#they did after all spend a mandatory nine months together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

multifanderwrites · 3 months

Text

| Previous Scene- The Emperor Arrives |

{Yoda’s Hut, Dagobah}

(Katniss and Luke sit together, watching a very ill Yoda walk to the furnace. The elderly man has his back turned to them, but he can sense…) “Those faces you make… look I so old to young eyes?”

(Luke shakes his head) “No, of course not.” (He gives her a “help me” look) “Aunt Kat?”

“I’m not a good authority on looking old or young, I’m afraid. I think I spend too much time with the Doctor… and Pan… and Rumple.”

*mark Hamill- absolutely mandatory- intensifies* “I think what she’s trying to say is no.”

(Yoda laughs) “I do.” (Coughing as he turns to look at the aunt and nephew) “Yes, I do. Sick have I become. Old and weak.” (He points at the two youths) “When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not, hm?”

[low hanging fruit, but could you blame me] (Katniss shrugs) “Again, I’m not a good authority on that subject.”

(Yoda chuckles weakly and goes to his bed, on Luke’s right) “Soon, will I rest. Yes.” (He sits on the bed, the task much harder than it once was) “Forever sleep. Earned it, I have.”

[someone tell this boy that even stars burn out! 🥲 I am so sorry. I don’t know what came over me] “Master Yoda, you can’t die.”

(Katniss puts her hand on Luke’s shoulder as Yoda says…) “Strong am I with the Force… but not that strong.” (Giving Luke his cane, the old man lays down) “Twilight is upon me, and soon… night must fall.” (He continues as Luke helps him cover up with his blanket) “That is the way of things… the way of the Force.”

(Luke, visibly distraught) “But I need your help. I’ve come back to complete the training.”

[Yoda, can you not die yet? Please?] “No more training do you require. Already know that which you need.”

(Katniss shakes her head) “Master, I have no training, and I don’t want to be a Jedi. I can’t help him.”

[for god’s sake, Yoda. Can you not die rn?] “Help each other you will.”

(Luke wishes he wasn’t so sad about it, but at least…) “Then I am a Jedi.”

[oh, now you come back to life, huh?! I am so sorry] (Yoda’s eyes shoot open) “Oh!” (He laughs, and the laughter turns into a cough) “Not yet. One thing remains… Vader. You must confront Vader. Then, only then, a Jedi will you be.” (Off Katniss’s hesitation) “Stay on the right path you must, young Everdeen. You too must confront Vader. And confront him you both will.”

*I know you’re dying but, like, I have several questions… because my life was flipped upside down recently* [doesn’t help that he also had to fight Daleks on the Moon with the most character to ever character! Reminder, that was six months ago] “Master Yoda… is Darth Vader my father?”

[hey. Hey, don’t make this about you- I apologize. Don’t come after me, I know I’m attacking an old man. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry] (Yoda turns over, facing away from Luke and Katniss) “Rest I need. Yes. Rest.”

(Luke shakes his head) “Yoda, I must know. I’m not allowed to ask Aunt Kat or anyone on her team about it. I must know from you, because you were with my father… and with Vader… for a whole lot longer than they were. I know it was only in bits and pieces… so that’s why I’m asking you, because you weren’t just… dropping by to keep things moving in the right direction-“ (This is tearing Luke apart. It’s all so easy now to understand the complexity of what a paradoxist actually does… but the question remains…) “Is Darth Vader my father?”

(Yoda shuts his eyes, then says…) “Your father he is.” (Sensing the shock from the young man, he asks…) “Told you, did he?”

(Katniss feels a weight dropping into her stomach) *Luke OC* “Yes.” (Luke glances at her as he adds…) “He said something about Aunt Kat trying to save him, and that she was… reprogrammed. But… I already knew that was-“

“There’s a lot more to it, Luke.”

*these kids won’t let me die in peace* “Unexpected this is.”

[yes, Katniss! Call out the bullshit!] “Unexpected that he wouldn’t find out? No. You should’ve seen this coming.”

(Yoda shakes his head) “And unfortunate.”

[Luke, go for it!] “Unfortunate that I know the truth?”

“No!” (Yoda grunts with effort as he turns onto his back to look at the young man) “Unfortunate that you rushed to face him, that incomplete was your training, that not ready for the burden were you.”

“With all due respect, Grandmaster, we’re only human.”

(Luke shakes his head, still feeling regret over the rushed decision) “I’m sorry.”

“Remember… a Jedi’s strength flows from the Force.” (Yoda is becoming weaker as time passes) “But beware… anger, fear, aggression… the Dark Side are they. Once you start down the dark path… forever will it dominate your destiny.” (His eyelids are growing heavy) “Luke… Luke… do not… do not underestimate the powers of the Emperor, or suffer your father’s fate you will.”

(Katniss flinches at the memory of Sidious’s brutal murder of Mace Windu) “I won’t let anything happen to him. I promise.”

“Vulnerable to the Sith you still are, Katniss.” (Beat) “Luke… when gone am I, the last of the Jedi you will be.” [added because fanfic and… why not? It’s… literally the truth] “Others remain, but few they are. Seek them out you must.”

(Luke’s eyes widen) “There are still some Jedi left in the galaxy?”

“Well hidden they are, but yes. Luke… the Force runs strong in your family. Pass on what you have learned.”

“I could learn from these other Jedi too, and they could help me teach… right?”

“Luke… there is… another… Sky… walker.”

(And with these last words, Jedi Grandmaster Yoda passes away. Mere moments later, Luke and Katniss see his body fade away… just as they saw Obi-Wan Kenobi’s body disappear during his final battle against Darth Vader)

| Next Scene- Luke Learns About His Father… And The Truth |

#fanfiction #the mixiverse #star wars #katniss everdeen #george lucas #luke skywalker #yoda #return of the jedi #ahsoka Tano mention #mark hamill #major character death #darth vader

2 notes · View notes

solastia · 4 years

Text

The Dragon’s Lair | 6

- Riddle Me This -

Pairing: Dragon Hybrid Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 5,094

Notes: It feels like so much has happened and this has been going on for so long, right? But this is actually the very beginning of my long and complicated outline lmao. Anyway, it’s time to meet our Sphinx! I wonder who this could be *insert lenny face here* And if you’re wondering if there will ever be an end to me adding other kpop fandoms: no, no there will not be. We’re catchin em all.

The winter storms were slowly giving into the spring rains. Of course, this made everything horribly humid and muddy, but at least you weren’t snowed in for days on end anymore.

As soon as you were able, you scheduled contractors that specialized in hybrid-friendly rooms to help get one prepared, as you fully planned on starting the adoption process for Mark when it was done. You had to make sure it had its own heating and cooling system separate from the rest of the house, insulation for winter, and UV lighting, among other things. Needless to say, it was not going to be a quick process, but Mark was safe at the shelter with Heechul’s near-constant vigilance.

You’d also begun to clear out the barn that you’ve only been using for storage since your grandparents had adopted out all of their animals. You weren’t quite sure how serious you were yet about getting some animals in there again, but for now, it gave you something to do while construction was going on inside your home.

You spent a lot of time throwing out or giving away anything unusable, sweeping out stalls, and scrubbing everything down until it shone like it hadn’t in years. Thankfully you still kept in touch with a lot of the people that had worked with your family over the years and it was easy to have fresh supplies brought in, half of which you weren’t even sure you’d ever use, but everyone was happy to hear that the farm was going back to work in a sense.

Despite all these other changes, your relationship with Namjoon was settled into a comfortable path. Not to say that things were unexciting - the man never failed to find some new way to make your heart flutter - but it felt secure and steady now. Like the two of you being a forever thing was assured. It continually surprised you when you remembered that you actually hadn’t been together for very long. He felt like he’d always been there.

Most days were simply routine. You’d both wake up at the same time and shower - together more often than not -, have breakfast and then he’d head to the shelter while you’d work in your office. At least three times a week you’d meet up to have lunch together, thankful that both of you had lenient bosses that wouldn’t freak out when an hour-long lunch turned into two or three. Once he was home for the day, the two of you usually just spent your time together. You’d watch a movie or read while you cuddled on the couch, oftentimes ignoring the screen to simply listen to him talk. The way he viewed the world was beautiful and you never grew tired of listening.

Namjoon had put his foot down and declared date night mandatory. So every single Saturday without fail he’d drag you into town for some event or into the mountains for a hike, always doing his best to create the most romantic day possible. You’d tried to convince him that he didn’t need to do all this, that simply walking with him in the forest near your home was romantic as long as he was there, but he claimed he was still “courting” you so it wasn’t something he could just stop. You assumed that meant it was something to do with his Dragon side and let him do as he pleased.

Once a week you’d usually tag along and go to the shelter, spending most of your time in the playrooms. According to one of the volunteers, Heechul’s shelter held an average of one hundred and fifty hybrids at any given time, which seemed an astronomical amount if one didn’t know about the secret wings and the fact that you were pretty sure he’d borrowed the whole ‘bigger on the inside’ concept.

You tried to spend as much time as you could with all the hybrids, but as you were only one person there was only so much you could do. Still, you did have your - as Heechul called them - “cub club.” There have been many arguments in the little group about the name - starting with you wondering why they needed a name at all - since they were composed of all different species, but they gave in after Heechul’s continuous use of it and the fact that it apparently was cute, according to Namjoon.

Basically, it was a group of hybrids that seemed to have singled you out as a clear favorite and would follow you around the moment you stepped into the building. The unspoken leader of the group was your little Mark, who was always waiting by the front door of the building when you would come in. Usually right next to him was Felix, who seemed to split his time between your cubs and Namjoon’s fan club fairly equally. Some newer friends of yours were a teen tiger hybrid named Seonghwa, and wolf pup siblings Changkyun and Jooheon. There were a few others that came and went, but these were your regular crew.

Today was one of your shelter days, and you were once again surrounded in the playrooms. Mark was sitting next to you with his raccoon hybrid friend Donghyuck, who was an honorary member of Star’s Cubs at this point with how often he was attached to Mark. They were both coloring a picture of their dream bedroom - a sneaky idea you’d gotten so that you could have Mark’s room ready and decorated when the adoption finalized.

Felix was having a Namjoon day, so after he’d run up to hug you when you’d first arrived, he’d gone right back to the class that Namjoon was currently teaching. You’d probably see him again at lunch, and then he’d talk a mile a minute about everything Namjoon was teaching him and demand cuddles.

Changkyun and Jooheon were currently wrestling around on the floor near your feet. They were a complicated pair. They had both been found in the wild several months ago, seemingly without any sort of parents or guardians whatsoever. The boys themselves weren’t sure, but you judged them to be around nine or ten. They were smart kids but had obviously been living on their own for quite some time. They mentioned a “her” a few times, speaking of someone from their memories that would make certain foods or clean them, but they couldn’t remember who she was. Their mother, you assumed.

