#then in psych class our teacher asked who everyone thought the best writer in our class was and i pointed to my friend- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asteriismos · 4 years

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all your love - bill denbrough

warning(s) : professor! bill denbrough, sexual undertones but no smut, making out, my nerdy english side jumped out on this one

authors note : the reader is about 20 in this and bill is around 35-36 is. ooh scandalous

words : 3k ish

summary : bill is the new english professor at your college

upon getting your schedule for your second semester of your sophomore year of college, you asked some of your older friends if they’d have some of your teachers. they said that your humanities teacher was really nice and that your psych teacher was a really hard grader. nothing was out of the ordinary until they got to professor denbrough, whom they knew nothing about.

what was even stranger was that they had never heard that last name in their life. he was going to be your writing composition teacher for the semester, and others who took the class had no idea who you were talking about when you asked about the mysterious professor.

so you had to go into the class without knowing anything, and you didn’t know if that excited you or scared you. because what if he was a terrible teacher because it was his first year, and he was some kind of patronizing man that would give you problems all year. you wanted to be a writer, and in order to do that you needed to get this degree, you couldn’t fail this class.

you opened up the door to the lecture hall for this new class with professor denbrough. behind you was your dorm roomate alyssa, who was the only other person you knew in this class. both of you made your way to the middle of the large room and sat down next to each other, taking out your books and setting your laptop on the desk in case you had to write some notes.

you still had nothing to expect.

a few minutes went by and finally a man walked into the room, one hand holding a binder and the other running through his hair. he was tall, averaged build man who looked to be in his mid thirties. his hair had a slight wave to it and a little bit of grey strands that you could tell he attempted to hide every time he ran his hand through it. he was sporting a dark blue buttoned up collared shirt and black slacks, also wearing ray ban style glasses.

some of the girls behind you giggled, obviously excited that their teacher looked the way that he did. even you felt your eyes on him for a little bit too long. soon enough, he was turning around to face all of you with a smile on his face. his pearly white teeth were striking.

“good afternoon, i’m professor denbrough,” he spoke, in a calm and collected voice. though the tapping of his hands against the desk he leaned on showed otherwise. he was nervous.

the class stayed silent as he began to pace slowly in front of the seats, making eye contact with a few students as he did. “i am a writer of f-four books so f-far,” he stopped to chuckle to himself. he made a shrugging motion with his shoulders. “what you will come to learn of m-me is that i have a slight s-s-stutter. that’s w-why i became a writer : so i didn’t have to speak.” professor denbrough smiled a little to signal that it was a poor attempt at a joke

a few students laughed a little bit, including you.

your professor went on in his little introduction, revealing a little bit about himself here and there. his first name was bill, he is in the beginnings of a new book ( which is a horror novel like his others ), he grew up in maine, and he was here as a favor to some friends in the english department.

the rest of the class went on for the scheduled two hours, nothing really out of the ordinary. you could tell that he was new to this, just in the way that he talked to the class casually instead of professionally. all in all, it wasn’t a terrible class. and by the looks of it, it seemed like it would be fun too. professor denbrough was a writer and a published author, meaning that he could possibly help you with your own personal writing.

the clock ticked and ticked until it was finally three. the professor glanced at the clock and cleared his throat, “all right. for your first assignment, write a two to three page paper on the author that first inspired you. it can be about anyone, like the author of the harry potter books or dickens, d-doesn’t matter. i want to hear about how that author inspired you in their own, unique way. h-have a good day everyone.” the students around you stood up and made their way out of the classroom.

you packed up your things and stood up as well, waiting for alyssa to get her bag slung around her shoulder so you could make it back to your dorm room. while you waited, you snuck a glance at professor denbrough, who sat at his desk with his chin resting on his left hand. his eyes scanned along the paper he was reading and in one quick movement, he was looking up to meet your eyes. you reverted your eyes, a dark blush falling onto your cheeks since you were caught looking at him.

luckily, alyssa was ready and you walked with her out of the classroom, not sparing another glance at the professor.

two weeks past by and you turned in your assignment to professor denbrough a week ago, and you had yet to get it back. but as soon as you walked in the classroom, you heard him say to another student that was in the front row that he would give them back at the end of class. alyssa wasn’t with you this time since she got sick with some kind of flu earlier this week, so you were here alone today.

class was boring for the most part, the professor went on with his lecture about influential writers and their impacts on the writing community. it was interesting, but you felt lonely without alyssa there beside you. you sipped on your coffee - which was the only thing really fueling you since alyssa kept you up all night with her throwing up - and watched as professor denbrough did his usual pacing in the front of the room.

class ended and he passed out your classes papers. he walked next to your seat and gave you a kind smile, sifting through the papers in his hands.

one of them was threatening to fall and you reached out to grab it. he must’ve seen it too, beecause he also reached for it and your hands brushed against each other for a moment. you gave him a small smile and retracted your hand, but he looked at the name on the paper and set it down on your desk. it was your paper.

“must’ve b-been fate or s-something,” bill said with a grin, then turned and started looking through the papers to give to the girls behind you.

you silently nodded, looking at the pen markings on your paper of the notes he made. overall, they were pretty postitive, you earned an A.

proud of your work, you shimmied the paper into your folder and gathered your things. a text notification rung from your phone in your jean pocket and you took it out, seeing that it was a text from alyssa. if we get back our papers today, can you get mine for me? you texted back a thumbs up emoji and turned to where the professor had been only a few minutes before. but he was already at the opposite end of the classroom.

you waited for everyone to file out of the room and walked to his desk where he was sitting. you watched him grab for his glasses that were set neatly on a stack of books on the corner of the desk.

“hi, professor,” you greeted, offering another smile his way. “i was wondering if you could give me alyssa’s essay? i'm her roommate and she’s out with the flu.”

“sure, let me just get it out,” he said, maneuvering in his seat to look through his bag. you thought that this would be a silent interaction, but he pushed for more small talk. “for a moment i thought you were coming to talk about your paper.”

“oh, why is that sir?” he looked up from his bag. “you can call me bill when classes are over. i hate the formality of ‘sir’, don’t you think it’s a little demeaning to the person saying it?” it was a rhetorical question, because he went on to say, “your paper was very interesting. there wasn’t one other person who chose fitzgerald, a lot of people chose austen or salinger, i even got a few shakespeares, but not you. why is that?”

you shrugged your shoulders. “the great gatsby was one of the best books i’ve ever read in my life. but don’t look down on salinger, sir- i mean bill, the catcher in the rye was also marvelous.” you gave him a sly smile. it wasn’t often that you got to talk about authors with someone. sure, alyssa liked to read and write but she wasn’t as much of a fanatic like you are.

bill chuckled to himself and pulled out alyssa’s essay, keeping it in his hands for a moment to scan over it. “even your roomate picked shakespeare, she quotes romeo and juliet a lot in this.”

“well, alyssa is a hopeless romantic. and romeo and juliet is a classic,” you beamed, shifting back in forth on your heels a tiny bit.

“and you’re not?”

“what was that?” you cocked your head to the side.

“you’re not a hopeless romantic? the great gatsby is a love story too, you know.” you laughed, “a tragic one. but then again, i guess all love stories are tragic in their own way.”

the professor nodded his head, smile never leaving his face as he handed you the essay. “have a good day, y/n. if you ever need help with writing, my office door is always open.”

