprise. All she had done was remind you even further of what you had come from. To hate yourself even more.

The Shelby’s noticed a difference in you after that, those next two years. You started to take after John and Arthur in your quick temper, paired with your frequent mood swings and teariness. You spoke less at family dinners and meetings, almost always choosing to sit on the seat furthest towards the door, as if waiting for a quick escape, or isolating yourself. At first, they had attributed it to you just growing up, being a teenager, but Polly had a feeling it was just because your mothers sudden presence and then disappearance (again) in your life had perhaps made you feel more like and outsider than you were before.

You and Finn sat near the door, desperate for the rather boring family meeting to be over so you could go to the new pub you had found a few weeks ago, and drink to your hearts content away from the watchful eyes of your other four siblings, planning on dragging along Isaiah and Michael, hopefully meeting up with Bon along the way, who both also looked incredibly sick of their lives, whilst listening to Linda harp on about something or other.

“Linda, give it a rest, would ya?” You exhaled on your cigarette - the brown long ones that Polly smoked, the ones she called elegant - sighing a little. “We’ve all got places to be.”

You and your eldest half-brothers wife had never exactly seen eye to eye. You hated her preachiness, and down right rudeness and manipulation sometimes, and had made that very much clear to her face, just as she had to yours.

She shot you a look, before sighing and turning her eyes to Arthur, most likely giving him her ‘sad’ eyes.

“Come on, Y/N. Just listen, yeah?” He spoke gruffly, always hating to get between his siblings and his wife.

“But why do we need to hear this? Last I checked, the charity that Linda’s church is helping just to make themselves feel a bit superior, has nothing to do with me.” You snapped a little, tired and irritable after having sat in this same seat for the past two hours.

“You would probably find the charity rather nice, actually, Y/N. It helps the poor young prostitutes children around Birmingham, gives them sanctuary and repentance. You know a thing or two about that, don’t you?” Her voice was soft, said with a smile on her face, but your jaw clenched.

Although you couldn’t hear it, you could practically feel the intake of breath around the table.

John opened his mouth to speak, his eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck does that mean?” You spat, standing up.

“I was only talking about your heritage, Y/N. We all know it.”

“Don’t talk about me like that, you fucking witc-“

“Y/N-“ “ Linda-“ Several people said at once.

“You’d think she would like a charity that helps the bastard children, is all I’m saying-“ Linda protested.

Your ears started to ring.

Bastard, bastard, bastard. It had been something you had heard all of your life, every day, practically. But never here, never in your own home, the place you felt safe.

You didn’t feel that now, eyes filled with tears, hands clenched into fists, as you swung around towards the door, darting out of it before anyone could even shout your name - if they even would have.

You could only think of one person to go to.

Bonnie.

Permanent Tag List -

@haphazardhufflepuff

@meteora-fc

@cass-danvers

@peppermintbars

@smallheathgangsters

@lovemissyhoneybee

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders #peaky blinder headcanon #finn shelby imagines #finn shelby #finn shelby x reader #bonnie gold fanfic #bonnie gold #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie gold imagine #bonnie gold imagines #shelby sister fanfic #shelby sister imagine #peaky blinders imagine

382 notes · View notes

bettsfic · 3 years

Text

february pinned: the real & the ideal

in this month’s edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and consultation availability, i have short story recommendations for you and an essay on the nature of reality in fiction!

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

in other news, i finished two fics this month:

digging for orchids (hualian, 43k, explicit, fake marriage au)

let ruin end here (hualian, 8k, mature, neighbors au)

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

oof,

what a month. january is already a rough time. throwing in a pandemic, a coup, and an economic revolution spearheaded by reddit just seems unfair. as for me personally, the spring semester came at me fast and even though it’s only week 2, i am already buried in grading. which i realize is my fault, considering i’m the one who assigned homework.

so after hearing your feedback, i thought i’d make this newsletter even more writing-related by writing more about writing. this month i’ll start off by talking about the nature of reality in fiction in a segment i call “been thinkin a lot about.” more on that below.

new resource

i’ve compiled a folder of PDFs of the short stories i teach most often, which is to say, the stories i like enough to re-read every semester. most of them are literary fiction but a few veer into fantasy, sci fi, and horror.

i know before the MFA, i didn’t really know what a short story was. like i knew, abstractly, the concept of a short story (it is as it sounds), but i could only list a couple i’d ever read as an adult, and i hadn’t read anything that had been published in the last decade. i remember wondering why i was even being asked to care about short stories. who writes short stories? who reads them? apparently, a lot of people. short storyists are a lot like fanwriters in that they make no money and when you talk about your writing in public, people give you that “why would anyone waste their time with that?” look.

so here’s why i was asked to care about short stories: a good short story gives you the entirety of a world in a very condensed space. moreover, it can sometimes leave you as satisfied as a novel in a fraction of the reading time. all the stories i’ve compiled here are ones that stuck with me, that i find myself recommending over and over to writers who want a good example of developing character, or weird narration, or establishing stakes.

if you’re a writer considering publication or an MFA in creative writing, i highly recommend familiarizing yourself with short stories, if for no other reason than to get the feel for them so you can write some of your own. if you can get a few short story publications under your belt, it’ll be easier to open doors when you’re ready to query agents for a novel. also, short stories make a great writing sample for grad programs, workshops, fellowships, residencies, and grant funding.

if you want to check out more short stories but have no idea where to start, the 2020 best american short stories just dropped in november, or if you want a cheaper one, used copies of 2019 and earlier are available on thriftbooks. if you want an overview of the history of the (american) short story, there’s also the best american short stories of the century. fair warning, though, while it’s more diverse than expected, it’s still a bit heavy on dead-white-dude writing.

content warning: the stories in the above-linked folder may depict instances of sexual assault, suicide, and/or abuse. i have not labeled them individually with warnings but i hope to soon, as well as provide a catalog with summaries.

i’m also still working on my essay and novel recs. more to come on that hopefully next month.

writing-related posts

how i quit my banking job to do a creative writing MFA

how i learned to read faster/stop subvocalizing

how to write when you have no time or energy to write

my experience writing fic in small/dead fandoms (aka fics that will probably not get any traffic)

how to describe facial expressions

how to ask for help from your professors

how to navigate tenses during flashbacks

how to separate yourself from your work

how (and why you might want to) write a shitty first draft

why you should consider making the climax the inciting incident

for a complete list of my writing-related posts, check out this masterdoc (which i still need to update it with the past few months’ posts).

stuff i’m into rn

i’m about halfway through the rhetoric of fiction by wayne c. booth which has more or less become my narrative bible. it’s a little dated (1961) but it tackles banal writing adages that are somehow still believed, like “show don’t tell” and whatnot, and breaks them down with amazing insight, clarity, and research. it’s a bit of a dense text so i’m only reading a few pages a day, i think the first time i’ve ever let myself read something so intentionally slowly. now i’m kind of obsessed with doing things slowly. reading slowly, writing slowly, cooking slowly. i even drive slowly, because it’s so rare to go anywhere at all, and i want to enjoy it. also, it’s very snowy where i am. also also, the battery died in my car this month and i really have to make it a point to drive more often.

february availability

i have 2 openings for initial writing consultations in february! if you’re interested, please fill out this google form.

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

been thinkin a lot about

compulsory reality in fiction. many of us have probably received feedback along the lines of, or thought to ourselves as we read, “that’s not realistic.” many of us believe, consciously or not, that fiction that is more “realistic” is inherently better than fiction that is less “realistic.” for some of us, real means a saturation of details, the clear depiction of the surfaces of things. reality is found in the rendering thereof; if you can “see” it, it’s real. for others of us, it might be the development of complex characters and their growth across a narrative. and for yet others, reality is subtlety, or misery, or the idea of “slice of life,” a term i don’t think means anything, because aren’t all stories a slice of a character’s life? what would a story that’s not a slice of life look like? you’d either have to take away the “slice” part and render a whole life, which is impossible, or you’d have to take away the “life” part and create a dead story, which may be possible, but why would you want to? even if you wrote a story about a rock, the rock would be brought to life by virtue of being written about.

anyway. i think the word “real” is a shitty word for the same reason “slice of life” is a shitty phrase: everything is real and therefore nothing cannot be real. slices of life are all we know because we are alive and cannot truly perceive not being alive; reality is also all we know, and any depictions beyond reality are thus made real because they have been depicted.

so the “goal” for fiction to be “realistic” seems to me to be a false one. all fiction is real because it exists and no fiction can be truly real because it’s only a facsimile of reality. not to get all “this is not a pipe” but writing is just making squiggles, and we as a community of English-knowers agree that certain squiggles correspond to certain sounds, and certain sounds together make words which conjure meanings. and words put together into sentences into paragraphs conjure even more complicated meanings. and when those paragraphs are woven into narrative we create yet more and more complicated meaning.

every time you write anything — a text message, an email, a tweet, a fanfic — you are taking the infinite abstraction of your own cognition, narrowing it into a single concept, and representing that concept with patterns in the form of sounds represented by letters and given meaning with words, so that the infinite abstraction of your own conscience can be fractionally witnessed by the infinite abstraction of someone else’s. and even though we can’t definitively prove for ourselves that any other thing possesses a consciousness, writing shows us the shape of someone else’s mind, and tells us we are not alone.

and yet we still expect writing to be “real.”

have you ever read a story where a character sneezed? like just, a description of a sneeze for the sake of it, with no purpose or function in the plot? if not, is it because our characters aren’t real enough to sneeze, or because the sneeze isn’t relevant to their plight? what would a written sneeze look like, and why would somebody want to write it? moreover, why would somebody want to read it? that leads me to wonder, do we depict reality in the service of narrative, or narrative in the service of reality? in other words, do we write to portray reality (sans sneezing), or do we depict reality to constrain our writing, the way one might request bumpers when bowling so as not to fall in the gutters?

i’ve never read an artful rendition of a character pissing or shitting, either, even when those things are related to a character’s plight and circumstance — stories involving long road trips, living in the woods, being kidnapped. the only exception i can think of is when those things are eroticized (we do not kinkshame here in this lkwrnl), the same way it’s rare to find detailed sex writing that isn’t for the purpose of reader arousal. are there just some things about the nature of being human that are too intimate, too complex, or too boring to write?

once i wrote a murder that takes place in a small fictional midwestern town in the 90s (for the ~aesthetic), and it went uninvestigated by said town’s police force. early readers repeatedly commented along the lines of, “that’s not realistic.” and i thought, no, if anything, the incompetence of police is too realistic for the heightened reality i’m trying to render. have you ever heard of a cop solving a murder that didn’t come with an obvious suspect or immediately found evidence? i haven’t. that doesn’t mean those cases don’t exist, but i definitely think they’re less likely than mass media has us believe, and the average small-town police force has far less motivation (and possibly training) to solve crimes than we think.

i started working on the above-mentioned novel in 2016, and my goal was to depict a reality that hovers above the surface of plausibility. in this novel, which is based on macbeth, a preteen girl, mercy, becomes jealous of the love her best friend elisa shows to her father. mercy decides to get her older and very unstable brother to kill him. naturally the deed goes awry, but it does occur, and the cleanup is far messier than anticipated.

is it plausible for a 12 year old girl to plot and execute the murder of her best friend’s father? no. is that what this book is about? yes. a book about a 12 year old girl who has a perfectly healthy relationship with her best friend and who has no feelings toward her bff’s father one way or another is probably far more “realistic,” but that’s not the book i’d want to read and certainly not the one i want to write. my goal of a heightened reality is what henry james calls the intensity of illusion, the thing that allows a reader, through the witness of one’s distilled cognition into language, to exit physical, knowable reality, and enter a new and unknown reality. and isn’t climbing to that higher place, that intensity of illusion, the purpose of fiction? if it’s not, what is?

the best feedback i got on the aforementioned murder scene was from one of my professors, who, of the perfect calm of all children involved, said, “they just shot a guy. at least one of them would be freaking out.”

he was totally right, but it opened up a lot of questions for me. by what standard did he reach that conclusion? was it something in the chapter itself, was it his personal understanding of the work of narrative, or was it the logical conclusion of the slim plausibility of the scenario? moreover, where did i come up with the idea that all of my preteen characters would commit a murder and proceed to be very chill about it? if an implausible scenario begs the expectation of emotional distress, would it be more compelling to buy into that expectation or deviate from it? is it even my obligation to be compelling when i can never have a cogent grasp of the personal tastes of my audience?

that brings me to what appears to be reality’s opposite: idealism, the state those of us who write fanfic are often trying to achieve. we’re working in an entire genre of ideals, of happily ever afters, of hurt that is always followed by comfort, of glossily rendered sex during which everyone orgasms and no one has to pee afterward. we fix broken texts and continue incomplete ones. sometimes, we want to make existing things better, deeper, more complicated. but all the time, we want to make a text more than what it is.

some see this process, this drive for the ideal, as antithetical to realism, and i think that’s part of the reason fanfiction and other idealistic genres (romance, etc.) get a bad name — the assumption that more real (which for some means more miserable) is better, and therefore its opposite, the ideal, is worse. for them, i have this quote from vladimir nabokov:

For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm.

the ideal, aesthetic bliss, the intensity of illusion. these are all phrases that boil down to the same thing: you the writer get to define the constraints of your own reality. you get to choose if your world even complies with the known laws of physics. and if it doesn’t, you get to choose which ones to break, and why to break them. you get to choose if your stories take place in a real house in a real town on a real day. if you wrote a story that takes place on september 11, 2001, would the events of that story be shaped by the events of that actual day, or are you writing a better world where 9/11 doesn’t happen? consider the consequences of both: why might you want to write reality? why might you want to write ideality? how do these things shape your identity and goals as a writer?

no matter where a work falls on the real-ideal spectrum, you have to accept that prose itself will only ever be a verisimilitude of reality and therefore an interpretation of it, one that might be interpreted differently by a reader. in writing and everything else, you can never have complete control over what others perceive. it’s like giving someone cash as a gift. they might buy themselves something nice with it, or they might spend it on groceries. the point is, eventually we all have to let go of our realities.

#lkwrnl #pinned

25 notes · View notes

onegayastronaut · 4 years

Text

Back To You (Erica Reyes x Reader)

Requested by anon: Would you be willing to write for Erica Reyes? Maybe reader and Erica were sort of friends before she was turned and reader always had a crush on her. Now that Erica is confident she actually notices the signs and teases the reader about it but ultimately has feelings for her too? Obviously no worries if the idea or the character aren't up your alley, just figured I would take a chance. Thanks!

Words: 1777

Ever since you were assigned seat partners in third grade, you had the biggest crush on Erica. There was just something about her that always drew you to her, but you just never had the guts to tell her how you felt. Even though you were sure she wouldn’t react badly, you still weren’t sure how exactly she would react to the news of your crush on her.

However, you had other things on your mind in recent days. You haven’t seen Erica around school for the past couple of days, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Luckily for you, Scott was one of the worst liars you have ever met. Stiles was no better at hiding things, and after a threatening glare from you, both of these guys spilled the beans on werewolves and why Derek was always hanging around campus. All they asked was that you wouldn’t go poking around without one of them present, as they didn’t want you to be alone when there was something dangerous lurking around.

Now that you knew one of your closest friends was a werewolf, you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to know more about them. Everything from the origins to what every culture had to say about them, you tried to find out everything that you could. There came a point in your detective work where Allison finally dragged you to the side and gave you a book with all the necessary information.

“(Y/N), you can’t be going around asking people about werewolf history and mythology.”

“Well, how the hell else am I supposed to help one of my best friends? He’s going through what is possibly the biggest change of his life and I don’t know jack shit about how to help him.”

“Luckily for you, my family has generations worth of research on werewolves and how they operate. If you need anything, just text me and I’ll do my best to answer.”

-----

You were just getting things from your locker when you heard footsteps from down the hall. It was probably one of the girls from the cheer squad dressing up for her birthday, you thought. However, when you closed the door of your locker to see who it was, your jaw practically dropped to the floor. Logically, you knew it was Erica, but the way she was dressed and looked was completely different than what you saw a few days ago. Everything from her heels to the way she carried herself was different. If you had a crush on her before, it was nothing compared to the way you were feeling now that you saw her strutting down the hallway.

“You know, some sources say that if you drooled any more, there would be a pool on the floor.” Allison’s voice materialized from behind you, causing you to jump.

“Who said I was drooling? Erica just has a different look now, is all. She looks good.”

“Mhmm. And Scott just likes me as a friend right? (Y/N), if anyone bothered to look at your face just now when she walked by, they’d know how much you wanted her.”

“I don’t have feelings for her!”

“Oh, did I mention feelings? Now I know you have feelings for Erica, thanks for the additional information.”

“Oh my god, Allison. Some days I swear you are too much.” You hurried away with your face burning. How were you so easy to figure out?

When you arrived to your English classroom, you were out of breath and somewhat sweaty from your light jog over. Talking to Allison had nearly made you late to class, and your mom would kill you if she got another tardy call from the school. As you made your way to the desk, you saw Erica sitting next to you.

“Hey Erica, how are you doing? You look nice.”

“Didn’t I look nice before, (Y/N)?”

“Well, yes, I -- I didn’t mean it like that. All I meant was, uh, you look nice? I like this new look.” You tried to stop the word vomit from coming out, but it seemed like your mouth was, yet again, not planning to listen to your brain.

“I was just teasing you, (Y/N). I know what you meant.”

“Eyes and ears towards the front, ladies.” The substitute teacher was known to be an ass, and you were not planning on getting sent to the principal’s office today so you dutifully shut up.

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully, and it seemed you were able to get your thirst under control. However, it seemed your life would not know peace as you walked out of your last class of the day. Erica was waiting by the door, and when you walked out, she grabbed your arm. “Hey, hot stuff. Want to hang out now that school’s over?”

Even though Erica was only touching your arm, it felt like there was a fire spreading all over your body. Erica was cute before, but whatever happened to her in the days she was gone had made her hot as hell and you weren’t sure how to react to the situation. You decided to say something before things got any more awkward. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? There’s a lot of homework to do.”

“Don’t be boring, (Y/N). Let’s go out, have fun. Homework will still be there when we get back. Come on, I got something to show you.”

You followed Erica out of school towards a brand new sports car. “Where did you get that? Is that yours?”

“That’s right, this baby is all mine. Where did you want to go first?”

“I was thinking about getting a bite to eat before heading back to my house to finish up on homework.”

“Sounds good to me. I could eat like a wolf right now.”

Throughout the hours that you spent with Erica, you noticed a lot of small things that seemed to have changed about her. Apart from the obvious change in looks, it seemed like Erica was stronger, more confident in herself and her body.

“What are you looking at?” Erica’s voice distracted you from getting too lost in your thoughts.

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking, you seem different from the last time I saw you last week. What’s going on? What happened?”

Erica went quiet as she ate her fries. “I was given a gift. And the gift is control over my own body in ways that I never knew was possible. I used to be weak, but not anymore. I’ll never go back to being a helpless little girl anymore.”

“I never thought you were weak.”

“There’s no reason to be unnecessarily nice, (Y/N). I’m much better than I’ve been before. Let’s go to your place now.”

As you were studying, you couldn’t help but glance over at Erica every once in a while. You’ve wanted to be with her for as long as you could remember, so now that she’s in your room with this newfound confidence about her, you couldn’t help but entertain all those fantasies about her again.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Staring at me. Careful, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were in love with me or something.”

-----

As the weeks went by, you would stare at Erica every time you were bored or drifting off in class. You couldn’t help looking as she was definitely the hottest girl in class, and it wasn’t like looking would get you in trouble. Allison would usually snort whenever she saw you or noticed how you were staring at Erica. Even though you told her that it would most likely turn out to be nothing, you couldn’t help but want to be with Erica and have her push you in an empty classroom and make you hers.

Sighing as you closed the door to your locker, you started when you saw Erica seem to pop out of nowhere. “What’s the matter, (Y/N)? Not happy to see me?”

“No, you just surprised me, is all.”