Needless to say, they were perhaps not the most well-mannered children, but they were sweet and eager to please. To you, at least. The other volunteers usually tried to interact with them as little as possible after a few too many bites and temper tantrums, often referring to them as feral monsters. You had, of course, taken that up with Heechul, but the damage had already been done and they were labeled as such by everyone. From the day Jooheon had met you, however, he’d decided you “smelled nice” and would bring you scraps from their dinners (that they apparently hoarded - bad habits left from living in the wild). It had taken Changkyun a little longer to warm up to you, but one day he’d just walked up and pushed Felix out of your lap and took his place. You’d scolded him and made him apologize, but you’d let him stay, deciding it had probably been a very long time since he’d been hugged by anyone besides his brother. They’d gotten better about waiting their turn and learning to ask first, but you still went out of your way to cuddle them as much as they’d let you.

Seonghwa sat nearby doing his homework. He was...interesting. It was the nicest thing you could think of to say about that whole situation. The thing was, he was a nice kid. Almost seventeen, had been here for a few years. Definitely beautiful, no denying that. You didn’t know too much about his past yet, as you hadn’t wanted to pry and he didn’t volunteer much information. He helped you with the younger kids a lot though, asked you about your work, was genuinely sweet, and fun to talk to when he was just chill. The issue was...you were apparently his “first love.”

He wasn’t creepy about it or anything. He really was super sweet. He would bring you flowers and treats, help you carry anything heavy, and was just really attentive. Unfortunately, then he’d start walking around you in circles, staring intently with his tail flicking around in the air as he sang to you. He had a sweet voice, but they were of course all highly inappropriate love songs to be singing to an older woman. And according to Namjoon, the circling and singing thing was a tiger courting ritual, so you took great care not to acknowledge it. You’d tried letting him down as gently as possible, but somehow he seemed to just consider it more of a challenge, and you really didn’t want to be mean and be his first heartbreak as well. Namjoon surprisingly - or not since he could be a brat himself - thought it was hilarious. He’d often ask how your tiger cub was doing, laughing when you’d swat him. Of course, he was still a territorial dragon, so he would occasionally go out of his way to kiss you with a bit too much tongue or pinch your butt where everyone could see to get the message of your status across.

Things at the shelter have been fairly quiet and routine, as far as such a big place could be. That’s why you were awfully surprised when Heechul storms into the playroom looking distraught and frazzled. He brightens slightly when he spots you, rushing over and placing his hands on his hips.

“You’d be perfect, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that earlier!”

You frown, thoroughly confused. “Thanks, I think. For what?”

He clucks and shakes his head.

“We have an exotic on his way here. He was one of mine that I raised until he was ten, and then he was adopted by this lovely couple. Unfortunately, they were a bit too old even then, but they adored Seokjin so I let him go.” He sighs wearily and flops into a nearby recliner. “They passed away last year and left him everything. He’d been living on his own just fine until someone tried to rob the place and he ended up hurt. Then the police of course had to see his medical records and - surprise! - a hybrid had been running around owning a house and living free for an entire year and they don’t like that. They were going to send him to a state-run hybrid institution, which essentially means death if you’re not a baby or usable on the black market. So, he called me in a panic and I have it all settled with the police that he’s officially one of ours and they don’t have to worry about him anymore. But he’s too used to independence to stuff him back into regular hybrid life, so I was thinking maybe you could foster him? Just like, let him hang out at your place until we figure out some way he can go back to living how he likes?”

“I mean, I have to check in with Namjoon, but I don’t see why not. What kind of hybrid is he?”

“Sphinx,” Heechul answered, his deadpan voice at odds with his amused eyes.

“A what now?”

“Sphinx. You know, part bird, lion and man. Likes riddles. Has big statues.”

“Sure, why not,” you sigh. This place really made your brain hurt.

Heechul chuckled and reached out to pat your shoulder.

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot to deal with right now, with your new romance and getting ready for Mark, but Seokjin deserves a chance. I think you’ll like him.”

“You know, it’s really creepy when you do that. At least let me tell you with words what I’m planning about Mark.”

“I didn’t even need to use magic to see that’s where it was headed. He’s basically already yours,” he scoffs, standing up with a light groan.

“When is this Seokjin going to be here?”

“He’s on his way to the shelter now. I figured he could just come here first, meet you and have dinner with everyone, then head home with you guys after. If that’s okay.”

“Again, just have to check with Joon, but it should be fine. Sphinx and dragons aren’t like, mortal enemies or anything, are they?”

Heechul grins, “Hardly. In fact, I remember they were actually pretty good friends when they were little. Jin was older and would tolerate Joonie like a big brother. Not sure how well Namjoon remembers him, though.”

“Alright, I guess. Joon’s class is over in a few minutes. I’ll go talk to him now.”

“Thanks, Star!”

You shake your head as he flounces away, wondering when he’d started using that name too. At this point, that was basically your official name.

“Does that mean you’re going to have to stay home all the time? To take care of a new hybrid?”

A little sniffle came from your right as you registered the fact that your cubs had just been quietly listening to your conversation with Heechul. Mark’s eyes were beginning to glisten with unshed tears and you quickly snatched the boy up and cuddled him close.

“Of course not, sweetheart. By the sounds of it, he’s older than both me and Joon, so he’s not going to need much looking after. He basically just needs a place to crash until he figures out what to do.”

“Oh,” he sniffles again, and you try not to laugh about the fact that it’s not helping, as his nose is starting to water too. “So you’ll still come to see me?”

“Of course! And as soon as the farm is cleaned up you can come to visit me too. How does that sound?”

“Really? And Felix? And Hyuckie? And...and…”

“Yes,” you interrupt, knowing the boy will try to name literally everyone he’s ever talked to. “Anyone that wants to visit will be able to. I just wanted to make sure it’s safe first, so no one gets sick.”

“Okay!” Mark squeezes you clumsily but is quickly back to being a ray of sunshine and crawling off of you to go back to his picture.

“Seonghwa,” you call, snorting inwardly as the tiger practically jumps to attention, “Watch the kids for a bit, okay? I’m going to see Namjoon.”

He nods quietly and sets his books down, smiling softly as he watches you leave the room.

***

As you’d expected, Namjoon was more than agreeable to the idea of helping his childhood friend but was understandably concerned over how his dragon instincts would react to another creature in his new den with his new...well, mate. (Although he insists that you aren’t official mates yet. And he blushes and refuses to answer whenever you ask what makes you official).

“It’s just, like, I don’t want to stress him out even more, you know? If he’s already going through all this, then I don’t want to be growling and snapping at him,” Namjoon sighed as he stood with you in the lobby, grasping your hand tightly as you both waited for Seokjin to show up.

“I know, but Heechul told me that Seokjin is the only one of his kind as well so if anyone were to understand that this is a learning situation and not blame you for it, it would be someone like him, right?”

Namjoon shrugs, “I guess. From what I remember, Jin hyung was really outspoken too, so I think he’d be sure to let me know if I do something to offend him.”

“And if all else fails, you can just take him behind the house and piss on him,” you try to hide your grin as you tease him.

He growls playfully, leaning down to tug your hair. “Watch it. I’ll mark you next.”

“I thought you already did,” you quirk an eyebrow as you refer to certain activities that had taken place before he’d let you leave your bed that morning.

“Hey, let's keep the rating down in my presence, please,” Heechul sighs wearily from the other side of you.

The two of you fight valiantly to keep your giggles under control, only able to stop fully once a taxi pulls up in front of the building and nerves once again take over.

The man that steps out takes even your breath away - quite a feat considering how whipped you were for your own boyfriend. He’s tall, nearly as tall as Namjoon, and has a regal bearing. He has a face that many would pay millions for, with full lips and wide expressive eyes. His hair and lion ears were the same mahogany brown shade, as was the fluffy tip of his long tail. It seemed he had no trouble showing off his lion side. You weren’t sure if that’s all there was to his transformation though, considering he was a Sphinx, not just a lion.

He turned to pay the driver, who was actually smiling and laughing like the two of them were old friends. Seokjin reached out and shook the man’s hand heartily and shoved what was apparently too much money towards him if the way the man tried to argue about it was any indication. You supposed this meant Seokjin was the friendly sort, which boded well.

You were a little confused by the fact that the hybrid was only carrying a single suitcase. Perhaps he had left the rest behind to be picked up later? From what Heechul had told you, the hybrid had grown up in a fairly wealthy household, spoiled and doted on. You would think he would be walking in here with twenty name brand suitcases, and yet here he was with only a small rolling suitcase meant for a child with Mario on it. Something about that felt wrong.

The hybrid seemed fine, however, breezing through the front door with a wide smile like all was right in the world. He stopped right in front of Heechul and stared at him a moment, cocking his head.

“You haven’t changed a bit, hyung. You don’t have a single new wrinkle. Are you trying to compete with me?”

Heechul huffs and reaches out to hug the man. Seokjin laughs quietly, pulling Heechul into a bear hug so fierce Heechul squeaks a little. He releases him and pats him on the shoulder before he turns to Namjoon.

“Don’t tell me you’re little Joon bug? You can’t be anyone else, with those dimples. I used to swear I could use them as cereal bowls if we ever ran out.”

Namjoon shyly looks down and kicks his foot, but he’s smiling. “Hi, Seokjin-ssi. It’s nice to see you again.”

The hybrid waves his hand carelessly, “Just call me hyung, Namjoon. Or even just Jin. We don’t need honorifics with our kind.”

Namjoon nods and pulls you closer, drawing the Sphinx’s attention. His thick brow raises your way as his smile quirks mischievously.

“And this must be Miss Star, the one I’ve been hearing so much about,” he raises up his hand like he’s going to shake yours, but the moment you grasp it he holds on tightly. His face suddenly settles into serious lines as he looks down into your eyes.

“Answer me this. As small as your thumb, I am light in the air. You may hear me before you see me, but trust that I’m here.”

You hadn’t been prepared for this, for some reason. Duh, Sphinx’s whole thing was about riddles.

You bite your lip and give it some thought for a moment. “A hummingbird?”

His smile brightens back up and he releases your hand before he slaps Namjoon’s back.

“Hey, she’s smart. You got a good one”

“Yeah…” Namjoon answers dreamily, staring down at you with a dopey grin. You blush and grab his hand.

Jin’s arm was back to flailing around again, and you were wondering if he was in control of his limbs or if it was the other way around.

“Hey, listen, want to hear a joke about construction?” he asks. You’re not sure if he really expects an answer, but you squeak out a somewhat genuine sounding “Sure,” anyway.