“thank you, professor.”

your shoes padded against the cool tile of the empty hallway, bringing you closer to the door with the name denbrough next to the door handle. it was seven thirty and his office hours were done in thirty minutes. it wasn’t the first time that you’ve been here either, you were here three other times over the past two weeks just to talk to him about your writing. in a way he was your mentor.

a really nice, and handsome mentor.

it was really wrong to think of your professor in that way and you knew it, but your fantasies raged on. the most prevalent was when you would be sitting close to him and you would think about how his lips would feel against your neck, trailing down your stomach . . . you shook your head, getting those thoughts out of your head as much as you can as you opened the door slowly.

bill was sitting at his desk, scattered along it were papers and half read books stacked on the corners. there was also two different mugs filled with coffee next to him, along with the smell of fresh being made in a tiny coffee pot by the window. his office was on the third floor of the building, in some tucked away corner. you could tell that they tried to make room for him the best they could, since slowly over time the office became more homey than before.

there were some plants that stood against the mohogany walls and greeted you as you walked in and closed the door. bill looked at you and waved his hand for you to come over and sit at the seat across from where he was seated behind his desk.

“do you w-want some coffee?” he offered, motioning to the coffee pot that was almost done making a full pot. you laughed and shook your head, setting down your bag and taking a seat.

“i'm okay, don’t you think it’s a little late for coffee, professor?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow. you knew that he liked to be called bill during these little sessions that you had, but it still felt slightly strange to call your professor by his first name. especially since no other professor ever asked you to do so. but as he said before, he wasn’t really a professor, he was new to this.

bill shook his head and closed the folder of papers he was looking at. his eyes found yours and he smiled, “not really for me, y/n. i work better at night. you’ll start to learn that as you start writing more often, writers work better at night when there isn’t anything to disturb them.”

you only nodded, eyes scanning the books on his desk. your eyes lit up when you spotted one, grabbing for it. “you’re rereading the great gatsby?”

bill leaned over the desk and snatched it from your hands, cheeks reddening. “let’s just s-say you inspired me t-to read it again.”

“i'm flattered,” you teased, smirking at his red cheeks. “didn’t know that i had that much of an effect on you, sir.” you brushed off your obvious flirting by reaching down to your bag to grab your laptop. usually what happened is that he looked over some of the writing you did over the days you didn’t see him and give you notes and pointers, as well as ask you questions to get you motivated to write more.

he didn’t answer, only moving to the other chair close to you. “you h-have no idea,” he muttered under his breath, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear what he had just said. but you did, which made the smirk on your face stay there.

ten minutes went by and you watched him look over your work, hums of contentness coming past his lips every so often. at this point, he was so engulfed in your work that you didn’t even bother to conceal your staring, your eyes traving up and down his face, landing on his lips and wondering what he tasted like.

this wasn’t usually like you, lusting over an older man. and your teacher, someone who could get into a lot of trouble if you two did anything. but there was a certain appeal about the thought of sneaking around with bill. the thrill of possibly getting caught.

he felt your eyes on him and looked at you, turning in his seat. “something on your m-mind, y/n?” he asked you.

your eyes widened, shaking your head, “no, s-sorry professor.”

you waited for him to say something, but instead he leaned forward and decreased the space in between you two to pull you in for a kiss. your lips hit his and you gasped, hand coming to grab for his shoulder.

your professor was kissing you.

and you liked it more than you were willing to admit.

his hand snaked to the small of your back, nudging you to stand up from your seat. you obliged, standing up and feeling him guide you to the end of his desk. you jumped up onto the desk and wrapped your legs around his waist, still kissing him.

his lips trailed down your jawline all the way down to the edge of your shirt, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses everywhere he could access. your hands reached up to grab his hair, pulling on it as a soft, desperate noise left your lips.

that familiar fire you felt in your stomach that you usually got when you were fantasizing about this moment was beginning to appear, the more his teeth grazed along your neck and hands reached under your shirt.

he trailed back to your lips and captured you in yet another desperate kiss, this time with more passion than the last one. his tongue trailed along your bottom lip, to which you obliged by opening your mouth and feeling it lip in and prod against your own.

you pushed your hips against his, halfway off the desk so that you could rub your clothed center against the hardening in his pants. a soft groan left his lips along with a tiny fuck and repeated the grinding motion against your hips.

you hissed at the relief you were feeling, wanting more and more of your professor. but he pulled away from you, keeping his face close to yours as he spoke. “we should s-s-” he sighed, trying to get the words out. his stutter always acted up when he was anxious. “stop before i c-can’t handle m-myself.”

your expression saddened, hands falling down to grab his face.

“I'm sorry professor, i didn’t mean to-”

“no! on the contrary y/n, you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this. it’s just that the janitor is supposed to come in a few minutes to sweep the floor and he never knocks,” bill said, grabbing your face and pressing another kiss to your lips, helping you get down from the desk.

you made an oh expression with your face and nodded, going to grab for your things. your hands were shaking, and your lips missed the feeling of his on them. you wished that you guys could’ve gotten further but he was right, it was too risky right now.

as if on cue, the door opened from the janitor coming in. you grabbed your bag and slung it around your shoulder, waving to bill as you walked towards the door.

“oh and y/n?” bill said.

you turned to face him. “what, professor denbrough?”

“if you want m-more time with my expertise, please c-come a little earlier and we can get farther . . . in your w-writing,” he said, giving you a slight grin. you grinned back at him with a nod, turning on your heel and walking out of his office.

until next time.

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough imagine #bill denbrough smut #it #it 2017 #it 2019 #IT movie #it movie imagine #it movie x reader #it movie 2017 #it movie 2019 #richie tozier #stanley uris #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak

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despiteinspite · 3 years

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On Shop Windows and Being

“I include the personal here to connect the social forces on a specific, particular family’s being in the wake to those of all Black people in the wake; to mourn and to illustrate the ways our individual lives are always swept up in the wake produced and determined, though not absolutely, by the afterlives of slavery.” (Sharpe 2016, 5)

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In one of my classes, my peer, Joi, shared her experience as a black ballerina. Their practice space was in a closed-down shoe store. The floors were replaced. Big mirrors and balance bars were installed against the walls, and across from the door lined tall shop windows. On the first day of class, at ten years old, Joi and the rest of the dancers sat cross-legged as their instructor introduced themselves. After sharing their names, their instructor told them, "Now as black girls - as black ballerinas, there aren't too many of us. Remember, they can see you." Joi explained to us the importance and the pain of this message. In her practice space, in her learning space, she did not feel free to make a single mistake. Because if she did, she'd not only be disappointment to her own reflection in the practice mirror, but reflect failure to those behind the glass.

What does it mean to be black, to be girl and constantly balancing, expanding, stretching, and splitting yourself into perfection? What can that mean for this body? Claude M. Steele makes Brent Staples' experience whistling Vivaldi the title of his first book in his decades-long career. Steele's work is to examine stereotype and how it affects all of us in a way that prevents us from living without burden or stress. In understanding identity and stereotype's threat to identity formulation, Steele shares Staples' experience as an example of not only the cognition a person experiencing stereotype threat may have, but tactics to cope. For Staples, he deflects fear against him and within him by whistling classical music. In this way, Staples reads as safe to passersby on his walk. As Steele writes, "This caused him to be seen differently, as an educated, refined person, not as a violence-prone African American youth." (Steele 2010, 7) And as I read this in class, I immediately think of another boy marked by youth and dark skin. Emmett Till, 14 years old, was deemed unsafe - in fact, deemed lethal target - due to whistling.