“Good, because you’ve been super quiet for the last couple of days. I was getting worried you were avoiding me or something.”

“I haven’t. I’ve just been thinking...about stuff.”

“Hopefully about me.” Erica winked at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her gaze. How did she know? Were you that obvious? The taller girl leaned in whispered, “Meet me in the chemistry classroom after this period. I want to tell you something.” You stared as she walked away, and you reluctantly walked the opposite direction to class.

The next hour could not have gone more slowly. It seemed as if the teacher was purposefully going slower than usual, and you practically ran out of the classroom the second the bell rang. You knew that there was no chemistry class for the next hour, so you tried to be as sneaky as possible letting yourself into the classroom. When you got in, Erica was already waiting for you.

“There you are.” Erica came over to you and planted a kiss on you. “I know you’ve been wanting me to do that for a while.”

“How did -- how did, you know?” At this point, you didn’t care how much you stuttered. Erica had finally kissed you! Did that mean she liked you too?

“I would be a fool to not be able to tell that you had a thing for me. And to be honest, I think you’re extremely cute. We’d make a very good looking couple.” Erica’s hands traced your face. “And I’m not going to lie, I could smell how much you’ve wanted me for the last few weeks.”

“Smell? How could you possibly smell that?” Erica’s eyes brightened in response, and you finally knew what had caused all the changes in her. “You’re a werewolf too.”

“That was the other thing I wanted to tell you, though it seems you have some knowledge of the subject.” For the first time in weeks, it seemed as if Erica was a bit nervous. “I hope that doesn’t make you want me any less.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted to be with you for as long as I can remember. It helps that you’re stronger and more confident now.”

��Does that mean you’re okay with missing your next class? Because I want to show you how much I’ve been holding back since I’ve changed.” Erica picked you up and placed you on the nearest lab counter. Hopefully, you wouldn’t make too much of a mess after Erica was done with you today.

#erica reyes #erica reyes x reader #erica reyes imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine

158 notes · View notes

fever-dreamer97 · 3 years

Text

Let’s Try This Again

Chapter 2: Memory Lane Can Burn

———————————————————

Damn, how is it already getting so fucking hot? Katsuki tugged at his collar as he continues his walk towards the meeting point with his gang of idiots. Even with his first button undone like it always is, there is no escaping this annoying-ass heatwave.

Hopefully, it will die down soon. Katsuki just started his second year at UA a few weeks ago, and he doesn't want his first few months dying of fucking heatstroke. He also hates the feeling of sweating all over his body.

With workouts and any other physical activities, he didn't mind because it cooled down his body. But he found the feeling just disgusting and suffering when it was just walking to school.

He keeps his leisurely pace to the coffee shop as he hears the loud honking of traffic and random useless chatter from extras he passes by on his way. Damnit, he should have grabbed his headphones before he left his house; he hated endless noise. Of course, he hated any noise.

"WHOA! LOOK HOW COOL ALL MIGHT LOOKS! ISN'T HE THE COOLEST, HIEKO-CHAN?!" A small, high-pitched voice rings out.

At the mention of the familiar name, Katsuki stops and snaps his head over to two little small kids gushing over a movie poster of the upcoming new All Might movie. One kid is a girl with wild cardinal hair, cerulean eyes, and pale skin, while the other kid is a boy with cropped white hair, blood-red eyes, and dark skin. Both looked to be in kindergarten and wore their respective school uniforms.

"LOOK AT HIM PUNCH THAT BAD GUY! HE CAN DROP ANY VILLIAN IN A MINUTE!" The boy shouted as he threw some air punches and air kicks. 'Hieko-chan' giggled and cheered at the boy's antics.

"YEAH! ALL MIGHT IS THE BEST! I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE MOVIE TO COME OUT! I WANT TO SEE IT WITH KAZU-CHAN!"

Katsuki guessed that was the boy's name because the boy's face suddenly bursts into a bright shade of red.

"O-Of course! I'm your best friend, baka! W-Why wouldn't I see it with you?!" He grinned with pride. The girl wasn't fazed by the slight insult but instead giggled some more at his comment. The two then went into a more raucous conversation about 'how cool and super powerful All Might is' and 'why he is the best superhero in the world.'

Katsuki stares at the two and was hit by the nostalgia of the scene. Slowly, everyone and every sound around him fade as he keeps his gaze on the two young children.

He's super cool, neh? A feather-like voice giggled in his mind and a hazy image of a radiant, wide smile and glowing, speckled cheeks filled his head.

Immediately, Katsuki chokes at the memory and snaps out of his daydream, his heartbeat filling his ears. He cursed under his breath, snapped his head away from the two brats, and stomped his way back onto his path.

Katsuki decides to deny how much hotter his face suddenly feels and just blames this stupid-ass heatwave.

But then before he gets the chance to cool down, he hears a recognizable yelp of "BAKUBRO!" and gets jumped on from behind.

"Oi, Shitty Hair! Get off! I'm burning up enough as it is!" He yelled at his idiot best friend as he elbows him in the face. Katsuki hopes to God that his best friend's observation skills are below par as usual, and he won't notice the change of color in Katsuki's face.

"OW! Damn, dude! You got my nose!" Eijirou says as he rubs at the sore spot. Katsuki lets out a 'tch' before he looks to his best friend.

"Shut up! You've fucking dealt with worse from me, so stop whining like some wimpy-ass bitch!"

"What's wrong, man? Didn't get your eight hours of sleep? I guess geezers like you can get pretty cranky when you don't go to bed before nine." A laughing Eijirou teased at his blonde firecracker of a best friend.

Katsuki quickly flipped him off before the two kept on their walk to the coffee shop. Secretly, Katsuki was glad that Kirishima managed to come at the right time, so he doesn't drift off into any more pointless daydreams and stupid memories.

"Seriously, though, what's up?" Spoke too soon.

"None of your fucking business, Shitty Hair."

"Eh? Come on, man. You seem a bit hotter under the collar than usual."

"I'm hotter under the collar because of this damn, fucking heatwave! Damn idiot."

Eijirou lets a sigh, deciding not to poke the bear further. "Alright, man. If you say so."

After this little back-and-forth, the two second-year boys get into a discussion about the mixed-martial-arts match the both of them watched last night and boasted how cool and fluid the moves were before they find themselves in front of the 'Kamui Woods' Coffee Shop'.

Both walked into the place and were hit by the overpowering scents of fresh coffee and pastries. Katsuki gagged a bit at the overly sweet pastry scent but is willing to ignore it if it means that he can get his usual Spicy Woodlands coffee drink.

"YO, GUYS, OVER HERE!" A boisterous female voice screams.

Situated over at a giant table in the corner of the shop, there was the rest of Katsuki's idiot gang: Mina Ashido, Denki Kaminari, and Hanta Sero.

Mina waved with no shame at how loud she was being as Denki and Sero hovered over some textbooks and notebooks scattered across the table. Denki looked to be in massive pain as he stared over his textbook, his hand buried in his electric blond hair as he rubbed his head in frustration. Meanwhile, Hanta giggled and snickered at the blonde's situation.

"Dude, I told you not to procrastinate last night with the English homework. It's harder this time." Hanta snickered.

"Bro, I was not gonna waste an opportunity to see Kyouka at that soccer match last night. She looked so damn hot." Denki said with a goofy smile.

"Yeah, but considering English is 1st period, you just screwed yourself."

Denki groans before he slams his forehead into the textbook.

"What up guys!" Kirishima yells back before rushing over to the table. Katsuki takes the opposite approach as he lazily scrolls behind.

As Eijirou reaches the table, he fist-bumps Hanta and drops his backpack beside the table before looking over at Denki.

"...Jirou had a soccer match?"

"Yep and this guy decided he would go and drool over his mad crush and take an L on today's English assignment." Mina giggled mischievously.

"Come on guys, give me a break! You would have done the same thing if you had the chance to watch your girl go kick some ass."

"Would make better sense if she WAS your girlfriend, you fucking idiot." Katsuki snapped as he hovered next to the table.

"So mean! I'm working on it!"

"And that tally is at Month 17 and counting!" Eijirou laughed.

Denki mumbles out a 'fucking traitors' and goes back to trying to figure out Yamada-sensei's boring English work. Mina, Hanta, and Eijirou laugh some more while Katsuki scoffs at the blonde's hole he dug himself into.

"Don't know why you would waste time with something so pointless as romance." He spats out.

Mina and Denki quickly snap their heads up to address their Satan friend.

"ROMANCE ISN'T POINTLESS!" They both cried.

"Guys, remember how you're talking to. This is the same guy who never hesitates to take his lighter out and burn any confession letter he is given." Eijirou explains.

"And most of the time, he does it in front of the person who's confessing." Hanta puts his hand over his chest as a sympathy grab.

"Shut up! I don't have any fucking interest in that type of shit!" He said. Denki just sighs before propping his hand upon his cheek.

"Come on, man. I don't think even you can go through life without some sort of partner. If you do, that's one sad path to go down on."

"I kinda agree, Bakugo, it seems a bit lonely." Hanta chimes in.

"Of course it's sad! How can anyone scoff and give up the opportunity to be with their one-and-only soulmate?!" Mina faked cried with slight tears and hands clenched together.

Eijirou laughed uneasily. "Soulmate is a bit much..."

He then turns to Katsuki and reaches up to clap a hand on his shoulder. "I think you just haven't met the right girl yet, bro! She's out there somewhere!" He encourages with a bright smile.

Katsuki clicked his tongue and smacks off his hand. "Whatever. I'm getting my damn coffee." He spats.

He spins around before stomping over to the front counter, ignoring the gang's continuing conversation about relationships and new hookups this year.

What do love and romance have to do with anything remotely important? Katsuki doesn't need some damn bitch dragging him down with meaningless dates, pointless anniversaries, and overbearing 'pay attention to me!' conversations. All he needs to do is focus on his studies, train, graduate, and climb his way to the top of becoming the youngest MMA fighter to reach number one in the ranks.

You're so brave and cool, Kacchan!

Katsuki freezes and grits his teeth.

Damn it, get out of my fucking head!

"Um...sir? A-Are you okay?" A mousy, fearful voice squeaked out. Katsuki's fog gets clear once again as he looks to see the fidgeting cashier waiting for him to put in his order.

"Spicy Woodlands, medium. Extra hot and extra spicy." He demanded before slapping the money down on the table.

"Y-Yes, sir!" The poor cashier squeaks out before ringing him up and rushing away to get the order done.

Katsuki scoffs before stepping from the counter and gets out his phone to waste time before his drink is ready.

"Oh, ho? Is that you, Bakugo?" A nasal voice drags out.

Katsuki looks up annoyed at the voice and finds some random extras in third-rate school uniforms. The one who spoke out was lanky, pasty-skinned, and oily-looking while the other was short, heavy, and had horrible acne.

"Who the fuck are you, idiots?" He snaps.

The lanky one just lets out an annoying nasal laugh. "Of course, you don't remember me. You are always so self-centered even back in middle school."

At the mention of middle school, Katsuki freezes before anger starts to bubble. "Listen, fuckfaces, I don't know who the hell you are, and I couldn't care less about what you want, so get out of my face before I destroy you." The heavier set friend was a little fearful at the threat and put his hands up in surrender. "Y-Yeah, of course, dud-de! N-no problem!" He said before he tugged on his friend's arm. "Tadami, stop it..." He whispers.

"Oh, but Daichi, you have to hear about the great Bakugo Katsuki! He was pretty famous back in the days, you know?" Katsuki's stomach dropped at the tone in his voice. "He was famous since back in grade school in fact!" Oh, this shit-stain wasn't going there, was he? Katsuki started to see flashes of red as the brave soul kept talking.

"Back when we were nine, he told some girl to go off herself and you know what? She disappeared the very next day! Weird, right?" he explained. Katsuki tightened the grip on his phone. "Maybe she actually went and did what he said? It wouldn't surprise me, I mean he did bully and beat her up every single day..." He smirked.

Katsuki's insides started to melt and burn as memories started to flood him full-force. Memories of a small crying girl covered with scrapes and cuts while a boy laughed cruelly with pride at the pain in her big, doe eyes.

Daichi froze at the story and looked between his friend and Katsuki before he swallowed. "Ta-Tadami, let's just go, dude..." He offered meekly.

Tadami just shrugs with another smirk and walks pass Katsuki with a bump to the shoulder before he and his friend left the shop.

Katsuki stood there unmoving only breaking out of it when the cashier brought him his coffee in a wood textured mug. He grabs it from them with a slight, soft 'thanks' before just continuing to stand there and stare into the brown, scorching liquid.

A hand clapped upon his back for the third time that day by Eijirou.

"Hey, dude, what's takin-" He stopped when he sees the brooding look on Katsuki's face. "Bakugo? Are you alright?" He says with genuine worry.

Katsuki just offers a twitch of a nod.

"I'm fine."

24 notes · View notes

sneakyseventeen · 4 years

Text

Mondays Tears ❧ Part 2

Member: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 800+

✿ summary: - The words he spoke to you clouded your mind all day. Only you didn’t think you would meet him at his dorm like this.

part 1 | enjoy !

❀ ❀ ❀

Room 17. 6 o’clock.

Those few words were helping you get through your day, which thankfully, turned out not to be too bad. You were a bit distracted in Psychology, but luckily for you, your teacher accepted your soaked, sad looking paper anyways.

After lunch, you walked briskly through campus hoping to return a book to the University’s library before your next class. Opening the large farmed doors, a feeling of serenity seemed to encase you. The spacious room smelled slightly of coffee and fresh paper. The atmosphere was warm, and felt like a blanket over your dry body, (thanks to your new umbrella.) You dropped your book on the front counter and paid the librarian for your water damage fee, which she didn’t look too happy about. Slowly walking from her desk, you went deep into the shelves to find a book that would hopefully help your non-existent project you were to start tonight.

After leaving the library, you shoved the new(ish) book in your bag, thankful it would stay dry inside of it this time. Strolling to Art History, you started to appreciate the rain, now seeing that you weren’t drenched in it. You still found yourself nearly face planting on the concrete, though, despite your umbrella, as you clumsily caught yourself from slipping.

A soft giggle made you turn around, as you faced Jeonghan for the second time that day.

“You know it’s not six yet, right?” He teased, walking up next to you under the brown umbrella.

“Haha..” you breathed out, your heart pumping in a slightly increased fashion, “I might be later if I keep tripping.”

Jeonghan flashed you a smile and shook his head. “You could leave your last class a little early.”

Your jaw opened a bit at his comment, as you lightly smacked his arm. “I will not,” you replied defensively, “You’ll just have to wait a litttlee longer for me,” you stated, teasingly.

Jeonghan’s eyes narrowed then his mouth turned, pouting at you. “Fine... I don’t know how long I can though.” A smirk painted his face as he took a left at the path you two had reached, and he winked at you before sauntering off.

___

The clock on the tall lecture hall room wall struck loudly, as its hand reached the number five. You packed your bag and walked to your dorm, the drizzling rain making the air increasingly moist as the day went on. You reached your door, but turned around before opening it, gazing at the complex next to yours.

Room 17. 6 o’clock.

Your watch read 5:23, and you sighed again, opening the door to your not-so-great roommates laughing loudly.

After finishing a bit of homework for a few classes, you pulled out the assignment your Japanese teacher had given you weeks ago. You stared at it intensely, as you thought, this is the first time I’ve been happy to procrastinate. The small clock on the table in front of you buzzed slightly, startling you as you read the number 6:00 in dull read lights. Your eyes widened as you shoved your work in your bag, and rushed to your room to fix your hair and clothes. After checking the mirror a few times, you left the small room, and made your way down the stairs to the neighboring complex.

The rain was light, and although you didn’t think you needed your umbrella in such conditions, seconds later it seemed you were very wrong. The walk from the two doors was less than five minutes if that, but in the growing drops of rain falling upon you, even a second in the weather was sure to drench you.

You quickened your pace as the rain got worse, as if it was racing you to see who could go faster. Your feet carried you swiftly up the stairs to the second level, as you collided with the door in front of you. 17. You knocked quickly, ready to get a scolding from Jeonghan. He had, of course, generously given you his umbrella. The door flew open with a bit of force, nearly causing you to fall in the room. Jeonghan had answered it. He had changed from his white dress shirt and pants, into light gray sweats and a large black shirt. He stared at you with his mouth slightly open, looking from your head to your feet.

“...Now how did that happen when you’ve got my umbrella?”

❀ ❀ ❀

thank you guys for the support on this story ! Ik this part is super short but I’m planing on making at least 4 parts, I’m so excited and I hope you all are too <3

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #sneakyseventeen #sneakyseventeen kpop seventeenfanfic #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #seventeen fluff #seventeen college au #Jeonghan college AU #seventeen x reader #seventeen reactions #seventeen requests #seventeen au #kpop #kpop fanfic

95 notes · View notes

myberkeleyadventure · 4 years

Text

Dear College Students: What Your TA (Teaching Assistant) Wants You to Know

I recently started graduate school and have been very fortunate to land a TA, or teaching assistant, position! I help teach three sections of an undergraduate introductory science course.

It’s been about a month of being a TA, and whew... it’s a lot of work! Here’s what I want you all, as undergraduate students, to know:

I’m a college student too. Like you, I am here at this university to study. I may be at the graduate level, but I still have classes to attend, assignments to complete, research to participate in, etc just like you. I am not at your beck and call, and cannot be expected to respond to emails immediately, unfortunately. I try to reply to emails within 1 business day.

I don’t know everything about this class topic. Yes, I have a background in the subject and was chosen from the applicant pool to be a TA. But that does not mean I know the answers to every question you have about the material. I will do my best to answer or point you to good resources, though. But please don’t expect that I’m a walking encyclopedia! I’m finding that I get very specific questions or “what if” questions - and I love it! But just know many times this may not be within the scope of this course.

I have imposter syndrome. I’m not sure how I got admitted as a graduate student. I’m not sure how I was chosen to be a TA. I still feel very unqualified in many aspects of my life!

We are not necessarily close with the professor. We likely have meetings with the professor weekly to discuss things, but it’s a very professional friendly relationship. TAs are not necessarily chosen because they work in the same field or research lab as the professor; certainly not me!

As a first-time TA, know I’m anxious before each section I teach! Try to be understanding and have patience. I’m doing my best! If a TA has taught before, they are likely more experienced and less likely to get flustered.

Grading actually takes ... a while. Don’t expect your papers to get graded ASAP. I have 3 lab sections to teach, and it’s about 80 students total for me. That’s 80 assignments I have to grade... every week.

Understand that being a TA is much more than teaching a section and grading papers each week. I have to attend a required teaching pedagogy course (on top of my busy coursework!), weekly TA meetings with the professor, host weekly office hours, spend hours before section to prepare, respond to student emails which range from anxiety/mental health issues to wifi problems to confusion over a topic, etc. PLUS, throw in COVID-19 right now and it can get hectic! I’m at 20 units this quarter! I know not all TAs are this busy (some are in their last quarter, or just focusing on research) but just a FYI!

Why do we want to TA? Benefits include great experience, tuition remission, networking, etc. Receiving a TA position gives you amazing experience to interact with students to teach them a topic you’re (hopefully) passionate (or at least, proficient) at. It looks great on a resume, plus it doesn’t hurt that most TA positions offer fee remissions. AKA most of your fees for the quarter/semester are paid as a result of your employment AND you get a monthly salary on top of that. It’s not “cushy”, it’s appropriate given the amount of work. Lastly, the chance to network with professors and leaders of the field is amazing too!

Please participate in class! It’s really awkward for us when we do our best to teach, and ... no one participates. Or students do the bare minimum. If it feels awkward for you, trust me, it’s awkward for me too.