“I'm still working on it,” he answers, before cackling loudly, his laughter practically shaking the glass windows as he slaps his leg in amusement.

You decide, if nothing else, he seems easy to keep entertained.

You politely laugh and wait for him to finish before taking the chance to steer the conversation in another direction.

“Are you hungry? We thought we’d stay and have dinner here before we went home. Only if you’re comfortable with that, though.”

“I’m famished,” Jin answered, slapping his flat and obviously in-shape stomach like it was the opposite. “I wouldn’t mind sticking around. Kyungsoo still the cook here?”

“Yup. And Wendy is making dessert,” Heechul tells him as he grabs the little suitcase.

“Sounds great.”

It hadn’t escaped your notice that no one brought up his past owners or any difficult subjects. You sigh quietly as you walk behind everyone as they went to the dining room, knowing that it was probably going to be all up to you.

***

Dinner had gone as it usually did, with only the occasional fights to break up between over-enthusiastic kids. You used the time to observe Seokjin, trying to see what you could pick up about him in a group setting like this. He was polite and charming, yes, but very quick to steer the conversation away from himself. You supposed he wasn’t ready to talk about his problems, which was fine. You had time.

He was also an enthusiastic eater and at one point seemed to have an almost mini-competition going on with the elephant hybrid over who could eat the most. You’d decided to break it up before anyone found out since the elephant was only seven and didn’t need to compete with a grown man.

Seokjin and Namjoon seemed to get on perfectly well, thank goodness. Jin treated him like a little brother - making sure his bowl was full, teasing him every time he stared at you, telling him at least five jokes about giants.

The man didn’t seem to have a shred of animosity in him at all, which would normally be a good thing. If one didn’t take into account what had happened to him. He should be upset and crying, or at least mad. Irritated. But he seemed more like he was just visiting some dear old friends, with nothing to fret about. That worried you more than anything because the poor man was probably just really good at covering it up then, and you hoped you’d be able to help him. Or that he’d even let you.

These thoughts plagued you the whole way home, as you occasionally peeked into the rear view mirror to see Jin sitting quietly with his tiny suitcase that you still hadn’t been able to bring yourself to ask about.

At least he was here with the two of you, somewhere he could be safe and have people looking out for him. That was the best you could do for now.

After you show him to a spare bedroom, he thanks you quietly, smiling with his lips but not his eyes. The door closes and you sigh, retreating to your own room to wrap yourself in Namjoon’s arms. It haunts you that something like this could happen to him if anything were to happen to you. That he would get sent back to the shelter with nothing, despite the fact that you wanted to give him the entire world. You’ll have to ask Heechul what you can do to make sure he’s safe.

***

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to the smell of meat cooking. Normally, this would be a dream come true. Unfortunately, you’ve been living with Namjoon for far too long and your mind now associated unsupervised cooking with near-death experiences, so instead your first reaction is terror.

You jump out of bed, unmindful of your state of near-undress, and run to the kitchen. Your ears are hyper tuned to every sound, waiting for bellows of pain, but so far you simply hear the slap of your bare feet against wood and sizzling from a pan.

You round the corner and grab the wall, catching your breath as you stare into the kitchen. Namjoon is sitting at the bar eating a heaping plateful of scrambled eggs and cheese, giggling as Seokjin preforms some a dirty gesture involving sausages and eggs. The Sphinx is standing over the stove with your bright pink apron, confidently cooking away, and both men are fine. You breathe a sigh of relief, slumping slightly as the tension leaves your body. Both men turn at the sound, smiling in greeting.

“Morning, baby. Jin’s making breakfast. He’s a good cook!”

“I see that. Morning, everyone,” you reply, walking in and trying not to let on how nervous you’d been. You peck Namjoon’s cheek and peek over the bar at the stove.

Jin meets your eye and smiles mischievously like he knows what you were concerned about.

“And here is one for you, madame,” he says with a flourish, setting a plate in front of you piled high with food and even garnished with a couple of tiny flowers from the garden.

“Wow,” you blurt, honestly astounded by his skill. Everything looked perfect and you couldn’t wait to dig in.

“What’s with that look?” He says loudly, quirking an eyebrow at you. “You just fell for me, didn’t you? Ah, I’m too charming.”

You laugh and take a bite, nervously peeking at Namjoon to see if he’d taken the joke too seriously. Seokjin must have magic in his food because you doubted the dragon had even heard since he was too busy shoveling food in his mouth like you’d been starving him for months.

“Slow down,” you cluck and tap his shoulder. He turns and grins at you with a disgustingly full mouth.

“Isth good,” he mumbles, and you laugh despite your disgust.

“I can see that.”

You swirl your fork around as you watch Jin settle in with his own plate, letting him get a few bites in before you strike.

“So, Joonie and I both took the day off to help you get settled in. We figured you might need to do some shopping or something. I know the bedroom is pretty bare since we were focusing on another room right now.”

Jin glances up and for a moment his gaze is troubling. You’d seen the brief flash of melancholy before he’d covered it up with a charming smile.

“I could use a few things to tide me over until I’m out of your hair, I suppose. I do have my own money, but most places around here won’t let you shop without a license.”

“That was nice of them to leave you money, They must have been good owners.”

His eyes cloud over and he glances away from you, staring at one of the windows.

“They were amazing parents. But the money that they left for me got taken away. I believe everything went to my Mom’s cousin - someone she didn’t even really know.”

“I thought you said you had money?”

“I...uhh...had some stashed away. My dad never liked banks - didn’t trust them. He always had a rule that whenever you used your card, you should take out some cash and squirrel it away just in case. So we’d always take a little out and stash it in this fake book. From the outside it looks like Crime And Punishment, and who reads that willingly?” he snorts, peeking over at Namjoon. “Besides this kid, obviously.”

Namjoon just shrugs, unbothered with the truth.

“But...Jin hyung, you mean they kept everything?”

The Sphinx sighs wearily and drops his fork, reaching up to rub his forehead.

“Everything. The cousin’s lawyer grabbed my old suitcase from storage and told me I could keep anything I could fit in there as long as he approved of it. I got some clothes, my mom’s recipe book, my dad’s favorite fishing lures, and the stash of cash because he thought it was just another book,” Jin shrugs like he’s just telling a story, never mind that the sound of your heart breaking was probably audible at this point.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” you murmur, struggling to stay calm for his sake.

He shrugs. “No big. I’m a hybrid. Should have expected it.”

“No, you should not have. People treat actual animals better than they do hybrids and it’s disgusting. I’m so very sorry. I know nothing I say can erase what’s been done to you. Just know that you are safe here and welcome in my home for as long as you like.”

Jin opens his mouth to say something but snaps it shut again like he can’t figure out what to say. Namjoon grins proudly at you and slaps Jin’s shoulder.

“Told you, hyung. She’s the best. And she’s right. You are welcome here and I can assure you that I feel no urge to fry you to a crisp.”

“I...was not aware that was a potential issue. Thanks for not ruining my beautiful face, I guess,” Seokjin says, obviously done with the serious talk and choosing to fall back into humor.

“And with that settled, I should probably go put on some pants. Thanks for the breakfast! We’ll meet up and go shopping in an hour, yeah?”

You grin at them both and leave the room, the smile dropping the moment you were sure they couldn’t see.

Poor Seokjin.

He had grown up loved and cared for by those people, and just because he was a hybrid he’d lost everything. The fact that this could easily be Namjoon’s story if you were to kick it tomorrow didn’t sit well with you, either. You needed to figure something out that could stop this from happening. Or at least figure out somewhere hybrids could go besides back into shelters. It seems like an impossible task, but one that needs doing, obviously.

As laughter filters towards you from the kitchen, you smile. One thing is for sure, your first task is going to be convincing Seokjin that he’s already home.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #hybrid!bts #hybrid!namjoon #hybrid!seokjin #dragon hybrid #sphinx hybrid #hybrid fanfiction #the dragon's lair #solastia

384 notes · View notes

gravelyhumerus · 4 years

Text

Criminal Minds College AU - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Title: “I may just take your breath away”

Relationship: Jemily

Summary:

It's midterm season and Emily runs into JJ at the library, they decide to study together.

Slow-burn Jemily college AU where they live across the hall and despite all odds, the universe pushes them together. AKA they’re silly gay babies who pine after each other for months.

Read it on AO3

Tumblr: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, (bonus scene), Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen, Twenty, Epilogue

There were no seats left in this entire goddamned library. Not a single one. Emily was on her second lap on the third floor, desperate for somewhere to sit down and have some peace and quiet to study for her test. She should have assumed this would happen. It was midterm season and the libraries were packed with students around this time each year.

She quietly made her way through the stacks and came upon a long, rectangular table near the back window. It overlooked a dark parking lot. The books were gigantic tombs of old academic journals that no one had probably even opened in decades.

There were eight seats and seven people, with one selfish asshole storing their backpack on the empty seat. Well, could be saving it for their friend, but with it being midterm season, those rules really shouldn’t apply anymore.

Emily braced herself and, with a smile, tapped the boy on the shoulder.

He had a large pair of headphones on. He lifted one side off his ear in a gesture of: ‘what do you want.’

“Is anyone sitting there?” She whispered, as quietly as she could, pointing to the seat next to him.

“Oh sorry,” he said, somewhat reluctantly, moving the coat and bag, inviting her to join him. She smiled in thanks and sat down.

Carefully unpacking her laptop and books, Emily tried to avoid disturbing the other folks at her table, the silence making each noise she made boom through the library. She settled down and pulled out her thermos, taking a sip of her coffee and bracing herself for a long night.

Her core classes for psychology were brutal, filled with endless memorization of terminology, stacks of mandatory books to read and countless essays.

At 8:30 the next morning it was her Introduction to Clinical Psychology midterm, worth a whopping thirty percent of her grade. She spent the entire day, between classes, at the Starbucks on campus, drinking her way through her student funds in coffee form and making endless flashcards.

She already had a stack of almost one hundred cards and she still had a couple hours of work left.

Just returning from dinner at the cafeteria, Emily had decided that she needed the relative quiet of the massive campus library to focus on the memorization period of her evening.

She flipped to the right page of her textbook: page 315, with a large header reading “SEXUAL DISORDERS” in large caps. Emily sighed, it was a strange thing to spend her time learning but at least it never failed to be interesting.

At least she wasn’t in Statistics this semester.

Emily took another sip of coffee, then rummaged through her bag for her wireless headphones, connecting them to her phone in order to play her studying playlist, which was mostly movie soundtracks, interspersed with Emily’s favourite classical music and of course, some lo-fi hip hop beats. She could not listen to music with words when studying, she would get too distracted and get nothing done.