And whether or not Till did whistle does not matter, for many reasons. What matters is that it was reason enough.

For Till, whistling was justification for torture. For Staples, whistling was the only safety net he could think of. It strikes me how truly precarious being black is. There is no singular trick that can be universalized to promise our survival. Be it whistling, walking home, driving with your kids, being President, being President's daughters. There is no safety in this black skin.

When I think back to what my past career plans were and how they and my current experiences have shaped my future goals, I think it was always rooted in attempted escape. For the ability to slip into an imaginary that hugged me, a world that embraced me. For a long time, I coveted for a reality that loved me. I decided to use this space to explore each previous career plan that I translated to an iteration of Me. Be it writer, President or policymaker- I chose these titles because I could feel it projecting a Me the world could love. I yearn(ed) so much for a world that would just love Me.

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Vocabulary was never my strong suit. It still isn't. And, when we were made to take those spelling tests in elementary school, I drilled myself as much as possible. Before test day, I'd eat alphabet soup for good favor from the Letter Gods; Give me that S on my paper. Even then I knew after all the preparation, I was never going to find myself using the words. Humongous? Big would be fine enough. Be damned synonyms. Be damned precision. I knew enough words to say what was on my mind without needing to do all that studying. But, I wasn't gonna be caught slipping on something everyone else was excelling in.

In fact, that's how I knocked out my two front teeth. My siblings were losing their teeth left and right, purchasing freeze pops after the Toothfairy's fair bargain. So, I grabbed one of my wood blocks, and knocked any loose tooth I could find. Twisted them until my gums gave out and gave up. And now here I am, teeth at a slant and still craving those sweets.

This vocabulary test offered extra credit, something I knew someone in my state - bloody gums, sticky fingers, alphabet soup brain - would need. We were told to make a short story, 10 sentences max, using at least 5 of the vocabulary words. So I made Ten, a young girl aged 9 with too much time on her hands, trying to whack her teeth out. Only thing I remember is that she rode a humongous hot air balloon, tied a brick around her teeth and chucked it into the air. The tooth went with it. Poor Ten. She was a Junie B. Jones copy to be sure, but she got me my S. My teacher pulled me aside and told me I was a great writer. A writer. Suddenly, it felt fitting to call myself: Stephanie, the writer. The one day published author. I had a definition of Me that felt so much cooler, so suave compared to my peers. I was going to be a writer.

I wrote all through middle school. Finished the Saga of Ten, started writing collaboratively with my best friend through Google Docs. What a joy it was to share this fun with someone. We'd swap our names and faces with the leading starlight of our time (regretably and instructively for two girls of color, it was Bella of Twilight), switch the heartthrobs to our Middle School Day Dreams and giggle and shy away and praise and write and write. I really had so much fun then.

I was lonely for much of my time in High school. I knew no one. I knew nothing. It felt like everyone knew which clubs to join, which teachers to meet with, knew what it meant to have a counselor AND an adviser. One for high school troubles and the other for career services. I was 14. But, they were too. And yet, they knew.

I was still Stephanie, the writer though. I did well in my Presentation classes and got along really well with my 9th grade Lit Teacher. She was so sweet to me. I think she knew I was a fish out of water. To find someone who loved writing like I did, like my best friend who rushed along at a different high school that felt like it was in a different time zone, to find someone like that again was a joy. It seemed like no one else connected to All Quiet on the Western Front or the Edgar Allen Poe like we did. I was still cool, suave writer Stephanie in the face of the unknown.

Then, we read Huckleberry Finn. Then, everyone was attentive. Everyone wanted to read along.

Then I heard my classmates say Nigger more times than I could care to count. I remember shooting up. Looking and being reminded that this wasn't Middle School anymore. These faces didn't look like mine. Hair didn't look like mine. Speech wasn't like mine even if they tried to copy. I was black girl in a white room, admiring a white teacher who let these white kids say Nigger. I didn't finish reading Huckleberry Finn. I stopped writing.

I wanted to cry, but what will the people think watching me? What will I think of Me, crouching, hiding near squeaky-clean glass? How is it possible to be stare at and unseen? I think that's why I was so angry after reading Recitatif. I fell for it too. Just like they did. Saw something unseeable, assigned roles to hair smell, to motherhood, to two girls with lapsing memory. Had I really not learned from my own pain?

I think that Lit class was the first moment that I realized I was behind shop windows too. Before, I thought I was a fellow admirer, struck by the fabrics spinning amongst themselves, silks sliding down cheeks, cotton snuggling up to noses. I'm always watching in awe as a They walk freely, playing in such pretty dress-up. I wanted to be out there. I wanted to feel silk. I wanted cotton to be comfort, not a reminder.

In 11th grade, I enrolled in AP US History. I scored well enough on Social Studies SOLs and when that happens, the counselor or adviser (one of em) trains you to take 4 or 5 APs at a time. So, alongside AP Psych, AP Environmental Science, my Monday and Wednesday would feature US History. My professor was very honest about expectations, even getting us to start classes over the summer to cover all the material due to be on the exam. We started with the Reagan Era and it didn't take long for me to realize Republicans were not for me. Then we talked about Clinton's crime bill and I wasn't too sure about Democrats either. This was two years into Obama's second term and I knew support for him in my house was fading too. As simplistic as this sounds, I really thought: if the republicans didn't care about black people, and the democrats didn't seem to care either, who did? Mixing resentment, pride and a loud mouth didn't make for the most principled Stephanie, but it did allow me to vocalize my frustrations. With Reaganomics, with capitalism, with prisons, with black boy death. Be it my teacher knowing many of the sentiments shared here or simply my being black, he asked me to read the Black Panthers' Ten Point Program. And my, oh my, did I find home there.

These were policy makers. These were the people who had the guts to demand, the power to make some changes. Fred Hampton, Stokely Carmichael, Angela Davis and their inspirations in Fanon, DuBois - I found inspiration in them too. I was going to be whatever they were. Policy makers for their community. I was going to learn from them.

From there, I became incredibly elitist. But, I could also answer to the beauty of my blackness. Like many children decades before me, Black would be a political title - one of love and resistance, love in resistance. This elitism carried me into my first year of university. I glowered at anyone who admired the works of Jefferson in my Political Theory class (as if I had not done the same), I scuffed at Alexis de Tocqueville and every other white dude we were made to read. But, I wasn't acting in an antiracist framework. I was still resentful. I was still behind the glass. Now I was just shouted silently at the silk dresses and cotton scarves. But I still wanted to feel them.

Really, it wasn't until Beloved that I could begin a journey of understanding this embroiled joy of black womanhood. I realized how much I fought against my own happiness in the pursuit of a Me that I constantly tormented. As if this precariousness wasn't torment enough. Through Morrison, I was able to learn more about Angela Davis and the struggles her black womanhood had in the face of black men in her community. So many of my political thought leaders too were tormentors, liars, abusers. The men were wounded and bleeding, resented our zealous in the berries they picked. They said it was for us. We gave it to the community. They shame us for it. We bake our own pies, we feed our neighborhood and our neighborhood's resentment, our own deafening shame silences our collective ear, binds our collective feet. Once again, I tricked Me. You loved another abuser. Daydreamed of standing next to another tormentor. Admired another liar. How foolish to give your heart away again. Today, I begin to despair a bit when I think of my previous trajectory - so constantly struck by idol worship and never a Me that I had made for myself. But with Beloved - Oh my, to be so tenderly reminded that this body is mine. Just as it speaks to body(s) like mine, past and future. This heartbeat I feel expresses MY Joy, my sorrows, all mine. What a wonder it is to learn Me. She's waited so long to speak to me. I am so honored to hear her.