Many times, the class is structured and formatted in a specific way and the TA is just a facilitator. I’m very fortunate that the course I help teach is very structured: specific powerpoints, assignments, worksheets, homework problems, etc. I do not really have a say in how the lesson planning of the overall class. I have more say in the individual sections I lead, but even then I have to abide by certain rules (no recording of lecture, no posting of powerpoints, etc), use specific powerpoints (I can add my own slides, or modify a little bit), etc so that there is consistency between all TAs. That makes sense, right?

tldr; Being a TA is a lot of work. Since becoming one, I honestly have had a shift in how I formerly thought of TAs... I find there are ups and downs to being a TAs but overall my experience has been positive. But just know, we are people too! We have other responsibilities and we get stressed out too! :)

#MBA_graduate #MBA_guides #what your teaching assistant wants you to know #college adventures #college student #college advice #college admission #college #university tips #college tips #tips for freshman college #honest guide on preparing for college #my berkeley adventure #myberkeleyadventure

17 notes · View notes

onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years

Link

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 4,014 Warnings: Depression, Dissociation, Abuse reference, Drug Trafficking Reference, Food, Horrible Internet Recipes Characters: Roman, Thomas, Virgil, Patton Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Angst/Family

Chapter 19

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

Roman woke up to canned laughter on TV. Virgil was watching the old black-and-white Addams Family show. It surprised Roman it wasn’t too campy for Virgil even if it was clearly his style. Virgil perched on the couch arm on the other end of the couch on his phone, but he was looking up to the show more than his phone. Roman didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep. Probably because he’s still sleeping like shit. Maybe it caught up to him. Maybe he was just sick enough of everything that his brain finally gave up. If only that power could be utilized at night. He was mad he had to wake up, though. He wanted to stay asleep forever. But he may as well be here to suffer just the same. Just staying asleep was probably too good for him, anyway. Roman rubbed his face, forgetting about the gloves. They pulled at his skin a bit. Whatever.

Roman exhaled and stared ahead. He was feeling kind of numb. Out of energy? Out of fucks to give? His brain’s finally given up on him? Why didn’t really matter. It didn’t feel like much mattered. Stuff probably did. He had to remember there were things that did. It was something that is caseworker told him to do; he remembered that. When it felt like nothing mattered, he had to make things matter again. It was hard, though. Lita was curled up at his feet. Lita mattered. He couldn’t run with her anymore, but that didn’t matter. The Sanders mattered. They were nice. He felt like a burden on the Sanders, but maybe he could make that thing not matter. Nope, it mattered that he was an awful burden still. Remus mattered. That was always something Roman could hold on to.

Oh, oh! It was Friday. Friday meant that maybe Mr. Hartley might have a way to contact Remus. That mattered. That mattered so much. Roman shifted as much as he could without twisting his torso to check the clock. There was still a while to go. Roman sighed and settled back down on to the couch. Why can’t he just go back to sleep?

“Ah, nice to you, bright eyes. You’re looking slightly less pale,” Thomas said, leaning over the top of the couch.

“Hey,” Roman said weakly and waved, barely glancing at Thomas.

“Still not feeling great?” Thomas asked. Roman shrugged, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. “It’d be really helpful if you told me how you were doing,” Thomas said patiently.

“I don’t feel anything,” Roman supplied. “So, y’know,” Roman shrugged again. Thomas looked concerned at him for a moment.

“How are your ribs?” Thomas asked. Roman still didn’t know, so just tilted his head and made a dismissive motion with his hands. “How about I help you in to the backyard? You can play fetch with Lita and get a little sun. You’ve been cooped up too long,” Thomas offered. Roman blinked a few times, processing that.

“Whatever,” Roman conceded. He supposed he didn’t really care where he was.

“Virgil, could you reach around and knock on the window when Patton comes in?” Thomas looked over to Virgil, who nodded after a pause. “Thanks,” Thomas came around the couch and helped Roman up. His body really didn’t want to move, it seemed, since he felt stiff and creaky, but the more he moved the easier it was.

Thomas helped Roman on to a chaise lounge in the backyard. Roman stared ahead to the fence and the garden in the back. He heard Lita’s dog tags jingle, and she excitedly shoved her nose into Roman’s dangling palm. Roman pet her head idly for a moment until she started running around the yard. Roman’s eyes followed her around the backyard until she ran up with a tennis ball. He took it and threw it kind of weakly, but she barked and chased after it all the same.

“It’s nice outside, isn’t it?” Thomas commented.

“Hm?” Roman made a noise, not really following what Thomas said for a moment. Then he processed it and noticed the temperature. It was nice and warm with a little breeze. “Yeah,” Roman agreed. Lita ran back up with the ball and Roman threw it a little better this time.

“If you could do anything, what would you pick to do right now?” Thomas asked, leaning against the house.

“See Remus,” Roman shrugged.

“We’ll see what your social worker says. What would you do with Remus if you had all the time and resources in the world?” Thomas leaned against the top of the chaise lounge.

“Roller coasters. Maybe a water park,” Roman responded after a pause.

“Do you like theme parks?” Thomas asked. What was this, 20 questions? Lita made a lap around the yard again.

“They sound fun,” Roman said dismissively.

“Have you ever been to a theme park?” Thomas watched Lita run in circles and trip over her own leg with a chuckle.

“No, I’ve just heard about them in school,” Roman shook his head. “I’ve been to a pool that had a giant slide and that was fun, so I bet roller coasters are, too. Remus likes heights and jumping off of stuff. Liked, I guess. I guess I don’t know what he likes anymore,” Roman said a little dourly.

“Did you jump off things a lot when you were younger?” Thomas asked lightly.

“All the time. Mom always got so mad at us,” Roman laughed weakly.

“When did you last seem him?” Thomas asked, leaning against the chaise lounge.

“The first family we were with was the only one willing to take two kids. They split us up after they kicked us back for being too much,” Roman explained.

“You haven’t even gotten to visit him since they separated you?” Thomas sounded concerned.

“Yeah,” Roman muttered and wrung his fingers a bit. “It was never a priority. Or they broke their promises. Or it was too far. Or it was too much effort. Blood relations aren’t important. I didn’t earn it. I’m not worth it. I’ve heard a lot of reasons. I stopped asking. We used to talk on the phone before I wasn’t allowed to use phones anymore,” Roman watched the breeze ruffle the leaves. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. What’s a hobby that sounds awesome to try?” Thomas changed subjects. Maybe it was 20 questions.

“Um. I don’t know,” Roman said honestly. Open-ended questions were always hard for him.

“What stuff do you like?” Thomas leaned down and picked up the tennis ball Lita dropped too far away for Roman to reach and handed it off to Roman to throw again. Roman chucked it farther this time and Lita went wild chasing it, nearly ramming into the fence.

“Art… and doing stuff with my hands or things that are active, I guess,” Roman said after a lengthy pause of strained consideration.

“What stuff are you good at?” Thomas asked. Roman froze. There was a knock on the window. Saved by Virgil. Thank god, he nearly said ‘fucking up’. Roman blinked and shook his head for a moment in sheer relief.

“Patton’s here,” Roman provided, pointing to the door.

“Keep your gloves on, please,” Thomas said and went back inside. Lita came happily trotting up again and hopped up and panted happily on his lap. Roman smiled slightly and pet her. He tried to scratch behind her ears, but with the gloves, it was more like weird rubbing, so he stuck to petting. Patton came out on to a patio munching on a muffin a few minutes later.

“Hey kiddo!” Patton smiled brightly.

“Hey,” Roman waved slightly and kept petting Lita.

“Feeling kind of out of it, huh?” Patton asked, walking up to Roman.

“Kinda,” Roman stared at the sky. He was a little more here than earlier, but still kinda… eh.

“You want to come sit in the grass with me?” Patton asked, holding out his hand. Roman looked to Patton and took his hand. Lita jumped off his lap, and they walked off the patio into the yard. “You can take off those snazzy gloves,” Roman slipped them off and Patton helped Roman down into the grass. They both sat there quietly for a moment. Feeling the grass was actually pretty nice after wearing those gloves all day. “What did you do this afternoon?”

“Um, I read in Thomas’s office and played games. Sorry,” Roman muttered and trailed off.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, you were doing what we asked you to do. Thomas said you wanted to do some homework. Did you want to work on it together after dinner?” Patton said sympathetically.

“I’ve, uh, got it,” Roman muttered.

“We asked you to take a break so we should help you catch up, it’s only fair. I swung by the school to pick up the rest of your homework for this week,” Patton said.

“Oh, goody,” Roman deadpanned and Patton chuckled.

“What kind of food do you like? You don’t normally say you want anything specific,” Patton asked, leaning forward on his hands in the grass.

“I’m really not picky,” Roman shrugged and worried a blade of grass between his fingers.

“I’m just wondering if you have a favourite food,” Patton said, tilting his head and looking over hopefully to Roman.

“Not really,” Roman shook his head.

“So, what would be your last meal if you got to pick one?” Patton asked, holding up a finger.

“Something fancy, probably. Lobster is fancy, right?” Roman picked at a grass blade that came off between his fingers.

“So there're no foods that make you excited?” Patton asked curiously. Roman shook his head. Not anymore, anyway. “Maybe we need to find your new favourite food, then! We can try out fun recipes online,” Patton offered.

“You don’t have to do an effort for me, I’ll eat whatever,” Roman held up the grass blade he was picking at and released it to the breeze.

“I know you’ll eat ‘whatever’, but it’s fun to try new foods! I was trying to pick what to make for dinner tonight,” Patton explained.

“Virgil usually has a preference, you could ask him,” Roman motioned with his thumb towards the house.

“He normally does,” Patton chuckled in agreement. Roman considered what he thought Virgil might like for a moment and got an idea.

“I saw this recipe for enchilada lasagna he might like. Us mortals should be able to eat it with sour cream,” Roman offered. Plus, he was curious if any of those foods in the videos he’d been watching lately were any good or if they were just for show.

“Oh, it’s a spicy one?” Patton snickered curiously.

“Not inedible. He’ll probably still want to put hot sauce on it,” Roman mimed using a hot sauce bottle, with a slight grin.

“Let’s go see if we have ingredients for it. I’m not sure about enchilada sauce,” Patton said, sounding like he was thinking hard.

“My grandmother would yell at me from beyond the grave if I used canned enchilada sauce when it’s cheaper to buy tomato sauce,” Roman laughed, moving to get up.

“Oh, did you used to cook with her?” Patton scrambled up quickly to help Roman take the pressure off his feet.

“She watched us often,” Roman said dismissively.

“Was your grandmother the one who taught you how to cook?” Patton held open the door for Roman to head back inside.

“My mom and grandmother both learned quickly it was better to keep us busy, so we helped them cook often. We were too young for lots of it, though, I finished learning at the library,” Roman said, the pair of them heading into the kitchen.

“That’s very proactive of you! So, what do we need for this?” Patton asked as they entered the kitchen.

“Enchilada stuff. Meat, black beans, cheese, tortillas, onion, peppers, bell peppers, tomato sauce,” Roman supplied.

“Oh, sorry kiddo, we don’t have tortillas,” Patton frowned.

“They’re flour and water. Do you not have flour and water?” Roman smirked, leaning into the vegetable drawer in the fridge.

“Oh, really?” Patton said curiously, digging in the pantry.

“What meat do you want to use?” Roman asked as he procured the needed vegetables.

“What do you think is best?” Patton asked.

“Chicken thighs, probably,” Roman pulled that out from the meat drawer as well. “Do you have canned peppers? There’s none in here,” Roman stuck his head out of the fridge to ask Patton.

“We do, I’ll get them,” Patton said and withdrew a few cans and brought them to the counter. “Grandma won’t be mad about canned peppers?”

“My grandmother grew her own peppers, but she supports the use of canned,” Roman smiled fondly. “Whatever was cheapest was the best option. She was on a fixed income. She planted seeds from the ones she got from a friend. She was always proud of her ‘stolen garden’,” Roman put the things from the fridge on the counter.

“Wow, your grandma was awesome,” Patton smiled.

“She was determined,” Roman dug around on the spice shelf for the spices they’d need.

“So are you! Let's get you a chair so you can get off your feet,” Patton said, grabbing a chair from the kitchen table and putting it next to Roman.

“What’s first?” Patton asked brightly.

“Seasoning the chicken,” Roman provided. He kneeled on the chair so he could still reach the counter but get off his feet. They were already hurting. Patton let Roman do most of the cooking. It was understandable, he didn’t know the seasonings and only Roman knew how to make tortillas. But he ran around the kitchen getting Roman things and chopped up the vegetables to he could make them. He even let Roman cook the filling, which he could have taken over for. But Roman really liked being able to do something after doing nothing for days, so he said nothing, even when his knees got kind of sore.

Roman sat down on a kitchen chair in with an exhausted exhale after Patton slid it in the oven to finish cooking. Roman leaned forward on the table tiredly, hoping the monstrosity would taste good. Patton sat down with him with an odd-looking smile.

“It smells amazing in here. I’m sure you did your grandma proud,” Patton said brightly.

“I’m pretty certain she would say this is an abomination, actually, but she’d laugh while she said it before ranting about how deeply and horrifically wrong it is,” Roman smiled and shook his head. He was acutely aware of how wrong this ‘meal’ was, too. But the morbid curiosity about Virgil’s capacity to eat garbage was louder than his good sense. The ingredients were all good, so it was relatively low risk, dinner wise. Unless they got mad at him for making garbage food, maybe. God, did his knees hurt after all that kneeling. He stretched them carefully under the kitchen table. “She always liked what we did, even if it was terrible. She had crayon drawings from when I was 3 framed on the wall.”

“She sounds very sweet,” Patton smiled softly.

“You would have probably gotten along with her,” Roman leaned on the table. “Are your grandparents still alive?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m afraid they wouldn’t get along with your grandma, though,” Patton said pensively.

“How do you mean?” Roman furrowed his eyebrows.

“They’re just very old fashioned,” Patton said dismissively. “Would you like some orange juice? You’ve got to be a little hot from all the cooking,” Patton said, getting back up.

“Um, yeah, that sounds good,” Roman mumbled as he continued to stretch his legs under the table. Patton grabbed Roman a glass of orange juice before pulling out dishes to set the table. “Sorry for having you do all this stuff for me,” Roman apologized quietly.

“I offered, and I’m doing it because I want to,” Patton smiled and started setting out dishes. Roman sipped his orange juice and watched Patton as he set out the dishes. “Are you feeling less out of it?” He eyed Roman with interest.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Roman said, not realizing it until now. “Thanks, I think?”

“You came back yourself, there, champ. I just helped show you how,” Patton winked.

“Is hanging out in the grass and making dinner really how to do it?” Roman asked, leaning on his hands and tilting his head.

“You just needed some grounding. You’ve probably been thinking lots about the past and getting stuck there. Grass, sunshine, chatting, and making dinner just helped pull you back to the present,” Patton smiled softly.

“How do you know so much about this stuff? Aren’t you an animal doctor and not a people doctor?” Roman asked curiously, stroking the perspiration on the glass.

“I was in therapy for a long time, kiddo. It really helped me out when I was in a bad place. My therapist gave me lots of tools to help focus on the present and being a good person,” Patton said, leaning forward.

“Does it have something to do with why my grandmother wouldn’t like your grandparents?” Roman asked carefully.

“You’re a sharp kid. But you’ve got plenty on your plate right now. I think it’s better for you to focus on good things at the moment since you’ve been struggling lately. Like the enchilada abomination in the oven!” Patton chuckled, motioning to the oven.

“A-, uh, my grandmother-” Roman caught himself. “-would really like you. Maybe she’ll come to make fun of this freak feast on November first,” Roman smirked at the folly of man in the oven.

“Do you celebrate the day of the dead?” Patton perked up.

“She did. Mom kind of did. I’ve never really done it without her. Dad didn’t like it. I just think if anyone would visit, it would be her, I guess. I know it’s kind of dumb. Really dumb. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Roman mumbled and nervously fidgeted with his hands.

“Stop right there, kiddo. It’s not dumb. It’s okay to miss your grandma and hope she visits. Nobody else has the right to tell you your dumb for your beliefs, okay? If you want to set up something on November first, I’m happy to support you. Maybe Virgil wants to join. If I remember correctly his dad was from Mexico. Even if he doesn’t, there’s no harm in trying, just because it reminds you of her,” Patton reassured him. Roman nodded silently.

“Patton, will you be honest with me?” Roman asked after a pause, nervously picking at his nails.

“Of course I will,” Patton nodded and looked a little nervous, but smiled nonetheless.

“Would you rather have gotten someone else less fucked up? Are you just settling on me because it’s the nice thing to do?” Roman asked quietly.

“Roman, please don’t use the F word. I don’t like that language,” Patton frowned.

“Sorry,” Roman muttered, dropping his head.

“I’m not settling on you, Roman. Thomas and I went going into this ready to love and support anyone who came to us. I think you’re a great kid and I think we get along just fine. I’m sorry if my emotional reactions scared you or made you think I didn’t think you were worth it. Sometimes it’s hard to deal with stuff that hits so close to home for me,” Patton admitted.

“You didn’t also sell drugs, did you?” Roman asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow at Patton.

“No! No, I just didn’t have a great time with my grandparents and there wasn’t anybody to stand up for me,” Patton explained, shaking his hands. “I was upset about it not seeming like anybody ever stood up for you, because you keep blaming yourself for things that objectively don’t need blame taken for. I freaked out because in a million years I never expected to hear about a teenager making drug deliveries because his guardians refused to take care of him. Especially about such a sensitive kid like you who always tries to put other people’s feelings first,” He motioned to Roman.

“I, uh… sorry. But I started running for Jet at 12,” Roman muttered. Patton’s eyes widened and he kind of looked like he wanted to scream, but he didn’t move or make a sound. Roman still leaned away nervously. “Sorry. I was 13 when the Halls… uh,” Roman paused. Patton took a deep breath.

“If you want to say it, you can,” Patton said, taking a deep breath.

“This, um, maybe ‘hits close to home’,” Roman rubbed his arm. “Um, it was about wanting more money from us and it got so bad my caseworker was fired. Jet’s might have, too. I never called him to find out. I kinda took the excuse to cut ties. After things got bad he got bad, too. I don’t blame him or anything, but still…” Roman trailed off.

“Do you still have his number?” Patton asked curiously, looking less like he would scream, but now and much more sad.

“Um… yeah. Just in case I needed to make some fast money. It was a burner, so the number is probably long since disconnected from him. It’s more of a reminder now. I can’t bring myself to throw it away,” Roman admitted, not able to meet Patton’s eyes.

“As long as you’re not using it to hurt yourself, I suppose,” Patton muttered, not sounding like he actually believed what he said.

“Sure, I won’t give myself a paper cut with it or whatever,” Roman said, kind of baffled by the implications.

“No, I mean looking at it to remind yourself that in a time of desperation you did something you didn’t want to do and judge yourself harshly for your choices,” Patton explained.

“Uh, yeah,” Roman said meekly. Patton’s lips tightened, and he hummed suspiciously.

“When you’re a kid and you make bad choices, it’s important that you learn from them but you can’t hate yourself for them. When you’re young, you don’t have a lot of resources and you don’t have all the information. Parents are supposed to protect you from all that stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised Jet made it seem like it was harmless at first. He was older than you and offering help, so wanting to trust him was natural. Nobody was there to take you, or even Jet, out of that situation, and that wasn’t your fault. That was your guardian’s fault, full stop. You should never have been in that situation in the first place and you can’t blame yourself for what you did while trying to survive if you really were trying not to hurt people. And I can’t imagine you did, kiddo. I just don’t see it in you,” Patton said firmly, and Roman could barely take hearing it.

“Pat, dude, it’s not going to look good for you if I’m crying when Mr. Hartley gets here,” Roman joked while sniffling. He rubbed his eyes and put his head down on the table.

“I’m sorry, kiddo, but I think you needed to hear it,” Patton said. “Do you want…” Patton paused and Roman nodded into his arms on the table. Patton got up from the table and put his arm around Roman while he tried to pull himself together. The oven timer went off and Patton let go with after lightly rubbing his back to go pull the monstrosity out of the oven. Roman sipped his OJ and wiped the tears threatening to escape again. Virgil walked into the kitchen and looked oddly at Roman for a moment.