Emily began gnawing at her thumbnail, focusing on writing down the definitions.

After around two hours of writing, Emily finally finished her flashcards. She stretched her back, closed her textbook, and went on her phone for a short break.

A Snapchat notification popped up on her screen.

Cheetobreath98 added you as a friend.

Emily frowned. Who on earth was that? Emily clicked on the profile, revealing the familiar face of Jennifer Jareau.

JJ had added her as a friend! On snapchat no less! That was at least three steps more intimate than Instagram.

Woah. Slow down there Em. She told herself. Don’t make it something it’s not.

They kept running into each other. JJ was probably just being friendly. She probably just wanted to say thank you for the cookies or send her funny snaps of the other students on their floor.

She has a boyfriend, a boyfriend she is having trouble with, but a boyfriend nonetheless. You can’t go around thinking about intimacy and Jennifer Jareau in the same sentence.

Emily accepted the friend request. Did that make them friends now? Emily hoped so. They could be friends.

As Emily stared at their chat, a new snap from JJ came in. Emily couldn’t help herself, she opened it immediately and she was met with a photo… of herself.

Emily’s head shot up looking around. She looked back down and it was clearly a photo of Emily, hunched over the desk with her head resting on her chin, staring down at her phone, taken from somewhere to her left.

JJ waved at her from between some books. Emily shot her a surprised smile in response.

She closed her laptop, stood, and walked over to her.

“Creeper,” Emily whispered with a giggle.

JJ had a large textbook and some notebooks in her arms, and a backpack hanging off one shoulder, and leaned in towards Emily to speak quietly, which let Emily catch the light, fruity smell of her perfume, blending nicely with the earthy smell of the old books around them.

“Guilty as charged,” JJ smiled.

“What are you working on?” Emily asked, gesturing at her heavy load, she leaned and took a peek at the title of the textbook.

“French,” JJ said, “It’s hard to bullshit that when you don’t know it. I’ve got a midterm tomorrow.”

“Bien sûr,” Emily replied confidently in French.

JJ blinked.

“Tu parles Français?” JJ’s French was shaky and uncertain, with less of an accent than Emily would expect.

Emily coughed quietly and tried to clear her throat.

“I do,” she replied in French, “I’ve been told that when I was a toddler, I was speaking it more fluently than English.”

JJ glanced down, seeming to be translating her words for a brief moment before replying, slowly, clearly excited to use Emily for practise.

“Are you French?”

“No,” Emily said, “My mom wasn’t around much when we were living in France and the nanny didn’t speak English.”

“Ton nurse?” JJ asked, not knowing the definition of ‘nanny’ in French.

“Oh uh,” Emily replied in English, “My nanny, the lady who watched me when my mom was working. She’s an ambassador.”

JJ nodded, then switched to English. She didn’t ask about Emily’s dad, which Emily was grateful for.

“My family is French, originally I guess,” JJ said, “Hence Jareau , the French name. I remember my grandparents speaking it when I was growing up. I only learned a few words from them so I thought I’d take a course here. I need language courses for my communications degree anyways.”

“Your French is good!” Emily assured her. “Honestly mine is getting rusty, I have no one to practise on.”

“Well,” JJ said between coughs, “you could tutor me?”

Emily smiled. An opportunity to spend more time with her? She would take it. She nodded.

“Mais oui!” Emily replied in her most dramatic accent that she could manage, sending both girls into a fit of giggles.

“Shhhhh!” Someone at Emily’s table hissed.

The two girls made eye contact, then burst into another fit of giggles.

“I have a study room booked for nine,” JJ said, “If you want to join me.”

“Absolutely,” Emily replied, “I have a midterm tomorrow as well, so I’ll be here for awhile.”

“Allons-y!” JJ whisper-yelled.

Emily collected her things and followed JJ into a room down the hall, tucked behind the stacks. Inside, was a desk, a couple of white boards and a small window facing into the quad. It was small, with only two chairs. It was shocking that JJ even managed to snag that, the booking system filled up days in advance during midterm season.

“I hate whispering,” Emily said at normal volume once the door was shut.

“Libraries are supposed to be quiet,” JJ said.

“I’ve never been good at quiet.”

JJ laughed.

Emily sat down next to her, stealing a glance at JJ while she was distracted: she had a pair of track pants, with a loose fitted t-shirt on top, a pastel blue which complemented her skin tone well. On top, she had her varsity hoodie unzipped, with their school’s crest on display. She looked good, as always, despite being in basically athletic sweats looking ready to go to the gym at any moment.

Emily placed her books down next to JJ at the table, stacking her flash cards neatly next to it. JJ’s eyes widened at the sight of the pile.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t have time,” JJ said, “Honestly I would just appreciate the company.”

“Nonsense,” Emily replied, “I’d be happy to help. I’ve been working on these flash cards all day, I need a break anyways. How ‘bout we work through your practise sheets, then you quiz me after? What’s your test on?”

“Conjugation,” JJ replied, flipping her notes open to a page full of irregular verbs and their conjugations.

“Oh sweet,” Emily scanned the notes, “Present tense, I can do this.”

Emily leaned back in her chair, pulling her feet up to sit crossed-legged.

“I was worried you were going to ask me the difference between plus-que-parfait and subjonctif or something.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“Lucky,” Emily said.

JJ then reached into her bag, pulling out a small case and revealing a pair of glasses—reading glasses—and put them onto her face. They were gold rimmed, round framed, and made her eyes slightly larger with the magnification.

“You-” Emily stuttered, her brain feeling like it was short circuiting at the sight of JJ, “Have glasses?”

“Yeah,” JJ muttered flipping through her notebook, “I don’t really need them but I’ve been staring at screens all day and my eyes are tired.”

“Nerd,” Emily fake-coughs. JJ’s draw drops and she hits Emily playfully with her notebook, whacking her on the arm lightly.

“You promised to help me, not mock me for my bad eyes,” JJ huffs.

“Ok fine let’s conjugate… hmmm… ‘voir’ to start,” Emily jokes, spinning her pen between her fingers.

“I know you’re kidding but I actually don’t know that one.”

Emily grins and begins explaining to her how to conjugate ‘to see’ in French.

“Now,” Emily says, “If you want to talk about how I can see, and you can’t—because you’re blind—you would write: Emily voit. Emily sees.”

“Elle voit? V-o-i-t?”

“Oui, et, Jennifer ne voit pas!” Emily giggles, “Jennifer does not see!”

“Ha-ha,” JJ says, not laughing.

“Sorry, I’ll stop now,” Emily says, picking up the worksheet and reading it over.

“Basically,” JJ says, “I need to just memorize this list of common irregular verbs by tomorrow. I already have the regular er, ir and re verbs down.”

“Cocky girl,” Emily said. “I like it.”

“Ok what verb should we start with?”

“Vouloir,” Emily said, “to want.”

The deeper meaning of this was not lost on her, even as she said it. Emily was far past the point of denying it to herself, or Morgan when he teased her, Emily wanted JJ.

“Start with je,” Emily continued, unfazed by her own internal monologue. “What do you want?”

“Je veux… un biscuit,” JJ said, sticking her pen in her mouth. She was so cute when she focused, chewing distractedly on the cap, with her glasses falling down her nose.

“Now what would I want?” Emily prompted, trying to focus back on the worksheet and not JJ in profile, gazing at the gentle slope of her nose, her pink lips that would probably taste like chapstick.

“Tu veux du thé?” JJ grinned, evoking their previous late-night hang out.

“Oui,” Emily smiled, “I could definitely use some of your tea right now. Stuck with coffee for now though. I need the caffeine.”

They continued through that verb, moving down her list and covering aller, mettre, venir, before cycling back to the most important ones to make sure JJ had them memorized. Covering lots of ground, the two girls spent almost two hours straight working through her midterm prep booklet.

“Thanks so much for helping,” JJ said. “Maybe you could tutor me again sometime.”

Emily grinned. Maybe it was just tutoring but that meant hours alone with her and her pretty face and her laugh and the way she smelled like warm vanilla.

“Whenever you need me!”

“Je suis excité!” JJ said, in French, which was definitely not what she aimed to say.

Emily began to laugh. Hard. It started as a giggle but the sheer ridiculousness of her situation made it so much funnier. Her crush just looked her in the eyes and told her she was horny.

“What?!” JJ demanded, nervously laughing at Emily’s reaction.

“Oh gosh I’m sorry,” Emily tried to calm down, to hold in her laughs. “In French we never say excité. It does not mean excited.”

“What does it mean?”

“JJ you just said that you were horny,” Emily made out between laughs. It must be the lack of sleep that made the simple mistake so much funnier.

“Emily!” JJ laughed, “don’t laugh at me I didn’t know!”

Emily’s laughter was infectious and before long the two girls were lost in a fit of giggles.

“You should say: ‘J’ai hâte!’” Emily said eventually, “it means I can’t wait. Like: J’ai hâte d'étudier avec toi. Or Je suis ravi. Or impatiente. Just don’t go around telling people how horny you are.”

“Fine,” JJ said, with a slight pout, “ J’ai hâte. ”

Emily nodded.

“I guess I can say I learned something today,” JJ murmured, “I guess it really is the language of love.”

Emily didn’t say anything, taking a sip of her cold coffee to muffle the squeak threatening to come out of her throat

“So,” JJ changed the subject, “gimme your flash cards. What are you learning?”

Before Emily could earn her, JJ flipped over the first card which read: ‘SEXUAL DISORDERS!’ in Emily’s messy script.

“On the same theme,” JJ murmured.

And so for the next hour, JJ and Emily made their way through her psychology flash cards, slowly making sure that Emily had the endless serious mental health disorders, personality disorders and other terms memorized before her midterm.

Luckily, In the process of writing them down, and due to her religious commitment to attending lectures, Emily had already retained most of them. Studying with JJ did help, because it forced her to explain some of the concepts in plain language, which, she found, furthered her understanding.

Moreover, JJ had brought snacks. Which made studying every more doable when she could award herself with an m&m for each correct answer.

The thing was, half way through Emily’s stack of cards, and as the night crept on, JJ’s energy crashed as the girl’s body decided that it was way past her bedtime and that she should be asleep.

Unlike Emily, JJ was clearly not a night owl.

Eventually, Emily finished up her studying alone, discovering that the blonde was just about useless, as she read out gibberish and expected Emily to understand her. JJ finally fell asleep sitting up at about one-thirty in the morning. Emily decided to leave her be as she still needed to jot a few things down.

“JJ?” Emily murmured after a few minutes, poking the other girl with her pen. “JJ? Wake up.”

“Mm?” JJ murmured, her eyes still closed shut, her head heavy resting on her hand. She was adorable.

“I’m calling it,” Emily said, closing her textbook. “It’s almost two. We’ve studied enough.”