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Riverdale Season 5 Episode 3 Review – Chapter 79: Graduation

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This RIVERDALE review contains spoilers.

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 3

“Are we doomed to just be haunted by this town for the rest of our lives?”

So asks Jughead Jones in this most emotional episode of Riverdale, and it’s a question that is uttered almost rhetorically even though we all know the answer. There’s a valedictorian feel to this installment in every sense, one that subtextually speaks of how the series is closing the door on what is what in order to reinvent itself. And friends, it’s arguably the most grounded episode the show has ever done…and maybe the best?

I’ve mentioned previously how weird it is whenever Riverdale focuses on aspects of normal teenage life. High school has never been a huge part of the program, so graduation feels like an necessary obstacle that must be hurdled in order to get these characters into their respective futures. Realizing this, episode writer (and show co-creator) Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa has crafted a graceful farewell to Riverdale High that is more about dealing with the consequences of the past than graduation itself.

Always the best speechmaker on the show, Betty’s succinct graduation address acknowledges how easy it is for innocence to slip away. “Stay young for as long as possible, even if it’s only for one more moment,” she sincerely states, gravely aware of how the mayhem inflicted by the Black Hood, the Gargoyle King, Jingle Jangle, and all of Riverdale’s ills have fractured the psyches of the next generation.

It is an issue the Cooper family has dealt with repeatedly, and was even doing so while Betty was speaking to the community and her peers. For the impact of Riverdale life has again hit home, this time by Jellybean’s actions as The Auteur. In an attempt to save Jellybean before she is consumed by her demons, F.P. decides to take her back to Toledo — back to Gladys and something resembling a normal life.

The collateral damage is massive. Alice loses her partner, Jellybean loses her brother, the town loses the best sheriff it has ever had. (F.P. demanding that Hiram Lodge reinstall Tom Keller as sheriff is the sort of delightful contrivance that only this series can get away with).

Time and again on Riverdale we’ve heard characters give speeches that the town residents must “do better.” Now that there are proven examples of how the madness of the town is impacting its youngest citizens, will anything change? Narratively, it’s doubtful. And a “normal” Riverdale would be a hell of a dull place.

But what feels revolutionary here is that this episode is excellent while still being rooted firmly in reality. Riverdale can still be compelling by just focusing on the friendships that bind these characters without relying on narrative gimmicks. This may break the show, but it could also rebirth it.

That said, I still want zombies.

This episode was originally intended to be last year’s season finale before Covid-19 halted production. In many ways though it feels like a series wrap up. As the credits roll we have all of the characters separated. Archie has decided to the join the Army, with Betty, Veronica and Jughead away and estranged at their respective colleges. Cheryl remains in Riverdale, determined to rehabilitate the Blossom family image while her beloved Toni is away at school.

Jughead tells us as the episode concludes that the gang will be brought back together by a new mystery six years later. We don’t as of yet know what that is, and the anticipation is exhilarating. Bring on next week!

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Riverdale Rundown

• The baseball card included in the time capsule from the Class of 1945 was for Ambrose “Rocket” Pipps, which was the name of a minor character who primarily appeared in Bob Bolling’s melancholy Little Archie comics. (He was an outsider who Archie would regularly bully, often brutally so). The character also made an appearance in the Life with Archie: The Married Life series, this time as a business partner of Archie’s.

• Riverdale has been renewed for a sixth season, so we can expect this show’s craziness to go on indefinitely.

• Penelope Blossom skulking about in the bushes after graduation was a hilarious bit of business. And by her turning herself in to the authorities, she should be out in about six years…which is also the length of the time jump the show is about to go through.

• After all that these characters have gone through, is a kiss that really didn’t mean anything between Archie and Betty that big of a deal?

• What will Mr. Lodge do now? And, more importantly, does anyone really care?

• This episode was full of emotional gut punches, with my three favorites being the Fred flashback, F.P. and Alice’s farewell, and the beautifully orchestrated farewell between Archie and his friends on the side of the road.

• Archie’s suggestion that he and his friends all meet up at Pop’s one year after graduation had big Wet Hot American Summer vibes. Maybe no one but Jug showed up because everyone else was too busy fondling their sweaters?

• In the episode’s biggest dick move, Mr. Weatherbee tells Archie he has to repeat his senior year then immediately asks for a favor — having him sing at graduation. Speaking of this, it made me feel like a fossil to realize that Archie and the gang probably think of “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” as an oldie.

• Speaking of which, I openly giggled when Archie started singing Green Day. Given the characters’ comic book longevity I thought that Alphaville’s “Forever Young” would have been a better choice, albeit a tad on the nose.

• “Maybe a little normal high school angst is good for us,” says Jughead, moments before a little normal high school angst rips he and his friends apart.

• Mr. Weatherbee is sporting a glove on his right hand as a result of losing a few fingers during his escape from The Farm.

• While the fate of the core four is largely uncertain, we do know from his appearance in the future-set Katy Keene that Kevin Keller goes on to become the drama teacher at Riverdale High. It would have been nice though for the show to take a moment to address his (and Reggie’s for that matter) future plans.

• Pop Tate once again has ownership of the Chok’lit Shoppe. Expect this plotpoint to play a big role in the rest of this season.

• The name of the four Riverdale High students who went off to war (and who haunt Archie throughout this episode) are Carl Callahan, Walt “Wildcat” Wright, Ab Ackerman, and Gordy Greene. I’m guessing these are super deep cut Archie/pop culture references that even I don’t know. If you recognize their significance, let us know.

• Cheryl pulls a The Red Circle comic out of the vintage time capsule, this is a reference to the super heroes whose publisher, MLJ, later became Archie Comics.

• Will Jughead now be hatless in future episodes of Riverdale? If so, I’m going to be VERY upset.

• Kevin including Josie’s cat ears in the new time capsule is a fantastic tribute to his step sister, and a character whose fate in the TV Archieverse is unknown following the cancellation of Katy Keene.

• It was great to hear Penelope call Cheryl (dressed in red for graduation, obviously) “nightmare child” once again.

• While effective, Betty’s commencement speech was easily the shortest in television history.

• The fact that there are Serpents in seemingly every major city will never not be hilarious to me.

• It’s nice to see that Vegas is alive and well. This dog has been so neglected on the series that I expect him to turn up on one of those Sarah McLachlan commercials.

• Jughead’s narration of the gang drifting apart following graduation was clearly inspired by the end of Stand By Me. (God knows these kids have seen enough dead bodies in their day).

• Hermione Lodge spending a summer in the Hamptons with Andy Cohen and starring on The Real Housewives of New York City? Chef’s kiss.

• Next week: The fifth season of Riverdale gets properly underway, and I for one can’t wait to see what happens next.

The post Riverdale Season 5 Episode 3 Review – Chapter 79: Graduation appeared first on Den of Geek.

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girls-scenarios · 7 years

Text

With You, My Future

Idol: Krystal (f(x))

Prompt: Scenario // f(x)'s Krystal x Fem!Reader // Idol & Soulmate AU // Angst & Fluffy ending tho // Heterochromia - you have one eye of your soulmates eye colour and when you meet you get your own eye colour instead of having two different eye colours.