‘Smells awesome. But what the fuck?’ Virgil signed.

‘Patton was being an asshole,’ Roman signed back with a weak smirk.

‘I always knew it,’ Virgil side-eyed Patton facetiously. ‘Seriously, you okay?’

‘No,’ Roman signed and shrugged.

‘Valid,’ Virgil fingerspelled. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘An abomination unto god,’ Roman fingerspelled slowly. Virgil’s smirk widened into a mischievous grin.

‘I always wanted to eat an unholy abomination,’ Virgil signed back and sat at the table next to Roman.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15 @ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository:

High school: @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra @potatsanderssides

Roman Angst: @k1ngtok1

Hurt/Comfort: @callboxkat @nonasficcollection @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123

Roman-Centric: @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd

Fostering AU: @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @ananonsplace

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #ayri writes #dreaming while i wake #roman angst #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #ts character thomas #depression #disassociation #food #dog #chapter fic #fanfiction

20 notes · View notes

demon-animatronic · 4 years

Text

Perfectly Perfect: Chapter 2 - Self Insert fic

Title: Perfectly Perfect

Rating: Teen for swearing

Relationship: Steelbeak x Self Insert Lexi

Genre: Family/Friendship and eventually Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Summary: They run into each other again. Only at the boardwalk/beach this time. You also find out a bit more about Steelbeak

Author’s Note: This chapter was only written thanks to the angst or whatever at the beginning. I wasn’t planning on that happening originally...it just did. And the chapter continued from there. Now i’m back in a writer’s block. And an art block. So it’s double the Hell for me.

Prologue - Last Chapter - Next Chapter (Coming soon…hopefully)

Steelbeak walked down the boardwalk, mumbling to himself. Black Heron once again called him a stupid idiot and told him to get out while she worked on whatever it was. Bradford even told him to stop bothering her while she’s working and to shut up. Going as far as holding up the remote to his beak as a threat to keep it shut again.

So he left, not because they told him to leave. He just didn’t want to get muzzled again.

The most recent time wasn’t the first time they did that. But he did get startled when his beak was forced shut for the first time in quite a while.

When it happened the first time, he was very close to completely recovering from his beak surgery. FOWL was kind enough to give him a place to stay and hide from the police while he recovered. It wasn’t much but it was better than being homeless and on the run.

Even his new beak was better than his original since it can’t be damaged like his real beak did. That said, his steel beak can be fixed. His original beak was only able to handle so much damage before being destroyed permanently.

But anyway, he had been talking to Bradford and Black Heron about something when Bradford pressed a button on a remote. Instantly, his beak was forced shut and he couldn’t open it again. Out of panic, he started punching his beak to open it again and even made himself bleed around the edges of his beak and his knuckles.

Bradford seemed pleased that the remote worked and pressed it again so he could open his beak.

Every time he tried to get answers as to what they did to his beak to allow that to happen, he was shut down or ignored.

Sometimes even muzzled.

Fast forward to a few weeks later, he was now healed from his surgery and was still very much a part of FOWL. But he couldn’t even leave if he tried. He learned that one day.

Steelbeak wasn’t even trying to leave FOWL. But he figured he must’ve done something to piss them off. One second he was hanging around with other agents. The next, he was thrown into a cell and his beak was forced shut with a press of that damn button.

At first he shrugged it off and figured they were messing with him. But there was a clock on the other side of the cell door in his view. A few hours turned into a full day. And soon that full day became three days.

Every once in a while Bradford would be down to give him water throughout the day and opened his beak so he could drink. But he wasn’t given any food.

To them, they were trying to make him dependant on FOWL. Especially since he couldn’t eat, drink, or barely breathe with his beak shut like that. To Steelbeak, he knew they were giving him a taste of what could happen if he fell out of line.

If he tried, they would surely muzzle him and throw him into a cell like they did. But he also knew that unlike this time, they wouldn’t give him food OR water. They would likely make him starve.

And it wouldn’t be for a few days either. It could be for weeks, months, or years. However long it would take to break him. Of course they would have to give him food and water eventually if they wanted him to live another day. Or they could just starve him to death.

After that third day when they let him out and opened his beak, Steelbeak vowed to stay with FOWL for the rest of his life. And that he knew he couldn’t survive without them. Not when they have the tools to fix his beak if needed.

Plus, he knew they could kick him out and even muzzle him at the same time and not help him. They would just say to find a way to open it himself and ignore him. And if he couldn’t? Oh well. It wasn’t their problem.

That was months ago and he did get muzzled a few times after that. But it’s been around two or three months between the last time and the most recent time. So when it did happen, he started punching his beak from being startled and not wanting it shut.

He has since left the secret base at that place for kids to waste their family’s money and found his way to the boardwalk. Still mumbling about not being respected and that he’s not stupid.

As he was walking, a black limo came up out of nowhere and slammed into a light at the edge of the sidewalk.

“Who is stupid enough to…” Steelbeak trailed off when he saw who opened the driver’s door. “…Launchpad? Of course…just what I needed today.”

“Here we are, Lexi.” Launchpad said, opening the back door.

“Wait-“ Steelbeak stopped walking towards him, figuring he could take his anger out on him. “-What?”

“Thanks for the ride, LP!” I said, stepping out of the limo.

“No problem!” Launchpad said, opening the trunk and taking out the beach chair and bag. “Need help getting these down there?”

“No thanks. I got it. You might want to get the front of the limo fixed though.” I smiled.

“Oh yeah. That little dent won’t be a problem!” Launchpad said, waving it off with a laugh. “Have fun! Text me when you‘re ready to be picked up.”

“Will do! See yah, Launchpad!” I waved to him as he got back into the limo and drove off.

“Little dent?” Steelbeak muttered before looking at the dognose that LP was with, feeling like he knew her. “Oh duh! We just didn’t introduce ourselves at the library!”

He then decided to follow the Dognose down to the beach.

By the time he had caught up to her, she had found a spot on the fairly empty beach. She had taken a blanket out of her bag and was laying it down.

“So how has that homework been, babe?” Steelbeak decided to ask, as he stepped up to me.

“As hard as you can imagine.” I turned to him after picking up my chair and raised my sunglasses to my head.

“I’m sure it is.” He laughed. “So no kids today? I‘m Steelbeak, by the way.”

Steelbeak tapped his beak.

“Lexi.” We shook hands before I went back to setting my chair up. “And no. I’m having some me time.”

“Sounds nice. Mind if I join yah?” Steelbeak asks.

“Sure. Do you want the chair?” I reply, putting sunscreen on my shoulders and around the tank top straps.

“If you don‘t mind.” Steelbeak then started taking his shoes off.

I shrugged before taking my sandals off and grabbing a towel from the bag to use as a pillow. Then I laid down on the blanket on my stomach.

Steelbeak began taking his jacket, tie, and shirt off. Setting them off to the side where there was less of a chance of them getting sandy.

“See something you like?” Steelbeak asked, noticing that I was watching as he sat down in the chair.

“Uh no…” I trailed off, putting my sunglasses back on and blushing a little.

“You sure about that?” He asked, smirking.

“Uh huh.” I nodded and quickly changed the subject. “So what brings you here today?”

“…Just taking a walk. My coworkers were giving me a headache.” He said after a second. “Saw your buddy, Launchpad, drop you off. So I figured we could talk again.”

“…Did they call you stupid again?” I asked, remembering what he said when we met before. “And yes, I know you’re not stupid.” I quickly added since I saw he was going to flip out.

“Maybe…” Steelbeak rubbed the back of his head, calming down after hearing the second part. “…At least someone knows that.”

“Sounds like you’re having a bad day at work.” I said.

“I just really needed to walk away from my job for a bit. My boss was threatening to muzzle me again and I would rather walk away than not open my beak for a while.” Steelbeak replied.

“Yeah. That sounds like torture. Obviously you wouldn‘t be able to eat or drink. But would you be able to breathe?” I asked.

“Barely.” Steelbeak said. “But I owe them. Besides, I can’t walk away for good or anything. If I try, they’ll gladly muzzle me, throw me into a cell, and never let me out or open my beak again.”

“…That’s evil as fuck.” I said. “What did they do that made you owe them your life? And how can they control your beak like that?”

“I got arrested for cockfighting. The day the police showed up was the same day my beak got severely damaged. They broke me out of jail and gave me my prosthetic. I consented to the steel beak. What I didn’t consent to was them putting magnets or something in it that they can control with a remote. You can imagine my surprise when they did it the first time.”

“How did you react?” I decided to ask.

“I was shocked and instantly started punching my beak so hard the edges around it and my face started bleeding. Even my knuckles started to bleed from how hard I was hitting it.” Steelbeak said. “Thankfully they didn’t keep it shut for long but they didn’t explain how and why that happened.”

“How did you figure out it was magnets or something?”

“The one that made the prosthetic did tell me after several weeks of asking. I guess I finally annoyed her enough. From what I remember, she mentioned magnets being inside of it.” Steelbeak replied.

“Sounds like a really awful environment to be in.” I said.

“Eh. For the most part it’s not so bad. They gave me a free place to live to recover from my surgery and to hide from the police. Can’t beat that since I’m still living there now. Plus this IS a really cool prosthetic. I‘ll take it over my damaged natural beak any day.” Steelbeak chuckled.

“Yeah… I guess…” I replied, still feeling bad. “Do you still do cockfighting now or just whatever it is with the people that gave you the new beak?”

“Nah. I’m just with FO- friends that gave me the steel beak now.” He said, catching himself. “It’s actually nice having someone to talk to since my… co-workers… won’t listen.” Steelbeak folded his arms.

“I mean, I don’t mind you talking to me if you need to rant about something.” I replied, shrugging.

“Really? So you wouldn’t mind giving me your number instead of hoping we would run into each other for a third time after this?”

“Nope.” I said.

“Okay. Here.” Steelbeak took his phone out and unlocked it before tossing it over to me. “Put your number in.”

I did what he said before tossing it back to him.

“Text me and I’ll get your number that way.” I replied and he nodded.

We continued talking for a while before he eventually had to go back to work. A few hours after he left, I texted Launchpad and had him pick me up near the boardwalk. Choosing to keep my new friend to myself for now.

#Steelbeak #Lexi the dog #I want to draw either Steely taking his shirt off #or them simply talking with him in the beach chair #and Lexi laying on her stomach in front of him #Sadly it'll never happen

6 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 4 years

Text

Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

The last entry in the 600 Followers Gift-a-thon! I meant for this to be out the last weekend in December, but dude to both illness, kiss-a-thon, and this fic turning out well over 7.5K...it just didn’t work out. Thank all of you guys for following and voting; hopefully this year I’ll actually get to finish all the 500 follower raffle fics too...

Despite the glut of graduation media Shirayuki’s been binging, trying to brace herself for-- for all this, nothing quite prepares her for what it will be like to wear her cap and gown.

“It’s plastic,” she says dully, rubbing the waffle-weave between the tips of her fingers. “It feels like a tablecloth.”

“You look great,” Nanna assures her, eyes shining, giving her arm a good squeeze.

“Besides,” Grandad adds, fiddling with his camera. They got him that two years ago, for Christmas, and even still he doesn’t know quite how it works. “At least you and all your friends will be wearing tablecloths together.”

That fact that doesn’t seem to assuage Kihal in the least.

“This is a disaster,” she wails as Shirayuki approaches, waving her hand to encompass both their gowns. “They’re practically see-through!”

Shirayuki blinks, and-- yes. At a glance, she knows that Kihal’s dress is blue beneath her robe, and Kiki’s is purple. She stares down at her own, and through the cheap plastic, the hazy pink splotches of the roses dotting her dress give the vague impression of period stains.

“Oh,” she murmurs, dropping the fabric. “Oh.”

“We’ve agreed, as whole, to aggressively ignore it,” Kiki says rationally, though by the round of her shoulders and the tense line of her jaw, it still rankles. “I’m going to warn the Junior Student Council that they need to ask for blue robes for all genders.”

“Or black,” Kihal suggests, “ditch the whole school pride thing altogether.”

Kiki nods. “Classic. I like it.” Her gaze hooks on to Shirayuki. “You’re doing a speech today, aren’t you?”

Butterflies races sickeningly in Shirayuki’s stomach. “Um, yeah.”

“Feeling prepared?”

Not at all. “As much as I can be,” she settles on. It earns her one of Kiki’s rare smiles, which at least gets the micro-fauna in her gut doing a more pleasant set of maneuvers.

“Good.” She reaches out, giving Shirayuki’s shoulder a solid squeeze. “I’m excited to hear it. Obi said it was, and I quote, ‘killer.’“

“Oh.” She knows they’re friends, of course; she met him through Kiki and Zen, and she hangs out with both of them on the regular, it’s just--

They talk about her. He talks about her, in a way that is, well, boyfriend-like. And she’s never...

Shirayuki has never been someone people talk about. At least, not without some rumor to go along with it.

“Um.” Her eyes sting, even as her mouth curves into a smile. “Cool.”

Kiki’s gaze flicks over her shoulder. “I better go check on Zen. It looks as if he might have some sort of apoplexy if he doesn’t get more help than Obi getting everyone into line.”

Shirayuki’s head whips over her shoulder, gaze fixing to where Zen stands in the gym, cheeks so red he might as well have been slapped. Right beside him is Obi, mouth hooking into his customary smirk, and something that’s been knotted in her breast since this morning loosens.

“That boy needs to get laid,” Kihal decides with a snort. “Or pick up yoga, or meditation, or something.”

A guilt heat sweeps over Shirayuki, head to toe. “W-what?”

“Wisteria.” Kihal jerks her head at him. “He’s going to pass out if he keeps walking around like a pot with its lid on, you know?”

“O-oh,” she says, now more mortified. “R-right.”

“Obviously not Obi. You’re already--” her eyes narrow-- “aren’t you already doing something about that?”

“Um!” Shirayuki casts about for anything that will keep her from having this conversation. “Looks like...we better go line up. I’m with the Ls so...I’ll see you after the ceremony!”

“What?” Kihal squawks, hands fisting on her hips as Shirayuki hurries away. “This conversation is not over!”

Tragically, Kihal is correct.

“I can’t believe you haven’t blow him.” Shirayuki glares down at where Kihal rests her elbows on the back of her chair, staring down the opposite row to where the ‘N’ section sits. “Like not even a little?”

The rehearsal was hardly three days ago, but somehow Shirayuki had forgotten the crucial fact that the ‘T’ section sat just behind the ‘L’ one after they file in.

“I don’t think this is really the time to be talking about this,” she hisses, glancing at the girl next to her, buried in her phone. To her other side is the aisle, thankfully, though when Mitsuhide throws her a small wave she can’t help but think if he was here, on this side, his staid presence might discourage this particular conversation.

“Just look at him.” Kihal gestures with the flat of her hand, right to where Obi sits, grinning, in front of Zen. “His dick is probably gorgeous. Like if I had to say who had the best dick out of everyone we know, I’d say--”

“Kihal.”

“--Probably Mitsuhide,” she admits, “but Obi would be a close second.”

Shirayuki sighs, and, well, maybe if she indulges this line of questioning, it will be over sooner. “We just...haven’t gotten there yet.”

Kihal gives her a dubious look. “It’s been what? Three months? And you expect me to believe he hasn’t mentioned it at all?”

She blinks. “No, actually.”

It hadn’t seemed odd to her-- after all, the only person thus far in her life that had mentioned her getting on her knees was Raj, and that had gone...not well, for either of them-- but now that Kihal has mentioned it...

Obi is nineteen, twenty in a month, and from every movie she’s ever avoided watching on the subject, he should be, well, more actively campaigning for an end to her dickphobia. Or at least, mentioning how he’d like her to be touching him, often and well.

“Maybe he doesn’t like it,” she suggests, at a loss. After all, she knows there’s, um, a reciprocal position, and as nice as it sounds when he suggests it, it doesn’t excite her in a, ah, intellectual sense. It’s not anything she cares about doing any time soon.

“Fake news,” Kihal grunts, “all boys like having their penises touched. If you asked him what he’d like to do to celebrate--” Shirayuki grimaces at the suggestive nudge-- “tonight, he’d say, hands down, that he wants you to blow him.”

Her menagerie of intestinal insects takes flight at the thought. “I don’t know...”

“Scientific fact,” Kihal insists, “given the choice, a dude will always want to be blown.”

“Well--” Obi meets her gaze, giving her a wink that is somehow both saucy and supportive-- “good thing there’s going to be no time for any of that tonight.”

Kihal’s gaze darts between the two of them, her mouth curling slyly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll both find a way.”

If there’s one thing to be said for Kihal’s dogged determination on the subject of Obi’s penis and what Shirayuki should be doing with it, it’s that while she’s worrying about just how glacially slow she’s moving in her single serious relationship of her lifetime (and whether the local access cameras are near enough to pick up this entire conversation), she had absolutely no time to worry about her speech.

Which is why she nearly faceplants into the aisle when Zen announces, “Shirayuki Leon,” from the podium.

With a recovery that is as removed from smooth as she is from cool, Shirayuki shuffles up to the stage, trying not to stumble on the kitten heels Nanna insisted she wear. Distantly, she’s aware that there had to have been more lead up, that by Zen’s cheerful smile and the interested applause of the crowd, he must have said something complimentary enough to get her into heaven. But she can’t find it in herself to worry about that; instead she thanks him woodenly as he steps back, taking his seat on the stage as the Student Council President, and lets the cold breath of fear wash over her.

“Hi,” she begins eloquently, eyes scanning over the crowd. Goodness, this is a lot of people. “I’m Shirayuki, and I’m new.”

To her surprise, the crowd chuckles, fond smiles spreading across a few faces, and--

She can do this. She really can.

“I think I said that a million times my first week here.” It’s not anywhere near an exaggeration; she’d been searching for friends, anyone to make a senior year transfer seem like less of a punishment, and she’d been what she liked to term aggressively friendly. “I’d thought nothing could be worse than having to leave my old school right when I was going to graduate. How could I replace eleven years of friendship in less than nine months? How could I even become part of this school, when even your colors are weird?”

They laugh at that too, and it’s strange-- she’d thought she’d feel naked saying these things in front of a crowd, in front of classmates who had whispered behind her back, or even asked her bald questions in the hall about blowing Raj Shenezard. But it’s all so far away now, another lifetime, one that existed before Honor Society, before Mathletes, before--

Well, before Drama Club, certainly.

“But I didn’t feel that way long.” Zen and Kiki are on the stage behind her, but Mitsuhide and Kihal are were she left them in the crowd, smiling as she meets their eyes. “I made friends, good friends. The kind of friendships that last beyond homework. The kind of relationships--” her knees quiver under the podium as she glances at Obi, as she says the words she wrestled over last night, trying to make perfect-- “that last beyond a play, beyond high school, into whatever comes after. Together.”

He holds her gaze, and oh, she is-- she is not going to make it through this if she keeps looking at him>.

“I’m changed because I came here. We’re all changed because we came here,” she says, lifting her gaze to the crowd. “My Nanna likes to say that we’re not stone, but clay, constantly being shaped by what’s around us. Being here has shaped us, but it’s also shown me that we can shape ourselves if we choose to. When we leave here we’ll change again, and again, and for some of us, we’ll lose this shape entirely and becomes something new. And for others, we’ll carry pieces of what we became here our whole lives.”

With a single, steeling breath, she continues, “A few months ago, I couldn’t imagine fitting in here. And now I can’t imagine ever having been anywhere else. So as much as this speech is a celebration of all we’ve achieved together, it’s also a thank you.” She smiles, letting her gaze scan over the whole of her class, realizing she knows a name for every face. “Thank you for my senior year.”

“I cried,” Kihal informs her, fanning herself with a program as they wait for their families to find them on the field. “So I hope you’re happy about that.”

Shirayuki frowns. “That wasn’t really the point--”

“Hey!” Zen holds out his arms, wrapping her in a hug that’s only slightly stilted. “Great speech!”

“Thanks,” she says, gripping his arms as she steps back. “I was nervous. I don’t really know how much that would, um, resonate for people.”