“Mmm… yeah I don’t know if I can fit any more French in my brain,” JJ rubbed her eyes.

“I think you’ll do just fine!”

They packed up their things, bundling up against the cold fall air. JJ went through the motions with her eyes half shut, allowing Emily to guide her out of their study room, down the spiral staircase and into the lobby.

Unfortunately, as they stood just inside the library door, the clouds broke, sending rain pouring down onto campus. Sighing at their poor timing, they pulled their hoods over their hair in an attempt to stay relatively dry.

They walked home, laughing as it rained down onto them.

JJ seemed to wake up and her prior drowsiness seemed to fade into the night sky. She giggled as she splashed in a puddle, and her yellow jacket lit up under a street lamp.

Emily grinned, feeling elated in her exhaustion. How lucky she was! Splashing in the rain with JJ, which was a strange yet pleasant ending to what had promised to be a dredge of an evening. JJ waited for a moment, letting Emily catch out before grasping onto Emily’s hand and holding on, pulling her through the rain.

They tore through the torrential downpour, their hands clasped together, unbothered by the cold as the fiery feeling of JJ’s hand in her own had her full attention. A warm feeling filled her chest as she thought about how it was JJ who wanted to hold Emily’s hand.

Not caring whether it was just a friendly hand hold, or if it meant more, Emily’s heart soared.

JJ’s hand was smaller than hers, and their fingers fell together perfectly, comfortably linked like they were built to do so.

They only let go once they reached the door to their building, as Emily fumbled with the wet metal key ring in her pocket, unlocking the front door and offering the two relief from the rain.

They lingered in the hall, both damp, looking at each other as the tiredness returned and settled into their bones. Emily could see the bags under JJ’s eyes, the exhaustion clear on her face. Her cheeks were flushed from running through the rain and her blonde hair wet and tangled from the wind.

A voice in Emily’s head demanded that she reach out her hands, firmly grab the sides of JJ’s perfect face and kiss her then and there. It would be so perfect, their lips would meet and JJ would rest her hands on Emily’s hips. She would pull her in close and their bodies would crash into each other, fitting together perfectly. Emily’s tongue would graze against JJ’s lips, and their kiss would deepen until finally they would pull apart and-

“Goodnight, Emily,” JJ said, smiling at her sweetly, “Get some sleep before your midterm.”

Emily was brought crashing back into reality.

“Oh,” Emily said, “Yeah you too, you need it.”

“Thank you for helping me out,” JJ continued, “I was having a really bad day and you really made me feel a lot better.”

JJ looked down.

“Yeah, uh, this morning I broke up with Will. Or maybe he broke up with me. I don’t know,” she admitted, “and with the midterm… then the home game tomorrow afternoon...“

She sighed.

“It was a long day and I’m grateful for your company.”

Kiss her, the voice in her head screamed, do it!

“I’m sorry about your break up, either way,” Emily said sincerely. “I feel the same way. I mean, I enjoyed your company. I think I’m going to do well on my midterm too.”

She smiled at JJ who returned it sleepily. Emily kicked herself for the awkward phrasing but blamed the fact that it was late at night and she was processing the fact that her crush was single. Single and had held her hand.

“Bonne chance demain,” Emily said with a wave, wishing JJ luck.

They looked at each other for another moment, before turning and unlocking their individual rooms. That night, Emily dreamt of Paris, cookies and the girl across the hall.

64 notes · View notes

teddy-bear-surprise · 3 years

Text

Chapter 9: Exit

Masterlist

|| Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 Part 1 || Chapter 7 Part 2 || Chapter 8 || Almost The End || Chapter 9 ||

The past three and a half weeks had dragged Spencer through all seven levels of hell and back. All remainders of his sense of identity had been stripped away and then stuck back together with dollar-store duct tape. Even with his eidetic memory, superior cognitive skills, and years of extensive psychological training, Spencer had been susceptible to all of Ophelia’s tricks. Every single vision, thought, and emotion that entered Spencer’s conscious mind was hand-crafted and transplanted deep within his mind by Ophelia. He was stuck in a prison that he would never escape, but that was only half the story.

Ophelia was undoubtedly a bright person, though it seemed wrong to pay someone so nefarious such a compliment, and she had devised a detailed and thorough plan. That very plan was what led to Spencer’s downfall. Nothing could stop her once she had her eye set on a goal, and sinking her talons into Spencer’s mind was no different.

Many scientists liked to say that when a person is exposed to high levels of anxiety for prolonged periods of time, their brains will translate every ordinary experience into a moment of desperation. Every moment becomes life or death. Black and white. Winning or losing. And that was all Spencer could see.

Even if he did not explicitly feel his anxiety in that moment, Ophelia’s methods left him exposed to every one of her schemes. He was unaware of his extensive obedience, not complying intentionally, but with an iron fist of fear wrapped around his heart. But each time he acted in Ophelia’s favor, the fist loosened.

As the days rolled by, slowly at first, Spencer began to feel more and more drawn towards her. His fearful heart palpitations shifted into anxious flutters. When he saw Ophelia now, rather than sensing dread in his gut, he felt a kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach. It wasn’t shocking that three extensive weeks with an attractive captor led to Spencer’s strong case of Stockholm Syndrome. It happened all the time, and while Ophelia hadn’t planned for it, it proved to be useful.

For the first week, Ophelia would repeat the same routine every day, only modifying the temperature of the interrogation room to add a little kick to her “game”. And every day, Spencer would look at her with the same scared and confused look on his face. Ophelia, obviously, would just ignore it. Every day she would let him get a bit closer to her, making him feel like there was progress being made, that she trusted him, only to trick him and treat him like scum the next day. She tore down the very structure of his understanding of trust. Eyes wide open with fear, Spencer would learn to be wary of every movement that Ophelia made. He slept lightly, listening for the sounds of her footsteps and mentally preparing himself when they did approach him. Though as much as he tried, he was never really prepared for what followed.

Then the next week came along, and suddenly Spencer was spending every waking moment alone. He sat in solitude, hearing nothing more than the sound of his own breath and fabric crinkling whenever he moved. The closest thing to human contact he got during those days was Ophelia pushing a small tray of food into his room at breakfast, lunch, and dinner and then him pushing the tray back out to her after he had eaten. That was probably the longest week of Spencer’s life. Every day that passed by felt like months, and with no windows or clocks, the only way of keeping time was by counting how many seconds had passed between meals. On the longest day, he had counted eleven thousand nine hundred and twenty-five seconds. For each second that he counted, he made a dot on the wall behind him with a marker that Ophelia had given him, and by the end of the week, his wall had turned a whole shade darker.

During the last week, the third one, Ophelia did the complete opposite. She kept Spencer by her side every second of the day, providing him with the desperately needed attention that he craved. She would order him around, playing into his desire for purpose and fulfillment. Each morning, Ophelia would make him write reports for her. She started it as a way to gauge just how much Spencer would be willing to share with her. Unsurprisingly, the emotionally and mentally unstable Dr. Reid had lost the ability to filter his thoughts. The world-class genius labored away for hours, spilling every secret the FBI had shared with him. He told Ophelia all about her mother, he told her about Hotch’s family, he told her about his lowest moments: losing Maeve and letting Cat slip through his hands. In the afternoons, she would send the mentally exhausted man to do meaningless housework. He scrubbed the floors on his hands and knees until his shoulders grew sore, he replaced lightbulbs until his wrists could no longer twist, and he washed dishes until his hands turned pink and pruned. Reid thought nothing of the work and even appreciated the opportunity to rest his aching mind. Their nights, however, were spent together, truly together. Not the kind of together where Ophelia sat on the couch watching Spencer work, but the type where they were no more than a foot apart at any given time. He relished the praise that Ophelia showered him with. She made him feel an unparalleled sense of pride for sharing his secrets. By the end of the week, Spencer had proven himself to be so trustworthy (or brainwashed) that Ophelia felt comfortable falling asleep next to him on the couch.

Somehow, an institution dedicated to delving deep into the minds of America’s most notorious killers had made a fatal mistake. They failed to look into the minds of their own men, letting the team’s brains and hearts fall through the cracks. The BAU’s useless mandatory therapy proved to be nothing but a bandaid over a gaping wound. Because despite all of his intense FBI training, Spencer had already suffered so much trauma that he became the BAU’s weakest link.

Three Days Until New Year’s

A pair of heavy boots crunched loudly against the rocky, sandy walkway, contrasting the eerie silence that preceded it. The boots were attached to a mysteriously hooded figure that walked with confident strides. It was late at night, or maybe early in the morning– no one could say for sure. Only one thing was certain: chaos would soon have the upper hand.

The black boots continued until they reached Ophelia’s window. Peering in, the hooded figure saw Ophelia lazily draped over the couch, accompanied by a dreaming Dr. Reid beside her. An old television set illuminated their motionless figures and let out quiet dialogue as the movie dragged on. Both were in a deep, deep state of sleep, unaware of the scene that was unraveling beyond their dreamscape. The Unsub abandoned the window, tiptoeing towards the garage. The garage door panel, despite being chosen by a “genius”, took only a minute to hijack. The latch clicked open and the door slowly lifted. It buzzed quietly but steadily, and the hooded head turned towards the window every few seconds to check for any signs of Ophelia or Spencer waking up. They never did. With the garage door open, it would be smooth sailing from now on.

The Unsub quickly slid their backpack onto the empty garage’s floor, opening it slowly. The contents of the bag were highly volatile and the Unsub did not want to be anywhere near when that volatile substance lost its stability. Halfway through unzipping, the zipper got stuck, causing the backpack to jolt violently. The Unsub’s breath hitched and their mouth dried up as beads of sweat trailed down their neck and forehead.

Beginning again, slower this time, they moved the zipper smoothly. Once the bag was successfully opened, the Unsub calmed by a degree. They grabbed the flat, red blocks that lay within, careful to avoid tangling the wires attached to the blocks. These carefully packed and handled blocks were those infamous “plastic explosives” that they always showed in movies. They were highly destructive, yet much too easy to buy– considering you had the right contacts, of course. The Unsub stuck the explosives all along Ophelia’s garage walls, making sure to target the home’s main structure by using a wall scanner. They exited the garage and closed it manually to avoid the whir of the garage door motor. With still a handful of explosives left in their possession, the Unsub moved to the side of the house farthest from Ophelia and Spencer, easily boosting the damage without committing full-on murder.