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: This is LONG. I never expected it to get so long, I swear, but words kept on coming out. I just couldn’t think of a good title. I guess my creative skills end there. I hope this is what you wanted. I also hope that everyone enjoys!

Krystal had always known she was broken. She’d known since the day a kid in her 2nd grade class told her that her eyes were weird and she’d looked into the mirror, finally noticing that she was the only kid she knew with eyes like hers. Eyes that were both the same color. That was the same year that they learned about soulmates. The teacher had explained that everyone had their soulmates eye color in one eye, and the other students had looked back at her and whispered behind their little hands as she tried to cover her face with her arms.

“Listen, Krystal. There’s nothing wrong with being different,” her mother had told her, running her thin fingers through Krystals hair as she cried into her pillow. But Krystal knew she didn’t mean it. She’d noticed the worried looks her parents threw her way whenever the soulmate issue came up. That fact just made her cry harder, and the next day, she asked if she could move schools and buy contacts. Her parents said yes.

14 years later, Krystal had long stopped wearing the contacts. She’d gotten used to the looks she got from other people, used to the way her employer had looked at her relationship status and then back up to her eyes. Used to the way that she was treated like a mystery. Used to the way the press always wanted to make a big deal out of it. People couldn’t tell if she was taken or not, and being an idol, being taken was a big subject. She was always ignored at clubs and parties by people she didn’t know. People who were looking for their soulmate.

It was the same drill as always. Krystal had agreed to go with her friends to a house party, because it was the end of their promotions and they’d made it. She was leaned up against the wall with a red solo cup in her hand, absentmindedly swirling her drink as she watched her sister Jessica flirt with the girl who was refilling the alcohol. Amber and Luna had disappeared off somewhere as soon as they’d arrived, and Victoria was busy making sure one of the girls she knew didn’t throw up on the new carpet.

“Why do you keep coming t’ parties if you’ve already found your soulmate?” Her eyebrows shot up and she turned her head to see a younger guy squinting at her, swaying slightly on his feet.

“Excuse me?” He rolled his eyes, and she took a swig of her drink, feeling like she was going to need it.

“You’ve got a soulmate, doesn’t that mean you shouldn’t come t’ parties like this? Where is he?” She let out a sigh and shook her head.

“I don’t have a soulmate, buddy.” He stopped swaying for a second as he processed what she said. Then he leaned closer, alcohol so strong on his breath that Krystal had to hold her breath.

“What’cha saying? Your eyes are th’ same color.” He squinted even more than she’d thought would be possible. “Are you messed up or somethin’?” Even though she’d heard the words many times, they still stung. She swallowed the angry retort that rose up in her throat, but before she could come up with a nice way of telling him to fuck off, Amber was standing in front of her.

“Hey, what the fuck, dude,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. “Mind your damn business. Don’t ask people shit like that.” He wobbled backwards, and another guy, looking extremely embarrassed, grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. He doesn’t have any kind of filter when he’s drunk. I’ll take him away.” Amber gave the drunk guy one last glare before turning her gaze to the man behind him. Krystal recognized him, he’d been over to Amber’s at some point to play basketball.

“It’s okay, Chanyeol. Just. Get him away before I punch him.” Chanyeol sent an apologetic look at Krystal as he shoved the other man, who had started staring at his cup, away.

“I’ll make sure he apologizes, I swear. I’m so sorry.” She waved her hand and shook her head, shrugging her thin shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it, man. Happens all the time.” She took another swing of her drink as Chanyeol apologized yet again before disappearing with the other man in the crowd. Amber knocked her shoulder with her fist.

“You should really stop being so nice about it. Those kind of questions are just plain rude. It’s none of their business.” Krystal looked down at the remaining alcohol in her cup. She really didn’t know what she was even drinking.

“I’m just used to it at this point. People don’t always have bad intentions, they’re just confused. Most people have never met anyone like me.” Amber stomped her foot slightly and pulled Krystal away from the wall.

“Still. It pisses me off. Come on, I need a drink, and you’re coming with me.” Krystal whined as Amber grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

“But it’s a flirt fest over there,” she said, looking at her sister, who was now standing beside the girl instead of across the bar from her. Amber didn’t seem to care, walking right up to the counter and grabbing herself a cup. Within seconds, she’d downed the alcohol and was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, sighing happily. Jessica laughed when she threw the cup at the trashcan and missed, and Luna appeared behind them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Amber, remember what happened last time you kept drinking like that?” Amber shrugged her shoulders and grabbed another cup, leaning into Luna’s side as Luna wrapped an arm around her to steady her.

“I don’t care. We’re here to have fun and it was spoiled by Chanyeol’s dumbass friend being rude to Krystal.” Immediately, Luna’s face changed.

“Where’s the little shit at, I’ll beat him with my high heel.” Krystal laughed awkwardly and grabbed a cup for herself, downing it like Amber had and coughing as she threw it towards the trashcan. It went in, and Jessica and the girl beside her cheered.

“It’s fine, really. Chanyeol took him away, I’m okay.” Luna looked over at her with soft eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Krystal replied. “Now can we please move on from this and enjoy the night?” She looked over Luna’s shoulder at Victoria, who was holding back someone’s hair as they puked into pink trashcan. She was pretty sure the girls name was Sunny, and that she’d met her at the last party in a situation exactly like this. “On second thought, I’m gonna go ahead and just go back to our dorm.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jessica said, leaning forward over the counter. Krystal nodded.

“I swear, guys. I’m just a little drained right now.” She smiled. “I’ll see you all tonight. Oh, and Jessica?” She turned back to look at her sister. “Good luck.” Her sister’s face bloomed into a red color and Krystal laughed as she walked away, pushing her way through people to get to the door. As she was slipping on her previously discarded shoes by the door, Sulli appeared by the door, smiling widely.

“Let me walk you back. You’re drunk.” Krystal snorted and looked up at her.

“And I can never tell if you’re drunk or not.” Sulli laughed, and reached down her hands to help her up.

“I only had one drink tonight, I’m pretty much sober.” Krystal let her help her up and Sulli looped their arms together as she pulled open the door.

“I guess I’ll let you walk me home, then,” Krystal said. Throwing one last look over her shoulder, Krystal stepped outside and let the door slam behind her. Sulli leaned her head against her shoulder as they began the short walk to the elevators. Their dorm was only a few floors above.

“I know you’re sure that you’re okay, but I’m going to give you some ice cream that I’ve been hiding in my mini freezer anyway, okay?” Krystal chuckled and let her head fall on top of Sulli’s.

“Thanks.”

When Krystal woke up the next morning, the calendar beside her bed was glaring at her. Christmas was right around the corner. She typically didn’t like going out during the holiday season all that much. People assumed she had a soulmate and it made her a target whenever she went out alone. When Amber had proposed the idea of them going shopping together a few days earlier, Krystal had scoffed.

“Two people with matching eyes? We’re basically asking to get attacked.” Amber rolled her eyes.

“Well I can’t go with Luna, I’m buying a present for her. And it would have the same effect.”

“You could bring Sulli or Victoria. Or literally any of your guy friends, since they’re all hopeless.” Amber scoffed.

“I’ll have you know that Kibum just found his soulmate. It’s a guy named Minho, and he’s very sweet.”