“It’s a small school,” Kiki drawls, cutting between them to wrap her arms around her. A thrill shoots up her spine, all the way from her toes. “And you’re one of us now.”

“Oh.” Her eyes sting, like she worried they might on the podium, but this-- this-- “Thank you.”

It’s fine.

“You did an amazing job, Shirayuki!” Mitsuhide tells her, bounding up with a grin and a hug strong enough to break a moose’s back. “The best speech today!”

“Thanks,” Zen deadpans.

“Oh, I--” he grimaces, rubbing at the back of his head-- “I forgot you gave one. But It was good too!”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Zen laughs, shaking his head. “You’re right, Shirayuki’s was much better than mine.”

“I thought that, um...” If only she could remember any bit of the ceremony that wasn’t her speech or Kihal’s opinion on oral sex, this would be a much easier compliment. “It was very good!”

“Doesn’t hold a candle to yours, though.” Obi’s arm slings around her shoulder, drawing her tight against his side. “Though maybe I’m biased.”

Zen grins at that. “You are kissing the competition.”

Obi waggles his eyebrows. “You’re always welcome to come over here and bias me yourself, Chief.”

He flushes, bright pink against the platinum of his hair, and coughs, “I’m-- I’m good.”

“Do have to say, kid,” Obi continues, dropping his chin to tangle the amber of his gaze with hers, “there was a part in the middle there I don’t remember practicing.”

“Mm.” It’s good he didn’t look at her like this when she was talking; she’d never have gotten a word out around the tangle of her tongue. “I found out I had more to say about all the, um, future stuff.”

“Future stuff?” he asks, breathless.

It would be inappropriate to kiss him here, at least the way his eyes are promising. Her grandparents are talking to Kihal’s parents just a few feet away, and all their friends are watching them, and a peck might be in order but--

But his chest rumbles under her hands as he leans in, half a purr, and as much as she knows this is more fit for a dark corner instead of right next to the bleachers, she pushes up on her toes--

“Hey, Obi, are you coming tonight?”

He steps away, hazy-eyed. Her lips still tingle with thwarted anticipation. “Hm?”

Zen darts a glance between the two of them. “My graduation party. I know you have, uh, a competing engagement.”

“Oh right.” He nods, tucking her into his side. “Yeah, I’m gonna come for about an hour, and then ditch out for Shirayuki’s. As long as that’s okay with you, Kid?”

She blinks. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry I can’t make it, Zen, but--”

“Don’t worry,” he waves her off. “I know how it is. I might try to pop by after Kiki’s dad opens the liquor cabinet though.”

Kiki grimaces. “Me too.”

“Glad that’s settled.” Obi presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll stuff myself on canapes for an hour, and then I’ll come just in time to eat Grandad’s cooking.”

Shirayuki feigns a pout of disapproval. “Well, now I know where your real priorities lie.”

Kiki barks out a laugh. “You can’t be surprised that it’s his stomach.”

Obi grins at that, but his eyes grow serious. “Aw, c’mon kid,” he says, softer, pressing another kiss between her eyebrows. “You know you’re what matters to me.”

She wraps an arm around his waist, enjoying the way his breath skips as she squeezes him. “I know.”

In all her anxiety-watching of graduation movies, not one of them had managed to show a graduation party, opting instead for moonlit moments on picnic blankets beneath the floodlights of the school’s football field. Thus, Shirayuki is thoroughly unprepared for how chaotic it is.

“Shirayuki!” Nanna calls out, waving at her from across the room, “do you remember Mrs Kino?”

She doesn’t have many relatives; her mom was an only child, and her whole paternal side is shrouded in a mystery she’s only even half-interested in solving, but the party is filled to the brim with her grandparents’ friends and business associates from the pub, as well as a handful of old teachers Nanna managed to track down as a surprise. Her own friends have been filtering in and out all night: the Mathletes started here and left after the first round of chafing dishes were finished, leaving to go to another party across town; at least a handful of drama club members here since before even she managed to arrive, ever-changing, though always clustered around the refreshment tables; Kihal has been aggressively greeting everyone that walked in the door as if it were her own party, making sure that Shirayuki gives everyone at least a cursory hello and an outline of her post-graduation plans. Even Ryuu puts in an appearance around dinner, looking as if he’d like to melt into the floor as his mother gushes about what an excellent influence Shirayuki has been, how she’ll be sorely missed next year.

Still, she hasn’t seen Obi.

“He’ll be here,” Kihal promises as they take a breather in the den, scarfing down a entire plate of chicken marsala with an intensity that makes Shirayuki concerned about her future gastric health. “You know he will. And if he doesn’t I’ll kill him.”

There’s a half dozen thing she could say to that, but she settles for, “Thanks.”

“Do you mind checking to see if there’s anymore chicken?” Kihal holds out her plate with wide, pleading eyes. “It’s so good. And I know you want to see if the desserts have come out.”

More like Kihal wants to know if the desserts are out. “Can you not make it there yourself?”

“Nope.” Kihal lounges against the couch’s arm. “I’m like a California condor. I’ve eaten so much I won’t be able to fly for another hour.”

She lifts a brow. “And you still want more?”

Kihal scoffs. “Your grandpa made it. Of course.”

Technically, the staff of the pub made it, and it’s just Grandad’s recipe but-- Shirayuki takes her point and her plate. For a minute, she contemplates cutting through the party, which fills up the living room and spills out onto the back deck, but then elects for the longer, quieter route around the stairs.

“Hey, kid, there you are.” Obi’s smile lights up the kitchen, plates in both his hands stacked high with appetizers. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Me too,” she admits, breathless, frozen in the doorway. He’s still in his dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and haah, she has never been more tempted to tell him that if they’re quiet, no one will know they’ve snuck up to her room.

Obi grimaces. “Sorry about that. I meant to only go for an hour, and then Zen wanted to play a quick pick up game, and it turned to two, and then I got here and...” He shrugs, shaking his head.

“It’s packed,” she agrees, “but I should have known to check the kitchen.”

His lips tick up into a grin, and he turns, leaning his hip against the counter in a way that only heightens the length of his limbs, that reminds her how good they feel around her--

“You did great, by the way,” he says, suddenly earnest. “If I didn’t say already.”

“You did.” She flinches at how awkward and hostile the words sound, but there’s no easy way to say, Kihal has reminded me you have a dick, and even though it abjectly terrifies me, I really want to make out. “I mean, thank you. Again. I’m glad you liked it.”

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Not a dry eye in the place.”

Shirayuki almost says, that wasn’t the point, but what falls out of her mouth is, “Not even yours?”

Obi lights up. “Definitely not.” His cheeks flush as he continues, “I got you a graduation gift.”

It’s on the counter just behind him, conspicuously placed away from the food: a small bag with crumpled up tissue paper, done so artlessly that she knows it couldn’t have been gift wrapped in-store, that he had done it himself. He had picked out that tiny bag, had crushed that paper in his huge hands-- his face distressed, like he’s afraid he’s doing it wrong, like he might break it just by trying-- and there’s something about it that is so sweet, so heartbreaking that she-- she--

Gosh, she really wants to kiss him.

“Me too,” she says, setting her plates down. Kihal may be waiting on the chicken marsala, but she’ll understand the delay. Probably all too well. “I left it upstairs. Should we--?“

“Oh, yeah!” Obi recoils with a grimace. “I mean, yes. Mine’s probably better given in private anyway.”

She blinks, wondering what he could give her that he wouldn’t want other people to see--

I was thinking of one of those little egg ones, the kind that just sit here–

“Obi!” she gasps, scandalized. “You didn’t...”

“What?” He catches her wary glance at the present, and his eyes pulse wide. “No! I mean, I didn’t--”

“Obi!” Nanna bustles in behind her. “You’ve finally made it! I was getting worried I’d miss you.”

With an ease that clearly comes from sixty years of practicing shamelessness, her grandmother closes the space she hasn’t managed to, enfolding Obi in a hug so tight he squeaks. It would warm her heart, normally, but all Shirayuki can think of is that bag, not two feet from them, that may or may not contain a gift that will definitely see her grounded until she’s thirty.

Shirayuki could live with that though-- after all, no one is more eager to not repeat history than her-- but-- but--

The very thought of Nanna standing here, in this room, sharing air with something at least vaguely phallic shaped that Obi would have every intention of putting inside her for the purpose of like, sex stuff and orgasms is just-- wrong. Super wrong. She tastes bile at the back of her throat just contemplating it.

“Have you had the meatballs yet?” Nanna asks, pulling away with a smile. “Colin put them on the menu for you especially.”

Pink flares high on Obi’s impossible cheeks. “Oh! I--” he blinks, gaze fixing over her shoulder-- “Lata?”

“Obi!” Shirayuki presses to the jamb to let him pass, and there’s something about the wildness of his eyes and the mussed mass of his hair that reminds her that the professor is a narrow man, but a tall one, looming over even Obi as he stumbles into the kitchen. “There you are. This place is a zoo.”

“It’s a party,” Nanna offers, wry.

He stares at her, uncomprehending. “Did I not just say that?”

“Lata.” Obi’s voice is strained, every line of his face etched with worry. “Is something wrong?”

Professor Forenzo doesn’t answer, not with words, but instead he reaches into his coat, thrusting out his hand, and--

And he’s holding an envelope. A large envelope. A golden lantern glitters under the kitchen light. “This came for you.”

Obi only stares, gaping, hands dead at his side.

“Oh!” Nanna gasps, eyes wide. “Oh, why don’t you-- you should--” her eyes meet Shirayuki’s around the professor’s shoulder-- “I’ll make your excuses, honey.”

She blinks. “But...”

Obi still hasn’t moved, and neither has Forenzo. Even from where she stands, she sees the professor’s hand shakes.

“Right.” She sets down her plates, taking the envelope from his hands as she slips her fingers through Obi’s limp ones. “We should go open this, don’t you think?”

Obi swallows thickly. “Yeah. Yes. Open it.”

She tugs on him, yanking him a single staggering step. “Come on, I know just the place.”

“Okay.” He stares at the envelope in her hand, following her woodenly. “Okay.”

Shirayuki glances at the plates on the counter. “Nanna, could you do a favor for me?”

She eyes Obi worriedly. “Anything you need.”

“Do you think you could bring a plate of chicken marsala to Kihal?” She grimaces sheepishly. “That was sort of why I came it here.”

Nanna's mouth twitches at the corner. “Sure thing. Have fun, you two.”

“Right,” Obi murmurs, every line of him tense. “Fun.”

The bleachers haven’t been broken down.

Somehow that’s the detail she hangs onto as they pull up to the field in Obi’s sedan, dew staining the satin of her flats. They’d been here only hours earlier, the afternoon sun burning bright and endless, but now fog hangs heavy over the grass with only the floodlights to break through it.

It’s strange how it only strikes her as she lays out a blanket with shaking hands, dew wetting her fingertips, that it’s all done now. Her whole life has been focused on graduating, on going to college, on not letting history repeat itself, and now it’s over, the work of a single afternoon. The moment she’s bent her whole life towards has passed.

Now she needs a new one.

“All right,” she says, settling onto her knees, feet crossed under her. “Is it time?”

Obi’s wide-eyed in the glow of the floodlights, mouth slack, his hands clenched around the edge of the envelope like he’s drowning and it’s the only thing holding him afloat. “Is it?”

“Obi.” She folds her hand over his, feeling how he shakes right down to his bones. “Whatever happens, we’ll be okay.” She gives him a confident smile she only half feels. “There’s skype, remember?”

He nods, absent. “Right. Right. I know. It’s just...”

Shirayuki knows what it’s just. She’d had plenty of time to think of every single worst-case scenario on the way over in triplicate, and now she’s just-- she’s just--

She’s tired of being afraid that something good will happen. “What’s the worst thing that could be in there? They won’t accept you? We’ve already been planning for that.” Her thumb rubs over the bone of his, soothing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, I know. I just...” He sniffs, rubbing his face on his shoulder. “Sometimes hope is worse, you know?”

She doesn’t, not really, but she knows that deep down inside, he’s still that little boy hoping his mom would fight for him, hoping that he’ll get passed to someone that will finally love him. She may not get it, but she understands.

“Okay, this is-- it’s getting dumb.” he laughs wetly, turning the envelope in his hand. “Let’s do this.”

Despite the bravado, his fingers shake as he opens it, muttering curses to himself when the flap won’t come off with one clean pull. Every time he tries to do another tear, the paper feathers out of his grip, until the edge is thousand little finicky rips that flutter off to the blanket. Shirayuki bites back a giggle as he tips the whole thing over, trying to use the weight of the packet to break through the last of it, sitting up on his knees and just shaking--

A thousand flyers flutter out, covering the blanket between them, the grass beside them, everything. Student Dining she sees on one, Greek letters on a dozen more, financial aid-- but still the bulk stays stuck inside, its squared-off corners stuck where the envelope didn’t fully tear.

“You know,” he grunts, tearing the edges off wholesale, “they don’t show you this shit in movies.”

A laugh bursts out of her, scattering the glossy papers she’d already straightened. “I think that’s because most people know how to open mail.”

“I know how to open mail,” he protests, shaking harder, “this is just unnaturally--”

The packet slips out in a slump, hitting the blanket with a weighty thwap, like the calves they show being birthed in biology class, only without all the, uh, extra gunk, or cows, or anything being actually birthed at all. They both stare at it, wide-eyed, neither of them making a move, not for the large, spiral-bound book or the crisp letter on top of it.

When Obi does, it’s for that, picking it up between his fingers as if it’s made of tissue, like all he has to do is breathe and it’ll break. Her eyes fall to the thick manual beneath it, squinting to make out the words Prospective Student Guide. Just like hers. “Obi...”

“I did it,” he chokes out. “I got in. I got in.”

In the glow of the floodlights she sees the shine on his face, and she knows, right then, that whatever her new moment is, she doesn’t want it unless its with him.

She fists his shirt in her hand, dragging him down until she can press her lips to his, until she can taste the salt under his lips and the hitch of his breath.

“I knew you could do it,” she murmurs as she pulls away, sitting back on her heels. “I’m so proud of you.”

His breath rasps out of his throat, eyes wide and gold like dollar coins, and-- and maybe this is too fast, too much. Maybe she’s too much like her mom, thinking that her high school boyfriend is forever when he’s really just right now, just what’s easy, and she--

She stops thinking when his mouth covers hers.

He whimpers into her mouth, hands digging through her hair like he can’t get close enough, like nothing less than consuming her whole will be. Her hands fly to his wrists, holding him where he is, leaning into his touch, and oh, maybe she is like her mom, falling too hard and too fast, but Obi’s right there to catch her.

With a groan, he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. “Well, I gotta say...this sort of fucks up the gift I got you.”

“What do you--?”

He springs for the bag, set at the edge of the blanket, and thrusts it at her. “Go ahead.”

Her brows furrow as she rifles through the tissue, plucking out wads of crumpled paper. There’s two layers at least, packed tight, and even if she hadn’t heard the broad strokes of his life before he came to Clarines, she’d be worried about just what sort of childhood he had if he can’t pack a gift bag.

She unearths a blister pack, pulling it out with a twist of her fingers. There’s a headset nestled inside, blue and white, clip-on instead of buds, with the packaging boasting microphone included!

“Oh,” she breathes, running her fingers over the bubble. The bulge of the mic is innocuous, a small thing, and it’s so easy to see the way it would have slipped subtly it under a hoodie, or how she could have just slung it around her neck as she moved from class to class, never bothered by the weight. She’d believed him when he said he was serious about her, that nothing about his feelings were casual, but still, still--

He wanted to fit into her life, as unobtrusively as he could. Hours away, he wanted her to know that he was there for her, only a quick phone call away.

“I didn’t want to get the earbuds since you always say they hurt your ears.” His grin goes wide, wicked. “You know, because you’re tiny.”

“I’m not tiny,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “my ears are tiny.”

“Sure, kid.” He coughs, mouth twitching, “it’s your ears.”

“It is!” she insists, swatting at his arm. “Anyway, thank you. These are wonderful.”

Obi shrugs, just a twitch of his shoulders, cheek flushing the pales pink. “You won’t really be needing them now, I guess.”

“I guess not.” She sets them aside, right next to his student guide, and-- and it’s all so much. Too much. “It was thoughtful, though. And I’m sure I’ll use them anyway, even if it’s not for, you know, three hour long skype calls.”

“Yeah, keep ‘em.” His grin pulls even wider. “I’ll just have to make sure to get you that other gift too, to make up for it.”

She surges forward with a yelp, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Stop.”

His lips shiver beneath her palm, and despite the burn on her cheeks, she can’t stop smiling either, can’t stop thinking about this is it, he is it. “Just sayin’...”

“Yes, yes, I think you’ve said plenty, thank you,” she laughs, dropping her hand. She’s so close to him now, half on his lap, her hand pressed to where his chest still shakes with laughter, and-- “We should celebrate.”

“Oh, are you going to take me out?” His arm cinches around her, yanking her close, and she gives out a shriek, hands bracing on his shoulders. “Going to drive me out to Olive Garden and treat me right?”

“I mean...if you want,” she blurts out, wishing that she was better at conveying...stuff. Sexy stuff. “I just meant that we could, um, celebrate here, too. Now.”

“Oh.” His eyes pulse wide. “Oh. You mean...here. Just the two of us. Like...” He swallows hard. “What were you, ah, thinking?”

“I thought I might, ah--” this should be easier than it is, especially when she can feel him twitch against her thigh, excited-- “leave that up to you?”

His eyes go impossibly wider. “You mean...anything?”

“Yeah.” It’s what’s fair; she asked him to touch her, to make her come, and he should-- he should also get the choice. It’s his achievement, not hers.

Scientific fact. The words still ring in her ears, reminding her what a terrible idea this is. Given the choice, a dude will always want to be blown.

He ducks his head, fixing his gaze on hers. “Are you sure, kid?”

Shirayuki braces herself. It’s fine. She can do anything for him, even if it involves penises. “Yes. Anything.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “okay.”

That’s all the warning she has before she spills back, air huffing out of her as she hits a particularly hard clump of earth. Obi’s there in a second, wrapping her legs around him, and oh, she’d thought maybe this would be a-- a blowjob, but-- but Obi has had sex before, after all, even told her he missed it--

So it’s a real surprise when he just kisses her, open-mouthed and wanting, and doesn’t do anything.

Not that she’s complaining. He’s got one hand snug against her scalp and the other keeping her hips firmly against his in a way that is...very exciting, especially when she can feel, um, him grind into her, right where she’s starting to ache. It’s just--

“You just want to make out?” she asks, incredulous, as he slips the strap of her dress down and cups the breast he bares. “That’s it?”

He pulls back, blinking. “Is there a problem with that?”

It’s hard to locate one when he rolls her nipple like that, right between two long fingers before his mouth closes over it wholesale. But still, still-- “I thought you’d want to-- to--” she takes a gasping breath as his hand snakes up her thigh-- “do something, um, new.”

“I do,” he rumbles, mouth grinning against her breast. “I just can’t really, ah, go for it.”

“Why not?” She squirms, lifting her hips as he hooks a finger into her panties and pulls. “I said any-- ohhh--thing.”

His fingers slip against her in just the way she likes, and oh, it’s getting really hard to protest any of this. His mouth is back on her neck, kissing down to her sternum, and her arguments turn mushy and indistinct as she tries to voice them, slurring into groans and sighs as he touches her, tracing her clit and teasing her folds.

“I know,” he murmurs against her skin as she arches into a particularly good thrust. “And I appreciate it, but...it’ll feel weird if you aren’t ready.”

That gets her thinking, as much as she can in this state, but all high function stop the minute he purrs, “Good thing you are now.”

His mouth leaves her skin, the hand in her hair skipping straight down to ruck up her skirt, and still she has no idea what he could possibly mean until he puts his mouth right on her clit.

“Oh!” she yelps, hips bucking so hard she nearly knocks his chin. “Woah!”

He blinks up at her, concerned. “Is this okay?”