From afar, the Unsub exiting Ophelia’s backyard just looked like an ordinary citizen going for a calming moonlight stroll. But their fast, decisive steps were far from calm and this citizen was in no way ordinary. They walked rapidly for two long minutes and by the time those two minutes had passed, Unsub was far out of the neighborhood’s sight. The Unsub grabbed the remote detonator from their pocket, entering the passcode and pressing the bright red button. A blast shook the ground with fierce intensity and a shiver ran up the Unsub’s spine as they felt the air’s temperature increase by the slightest degree. They turned around to marvel at the brightly lit sky above Ophelia’s house, basking in the sound of chaos engulfing the few residents of Park Ridge Drive.

Inside the rapidly heating home, Ophelia and Spencer felt adrenaline flowing freely through their bloodstreams. Panic permeated their bodies and all rational thought had been abandoned. But even as they felt the fire nearing and the smoke filling their lungs, they didn’t move. They couldn’t move. Just like two mice trapped in a never-ending maze, there was no way out and the Unsub had made sure of it. They sat in desperation, wondering if the past three weeks had all been for nothing.

About ten minutes from the house, the Unsub approached their car, opening the door as a gust of wind flew by. Their hood fell down, revealing short blonde locks and a familiar face. They perched the hood back onto their head. They could hear the sirens approaching and drove away quickly, even passing a police car a few miles later. But alas, the Unsub was already far, far gone by the time first-responders arrived at the scene.

Author’s Note: I decided to leave this chapter a bit vague at the end so I could pick it up again if I ever feel better, but still have just enough closure to let the story "stop"... I'd love to hear any theories or guesses as to what the ending means (it's kinda obvious lol). I'm also so sorry it's not better, but this was the best I could do considering the circumstances.

#Criminal Minds #CM #spencer reid #spencer x oc #fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction

2 notes · View notes

thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

Text

a little jealous

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy, let me know what you think!

request: Could you write a fic post it chapter 2 where Richie and Eddie start dating, but then Richie starts to feel jealous of Eddie with an attractive coworker?

warnings: a few curse words, a very brief mention of homophobia, a bit of self doubt

They’ve been officially dating for two months when Eddie invites Richie to join him on a work related business party. It’s not the first one Eddie has had to go to, but up until now he had always made up an excuse so that he only had to stay for about an hour, not nearly long enough for Richie to tag along to.

The difference between this one and the others he has already been too, is that this time he needs to stay to the end. Eddie might be up for a promotion if his boss takes a liken too him, which is why he is determined to make a good impression. If Eddie gets turned down, he’ll probably leave his job and search for another one, Richie thinks, since Eddie had been going on none stop about quitting.

Richie has been to his office before, on more than one occasion, when Eddie was so stressed he forgot his lunch, so it’s not his first Rodeo. He knows a few people that will attend, like Anisa who is the secretary on the bottom floor, Emmet who is Eddie’s coworker and works in the office adjacent to his, and Karen who is about as much a pain in the ass as Eddie’s mom, but Richie loves to fuck with her.

Anisa is his best friend in the office, well of course besides Eds, but whenever he stops by, he always leaves some form of candy on her disk, a references to the first time the two met, when Richie accidentally dropped all the candy he was planning to surprise Eddie with. It had been Halloween, and even though Eddie didn’t celebrate it, none of the losers actually, Richie still felt the need to do something. They hit it off straight after, especially when Anisa confided in him that she had never seen Eddie smile as much as when he got together with him.

Emmet is a bit of a hardass, work till he drops, party till he drops kind off guy. Full-on in everything he does, which sometime is a little of putting, but it can also cause hilarious comedy gold moments, which Richie has used multiple times in his sketches.

He’s pretty sure his winning Karen over aswell, since he has even managed to get a small smile out of her, which is a hell of a lot more than he ever got from Sonia.

The others he knows only vaguely by the nicknames he gave them, ranging from boss man to toilet man, the latter spending all his time on the toilet if Eddie is anything to go by.

Still, Richie is very excited when he gets permission from Eddie to go with him, so much so that he’s practically bouncing on his foot whilst he gets ready. Eddie is less keen on going tonight, but that has nothing to do with the fact that Richie is going.

Ever since returning from Derry, the two of them don’t go out much. They meet up with the losers, but apart from that they usually spend their time inside of the confinements of their home, either fighting over he gets the remote, cooking, working or annoying the shit out of each other.

Neither of them want to either, they enjoy each other’s company, and those of the other members of the losers club. When they do go out, they always seem to run into someone they know giving them shit about being gay. ‘Oh Eddie, I thought you were still married to your wife?’ or ‘If it isn’t the trashmount with a boy. What happened couldn’t get enough girl anymore?’

Most of them don’t mean bad, and Eddie nor Richie are ashamed of their love, they’re just tired of having to explain over and over again, so they stay in.

Work parties are the worst for Eddie, who doesn’t even like most of his coworkers to begin with, but sometimes they are mandatory, and he has no choice but to drag his ass over there.

So Eddie grumbles his way through getting ready, shaving and brushing his teeth with a stern look on his face, picking out his and Richie’s cloths. ‘There’s no way I’m letting you dress yourself, you’ll look like a walking Christmas tree.’

They lose some time while they get ready because Richie tries to cheer Eddie up a bit, by threatening to dose him in cold water, welcoming the snappy warning Eddie sends his way.

By the time they make it to Eddie’s workplace, where the party is going to be held, it’s a quarter past nine, while they were supposed to be there at nine.

This does not do any wonders for Eddie’s mood, who’s scowl turns impossibly bigger. He almost trips over his own two feet in his haste to make it inside, but before they do, he tugs Richie aside by the hem of his sleeve.

‘Please act normal, I need this job alright?’

‘My Eds, you wound me. You think I would throw away your honor just for a few laughs from a couple of lads, I could never.’ Richie’s British voice thick his words with an accent, having the intended effect. A smile tugs up the sides of Eddie’s mouth, even when he desperately tries to hide it, rolling his eyes extravagantly.

‘See that’s what I mean dickhead, don’t do the fucking British guy or I’m dumping you.’

He’s clearly joking, so Richie doesn’t dignify it with a response, though he does snort a little in amusement. ‘Sir, yes sir.’ He calls out long after Eddie has turned his back, cackling when Eddie flips him the bird behind his back. Fondly, Richie follows him through the long corridors, first turning right, then left, left again to eventually enter a massive open space, not to far from the bathroom Richie always uses when he comes to visit.

‘Hey, if you want to get out of here, just use the word salmon for whatever, than we’ll skoot on right out of here, Eddie Spaghetti’, Richie whispers inconspicuously to Eddie, trying to avoid being heard by somebody else. He hopes he succeeded, but by the looks of it, he did.

Eddie shakes his head fondly, his hand interlocking with Richie’s with a warning squeeze.

‘Shut up you idiot’, he mumbles fondly, the look in his eyes radiating nothing but love for the man in next to him.

They spot Anisa first, the sour look on her face melting away when she sees the two of them entering. She grabs two more drinks, balancing a total of three drinks in two hands, and offers it gracefully to them.

‘What took you guys so long?’ The voice of Bon Jovi booms through the room, originating from a djs-table in the left corner, making it hard to understand what she’s saying.

‘Mister clean over here had to be completely dosed up for this occasion, I think he changed cloths like three times, isn’t that right Eds?’ to be fair though, Eddie looks horrendously handsome, it’s almost criminal. His suit accentuates all the good features of his body, which is everything, his dress shoes make a squeaking noise every time they walk over the floor, and his hair is neatly combed back, making him look even more attractive than he already is daily.

A huff is forced out of him when he feels Eddie’s elbow dig slightly into his side. Eddie glare is turned up to a hundred.

‘Do you know how unsanitary it is to not wash every day? Do you know how many germs are transferred onto your hand by just touching a doorknob? If I didn’t wash up you know statistically speaking I have a 40% change of catching a disease? You know this asshole, why would you need to-‘

He’s intercepted by Anisa; ‘you two are so cute together’, and Richie couldn’t agree more. He takes a sip of his drink; which is champagne apparently, and is seconds away from asking Eddie who his boss is supposed to be, when a man Richie has never seen around the office makes an appearance, sliding in front Eddie’s left to give him a tight hug. By doing so, he breaks the link that Richie and Eddie hands still had, rudely shoving Richie slightly back.

He frowns, but does nothing as he waits for Eddie to introduce them. Anisa, who is still standing with them, looks to be as flabbergasted as he is.

‘Eddie, look at you. Handsome as always’, the man compliments while pulling back, his eyes shamelessly raking over Eddie’s form.

Eddie laughs politely, thanking him while reaching for Richie’s hand again. ‘Yeah, good to see you to Seth, this is my boyfriend Richie Tozier’, Eddie explains when the guy, Seth, makes no move to introduce himself.

Seth forces a curt nod towards Richie, not so much as a hello. It irks Richie to no end, but this might the one Eddie’s trying to impress, and Richie is not enough of an asshole to ruin Eddie’s chances because he’s annoyed.

‘I’m going to find Emmet, I’ll see you guys later’, Anisa tells them, as she turns around and walks off, something Richie would love to be doing now too.

He stays rooted to his spot though, trying to make himself as big as possible. It must look a bit ridiculous, but he can’t help it, there’s something about this guy.

‘So, have you managed to talk to the boss man yet? The guy really likes fresh workers.’ He tries to joke, but it falls flat, and Richie can’t help but feel smug and a little sympathetic towards the guy, so he laughs a bit awkwardly. It’s better than not responding at all, he argues, but then Seth levels him with such an annoyed look that Richie can’t help but feel a little intimidated by.

He hasn’t seen that sort of look since Sonya, and for all his joking about her, he really was terrified that she would manage to convince Eddie to stay away from for good. Uneasiness sweeps it’s way through Richie’s body, the only thing keeping him slightly calm and stable, is the hand he’s holding.

Richie tries to change the subject, to distract himself from how weird he finds the guy, by asking how he and Eddie know each other.

‘We collaborate on projects from time to time, Seth works for one of our client companies.’

‘Yeah, and we wouldn’t be coming back to the same firm if it wasn’t for Eddie over here,’ he gestures to Eddie as if Richie didn’t know who the fuck that was, ‘I’ve never had a more dedicated, ambitious, articulated, clever –‘

While he continues to dish out compliments, Richie reaches his arm over Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him flush to his side. Obviously it’s wonderful to hear compliments, and god knows Eddie deserves nothing but that, but it’s quite off putting that the same guy keeps praising him at every turn, and not even acknowledges his boyfriends presence instead being rude.

Eddie response by pressing a kiss to Richie’s cheek, which is a lot of PDA for him, maybe to sooth Richie, maybe because it was an automatic reflex, either way, Richie takes a deep breath and manages to hold his tongue till the guy is finished talking.

‘Yep, that’s my Eds, nothing but the best. I’m lucky to have him.’