“One down, how many more to go?” With a sigh, Amber leaned back on her bed.

“Listen, I’ll ask other people to go with us too. If we go in a big group, I can bring Luna and you guys can distract her while I get a gift. Just come out with us.”

“Why? The only people I need to buy presents for are you guys, and you’ll all be there.”

“Because it’s Christmas, Krystal. And Christmas is a time when friends hang out together.”

“We hang out all the time anyway,” Krystal pointed out. Amber stood from her bed and crossed her arms.

“Oh come on, Krystal. Just come. Please?” Amber gave her some of her best puppy dog eyes, and Krystal caved.

That was how she ended up standing here at the entrance to the mall, glaring down at the phone clutched in her freezing fingers and trying to psych herself up enough to step inside and make the trip alone to the food court where everyone would be waiting. Just the thought of it made her shiver.

“Krystal, hey Krystal!” She turned around to see a familiar face heading towards her. And behind him, an unfamiliar face.

“Kibum. Man, am I glad to see you.” He grinned as he walked up to her, opening his arms for a hug that she gladly accepted. When she pulled away, she locked eyes with the other man and he waved.

“Krystal, this is Minho. My soulmate.” She smiled and stuck out her hand, and he shook it.

“Nice to meet you. I really never thought Kibum would meet his match. You truly are a brave man.” Kibum let out an embarrassed whine and hit her lightly on the shoulder, making her laugh.

“We haven’t seen each other in weeks and this is the welcome back you give me?” He huffed and grabbed his soulmates hand. “I guess we’ll just let you walk through the mall alone then.”

“No, no, I’m sorry, Kibum.” He laughed and nudged her shoulder, and Minho, although he probably didn’t really understand, laughed as well.

“Like I’d ever actually do that. Come on, let’s go find the others.”

The others were standing in front of the pizza parlor, Sulli with her face pressed against the glass looking in, drooling a bit. Amber waved her hands wildly when she spotted them, and Luna tried to hide her face with a hand over her eyes. Victoria laughed, and tried again to pull Sulli away from the window. Chanyeol stood behind them, standing out with his tall and gangly frame. Beside him stood a tiny man that Krystal remembered as Kyungsoo, and the quiet guy named Mark was leaning against the window beside Sulli, looking at him phone.

“I thought you guys would never get here. We’ve been waiting for ages,” Amber said, putting her hands on her hips.

“More like minutes,” Luna added.

“And we’re hungry,” Sulli said from where Victoria had finally managed to detach her from the restaurant window. Victoria shook her head.

“You’re the only hungry one, Sulli. How many times do I have to tell you to eat your breakfast before you go somewhere?” As Victoria spoke, Krystal looked around at the group.

“Wow, you really got everyone that you could.” Amber grinned.

“And Jackson’s not even here yet. Maybe this way we’ll intimidate the kiosk people,” Amber said. Luna rolled her eyes, but said nothing, wrapping her arm affectionately through Amber’s.

“So are we not ready to go yet?” Chanyeol asked from behind Amber. When his eyes met Krystal’s, he smiled sheepishly, but she gave him a smile to know that there were no hard feelings.

“Not yet,” Mark said as he moved away from the window. “Although Jackson’s inside the mall, so he should be here any second.”

“Knowing him, he’ll probably get lost or get into some kind of trouble,” said Kibum. Then he pulled Minho forward and smiled proudly. “Everyone, meet my soulmate.” With a laugh, everyone cheered.

“So you’re in third place,” Chanyeol teased. “Amber and Luna are first, and Kyungsoo and I are second.” Since when had Chanyeol had a soulmate? Krystal looked over the tiny man beside him and her eyebrows went up in wonder. Who would have thought?

“Jackson got distracted by a toy store. We might as well head that way and meet him there,” Mark said, shoving his phone into his pocket. Amber threw her free arm up in the air and whooped.

“Let’s go, everyone! Operation Christmas Friendship is in session.” Sulli looked at Victoria in confusion.

“Since when are we on an operation?” Victoria shrugged.

“It’s Amber, we might as well just go along with it.” Krystal ended up falling in line beside Victoria as Sulli ran ahead to talk to Mark. The mall was packed with people everywhere she looked, and she felt a little bit more comfortable standing beside her longtime friend.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to all get split up somehow?” She asked her, keeping her eyes on Amber’s newly dyed blonde hair. Victoria looked down at her watch.

“I’m going to bet on 30 minutes, tops.”

“I’m saying more 20 minutes. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo look restless, and Kibum and his soulmate are giving each other heart eyes.” Kibum, from behind Krystal, shoved her shoulder a bit, making her laugh.

“Why are you being mean to me today, Krystal?” He whined, pouting.

“Because I love you a lot and I’m happy for you, Kibum.” He rolled his eyes, but seemed to accept her answer.

“Whatever. Walk faster or we’re going to lose everyone else.”

20 minutes later, Krystal had grown bored of dodging the press and listening to Amber babble about something with Mark, and had wandered into a little store with cute clothing and things with cats on them. Victoria had told her where the group was going next, so she wasn’t that worried about catching back up with them. She also wasn’t worried about press or kiosk owners, because it was just something small, with no advertisements directed at soulmates. As she wandered around the store, smiling at the wallets and purses with cats embroidered on the front, someone at the checkout desk caught her eye.

You stood behind the desk looking down at what was probably your phone, hair falling down over your eyes. You seemed just as bored as Krystal felt, and Krystal understood why. The small store looked like it didn’t get too busy, even with the rush of customers milling around outside. You were wearing a sweater that was a bit too big, and the sleeves hit your mid palms, and she felt warm just looking at you. Subconsciously, she looked into one of the little jewelry mirrors to make sure that she looked okay, even though she knew that her stylist would never let her go out looking anything less than perfect.

You glanced up at her when she walked near the desk, and your eyes made contact. Immediately, you put down your phone and smiled.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?” Krystal shrugged her shoulders, looking around and trying to be nonchalant. It was weird, being flustered over someone. She wasn’t one to get flustered.

“Oh, not really. I’m just looking around. Some of my friends dragged me here and I can’t leave until they do.” You looked at her as she got closer, and your eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh, you’re...” Krystal put a finger to her lips and winked.

“Let’s not let the press figure out I’m here, yes? It’ll be our own little secret.” You nodded, still looking a bit shocked, and Krystal began to play with one of the cat plushies near the register.

“Um, but why are you here? If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.” Krystal let out a quiet laugh as she looked down at the cute cat face in her hands.

“I needed a break. It’s nice and quiet in here, and the press followed all my loud friends instead of hounding me. And there aren’t any soulmate kiosk workers in here.” You leaned your elbows against the counter.

“Soulmate kiosk... Are you taken?” Krystal shook her head quickly, squeezing the plushie in her hand a bit tighter.

“Nope. Just born this way, with two of the same color eyes.” The calculator that had been sitting on the counter by your elbow clattered to the floor as you stood up straight, eyes wide.

“What?” Krystal jerked her head up, surprised by your reaction.

“I’m sorry?”

“You too?” Krystal stared at you, mouth slightly open.

“You mean you were born like this too?” She asked, and took a closer look at your eyes. It was true. They were like hers, both a dark brown.

“I didn’t think there was anyone else,” you said, hands fisting around the ends of your sweater. Krystal dropped the cat back into the tray it had been in.