Oh, it’s...it’s really hard to think when she can feel every puff of breath out of his mouth like a caress, deliciously warm against her. “Yes. I mean, yes, but I thought you would want, ah, something for you?”

“For me?” His pupils blow wide as he looks down at her, bare and wet beneath him, leaving only a thinnest ring of gold. “Kid, you don’t know how much I’ve thought about this.”

“O-oh?” The worst part about him being down there, touching her, is that she knows he can feel her get wetter, get hotter. “Just...recently? Or...?”

He laughs, tongue tracing along her slit in a way that makes her sure she’s about to come right there, if only he’d keep going. “Always.”

“Always?” she breathes, curious.

She can’t really see his cheeks, but his neck definitely flushes. “You were just always perching on things with, you know, skirts on and being cute. I’m only human.”

(”--and I think we may have to move this flat,” she hums, tucking a leg beneath her, pulling her skirt back down over her knee. “Raj keeps running into it when he exits through the door, and-- Obi, are you listening?”

“Huh?” he slurs, gaze jerking up. “Were you saying something?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. The flats.”)

“Oh,” she pants, “oh.”

Her fingers curl through his hair, and with a single shuddering breath, she urges him down. His laugh huffs against her, so warm, and then he’s on her again, only this time better, more.

What he’s doing is just-- beyond her. His fingers thrust between her legs, so good and yet not nearly enough, hitting the rhythm she knows will bring her to the edge, but it’s his mouth that has her full attention. She’d imagined this before, sure, but she’d always though it would be his tongue where his fingers were, poking in and out, and she just assumed that would feel...good? Goofy, but probably nice, if people were always talking about doing it.

It had certainly appealed when Obi mentioned it, I could put my mouth on you, though she’d often wonder why afterward. Something that would make sense in the moment, she assumed, but not when someone was thinking with their actual brain, after.

She could not have been more wrong.

His mouth latches onto her clit, the jolt of pleasure almost too much, too intense when he give it one, strong suck. The noise she makes isn’t anything sexy, half a yelp and half a grunt, but he readjusts, tongue flicking over the tiny bud instead and-- oh, that’s...that’s much better.

Maybe a little bit too much. She wants this to last, to enjoy the feeling of him down there, between her legs, stubble tickling her thighs and mouth so warm against her, but-- she can feel it building already, too quickly, his fingers moving with his tongue in just the right way, sending her right to the edge--

She comes with a strangled cry, head tilted back toward the stars, and for a long moment she’s one with the sky above her, weightless, before she plummets back down to earth.

“Oh,” she gasps, blinking away tears, “wow.”

Obi flops beside her, mouth stretches in a grin, and pants, “Good celebration.”

She stares at him. “Is that it?”

He jolts up onto his elbow, serious. “Di you not--?”

“N-no! I did. I definitely did. It’s just...” She braces herself, determined. “It’s your celebration! You should come.”

His mouth rounds into a surprised O as he stares at her. He shakes himself a moment later, laughing, “No, no, trust me, Kid. I’m fine.”

“Obi.” She rolls up onto her elbow, fixing him with her most stubborn look. “I’m not going to make you drive back with a hard on, and then sit through more of my graduation party.”

She presses her thigh against it, just to underscore her point, and he groans, eyes fluttering shut. It should be so hot, but, ohh, it is.

“See?” she murmurs thickly. “The celebration isn’t over.”

His breath pants out of him, harsh. “Kid...”

“I-I could...”

“Kid,” he laughs, “don’t put yourself out. I can handle it. I mean, if you don’t, uh...”

“Yes!" She winces at the relief in her voice. “I mean...yes. You should-- do it now. I just won’t look.”

“Right,” he laughs as she turns over, putting her back to him. “I wouldn’t want you to feel oppressed by my massive--”

“If I’m going to see it one day, you probably don’t want to give me unrealistic expectations,” she snips waspishly, folding her hands to make a pillow.

“Oh.” The word bursts out of him, like he’s been punched. “Yeah. I mean...right.”

She can hear each tooth of his fly as he unzips, so slow she squirms in anticipation even though she’s not doing a thing, just laying here for, uh, moral support. It’s strange to think it’s right there, that if she turned over she’d see his-- his--

Well, a lot more of Obi than she’s seen before. More than she’s prepared to see, no matter how much she’s thought about it.

He gasps when he takes himself in hand, and even though she knows the mechanics of this, of boys doing that, she’s surprised at how quiet it is, how it sounds less like comical wet slapping and more like... skin on skin. It’s soft, rhythmic, lacking the weird, almost violent jerking in the five seconds of every old teen comedy she’s seen before she covered her eyes. And the sounds Obi makes...

Ah, those are...nice. Really nice.

Her thighs clench at each soft sigh, at the way his breath hitches with every stroke. Obi always said that just watching her come did it for him, and she believed him, she had, but-- now she knows how true it is. She only came minutes ago, but the sounds of him alone is making her wet, slicking the inside of her thighs and reminding her how he’d sounded in the car, months ago--

--ah, yes, like that, god – fuck, Shirayuki, I–

He moans, long and pained, and she-- she’s curious. Enough to get her into trouble, Grandad says, and sometimes out again. So she can’t help it, she-- she peeks.

Not at his-- down there, of course, but just at his face, at the safe parts. Or at least, it would have been safe, if his head wasn’t thrown back like that, if his eyes weren’t wrenched shut, mouth slack--

Yes, god, the way you sound – god, fuck, that’s so good, please –

Shirayuki rolls back, fitting tight against his side, stomach thrilling as she feels the pace of his arm rubbing against her, as she watches the way his whimpers eke out of his mouth, unbidden. He must feel it, feel the difference, because he stops, a whine wringing from his throat as his eyes slit open to look at her, so dark--

“Don’t stop,” she tells him, breathless. “Keep going.”

His eyes widen, seeking hers, and as he starts moving again, breath rasping out of his chest, all Shirayuki can see is gold. It’s too much, too much, and she leans in, covering her lips with his.

Obi gasps into her mouth, whimpering as her tongue licks against his teeth. He arches into her, hand wrapping around her neck and dragging her closer, fingers tangling roughly in her hair until he cups the back of her skull, holding her to him.

“God,” he murmurs against her lips, pulling back with each press to suck down a drowning man’s breath. “Fuck.”

His elbow works against her stomach, and she’s too curious still, letting her hand trail down his arm to feel the corded muscle there, standing out in stark relief as he strains to meet his pleasure. Her fingers trail down further, further, following those lines to his wrist, to where she can already feel the heat from his--

He whines, writhing beside her, hips bucking into her thigh, and she realizes: he’s coming.

Shirayuki jumps back from him with a pop, eyes searching his face, but it’s too late, it’s over, his head dropping back onto the grass with a laugh. In the burn of the floodlights, his face is flushed, dewy.

“You don’t, um, have a tissue or something in that bag of yours, do you?” he asks shyly, looking like he’d appreciate if the field experienced a sudden, localized sinkhole.

“Oh!” She pops up, grasping blindly for where she dropped her purse. “Yes! Here. I, um, also have hand sanitizer.”

Obi lets out a weak laugh as he takes the packet from her. “It’s not that much of a--” he hisses-- “mess, god damn.”

She dares a glance over her shoulder, mouth dry as she watches his back work. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just-- sensitive.” He casts a shy glance over his shoulder, before letting it skitter away. “It was just...really good.”

“Oh.” That is really not helping with her whole...situation. Especially now that she can see where her panties are, an arm’s length away on the grass, and she’s reminded that there’s nothing beneath her dress, that she could easily lay back and-- “Oh.”

“Yeah.” His zipper is loud in the silence, enough that she feels her own blush bloom on her cheeks. He lets out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You know, I think it’s good you have your dickphobia, kid.”

That’s...definitely not what she’d though he’d say after all...this. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He lays down next to her, hands raising up to grasp her by the shoulders and guide her down beside him, ear pressed firmly to his chest. His heart is beating loud, strong, and triple time. “If that’s what it’s like with you just being here, I don’t know if...” He coughs, squirming. “I’m not sure I’m ready to have sex either. With you.”

She shrinks. Of course, of course. “Oh...”

“No, no! That’s not--” he pulls back to look at her, so serious-- “I want to. I want to so bad. But, I just mean...”

He lets out a sigh, head hitting the ground with a thunk. “I’ve never done any of this with, you know, feelings too. It’s just been...stuff. That I did. To feel good. But now...”

He bites his lip, and it’s terrible how it only makes her want to kiss it, to take it into her mouth and sooth away the sting. “Like, my dick wants to have sex, all the way, all the time. Everything about you does it for me, and I just...” He lets out a frustrated groan. “I think that my...my heart...”

He presses a hand there, brows furrowed, like he’s not used to thinking about it. “Never mind.”

“No, I...” She lays a hand over his, squeezing it. “I get it.”

“It’s just that...” He takes a breath, clears his throat, and looks at her with eyes as warm as honey. “You’re not casual for me, Shirayuki.”

She can feel the smile on her face, almost too big to contain, and she leans down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Good,” she breathes, curling fingers into his hair. “You’re not casual for me either.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #lemon #my fic #rarely pure and never simple #as promised #THE GRADUATION #this was actually supposed to be the bulk of the last chapter #but things got out of hand on both ends and now HERE WE ARE #fyi the first draft that included both chapter 5 and this was about 3.5K #and now together they are over 13K #JUST SO YOU ALL KNOW #HOW STUPID LONG THESE THINGS BECOME IN THEIR FINAL DRAFT #I'd actually hoped to get this out the last week of december and then do ch 7 for kiss-a-thon #but OBVIOUSLY that was not meant to be #AH MEMORIES

18 notes · View notes

alleiradayne · 4 years

Photo

Hello, I Love You

Summary: Sam is cast as Romeo in his college play and Natalie is his stage manager. When he asks her to read lines with him, she’s not quite sure what to make of it. Square Filled: Romeo and Juliet AU Warnings/Tags: Fluff, angst Characters/Pairings: Sam Winchester/Natalie Murphy Word Count: 2,824 A/N: For @spnfluffbingo2019, this fills the square Romeo and Juliet AU. Thank you, as always, to @atc74 for beta’ing. Song: Hello, I Love You by The Doors

Love is heavy and light, bright and dark, hot and cold, sick and healthy, asleep and awake.

Lips parted in thought, Sam paused for a breath, then rounded on his friends.

It's everything it’s—

“Okay, hold there.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Don't pause. Just keep rambling, he's despondent and sulking and whining about Rosaline. He's not… musing. He's not happy. Didn’t you read this in high school?”

Sam's glare nearly bored a hole into the director. “I performed it in high school.”

“Then you should know this shit,” Mr. Skinner groaned. “How old are you. Eighteen? You're a freshman?”

Natalie winced with her cast mates, and a groan drew Sam’s glare.

“I'm twenty-one, sir. I'm a grad student,” Sam stated. “I've been in the last four of your—”

“Right, you know what you're doing. Prove it.” Mr. Skinner flopped back into his chair and waved a flippant hand at the stage. When no one moved, he glared over his glasses and shouted, “Well?! Reset! Don't you all have… I don't know, homework to do?”

Everyone on stage but Sam leaped into motion, eager to please Mr. Skinner. After a long moment, Sam turned for stage left and stalked towards Natalie.

“I thought the pause was great,” she stated. “Romeo's flustered. He might take a beat at the end of his rambling to finish his thought.”

At least he smiled. “Thanks,” he muttered. “This show better not turn out like MacBeth did last semester.”

That show. Natalie groaned as she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Liz said production was a hot mess. She’ll never let me live it down that I got cast in that one.”

Sam laughed as he watched the scene restart, their Mercucio taking the stage. “Why didn't you audition for this one?”

Heat stung her cheeks at the memory. “I did. For Juliet. I know this play by heart.”

Sam's brow quirked towards his hairline. “You didn't get the part?”

“I'm Miss Amy’s understudy,” she mocked in her irritated sing song voice.

“Oh,” Sam mused with a smile, “Yeah. I heard about her ‘audition’.”

“Whatever,” she drawled with a sigh. “It's fine, I love stage production. It'll be fun to work this one. You’re up.”

Sam turned back to the stage and smiled. “Should I pause again?”

She clamped a hand over her mouth as her barking laugh nearly ruined the scene. After a quick check of the stage, she muttered from behind her fingers, “Do it.”

His too pretty smile turned into a wicked grin as he strolled onto the stage. The scene progressed with his entrance, and Natalie attempted to take notes, but she could hardly concentrate. Though the entire conversation with Sam had lasted only a minute, her heart raced, and her palms sweat. Over the years they had worked together—whether acting, studying, or pontificating—Sam Winchester had always left Natalie wanting more.

She turned her back in preparation for the next entrance, forcing herself to concentrate on her work. Hopefully, the next two hours of rehearsal kept her busy and away from Sam, lest she finally make a fool of herself.

Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun Peered forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad, Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from this city side, So early walking did I see your son. Towards him I made, but he was 'ware of me And stole into the covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me

“He’s great,” Sam whispered.

Natalie rubbed her arms and pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders. “He is. Delivery could use a little kick in the pants, but other than projection, William is an excellent Benvolio.”

“Sure, that’s—” he started, but paused as Natalie continued to rub her arms. Something had upset her. Not that Natalie was the most cheerful person. But over their undergrad and now well into their graduate programs together, Sam had learned a great deal about her. Hell, she probably knew him better than any of his friends. But that would be expected of actors constantly working together. Rehearsals and running lines and discussing delivery, intent, emotion. All of it amounted to a very close, near intimate bond.

Except Sam felt much stronger about her than he cared to admit to anyone. Especially Natalie. But as she glared at William out on the stage reciting his soliloquy to close out the rehearsal, her dark stare and hunched shoulders said more than words could.

He leaned into her and asked, “Are you alright?”

Natalie dropped her hands to her sides with a flustered scoff, but she made no move to separate herself from him. “I’m fine,” she demanded.

He leaned closer still and whispered, “Are you sure?”

Any subtler and he might have missed it, but a shiver coursed through her entire body. “I’m… I’m fine, Sam. What are you doing?”

“I wanted to ask you something,” he started as an excuse manifested in the middle of his thought. “I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

A pink hue colored her cheeks as she sucked a breath deep into her lungs. “What is it?”

“Would you want to read lines with me tonight?”

She rounded on him with a wide stare. “Why?”

“Because you know Juliet’s lines,” Sam said with a shrug.

Natalie turned back to the stage. “So does Amy. You two should practice. She’s your leading lady, you need to make it convincing with her.”

“She said she was busy this week studying for calculus,” he sighed.

Natalie quirked a brow at him. “You could just wait until she's available.”

Shit. Maybe he had read her wrong. The sudden worry that all their previous interactions were less than he had imagined sickened him. “Okay, so it’s an excuse to hang out. I miss reading lines with you. Macbeth, Twelfth Night, Midsummer! They were so much fun.”

A small smile curled her lips. “You made quite the Ass.”

“And you were the perfect Titania.”

That hit a little too close to the truth. Natalie stared at him once more, silent but scrutinizing his countenance. Did she know? He had envied Oberon in that production. But as the playwright-turned-donkey, he had shared a scene with Natalie, and though it hit the intended comedic beats, there was something to be said about her laying across his lap as she fed him grain from a burlap bag.

He wondered if she still had her purple fairy fishnet dress.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

The memory vanished in a wisp of smoke as Sam shook his head. “Eh… nothing. Will you come over?”

For a terrible second, Sam thought she would decline. But then she asked, “What time?”

“Seven?”

She nodded. “I’ll be there at seven. You’re on.”

Relief washed over him as he clasped her shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze, then slipped past her for the stage. “Thanks. See you later.”

That time he felt it. Through that innocent touch, a shiver coursed through her body and into his. Maybe, he hoped, just maybe he hadn’t been so wrong about her after all.

“Oh.”

Sam returned from the tiny kitchen with water and found Natalie pouring over his copy of the script. “What?”

She pointed to the page. “This scene?” she asked as she dropped onto the couch. “It's… so overrated.”

Sam gestured with her glass and she took it from him. “I need to practice. Mr. Skinner is gonna chew me a new one again if I don’t nail it in rehearsal later this week.”

Natalie nodded as she grunted in agreement. “The problem isn't really you though. You need to make it sound convincing when you’re saying all this… shit to Amy.”

Sam sat beside her as he set his glass of water on the table. “Shit?”

A derisive snort burst from her nose as she rolled her eyes. “It’s terrible tripe. Saccharin sweet. They’re teenagers and have no idea what love is, and yet, they die for each other over a minute of infatuation.”

Great. Sam could have kicked himself then. How had he not known? Given her audition for Juliet, he had assumed she loved the play. He backpedaled as hard and quick as he could think. “I think maybe that was Shakespeare's point. Given all of his other comedies, tragedies, and romances, he was constantly commenting on social and political constructs. Maybe the mere concept of destined soulmates pissed him off enough to write about two star-crossed lovers dying for each other.”

It wasn't as if they had never sat so close together. Hell, Sam had, so many times before that night, rest his head in her lap as she played with his hair while they rehearsed Midsummer. And he remembered losing himself in her icy blue stare so many times. But of late he had forgotten that sensation, that chill as it raced down his spine and numbed his fingers and toes when her gaze met his. She stared openly, unabashed as she searched his own eyes, but for what he did not know. Each little twitch of her stare flitted from one spot to the next—his hair, his nose, his throat—then came to rest on his lips. His own eyes slipped to hers, full and parted in a subtle, silent “oh�� as though she were shocked to see him so close, closer than ever before even though it wasn't true.

“You have very… colorful eyes.”

“... Heterochromia.”

The moment shattered like so many tiny pieces of glass. “What?”

“I… uh. My eyes. Heterochromia. That’s why there’s some green and brown hazel mixed in the center of the blue and grey,” Sam explained through a sigh.

“They’re captivating,” Natalie started. “I've always wondered why they looked that way.”

That had caught him flat-footed. “Really?”

Natalie shrunk away as though suddenly self-aware. “Yeah… um, never mind. Forget I said anything, I was just rambling. Should we get to this?” she asked as she pointed to the script.

Resigned, Sam nodded.

“Alright. Take it away, Romeo,” she directed as she swung open an imaginary set of balcony windows.

Sam slipped from his spot on the couch in a fit of inspiration and sat on the floor so that he might look up to Natalie as though she truly stood on a balcony above him.

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

A part of him agreed with Natalie. Shakespear’s Romeo wore love on his sleeves and acted on impulse, like a lovestruck, moody teen. Whereas Juliet was levelheaded and, while equally infatuated with Romeo after such a brief meeting, wanted to leave things where they were, given issues between their families.

A thousand times the worse to want thy light Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

And yet, as Sam continued through the clichés and romantic tropes, the less he felt as though he were reciting the lines and the more he felt as though he spoke from the heart. The longer he stared into Natalie's brilliant blue gaze, the deeper he fell. Sure, Romeo might be immature, but he had some incredible pickup lines.

It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!

Sam couldn't help but wonder how Natalie felt. He held her hands in his and waited, her line a beat behind his but she remained silent. There was no way she had forgotten her line. He had seen her reciting them in the wings as he rehearsed with Amy. He wondered if she thought the pause poignant, to create some melodramatic tension befitting only Shakespeare. She seemed to be a fan of his subtle rhythm of delivery, rising and falling with his natural breath. Her own chest spilled over her arms as she drew air into her lungs and, at long last, said her line.

“I love you.”

The entire world stopped as though grasped in the hands of a mighty titan. For a second, Sam thought he had misheard her, but the sound of her voice looped like a broken record in his mind until the weight of it settled in the pit of his stomach. And for all Sam's talents, he knew without a doubt he had many faults, oblivious topping the list.

“That's not your line.”

A lilt of laughter he had never heard from her before bubbled up from where Sam couldn’t be sure. When she clamped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks brightened to a rosy red, and her eyes widened. Muffled words muted by her hand sounded like nothing more than gibberish, and when she scrambled from the couch and for her bag, Sam stood in a dumbfounded daze, unable to keep up.