He looks up from Eddie’s face to smile brightly in Seth’s vicinity, not even trying to compete with him, just being brutally honest.

‘He’s just as ambitious at home by the way, you should see the poses he can bend into when we’re-‘

‘Beep beep, Richie’, Eddie’s voice, sharp as the edge of a knife cuts in. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence you prick. And don’t call me that.’

Richie cackles, gripping his stomach with the one hand that isn’t occupied to stop himself from doubling over, Eddie’s angry face only making it worse.

‘Why do you call him Eds? He told you he doesn’t like that.’

Richie’s head snaps back up again, and this time, he feels actual anger. It’s one thing to flirt with Eddie in front of him, or be rude to him, Richie can deal with that, at least on the outside. But insulting their nicknames? He knows for a fact Eddie only tells him to stop calling him that out of habit, Eddie having admit to that himself, but this guy had no right commenting on it.

Eddie himself seems agitated now, in a truly fashion, one that he has never used to talk to Richie, but before he can say anything, another man steps their way, extending his hand and waiting for Eddie to shake it.

‘Mister Duke, how are you sir?’ Eddie asks a little nervously, and Richie lets his arm drop down. He refuses to let Eddie be denied this opportunity by homophobia, even if he isn’t sure that the man is homophobic, he’s not ready to take any changes.

With a gesture over his shoulder, Eddie follows who Richie presumes is his boss over to a table with man who looked like they stepped right out of the TV show suits, but Richie declines to walk with him.

Eddie needs a chance to prove himself, and Richie was just going to support him from where he was standing.

For a minute, he forgets Seth is still standing with him, until he opens his mouth again.

‘You know you’re only dragging him down right?’ He asks cruelly.

Richie frowns at him, his hands closed in fists, trying to lure himself away from his breaking point.

‘He would do much better with me. What do you have to offer? Money? I’ve got plenty of that, and at least I have status. Some small town comedian who flunked at his show that one time, and still hasn’t made a comeback yet. You look about as disheveled as a homeless men, and I can’t say I see much love between the two of you. You annoy him, and you might find it funny, respectable people don’t. Leave him before you ruin him like you ruined yourself. I could take better care of him than you ever could.’

After his monologue, he stares Richie down with a cocky expression, seemingly daring Richie to respond. When he doesn’t get one in ten seconds, he trudges on, probably to on to the next person to bother.

Richie feels like all the bones in his body have turned to liquid as he struggles to stay upright. For a moment he gazes around the room in shame, because it seems like a scene from a movie where everyone looks on to the bully annihilating some nerd, as that is the exact same emotion Richie comprehends, before he realizes that everyone is caught up in their own conversation, and he too walks off, going to the bathroom.

He knows Eddie will search for him when he’s done with his conversation, but for a moment that thought is put on the back-burner as he starts to get a little faint. It takes longer than it usually does to reach the toilet door, in the meanwhile he’s had to shrug Emmet of and ignore Anisa’s callout, but none of that matters when he finally gets there.

As soon as the door closes behind him, a loud sob leaves his throat. Only one sob is allowed to leave his lips, he argues with himself, so he resumes to silent tears only after that.

Overreactor, his traitorous mind hisses at him, and he knows it’s right, but he can’t help how he feels. He survived a fucking clown alien attacking him, and even that didn’t make him cry until he thought Eddie might have died.

However, he knows that Seth had a point, Richie is really not good enough for Eddie. And maybe Seth could be, at the very least, he did have a stable job, and he thinks highly of Eddie, maybe he was right, and he should leave Eddie so he can grow to his full potential.

Some times goes by while he’s thinking it over, and in the meanwhile he has moved to wash his face by the washing bins, scrubbing the area around his eyes to make it appear like he wasn’t crying. As he’s doing this, he hears Eddie call out to him. ‘Hey dickhead, you in here?’

The door whips open, clashing against the wall with a loud bang so hard that Richie flinches for a moment. A worried looking Eddie is standing in the door opening, his tie undone atop his blazer, and his frantic eyes searching the door, calming down slightly when he sees Richie.

‘Hey, why are you taking so long, you fall in the toilet or something?’ Eddie tries, a futile attempt at ignorance, Richie can clearly see how perturbed he is, but he’s kind enough to let Richie come to him.

Instead of telling Eddie the things that are on his mind, Richie tries to force a way around the topic, by using humor and creating a joke. ‘Well Eds, I was just about to call your mom, to declare my love for her.’

‘Richie’, Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to mentally prepare himself? By the tone of his voice, Richie understands that Eddie is asking him to tell the truth, to speak what’s on his mind, but that can be so hard sometimes, so in lieu of having a conversation with Eddie, Richie starts to cry.

A hand pushes it’s way up to his mouth, trying to desperately to muffle the cries of despair, shame was again white hot present in his mind. Eddie looks shocked for about a second flat, before rushing over to Richie, grabbing his neck and pushing his head against the crook of his shoulder, rubbing his own hand up and down Richie’s back, and the other one through his hair.

‘Rich, it’s okay. You can talk to me dumbass, that’s what boyfriends are supposed to do.’

There’s nothing but silence for a few minutes, which Eddie grants Richie, just trying to get him to calm down.

‘do you ever doubt our relationship?’ Richie finally asks, feeling the way Eddie’s entire body freezes up as if he was told Pennywise was back.

Richie hurries to continue. ‘I mean, if I’d had to choose between me and Seth, I’d pick Seth too. He has a good job and I might be out of one after waiting so long to go on stage again, and I look ridicules, and I push your buttons,’ Richie takes a break to gulp in a large gush of air. ’I’m just saying, I’d get if you would want to break up with me.’

Yet, when Eddie pulls back slightly, Richie panics before letting him get too far. Eddie laughs again, still close enough that their noses are pressed together with Richie bend down the way he is.

‘Hey Rich, you’re really fucking stupid you know that?’ Eddie says with a voice so incredibly soft and fond, Richie nearly melts to a puddle. He’s still stroking curl after curl on Richie’s head, comforting him best he can when they’re in a public bathroom.

‘You’ll have a job. You’re so good at being funny Richie. Even if I don’t say that enough. Besides, let’s say you don’t, you will but just hypothetically, I don’t care about that. I only want to spend time with you. You dress like a toddler, but I like that, it makes you look goofy, just like your personality.’

With a smile that’s showing his teeth, Eddie presses a quick kiss on Richie’s mouth, pulling back fast and firing two more in rapid succession.

‘I love you Rich. Not fucking Seth, Fuck that guy. I could never want to be with him, ever. I mean it when I say I love you dickwad, despite my questionable decision, I choose you.’

Richie giggles, hearty when Eddie stands on his tippy toes to kiss his forehead, and for a moment he feels like he’s five years old. He’s glad to have Eddie, and he’s even more satisfied that Eddie wants him back. Not amnesia could stand in their way, he’s so idiotic to believe a guy from Eddie’s fucking job could.

‘Now, come on. First I have to kick Seth’s ass for making my boyfriend cry. I have to set an example here. Then we’ll go home and cuddle okay? We'll clean the salmon or whatever the fuck sentence I'm supposed to make with that and skoot on home’

Richie shakes his head negatively, ‘what about your job promotion?’

As if suddenly remembering so, Eddie grins like a cat that go the cream.

‘Don’t worry about that, I got the job.’

When they cuddle at night in their bad, after a heavy make out session, and a small skype party with the losers in honor of Eddie’s promotion, Richie falls asleep, safely knowing that Eddie was with him, and he no matter what, he wasn’t leaving.

#reddie #reddie fluff #some jealousy #eddie kaspbrack #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak imagine #richie tozier imagine #My writing #it chapter two imagine #I wrote this way too late

100 notes · View notes

pennylanefics · 4 years

Text

first moments

a/n: this is the second part to the pregnancy blurb :) hope you like it!

•••

dennis

- “she’s perfect,” dennis whispers as he strokes your newborn daughter’s head. these past nine months have been a whirlwind of emotions, and the both of you were so happy your daughter was finally here.

“she is. she has your nose.” dennis chuckles and touches her nose lightly with his finger.

“but she looks so much like you.” the sweet moment was interrupted by your nurse coming in to check on you and your daughter.

“do we have a name yet?” she wonders, writing a few things down on the clipboard at the end of your bed. you look up at dennis, knowing he was the one who picked it out; you both agreed on it, of course, but dennis was the one to come up with it.

“maisie rose severs.” the nurse smiles and writes it down.

“i will get her birth certificate ready. Once again, congratulations, she’s beautiful. call if you need anything.” with that, she quietly leaves, giving you three more alone time.

“love, why don’t you get some rest. you must be exhausted,” dennis tells you, rubbing your back soothingly. you shake your head and stare up at your husband.

“wanna spend time with the both of you.” he smiles and caresses your cheek.

“you will have plenty of time to spend with us. please, just get some sleep. it’s close to two in the morning and you just gave birth.” a yawn escapes your lips and you finally give in.

“okay. take her, please?” dennis takes maisie from your arms gently and allows you to get comfortable before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“we’ll be fine, yeah?” you nod and close your eyes, hearing dennis begin to talk quietly to maisie.

“‘m gonna protect both of my girls from this awful world that we live in. i promise to give you two the best lives you deserve.”

liam (his POV)

- “one last push, (y/n)!” i encourage my girlfriend. she groans and leans forward a bit, pushing with all of her might and finally birthing our son.

“he’s here!” the doctor announces, holding him up to show us. tears well in my eyes as i see my son. my child.

“dad, you want to cut the cord?” one nurse asks me, holding out a pair of odd-looking scissors. i nod, not being able to speak, and do as she tells me. after that, i went straight back to (y/n), grabbing her hand and kissing it many times.

“i am so, so proud of you, love. he’s so perfect. you did such an amazing job,” i whisper to her. she is still crying, overwhelmed with emotion and exhaustion. it was nearing three thirty in the morning, and she had been in labor for over ten hours. her eyes began to close shut, but she tried so hard to stay awake and hold him for the first time.

“here you are,” the nurse comes over to us, our baby bundled up in a blanket and hat. “congratulations.” she hands him to (y/n) and leaves.

“he looks exactly like you, li,” (y/n) points out. i chuckle through my tears and press a kiss to her sweaty forehead.

“i can’t believe our son is finally here. this is so unreal.” i was in shock. just last year, we celebrated our twentieth birthdays, and now we’re parents. and honestly, i wouldn’t trade this for the world.

“you know, i was scared in the beginning,” i begin, taking a seat next to (y/n) and wrapping my arm around her shoulder. she looks up at me, waiting for the rest of my little speech. “but after seeing this, you holding him and looking absolutely stunning after ten hours of labor, i’m more than ready to go through this with you.” she begins to cry again and leans into my body. i rub her arm gently and hold her close to me.