“Me neither. I didn’t know. I was told it was a once in a million thing.” You slowly brought a hand up to your eyes, touching the slight bags underneath them and staring into Krystal’s. Her throat suddenly felt a bit too small.

“Could this mean...?” Before you could finish your sentence, Amber burst into the store, calling Krystal’s name. The two of you jumped, and Amber’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she saw the look on Krystal’s face. Still, she grabbed her wrist.

“Come on, Krystal. We have to go. The press has pretty much stormed the area, and our manager called. He’s pissed at us for going out without security,” Amber said, tugging Krystal away.

“But- Wait, Amber. I mean, we have Chanyeol and Mark.”

“Not enough. We gotta go now.” You stood silent, shell-shocked, and Krystal looked over her shoulder as Amber dragged her away. She really, really didn’t want this to be the end of it, but all she could manage to do was raise a hand and wave in goodbye. After a second, you waved back.

It didn’t hit her what had happened until she was being escorted into a car by her manager and Amber. Then it hit her so hard that her knees buckled as she climbed in the van and she ended up on the floor. Amber grabbed her by her shoulders to keep her from face-planting into the floor and stared, worried. Already in their seats, Victoria and Luna were leaning forward, asking her if she was okay.

“Oh my god, Amber. Oh my god,” she gasped. Amber tried to pull her into her seat, eyes wide.

“Oh my god what, Krystal? You’re not making any sense.”

“Oh my god. Amber, I think that was my soulmate. You just dragged me away from my soulmate. Oh my god, what if I never see her again.” Sulli was suddenly sitting beside Krystal, leaning in close. Krystal hadn’t even noticed her getting in the car.

“You met your soulmate?” She asked, and Krystal put her head in her hands, covering her eyes, letting out a pained groan.

“I don’t know. I think so. She- she had the same eyes as me. They were the same, but she said that she was born like that. Like me.” Luna shot a look at Victoria.

“You really think...?” Victoria kept her eyes on Krystal, gaze sharp.

“Maybe. Actually, probably,” she said. Amber slumped into the only seat left and clutched at her hair.

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have pulled you away like that. I’m so sorry.” Krystal whimpered and Sulli rubbed her back, while Victoria reached up to pat Amber’s shoulder.

“Don’t feel bad, Amber. There’s no way you could have known. Plus, if they’re soulmates, they’ll find each other again. Right?” Krystal couldn’t listen anymore and closed her eyes tight, trying not to think about her absolute bad luck keeping the only hope of normalcy away from her.

It was a whole week later when it finally happened. All week, Krystal had been nervous and restless, always tapping her feet and biting at her lip so much that she’d torn it and her stylist had reprimanded her. Amber had been apologetic the entire time as well, but Krystal had stopped being angry at her seconds after it happened. Now she was just scared.

“What happens if I never see her again?”

“You can always go back to the mall with a body guard,” Luna said as she fixed her bangs in the mirror. Victoria nodded in agreement, making her stylist wrinkle her nose and tell her to sit still once again.

“At least you know where she works. You can go back and visit her. And I’m sure she knows who you are,” Victoria said. Krystal sighed and looked down at her newly painted nails. She just wanted to pick at the polish, but she knew they had to stay intact until at least the end of the fanmeet. Amber noticed her fingers itching to pick and reached over, holding her hands in her own.

“The soulmate thing isn’t just going to leave you in a lurch. The fact that you’re feeling restless right now is proof that you’re soulmates. When Luna and I first met, I felt anxious just leaving her for a second. Then we noticed that our eyes matched, and when that happened, our eyes went to our normal color and I stopped feeling anxious.”

“I’m not going to have any proof, though. Our eyes... they’re the same.” Amber sighed and pulled Krystal closer.

“It’s not as much about the color of your eyes, but how it feels inside. I swear, Krystal. You’ll just know.” Sulli, who sat on the other couch, reading a magazine, nodded along to Amber’s words.

“Well,” she said, flipping the thin page. “I don’t know what it’s like to have a soulmate yet, but I figure the whole thing will work itself out. I mean, people with soulmates in different countries have met, why should yours be any different.” Krystal smiled weakly at her bandmates.

“Thanks, guys. I feel better.” Sulli kept nodding her head, and Luna smiled at Krystal widely.

“Don’t worry. You’ve got this, tiger.”

“Girls,” their manager interrupted, “it’s time to get ready to go onstage. Is everyone ready?” The stylist let the last curl fall into place on Victoria’s head, and then they all stood, shuffling towards the door and adjusting their outfits to make sure they fit right. As their manager opened the door, and they heard the sounds of their fans calling their names, Krystal felt her chest squeeze ever tighter in her chest. And then she stepped onstage, plastered on a smile, and waved.

Fansigns were easy. Krystal loved connecting with the fans, and she’d long memorized the words to say and how to quickly put her signature on whatever they wanted her to sign while happily accepting their gifts. So there was no reason she should feel uneasy, but she did. Her stomach felt tight, and even after the first line of people, it wasn’t getting any better. In fact, it was only getting worse. Just as she was about to ask her manager if she could step offstage to regroup herself, a familiar face stepped in front of her, and the pain vanished.

“Hello again,” you said, giving her a shy smile. Krystal’s mouth fell open and stayed that way for a good two seconds before she could process that you were real and standing in front of her.

“H-hello. Where did we leave off last time we saw each other?” Her throat was dry, but she couldn’t swallow, and her heart was trying to climb out of her chest. You looked around at the other people around you and lowered your voice.

“I think we were saying that we might be soulmates.” Immediately, Krystal’s heart melted. The room stopped doing cartwheels and everything that she’d been so worried about earlier disappeared, leaving her feeling warm and giddy. She couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face.

“Well, I sure hope so.” You slid a piece of paper over to her with your number on it, and with it, the plushie cat she’d been looking at, and smiled.

“Text me, soulmate?”

“Of course. I can’t wait.” The line had to move again. You lifted your hand and waved, and Krystal waved back, watching as you walked down off the stage until the next person in line cleared their throat and she was back. Back to their normal fansign. But now the pain was gone, and she felt completely and utterly at ease. She smiled easily, and signed the next album.

After the signing was over and they were behind a closed door, Krystal immediately pulled out her phone and the little piece of paper from you that she’d slipped into her pocket when no one was looking. Quickly, she typed in your number, then a message, and hit send.

Hey, this is Krystal. Your soulmate.

Seconds later, a reply.

Hello soulmate, this is (Y/N). I can’t wait to love you.

#f(x)#krystal #krystal jung #jung soojung #krystal scenarios #f(x) scenarios #f(x) krystal #f(x) krystal scenario #kpop scenario #girl group scenarios #girl groups #t:soulmateau

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 7 years

Note

What are other books/series that you'd recommend that are in the same vein as Animorphs?

Honestly, your ask inspired me to get off my butt and finally compile a list of the books that I reference with my character names in Eleutherophobia, because in a lot of ways that’s my list of recommendations right there: I deliberately chose children’s and/or sci-fi stories that deal really well with death, war, dark humor, class divides, and/or social trauma for most of my character names. I also tend to use allusions that either comment on Animorphs or on the source work in the way that the names come up.