“I’m… I’m sorry, I’m just gonna… I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsal,” Natalie stated as she rushed to the door, her coat half-donned and bag swinging from one arm.

The inexorable swing of the door slowed as though time stretched to give him a final chance. If he didn't take it, if he let her leave without telling her he felt the same way she did, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Long legs vaulted the back of the couch with ease as Sam lunged for the door. He caught it without an inch to spare, and flung it wide to find Natalie waiting at the elevator at the end of the hall. He said nothing and instead, ran down the hall and slid to a halt on the polished wood floor. He nearly ran into Natalie, stopping just at her side, and when her eyes met his, elevator arrived.

Her free hand slipped into his as he reached for her and said, “If my touch offends you, I could kiss you instead.”

Her stare narrowed as she turned into him. “Holding my hand is very polite of you,” she started as she raised his hand. “Palm to palm, they touch like a kiss.”

“But lips kiss better,” Sam retorted.

Her coy smirk met his grin as she grasped his free hand and said, “Lips that should pray.”

One smooth step closed the space between them, and Sam wrapped an arm around her, his hand splayed at the small of her back. “My lips pray that you’ll kiss me. Please don't ruin my faith.”

“Prayers are answered by those that remain still,” she stated. “How can I answer your prayer if I can move?”

Sam barked a laugh at her twisted interpretation. He towered over her as she leaned into him, and as their lips neared, he said, “Then hold still so that my prayer might be answered.”

Romeo might have had a few smooth lines, but they all paled in comparison to the feeling of Natalie's lips on his. No, she wasn't the sun, or a rose, or any of that bullshit. She was power and grace and faith all at once, unfiltered. As his lips met hers, Sam melted under the sheer force that was her presence, wanting nothing more than to stay there forever. But when they parted—eventually—Sam finished his thought.

“My sin has been taken from me by your lips.”

“Does that mean my lips bear your sin as well?” Natalie asked through a devious smile.

Sam shook his head as he said, “You enable my crime with such sweetness. Give me back my—”

Her lips landed on his before he finished speaking, a hard press that spun his head. Too long he lingered there in her embrace, so close he could hardly tell where he ended and she began. Her hand slipped from his to grasp his shirt, and he wrapped his arm around her to hold her close, closer than he thought possible. Any closer and he would cease to exist.

“Excuse me.”

In another world so far away, Sam heard the distant complaint of a woman. Rather than break their kiss, he picked Natalie up, his arms encircling her tiny body with ease, and carried her back to his room. When the door latched, Natalie parted from him, lips swollen and chest heaving for breath.

“You’ve been practicing.”

He laughed at that as he licked his lips clean. “I’m just glad there aren’t any nurses or mothers around to interrupt us at this point.”

“Me, too,” she agreed. “Would you kiss me again and show me what you’ve learned?”

Another laugh shared between them filled the room as Sam neared her lips once more.

“A thousand times, and a thousand times again.”

Feedback is appreciated! Feel free to reblog, too!

If you want in on any of my tags (Sam/Jared, Dean/Jensen), send me a DM or an ask!

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

The Whole Thang:

@atc74 @hannahindie @bevans87 @meganwinchester1999 @plaided-ani-on-hiatus @oneshoeshort @jonogueira @andkatiethings @elfinmox @wonderfulworldofwinchester @princessofthefandomrealm @just-another-busyfangirl @jmekitchens @81mysteriouslyme @dolphincliffs @seenashwrite @canadianspnhunter @meowmeow-motherfucker @depressed-moose-78 @staycejo1 @hobby27 @pretty-fortune @mypopculturediva @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sandlee44 @4llmywr1tings @claitynroberts @maddiepants @scarletluvscas @donnaintx @blackeyedangel9805 @rainflowermoon @winchesterprincessbride @lazinessisalliknow @the-is13 @waywardafgrandma @keymology @sister-winchesters99 @amanda-teaches

Sam’s Sasstresses (Jared):

@karouwinchester

#alleiradayne writes #spn fanfic #spnfluffbingo #spnfluffbingo2019 #sam winchester fanfic

23 notes · View notes

lettersofwrittencollective · 5 years

Text

The Pull (11/?)

Summary: The Ragnulf’s are one of the oldest lines of werewolves known. A gift from ancient times was given to the line. Though not all of the line will experience it. There are some who will experience a Pull. This Pull leads them to their true mate, a soulmate. The problem is, just because the wolf finds their true mate does not mean that they are the same for that person.

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective

Pairing: Stiles x Hale!Cousin OC (Reader)

Word Count: 2692

Warnings: I don’t believe there are any.

A/N: As always, please let me know what you thought. Any comments, questions, or concerns

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

- GIF credit to @twomblystuart

You and Lydia were at the loft, working on homework that you had fallen behind on but it was almost 11 and Stiles was supposed to be picking you up soon.

“Lydia, we’ve been at this for hours and Stiles is gonna be here soon. Can we pick this up tomorrow?”

When Lydia smirks at you, you merely furrow your brows, your confusion echoing across your face.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“He’s been nice enough the last week or so,” you shrug nonchalantly. “Besides it’s nice to talk to someone who knows what it’s like to have just your dad.”

Lydia gasps, “Tasha - I didn’t mean to- “

You give the girl a small smile, “Lydia it’s fine. I was really young when she passed. And I mean it is a little different because we can still talk to her, it’s not always comfortable mind you but it’s an option,” you say with a small grimace. “It’s just nice to talk to someone who understands it, ya know? I would talk to Isaac about it too but he seems more uncomfortable with it. Plus he’s got everything going on with Allison..”

“They are cute together.” The redhead states mater of factly. You’re still not used to the sudden changes in conversation with her and so it catches you off guard for a moment.

You’re silent and then you realize that Lydia’s changing the topic. Smiling, you nod your head. “Right? I keep telling him to just go for it. I’m sure that Scott won’t hold it against either of them.”

“Hmmm- I think it’s more Allison holding back that it is Isaac and at least he’s respecting it.”

‘Well hopefully one of them figures it out sooner rather than later.”

“So, what are you and the boys gonna be doing tonight then?” She asks as she begins to put away her things and you realize that Stiles hadn’t said anything specific about tonight. Only that he plans for it to be epic.

“You know, i’m not entirely sure. Stiles just said it would have to do with coach.”

Lydia chuckles and advises you to take a change of clothing with you and your books for tomorrow before leaving. You’re confused about what she would mean by that but figure that she knows them better than you do and so you grab another outfit from your closet and toss it in your backpack. Checking your phone you saw that Stiles was gonna be at the loft in less than 5 minutes. You grabbed your backpack and made sure that the terrace doors were looked before you locked the front doors and made your way quickly down the stairs.

He’s pulling up and you’re about to open the door and jump in when he tells you to stop. You’re confused for a moment but he’s getting off the blue jeep and coming around the front to open your door.

“Stiles, you know you don’t have to open the door all the time.”

“Yes I do, they’re called manners” he says very seriously before his voice lifts in jest “you would know that if you had any.”

Before you can respond he’s closed your door and is already making his way back to the drivers side of the jeep.

“I mean, if you had manners I wouldn’t be up this late leaving the house, now would I?” you push back.

“Maybe… so why the backpack?”

“Lydia said to bring a change of clothes and my books when you pick me up.”

Stiles opens his mouth to argue but then shrugs, “Eh - good idea. Hey, when we get there, make sure that you grab the duffel bag in the back.” He continues to drive and you ask, what exactly the two of you are doing tonight.

“Mischief Night.” Stiles says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your confused expression, he begins to explain that, every year, the night before halloween, jokes begin to get played after midnight leading up to the actual trick or treating.

“No, i get that part. What i meant was, why coach?”

Stiles looks at you like you’ve lost your mind before answering, “Natasha!! Halloween is Coach’s birthday! How could you forget?! ”

“Stiles..” You say through laughter, “Did you forget that i haven’t even been here for 6 months?”

“Shhh, you should have known.”

“And how, exactly do you suggest that I should have known?”

“You should know everything Natasha, use the force!”

You shake your head at the brunette reminding him that that’s not how the force works. He goes to argue with you when the song Thriller, starts up on the radio. Smiling, you lean over and turn up the radio and begin to sing along, hand motions included.

At first Stiles refuses to join you in song but you poke his side a couple times and eventually he’s singing along with you.

“There you go!” you tell him as you both continue into the next song. The rest of your drive progresses in much the same manner, the both of you singing along to different songs and before you know it, you’re back at the high school.

Stiles pulls up into the a parking spot ear the locker rooms and gets off to open the passenger door for you. As he opens the door, he mutters something about Scott and pulls out his phone.

As Stiles steps off a little ways, calling Scott, you lean into the back seat and grab the duffel bag from the back seat. The moon, again, catches on something and you see an aluminum baseball bat on the floor. As you pull the duffel bag out, Stiles put his hand out and you handed him the duffel bag and the two of you make your way into the school building. On the way, you find yourself asking when the baseball season starts around here.

“No idea, why?”

“You have a baseball bat, I was gonna go watch... “ you trail off “Wait, so why do you have a bat in Roscoe?”

“For protection,” he says with a shake of his head, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What do you mean protection?” you ask but are cut off by Stiles phone ringing. Stiles answers what must be Scott’s call because he’s saying,

“Get your ass down here now. We have a job to do.”

“We do this for coach.”

“Whatever, ok. You know he needs this. He lives for this stuff. Ya know? He loves it.”

Stiles is gesturing to you, indicating that Scott’s lost his mind and begins to open his locker.

“12:15 actually. Which means it’s after midnight and officially Mischief Night slash Day.”

The sound of a creaking door catches your attention and you turn to see Scott sneaking in the door, phone to his ear, while Stiles is playing with an electric drill of some sort. You go to call his name but he raises a finger to his lips, indicating for you to stay silent.

Stiles hasn’t noticed anything and is still ty8ing to get Scott down to the school. “...in five seconds, I will destroy you. Okay? And I mean five, four, three, two -” you let out a laugh when Scott’s the one to say one and startles Stiles with his glowing red eyes.

Stiles is on the floor telling Scott he hates him and sending you a scowl before Scott helped him up.

Under Stiles’ guidance, the three of you enter coach Finstocks office and bring everything down only to put it all back together al connected by one string. Stiles has you place all the screws and thumbtacks into a small gift box which he then set up so that it was connected to that one string and as soon as the box was opened, everything would fall.

By the time, you were all done the sun was out and school was starting soon enough. There’s not enough time to make it all the way back to the loft to get ready for the day.

“Guys, we gotta get going. The janitors gonna come open up the school soon.” Sott says as he helps Stiles pack up his duffle bag.

“Well do either of you care if I change at your place?”

Neither boy cares so you all decide to go to the closest house and it turns out that Scott's house is closer. Stiles is going to have to borrow clothing from his friend.

Riding with Stiles, you pull up the McCall house and you all run inside. You run into the bathroom and quickly change. As you’re running out of the bathroom, you bump into Isaac and almost fall. Isaac helps you stay on your feet and the two of you make your way down the stairs.

“Hey stranger! How was studying with Allison?”

“It was good. Yeah… very- uh.. Productive” Isaac smirks at you.

“That’s gross… ” you say as you twist your lips in disgust. “I’m sorry i asked…”

Isaac just laughs as you get to the cars. He asks where your bike and helmet are at. You tell him that Stiles was actually the one that gave you a ride. You make your way over to the blue jeep and get into the passenger seat.

“So what did you three do to Coach?”

“Something to do with string. I’m sure you’ll hear about it before lunch.” you respond with a smirk and a smile on your face. Isaac raises an eyebrow at you and you just stick your tongue out at him.

A moment later, Scott and Stiles are walking out of the house. Isaac sees them at the same time you do and calls for Stiles. As Stiles turns his attention to Isaac, Isaac calls out says “Make sure you stop and get her a cup of coffee if you’re gonna keep her up all night!”

“Isaac!” you screech as you hit his chest. Scott is laughing and Stiles’ gaze is flicking from you to Isaac to Scott and then he’s pointing at each of you in turn, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to come up with something to say.

Isaac returns the smirk you had given him earlier before kissing your head and heading towards his bike. He has to pass Scott and Stiles on the way. As he passes Stiles he clasps the boy on the shoulder- a little roughly if his wince is anything to go by, before getting on on his own bike Scott, also, claps Stiles shoulders before making his way to his own bike.

Stiles stands there gaping at the two of them, you’re expression not much different. Stiles rubs his face, running his hands up through his hair before making his way towards Roscoe. When he gets in the jeep, he’s silent for a moment and you’re not sure what to say.

“So- wait, do you actually want coffee?” He asks as he starts the jeep and pulls away from Scott's house. You nod your head and the two of you end up making a coffee run before school.

You an Stiles pull up to the school. Stiles is giving you a hard time about the amount of caffeine you drink. He gets off the jeep and comes around to your door. The two of you begin walking towards the school and you say,

“Can i let you in on a secret? I don’t drink the caffeine because I’m tired. I mean sure, that’s part of it but I’m a werewolf remember. When was the last time you saw any of your other supernatural friends drinking caffeine?” Stiles looks like he’s trying to think of a time he’d actually seen it. “It,actually, reminds me of my dad. For as long as I can remember, he has always had a cup of coffee in the morning. Says it’s just good business though I don’t know how for the life of me.”

“You’re homesick.” His voice is full of understanding and there’s not a trace of confusion behind it.

“Yeah, THOUGH, after being up for almost two days straight there’s definitely the element of ‘I really need this to not murder anyone.’”

Stiles is about to say something but is cut off by the sound of two loud engines pulling into the lot. Turning, you see the twins parking next to Scott. Stiles is already headed back in their direction and you begin to follow.

Ethans telling Scott that they’re just there to talk. You want to point out that it’s not actually something that they’re known for but this isn’t your fight to have.

Stiles, on the other hand, he’s a part of this pack. “AH, well that’s a change of pace for you guys. Usually, you’re just hurting, maiming, and killing.”

Aiden ignores him and continues with Scott, “You need a pack. We need an Alpha.”

“Because that went so well for your original pack. Or even your last pack” you mutter.

“Natasha’s right... So yeah, absolutely not. That’s hilarious though.”

Ethan sounds somewhat surprised as Stiles’ outright refusal and tries to reason with him, “You came to us for help. We helped.”

“You beat his face into a bloody pulp. That’s not helping. In my book that’s actually counterproductive!” Stiles exclaims while gesturing.

“Told you it was a shitty idea.”

Scott cuts both you and Stiles off from continuing by asking the twins “Why would I say yes?”

“We’d add strength. We’d make you more powerful. There’s no reason to say no.”

They’re not wrong, a larger pack means a stronger Alpha and you grimace at the thought. Suddenly though, there’s anger surrounding you. Looking around, you see Isaac waking up, it would seem he had been listening. “I can think of one. Like the two of you holding Derek's claws while Kali impaled Boyd.” He looks at Scott, Stiles, and then you, “In fact, I don’t know why we’re not impaling them right now.”

Aiden growls at Isaac and you return the favor. Seeing Isaac take a step forward, you pray to whatever deity is listening that Isaac not commit murder in the school parking lot before the days even begun.

Luck, it seems, is on your side. Scott pulls Isaac back and points out that neither Scott or Stiles trust them and neither does he. As the boys walk past the twins, you watch Isaac shove the twins.

“Can you not start a fight this early?” you chastise your friend. The group of you are walking towards the building when one of the twins calls your name. Isaac freezes next to you and both Scott and Stiles turn to look at them.

“We mean no harm,” Ethan says and puts his hands up in surrender.

Looking at them then Isaac you nod your head and tell them to go ahead without you. Isaacs got to meet up with Allison anyways and Stiles and Scott have more important things to do than to babysit you. Neither of them looks very sure but you push Isaac towards the boys and they slowly start to walk away.

Staying where you are, you return to sipping your drink as the twins come closer. They begin to ask you questions, jumping back and forth, practically speaking over each other.

“Why does he trust you?”

“You’ve been here less time than we have.”

“Well..” you begin “I don’t know if Scott actually trusts me but Isaac does and Scott trusts Isaac it would seem.” Aiden opens his mouth to say something but you put your hand up “Nuh-uh... Whatever it is you two are thinking, I would stop right there. I’m not helping.”

“You said it yourself,”

“We’ve screwed over too many people.”

“We need the protection of a pack.”

“You guys brought this on yourselves, don’t go dragging me into it. Besides, even if I wanted to help, I have no idea how help you join his pack”

You give the boys a shrug, not letting them get another word in edgewise and turn around, walking into the school building.

<<Prev || Masterlist || Next>>

Tag List: @nicole-lynne @fandom-princess-forevermore @capandbuck @biles-bilinski-24 @stiles-o-dylan24 @fiveisadorable @falling-stars-never-cry @blueraindrops @its-livelovelife @screamxqueenx94 @ceceliaking-18 @jasmin3xswayz31994 @dear-vista

Do not copy and paste my writing anywhere without my consent. This work is the property of lettersofwrittencollective . Associated characters belong to MTV and are being borrowed for this work, all OC’s are the property of lettersofwrittencollective. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

Posted 26 March 2019

#Reader insert #stiles stilinski #Stiles #Stiles x reader #Stiles Imagine #stilinski #Stiles Stilinkski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #Teen wolf #Teen wolf x rewader #Isaac Lahey #teen wolf imagines #my writing #The Pull #Series

236 notes · View notes

tastefullynefarious · 5 years

Text

Torment never looked so goddamn fine

Chapter 1 / 10 - Survivor - Eye Of The Tiger

So... this happened... Season 3 got me feeling all kinds of ways :))

Quick sneak peak into what you’re heading into if you do decide to read this little story of mine.

1) About the 'reader’, she’s one of the kids from the MKUltra project thing, though she’s not nearly as powerful as El. I decided to give her a name instead of the whole Y/N thing, thought...well, you’ll see :)) 10 points to your house if you guess where she picked the name from, hehehe

A little disclaimer about her powers: I actually took the idea from a book i love - Vicious by V.E. Schwabb, so not my idea at all, just borrowing.

2) Wanted to make this ANGST!!! All the angst, but keeps slipping into mushy romance, so I guess it’s somewhere in between :)))

3) Writing this for fun and to give Billy more time to shine. Gone, but never forgotten!

Words: 3,037

Warnings: Really? There’s gonna be a lot, just not in this chapter I think... Also, beware of the aesthetics/moodboards! I live for them.

That being said, hope you enjoy!

Risin' up, back on the street

Did my time, took my chances

Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet

Just a man and his will to survive

Windows rolled down and sunglasses on, she made a sharp turn to exit the highway after checking the map for the hundredth time. It still seemed surreal that her mission was bringing her to Indiana of all places, but she got more and more excited as she approached her destination. Six missing persons reports, one confirmed death and another supposed resurrection, the latter being the last drop that made her come all the way across country. Something shady was going down in that otherwise uneventful town and if it was what she hoped, she would finally put an end to sleepless nights and anxiety ridden days. No more looking over her shoulder wherever she went and perhaps, one day, she'd finally be able to settle down somewhere, have an actual life.

She passed the town sign in a blur. Hawkins, Indiana, Population 30.000 - the last chapter of her epic quest, if fate was on her side, which it usually wasn't. Still, she was hopeful. She deserved a break and most of all, closure. She parked her Chevy in front of the motel just outside town and checked in for the whole week. Now that she was older it was easier to travel, less questions raised. The ID she had was entirely fake, not that she knew the truth to begin with. There were perhaps a few years added to her age if her calculation were remotely correct, but not too much that she'd get comments about it and just enough to go place freely. A smile always plastered on her face and replies like 'visiting family' and 'don't want to impose on them' always gave her a free pass. Motel 6 was no different and before she knew it, she was in her room - lucky number 13 - ready to set her base of operation.