That said, here are The Ten Greatest Animorphs-Adjacent Works of Literature According to Sol’s Totally Arbitrary Standards:

1. A Ring of Endless Light, Madeline L’Engle

This is a really good teen story that, in painfully accurate detail, captures exactly what it’s like to be too young to really understand death while forced to confront it anyway. I read it at about the same age as the protagonist, not that long after having suffered the first major loss in my own life (a friend, also 14, killed by cancer). It accomplished exactly what a really good novel should by putting words to the experiences that I couldn’t describe properly either then or now. This isn’t a light read—its main plot is about terminal illness, and the story is bookended by two different unexpected deaths—but it is a powerful one.

2. The One and Only Ivan, K.A. Applegate

This prose novel (think an epic poem, sort of like The Iliad, only better) obviously has everything in it that makes K.A. Applegate one of the greatest children’s authors alive: heartbreaking tragedy, disturbing commentary on the human condition, unforgettably individuated narration, pop culture references, and poop jokes. Although I’m mostly joking when I refer to Marco in my tags as “the one and only” (since this book is narrated by a gorilla), Ivan does remind me of Marco with his sometimes-toxic determination to see the best of every possible situation when grief and anger allow him no other outlet for his feelings and the terrifying lengths to which he will go in order to protect his found family.

3. My Teacher Flunked the Planet, Bruce Coville

Although the entire My Teacher is an Alien series is really well-written and powerful, this book is definitely my favorite because in many ways it’s sort of an anti-Animorphs. Whereas Animorphs (at least in my opinion) is a story about the battle for personal freedom and privacy, with huge emphasis on one’s inner identity remaining the same even as one’s physical shape changes, My Teacher Flunked the Planet is about how maybe the answer to all our problems doesn’t come from violent struggle for personal freedoms, but from peaceful acceptance of common ground among all humans. There’s a lot of intuitive appeal in reading about the protagonists of a war epic all shouting “Free or dead!” before going off to battle (#13) but this series actually deconstructs that message as blind and excessive, especially when options like “all you need is love” or “no man is an island” are still on the table.

4. Moon Called, Patricia Briggs

I think this book is the only piece of adult fiction on this whole list, and that’s no accident: the Mercy Thompson series is all about the process of adulthood and how that happens to interact with the presence of the supernatural in one’s life. The last time I tried to make a list of my favorite fictional characters of all time, it ended up being about 75% Mercy Thompson series, 24% Animorphs, and the other 1% was Eugenides Attolis (who I’ll get back to in my rec for The Theif). These books are about a VW mechanic, her security-administrator next door neighbor, her surgeon roommate, her retail-working best friend and his defense-lawyer boyfriend, and their cybersecurity frenemy. The fact that half those characters are supernatural creatures only serves to inconvenience Mercy as she contemplates how she’s going to pay next month’s rent when a demon destroyed her trailer, whether to get married for the first time at age 38 when doing so would make her co-alpha of a werewolf pack, what to do about the vampires that keep asking for her mechanic services without paying, and how to be a good neighbor to the area ghosts that only she can see.

5. The Thief, Megan Whalen Turner

This book (and its sequel A Conspiracy of Kings) are the ones that I return to every time I struggle with first-person writing and no Animorphs are at hand. Turner does maybe the best of any author I’ve seen of having character-driven plots and plot-driven characters. This book is the story of five individuals (with five slightly different agendas) traveling through an alternate version of ancient Greece and Turkey with a deceptively simple goal: they all want to work together to steal a magical stone from the gods. However, the narrator especially is more complicated than he seems, which everyone else fails to realize at their own detriment.

6. Homecoming, Cynthia Voight

Critics have compared this book to a modern, realistic reimagining of The Boxcar Children, which always made a lot of sense to me. It’s the story of four children who must find their own way from relative to relative in an effort to find a permanent home, struggling every single day with the question of what they will eat and how they will find a safe place to sleep that night. The main character herself is one of those unforgettable heroines that is easy to love even as she makes mistake after mistake as a 13-year-old who is forced to navigate the world of adult decisions, shouldering the burden of finding a home for her family because even though she doesn’t know what she’s doing, it’s not like she can ask an adult for help. Too bad the Animorphs didn’t have Dicey Tillerman on the team, because this girl shepherds her family through an Odysseus-worthy journey on stubbornness alone.

7. High Wizardry, Diane Duane

The Young Wizards series has a lot of good books in it, but this one will forever be my favorite because it shows that weird, awkward, science- and sci-fi-loving girls can save the world just by being themselves. Dairine Callahan was the first geek girl who ever taught me it’s not only okay to be a geek girl, but that there’s power in empiricism when properly applied. In contrast to a lot of scientifically “smart” characters from sci-fi (who often use long words or good grades as a shorthand for conveying their expertise), Dairine applies the scientific method, programming theory, and a love of Star Wars to her problem-solving skills in a way that easily conveys that she—and Diane Duane, for that matter—love science for what it is: an adventurous way of taking apart the universe to find out how it works. This is sci-fi at its best.

8. Dr. Franklin’s Island, Gwyneth Jones

If you love Animorphs’ body horror, personal tragedy, and portrayal of teens struggling to cope with unimaginable circumstances, then this the book for you! I’m only being about 80% facetious, because this story has all that and a huge dose of teen angst besides. It’s a loose retelling of H.G. Wells’s classic The Island of Doctor Moreau, but really goes beyond that story by showing how the identity struggles of adolescence interact with the identity struggles of being kidnapped by a mad scientist and forcibly transformed into a different animal. It’s a survival story with a huge dose of nightmare fuel (seriously: this book is not for the faint of heart, the weak of stomach, or anyone who skips the descriptions of skin melting and bones realigning in Animorphs) but it’s also one about how three kids with a ton of personal differences and no particular reason to like each other become fast friends over the process of surviving hell by relying on each other.

9. Sideways Stories from Wayside School, Louis Sachar

Louis Sachar is the only author I’ve ever seen who can match K.A. Applegate for nihilistic humor and absurdist horror layered on top of an awesome story that’s actually fun for kids to read. Where he beats K.A. Applegate out is in terms of his ability to generate dream-like surrealism in these short stories, each one of which starts out hilariously bizarre and gradually devolves into becoming nightmare-inducingly bizarre. Generally, each one ends with an unsettling abruptness that never quite relieves the tension evoked by the horror of the previous pages, leaving the reader wondering what the hell just happened, and whether one just wet one’s pants from laughing too hard or from sheer existential terror. The fact that so much of this effect is achieved through meta-humor and wordplay is, in my opinion, just a testament to Sachar’s huge skill as a writer.

10. Magyk, Angie Sage

As I mentioned, the Septimus Heap series is probably the second most powerful portrayal of the effect of war on children that I’ve ever encountered; the fact that the books are so funny on top of their subtle horror is a huge bonus as well. There are a lot of excellent moments throughout the series where the one protagonist’s history as a child soldier (throughout this novel he’s simply known as “Boy 412″) will interact with his stepsister’s (and co-protagonist’s) comparatively privileged upbringing. Probably my favorite is the moment when the two main characters end up working together to kill a man in self-defense, and the girl raised as a princess makes the horrified comment that she never thought she’d actually have to kill someone, to which her stepbrother calmly responds that that’s a privilege he never had; the ensuing conversation strongly implies that his psyche has been permanently damaged by the fact that he was raised to kill pretty much from infancy, but all in a way that is both child-friendly and respectful of real trauma.

#ya sf #book recs #sci fi #children's literature #animorphs #a ring of endless light #the one and only ivan #my teacher flunked the planet #moon called #the theif #homecoming #high wizardry #dr. franklin's island #sideways stories from wayside school #magyk

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