She placed her duffel bag in the middle of the room and checked around. The room itself was nice, though nothing special. There was no option for a room with any kind of kitchenette or even a refrigerator which was a bummer. The bed was queen sized and the mattress comfy, not that she ever slept much. If she worked fast enough, that would hopefully change. The first floor offered enough privacy and opportunity to escape if needed. The bathroom also had a window large enough for her to squeeze through, but the bathtub was what caught her eye. Or the lack of one to be more precise. She was longing for a hot bubble bath, but she'd have to make due with a steaming shower instead. She thought that could be some kind of metaphor for life or something, make due with what life hands you, but didn't dwell on it too much as she went back to her bag and took out a smaller map and her notebook. It was time to get to work. The more time she wasted, the more opportunities 'papa' had to find her. Even in her own mind, the word dripped with venom.

She spent the next 20 minutes reanalyzing the map of Hawkins and reading the news reports on one Will Byers, the boy who came back to life. Her fist guess had been that the lab was taking people again for experiments, but there had been no obvious pattern in the missing people and the girl that died was in highschool, too old to take as a project on and too young to test on. Unless of course she was pregnant, which was still a possibility. The truly weird thing was the boy. Had he escaped? Was the initial 'death' a cover up, but the mother found a way to prove her son was taken? Every news outlet let the world know that the people responsible had been punished, but none mentioned Brenner. Was he still running the place? She circled the empty area on the map where the lab would be and decided she should scout the place out. As she got up from where she was laying on the bed and went to pick up her keys her stomach growled. She'd scout the place, right after she'd eat something.

The store came into view fast, the map of the town already burned in her mind. She parked the car fast and darted inside, the cool air pleasant on her heated skin. She had been wandering for a while from isle to isle, not entirely sure what she wanted to get, when she stumbled upon a girl trying to reach a box of cereal way out of her reach.

"Damn it!" She smiled at the girl, probably not older than 13 and moved towards her.

"Here, I can get that for you."

"Thank you." The girl smiled back kindly and put the box in a cart, barely managing to push it. She watched her for a moment, wincing when the small redhead almost crashed in another customer. Normally, she'd help without question, but she wanted to keep as low a profile as possible. But wasn't not helping even more suspicions? Besides, she was just a child; surely there was no harm in helping one kid.

"Hey, you alone here, kid?"

"I'm alone. Well, my shitty brother was supposed to help, but his lazy ass stayed in the car."

"I can help with the cart if you want."

"You don't have to…"

"Don't be silly, I want to." She moved to push the cart instead, letting the girl hold her basket instead.

"It's really nice of you, thanks. Name's Max, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Max. I'm Sandy." There had a been split second when she thought not go give her name, but almost laughed at the concept: a fake name for her already make-belief one on her ID. They shook hands, the little girl smiling brightly. Sandy wondered if she was usually so open to strangers or was she really dreading to haul herself against the cart any longer. "So, do you still need to get stuff?"

"Just a few." The little girl got a piece of paper out of her back pocket and lead the way through the store. Sandy couldn't help but look at all the products in the cart. Vegetables, milk, flour, at least three types of meat, condiments, all things used to prepare some proper meals. She wondered when was the last time she ate anything besides fast food and chips. As if on cue, Max's voice brought her out of her daydreaming about a steaming plate of Ground Turkey Sweet Potato Skillet. Ah, with lots of garlic! Sandy's mouth was watering from the mere thought of it.

"Is this all you're getting?" She was brought out of her little food fantasy and eyed the items in her own basket: cheap beer and chocolate chi cookies.

"I guess." She smiled sheepishly, biting her lover lip as the little redhead watched her with a raised eyebrow. Sandy raised her shoulders in defeat and just a hint of embarrassment. "I decided I will go out to eat tonight. I think I saw a nice restaurant a little back down the road." The girl's face lit up with the genuine curiosity that came with youth.

"Oh, you're not from Hawkins either?"

"I guess I'm not. And here I was hoping you could tell me if there are any cool places around town." If anyone was going to know know anything about secret lab in the forest it was going to be the kids in town: reckless and not completely aware of the consequences. Maybe that was what happened to the Will boy.

"The Arcade is nice, but other than that I haven't explored much. Basically everything you'll need is downtown though, so you're in the place."

"Thanks, kid." They approached the register and she helped the girl bag her stuff and even carry them since there was no way she could on her own. She was lost in thought again, wondering if she should check the lab first or go eat, when Max spoke again.

"You said you're staying at a motel, right? What brought you to Hawkins if not relatives? You planning to move here"

"Nah, just passing through. I'm a bit of a wandered I suppose."

"That's so cool. You must have been in so many awesome places. And with no one to constantly pester you." Sandy smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She always felt weird when someone complained about their parents or family in general, when she never had any of her own. But she also never could retort that being raised in a lab was worse than having your mother make you clean your room and finish your homework. Still, she tried to be nice to the kid.

"Ah, you'll see they mean well, your parents."

"It's… it's not my parents. I mean I love my mom, but my step dad and his son are awful." So she was coming from a broken home. Sandy would have given anything even for that distorted version of a family. No matter how annoying and mundane, it would have been 'normal', everything that she wasn't and probably never will be, even after she'd slayed her demon. But she wouldn't let her bitterness show. Max was just a kid, she would grow soon enough and see that family was a bound you found nowhere else. Bld was thicker than water and all that. "And now we moved all the way here. At least when we were in Cali I could still spend weekends with dad."

"I'm sorry, Max. I'm sure you'll see your father will visit when he can. And if not, you'll be old enough to go to him before you know it."

"Not sure Neil would like that very much." Sandy was about to ask if Neil was the step dad, but the girl continued almost immediately. "And then there's the devil himself." She followed her gaze to the blue Camaro and the boy standing on its hood, eyes glaring daggers at either Max or herself.

"That's your brother?"

"Yeah, it's Billy." They were still pretty far from him, but Sandy could see he was, like all devils, a handsome one. From the way his jeans wrapped tightly on his thighs and his opened button shirt, his whole attitude screamed confidence and there were few things sexier than that.

"Well hot damn."

"No, please, not you too. He's a complete tool."

"Hm, most pretty boys are, you'll see soon enough." They giggled as they approached the boy, Sandy sneaking a few looks at his car as well. A tool maybe, but he had good taste.

Billy had been bored out of his mind, despite having parked for only a few minutes. What was taking that little shithead so long to buy whatever Susan had put down on that stupid list? He knew, in the back of his mind, that there was no reason to be so angry, especially at Max, who hated their situation just as much, if not more. After all, her father was still back home and actually wanted to spend time with his kid. Somehow, that thought drove him even madder. His knuckles turned white around the steering wheel, jaw clenching so hard his teeth began to hurt but he didn't mind the pain, he hadn't for a long time. He eyed the store's door, hoping to see Max, but of course he wouldn't, she'd left just a few minutes prior. He just hated waiting, hated being alone with his thoughts in daylight where he knew he would eventually snap at someone, most of the times the little shithead herself. He hated he was so angry all the time, but that only got him angrier still. He was like a bull who fluttered the red flag in front of his own face. Hopeless and useless, he deserved the pain and he deserved being brought all the way to Nowhere, Indiana. They'd been there for only a few days and he was already going stir crazy. The people were idiots, the girls were boring and the whole place was just shit.

He got out of the car for air, closing the door with a little too much force and regretting it immediately. After the hell he went through to getting that Camaro… He let out a long sigh and pressed both hands on the hood, his head hanging in between. He had one year of highschool left and then he could go back to California. He didn't care he had no actual place to stay or plan to make a living for himself. All he needed was his car and some money for gas and food. Once there, he'd figure things out.

When his temper cooled down, he lifted his head and his eyes landed on a red 67 Chevy Impala. It didn't compare to his Camaro, but it was still a beautiful car, despite looking like it had seen better days. He noticed one of the back doors was dented in, the passenger window slightly cracked and the rust eating here and there, definitely in need of a paint job. But otherwise it was in pretty good condition for such an old car. The last thing he noticed was the registration plate - 007 DOL, Florida - and a small turtle sticker placed besides it. His fists clenched as his mind wandered to the beaches again. Why couldn't they have moved closer to any ocean? Florida would have been far away from Max's father to placate Neil and close to his only solace, the beach.

He turned to go after Max at the thought of getting home late and his fathers temper, but stopped when he saw her coming out of the store, a young woman on tow. Both had their hands filled with paper bags, one in each hand. Had the shopping list been so long? He hadn't cared enough to even check. Arms folded as he propped himself on the hood of his car and stared at the girl besides his stepsister. There was nothing particularly impressive about her. She was wearing an ugly plaid shirt, at least twice her size, stuffed in some equally baggy jeans and worn leather boots. He wondered momentarily if she had stolen her father's shirt, before shaking his head and putting her out of his mind. He doubted he would have noticed her if she wasn't in Max's company so there was no need to give her a second thought. But as the two neared him, all giggles and whispers, he saw a glint in her eyes as she looked him up and down and couldn't help the smirk on his lips. Even if there was not much to her, it was always exhilarating to be the cause of that lust-filled stare and even more thrilling to play with it.

"You must be the infamous stepbrother."

"Yeah, thanks for helping her. I'm Billy." He extended his arm to take the bags from Max, but she only gave him the largest one, all while glaring at him. He ignored her, eyes barely leaving the young woman as he popped open the trunk of his car. "And you are?"

"A complete stranger." She was smiling, playing hard to get, but he saw the way she checked him out. She closed the space between them and placed the bags she was holding in the trunk as well. "These are all yours." She smirked as her eyes wandered, accentuating a little cut on her upper lip, barely visible until then. He was about to thank her again, but Max beat him to it, all bouncy and smiling.

"Thanks again for the help, you're a lifesaver." Max handed her the smaller of all the bags and when she wrapped her left hand around it, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal some intricate tattoo on her left wrist. "Maybe I'll see you at the Arcade some time."

"Don't mention it, Max. And sure, I'll check it out later" She then moved her eyes on him and he couldn't help but stare at that little cut on her lip as she spoke. It was oddly appealing and if anything it actually made her stand out from the millions of pretty faces.

"Maybe I'll see you around as well, Billy." She winked at him and waved at Max and to his utmost surprise she hopped in the Chevy he had been admiring earlier, 'Eye of the tiger' barely audible from within as she rolled out of the parking lot.

"Who was that?" He had half a mind to follow her as he got in his car and started the engine. He would have if the little shit wasn't with and if Neil wasn't waiting for them to get back. The girl was direct enough to make him believe she was up for a good time. Max rolled her eyes at him, but he let it slide. Who knew the little shithead could be a chick magnet?

"She's new in town too." There was a small pause, her eyes going back and forth from the road to him. "Just passing through though, so don't get your hopes up."

He scoffed, but didn't argue with her, the little shit was obviously lying. The girl was staying long enough if she was making plans to check the Arcade. Long enough for a little one night stand on the back of his car. Or maybe even hers. He had two purposed now. The first, dethrone the so called King Steve. The second, bang mystery Florida girl. Billy decided that if he was going to be stuck for a year in Indiana, he would at least make the most of it.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove x oc #love at first sting #fanfiction #i need help #Torment never looked so goddamn fine

54 notes · View notes

chocoholicannanymous · 5 years

Text

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) pt VIII

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI. and pt VII.

Readjusting to life at Dalton is a lot easier than Kurt had feared. It helps that he isn't scared witless this time, of course. It also helps that Blaine isn't there to monopolize his time – which, in hindsight, had been the root of a lot of Kurt's isolation. Now he's got the Warblers for real, and Sebastian. He's also got a much better understanding of what it'll take to keep on top of academics, and how much he can allow himself to relax. He hadn't known that last time.

(There's a nagging thought that Blaine must have known, yet said nothing, that refuses to leave his brain. It's not a pleasant one.)

Another difference is that this time Kurt's not looking to return to McKinley. Last time he'd wasted valuable time and energy trying to come up with a way to return, and daydreaming about being back. This time's different. He chose Dalton this time, and he's staying no matter what.

Also, things being what they are he's not spending large chunks of his time with Mercedes and Rachel. From what Finn reports Rachel is furious – that Kurt's left, that he's not getting punished for the election and that he's left them another person down for Sectionals. Kurt's okay with that, seeing as she hadn't exactly been a great friend before he left. As for her rantings, well. If she spreads the cheating rumors too far Kurt'll deal with it – or his dad will – and the rest is easy to ignore.

He does miss Mercedes, but at the same time he's not willing to bend enough to fix things between them. Not this time.

She didn't believe in him.

It's that simple. He was on the verge of suspension, and Mercedes didn't believe in him. She wasn't even enough of a friend to pretend she did in public. Adding her behavior over Blaine's disappearance and West Side Story.... It's up to her to make the first move, and there's nothing guaranteeing their friendship can be salvaged in the end.

So instead of spending time and energy on the mess that is the New Directions – because even with the split that's who they are – Kurt throws himself into making the most of his time at Dalton.

“I'm sorry we can't give you a solo.”

Kurt stares at Sebastian. A solo? Where did that come from? Because honestly, Kurt hadn't expect one, nor had he entirely decided if he should audition for one or not.

“We talked about it and we all know you could use it, and none of us is applying to performing arts' schools. It's simply too close to Sectionals for us to rework our setlist. Not if we want to go on to Regionals. If we do though, then we've agreed that you get a solo.”

There's a hint of pink on Sebastian's cheeks, but Kurt doesn't have the energy to try and analyze that now. It's probably Sebastian's way of apologizing or something.

“Auditions?”

“Right. I guess that this is when I tell you that the Warblers have changed how things are run. Used to be someone auditioned, and then the council decided. Only everyone knew that auditions pretty much were a sham. David and Thad admitted as much themselves, once the others started pushing. After all, it is kind of hard to pretend auditions matter when the person ending up with all the solos never even participated in the auditions in the first place.”

Which... True. Kurt just never thought the Warblers would become aware enough to see that. Maybe it's a side-effect of Wes being gone. Him and his cursed gavel...

“So now the council is gone, and everyone gets a vote on solos. And this time everyone agreed that if we make it to Regionals it was only fair to offer you a spot.”

And well, that changes things. Hopefully.

“Well, it's much appreciated either way. It's a little too late to add a Regionals solo on my NYADA application but I should be able to add it to some of the others.”

Because he is applying to other schools, regardless of what he and Rachel agreed to. Only applying to one school? Insanity. Especially a school like NYADA, which accept only 60 students per year, and only 20 of them for the concentration Kurt (and Rachel) had applied for. What if they doesn't accept him, then what? Was he supposed to stay in Lima and reapply? Spend a year or several working at the garage or in some store while his meager CV became more and more dust-covered by the minute?

No. He's applying to every school in New York that'll suit him – and a few that won't – plus another couple elsewhere. He's even considering throwing in an application to Ohio State, since the campus in Columbus offers a couple of options when it comes to theater and music. Not that he wants to stay in Ohio, not really, but he'll go just about anywhere as long as it's not Lima.

“Well, dreaming about Regionals is all very nice, but we're not there yet. Also, there are other things to consider as well, like passing all my classes. You wouldn't be willing to lend me your notes for French for a night or two, would you? Oh, and I'm not sure I interpreted the third question for our advanced reading homework correctly, so do you think we could sit down and talk it over?”

It's easier to focus on schoolwork, on grammar and linguistics, than on the strangeness of Sebastian's actions. Much easier.

Sectionals comes and goes – and leaves a trophy behind. The Warblers celebrate, and Kurt with them. If his joy is also about the possibility of a solo... Well. Who can blame him?

That is, of course, if what Sebastian said still goes. There's no reason to think it shouldn't, not really, but Kurt remembers being burnt too well to not be cautious.

Regardless, they won't be competing against the New Directions at Regionals. The Troubletones had wiped the floor with their former teammates, and Kurt can't say he's surprised. Finn isn't either, even if it's obvious that he's unhappy about it. Oh, he tries to hide it, but. He's used to winning, loves it, and was already thinking about how to do better at Nationals than last years.

And now that's not going to happen.

“They deserved it, I don't care what anyone” read Rachel “thinks. I know how much they've been rehearsing.”

And the New Directions, true to form, hadn't. Or so Kurt supposes. After all, they hadn't had a setlist when he left, and Finn hasn't complained about suddenly ending up with a ton of extra rehearsals.

“Finn? I know they are good, but I also know you guys are. And it's okay if you're not happy about losing, even to them. It sucks to lose something you really want and losing to your friends doesn't make it easier. Not at first at least.”

“Experience talking, huh?”

“Mmmmmmm.”

Kurt still remembers how it'd hurt to lose to his friends, and not even going back to them had made it feel better. He'd gone to Nationals feeling that he didn't deserve it, and knowing that Mr Schue thought the same.

“You know what really sucks about all of this? We had a suggestion for a setlist that would have given us the win. Michael Jackson songs, solos for everyone... I think it would have been awesome.”

“Let me guess, Rachel flipped.”

It's not even a question, because obviously she would have. Allowing everyone solos? No matter how small, that would have meant less time in the spotlight for her. Just as it wouldn't have mattered how great the suggested songs were, because Michael Jackson isn't something Rachel would be able to do well.

And of course Mr Schue would have folded faster than wet cardboard once she started complaining, neither of them caring that by catering to Rachel's demands they weakened the group.

“Oh yeah. And now she's on a 'woe is me because NYADA' tear, and it's driving me insane. Well, everyone. I'm pretty sure Tina's on the verge of punching her. Plus, she... Anyway, Glee sucks now.”

“She's blaming me, isn't she? For leaving, and for supposedly making Blaine leave.”

It makes sense, in a totally-not-unless-you're-Rachel-Berry way, and it's nothing less than Kurt's been expecting if he's honest. Because there's no way Rachel would ever lose gracefully, just as there's no way she'd accept the rightful blame for having messed up.

“You guessed that, huh? Yeah, sorry. I don't know what's gotten into her, I swear.”

“She's being the worst version of herself. I knew I made myself a target by leaving, I just didn't care. Then again I already was one, so I guess that's 'bigger' target. And I can't imagine she took it any better knowing that the Warblers won our Sectionals.”

Kurt can practically hear Finn wince over the phone, which is never an encouraging thing – and yet, much too frequent with Rachel Berry in the picture.

“I...might have told her that I wouldn't talk to her about it, and walked out the door when she did it anyway?”

Kurt removes the phone from his ear, stares at it, shakes it to see if anything is broken inside, stares at it again and then replaces it.

“I'm sorry, you what? Are you telling me you finally located your balls when it comes to a girl?”

And then it's Kurt's time to audibly wince, because while true that's also extremely rude – and crude – and Finn doesn't deserve it. Not even though it's true.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that.”

“Nah, it's nothing I don't deserve. I just, I've had it okay? I love Rachel, I do, but sometimes I'm not so sure I like her. And the past few weeks have been worse than usual. When we got back together it was supposed to be for this year, since she's going to New York after graduation. Which I figured I could get around, you know? Part of me wants to ask her to marry me and commit to going to New York with her. Another part figured it'll never work since she can't respect anything or anyone outside of herself and her dreams.

“She only changed her mind about sex because Artie told her she wasn't credible onstage otherwise, and she didn't even tell me at first. Then she's been an absolute bitch about everything with you. So let's say I change her mind and we get married. What else will she do?

“I'm not sure about being with her at all anymore, and it's not breaking my heart like it should.”

Hearing that? Kind of breaks Kurt's heart though. Once upon a time he'd have been ecstatic to hear something like this from Finn. Now he's grown beyond that, and all he wants for Finn is happiness. (That he's not sure Rachel can provide that isn't really the point. Up until now Finn has believed it, and that's the only thing that matters.)

“I'm sorry. Do you... I'll be home Friday evening. Want me to bring some cookies and watch a movie, or do you have plans?”

“Peanut butter chocolate chips? Plus, Captain America comes out on DVD this week, and I know you like Chris Evans.”

“I really really do.”

They both laugh, and if Finn's is a bit strained neither of them are going to admit it. What's important here is that regardless of everything they've got each other.

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #a wild sebastian appears #in 2019 we finish our wips #if the spit hits the fan #scraps and snippets #brotherly furt

29 notes · View notes