“i love you so much liam.” i kiss her once more, then leaned down and kissed my newborn son’s hat clad head.

“i love you too. and i love you just as much, christopher jay.”

eggsy

- a loud cry coming from the speaker sat on your nightstand woke you up immediately. you had been home with your newborn daughter, ruby, for three days now, and it was absolute hell. you were of course happy to have your daughter here, but you were exhausted, you hadn’t had a proper shower since coming home from the hospital, and to make everything worse, eggsy was needed for a mandatory mission a day after you arrived home.

as you were getting ready to stand, a voice came through and began to shush your daughter.

“shh, it’s alright. daddy’s finally home, my little one! yes, i am! i know you missed me so much,” eggsy cooed to her, her cries ceasing almost immediately.

“you need your diaper changed? well, let’s fix that for you.” you stayed put, listening to eggsy take care of her and talking to her.

“there we go! oh, so much better, innit?” tears spring to your eyes as eggsy continues to chat with her, apologizing for being gone, for leaving you both alone when you needed him the most, and even explaining his job to her; he knew she didn’t understand a word, but he thought it would calm her down even more.

when he begins to talk about you, you take this chance to go and see him. you stand in the doorway to ruby’s nursery, seeing eggsy sat in the rocking chair, staring down at his daughter.

“hello, mummy,” he greets you upon seeing you standing there. you walk over to him and stand next to the chair, joining in on watching ruby.

“i’m sorry for leaving you. i begged merlin and harry to let me stay home, but they said it was mandatory and i needed to go. we tried to get through the mission as quickly as possible, but things kept coming up. today, i went to them and told them i was goin’ home, no matter what. and i wasn’t about to argue with them, so i left.”

“are you serious?”

“yeah! kingsman may be my job, but you two are my life now. and i shouldn’t have even gone in the first place. i promise no more kingsman business until this little one is at least a year old.”

“eggsy, you don’t -”

“no, i do. you don’t deserve to be left alone, takin’ care of our daughter by yourself. this is my responsibility as well. i’m takin’ some time off to be with you guys.”

“you are so amazing, eggsy. i love you so much,” you whisper, leaning against him.

“i love you too, hun. why don’t you go back to our room while i put her down and then we can have a cuddle, yeah?”

“sounds perfect. i missed you so much.”

“i missed you too, love. but you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

dean

- just as dean promised, he was there for you every step of the way throughout your pregnancy. when you had cravings for food, he was up and out of the house, getting you whatever you wanted. when your legs or feet hurt, he was more than happy to give you a massage. it surprised you how caring he was, when he could so easily leave and not be involved at all.

his attitude didn’t change when you went into labor, nor did it change when you returned home with your newborn son, oliver. dean was doing everything, even when you insisted on doing it. he changed diapers, put him to sleep, got up in the middle of the night to calm him, but dean couldn’t do one thing: feed him.

around midnight, oliver woke up screaming and dean was quick to rise and run to the nursery. when he noticed oliver’s diaper wasn’t wet, and he wasn’t too hot or too cold, he walked back to your room with him in his arms.

“little man seems to be hungry,” dean says, handing the baby over to you and getting your breastfeeding pillow. you release one breast from your shirt and begin to feed oliver, your eyes closing shut in exhaustion as he ate.

“wow,” dean breathes out from right next to you. upon hearing his voice, your eyes dart to him.

“what?”

“you look absolutely beautiful.” there was the dean you knew.

“dean, stop being a horny fucker for one second.” your response seems to take him aback a little.

“what are you talking about?” you sigh and gaze down at your son to make sure he was still eating. “i mean it.”

“it’s because i have my tit out? that’s why i’m suddenly beautiful?” once again, dean seems thrown off by your reasoning.

“no. you truly look beautiful. taking care and feeding our son that we made together. it’s an amazing sight. and not just when you’re feeding him. when you talk to him, when you play with him, hell, even when you hold him, you look so fucking perfect.” since you were still pretty emotional, dean’s words made you cry after the first sentence.

“are you sure?” you turn and face him. he nods, the sincerity clear in his eyes and on his face.

“dead serious, sweetheart. i love you and our son so much.”

•••

taglist: @loveharrington @buck-barn @arrozsocarrat @inglourious-jules @butlegendsneverdie @1-800-fandomsdestroyedme @thankutaron @toky-9101 @inlovewithmobtom

95 notes · View notes

wazzupmrstark · 5 years

Text

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Sixteen || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: okay there is NOT smut in this part I lied but not on purpose that will be next week sljdlkjasjd it got too late for me to include it but that’s a problem for next week me

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of body image issues

What I listened to while writing: the ocean b i t c h

Word Count: 3.7k

You weren’t a huge fan of beer, but Tom was buying the rounds and that’s what he kept bringing over to the table, and what were you supposed to do? Not drink it? It’d be rude, and turning down free alcohol wasn’t really your style.

After a short, unremarkable dinner at an overpriced tourist spot, the four of you had wound up at a bar, against your better judgement. It was odd to be spending time together as...friends. It was different from the Czech Republic, because now the animosity between you and Tom had been dialed back to almost nothing (aside from the elephant in the room he still didn’t know about), and you were still adjusting to it. The friendly nudges on the shoulder, the laughs sent in your direction, the jokes made at your expense- without any hint of malice. They were all things you’d experienced with Harrison before, but never Tom, and it was disorienting you more than the beer was.

This bar was different from the one the mandatory event had been at two nights ago. No one was in favor of going back there, even if you were the tiniest bit curious about whether DJ would remember you. But after getting shitfaced there last time, everyone thought it was for the best if the group of you went somewhere else, which brought you to this hole in the wall. You had stumbled across it on accident on the way to another bar. The walking GPS had taken the four of you down a narrow alleyway when you passed what you had thought was a garage with loud music pouring out of it. It was another, much lower rated, bar, but they had a live band and that was what sold it.

The band wasn’t half bad and the drummer was kind of cute, but you had to yell across the table to hear each other and it was beyond crowded. The band’s sound reminded you of a small garage band from your hometown that had gotten kind of popular when you were in high school. You couldn’t remember their name, but they played a bunch of gigs at bars and you’d always try to sneak into them with your friends. You’d actually slept with the drummer from that band one winter break in college, so maybe that was why you were so partial to drummers.

At some point in the conversation Harrison excused himself to the bathroom and Tom made another trip to the bar leaving you alone with Harry. Your conversation earlier had been so awkward, that you couldn’t think of anything to say now.

“That picture you took of me sucked,” Harry practically shouted at you, breaking the tension.

You hadn’t been expecting him to say anything and it made you choke in your drink with laughter.

“I thought maybe it could be artsy,” you said defensively, referring to how the different colored lights blended together in the background, obscuring him as the subject.

“No, it was just blurry.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you knew everything about photography,”

“More than you.”

“Fuck off,”

Harry flipped you off from across the table and you whipped out your phone to snap a picture of him before he could put his finger down.

“How’s this one look?” you asked, turning the screen towards him.

“Still awful.”

“Give me break,” you huffed in irritation, earning a chuckle of pity from Harry.

“I’ll teach you, don’t worry.”

You were only halfway through your second Peroni when Tom brought over four more beers, since everyone else had already finished theirs, and slid one of them over to you.You narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

“What are you up to, Holland?” you asked.

He raised his eyebrows at the nickname. “Definitely not trying to get you to spill all of your secrets, that’s for sure,” he laughed.

“I’m an open book,” you said, lying right to his face.

He scrunched his nose and shook his head. “That’s not true. I don’t know anything about you.”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip from the glass you were still working on. “Are you kidding me? We’ve worked together for months now we know each other.”

“You know all about me, literally everything about me, it’s your job. But I don’t know anything about you.”

“Everyone at this table knows I don’t know everything about you,” you said, trying to defer. “Don’t make me look like a fool twice.”

Tom leaned back and took a swig from his new drink. It wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t an empty statement either, and by looking into his eyes you knew he understood.

“I wasn’t-“

“Hey guys there’s a pool table in the back,” Harrison interrupted, returning from the bathroom. He paused, looking back and forth between you and Tom, unaware of what he had just walked into. Tom cleared his throat awkwardly. “Do you all, uh, want to play?”

“Sure,” you agreed immediately, not wanting to dive any further into the gray area you'd gotten yourself into with Tom. You downed the rest of your beer and hopped down from the stool, leaving the full one on the table behind you.

You followed Harrison to the back of the bar, weaving through the mass of people holding on to the hood of his sweatshirt so you wouldn’t lose him. Harry and Tom weren’t far behind. If you’d learned anything about the Hollands it was that they were extremely competitive and weren’t ones to turn down a challenge so this game was about to be interesting.

The lighting was dimmer in the back, and the music and conversation sounded distant now, but it was nice. Whoever had been last to play had left in the middle of their game, leaving the billiard balls scattered all around the table.

Harrison and Tom started setting up the game while you grabbed a couple of cue sticks from the wall.

“Me and Harrison versus you and Harry,” Tom said, and clapped hands with Haz who was already on Tom’s side of the table.

“My own blood,” Harry scoffed, feigning offense at not being chosen as Tom’s partner.

“Sorry, mate trying to win,” Harrison shot back with a wicked grin.

Part of you wondered how often Tom favored Haz over Harry and if anyone was keeping count. The other part of you was a little offended that you were so clearly the teammate to get stuck with. Another thing to bring you back to high school, when you’d get picked last in gym class because of your reputation for your athleticism, or lack thereof.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in annoyance. “I’m standing right here.”

“Please tell me your pool skills are better than your photography skills,” Harry pleaded and you shot him a look.

“Guess you’ll have to hope for the best, since you’re stuck with me.”

All the boys knew your coordination skills weren’t...the best. Your reputation of clumsiness had certainly followed you everywhere, but they didn’t know you used to sneak into bars when you were in high school, and that there was a pool table inside of every single one.

“Ladies first,” Tom said, and removed the triangle mold from the table.

You didn’t respond, only brushed past him to get to the head of the table.

You placed the white ball on the felt and aimed your cue stick at it. With a swift hit, it rolled into the middle and knocked the colored balls on the table in all directions. Luckily, an orange ball rolled into the far left pocket, making you and Harry the solid team.

You went for another, but missed. Harry clapped you on the back anyway, clearly impressed you had scored any points at all.

“Nice, y/n,” Harrison complimented once your turn was over, but you ignored him.

“Mate, whose team are you on?” Tom asked with a nudge to Harrison. He shrugged defensively and pushed Tom back, signaling to him that it was his turn.

Tom rolled his head and shoulders dramatically as he approached the corner where the white ball sat. He angled himself loosely, but purposefully in front of it and wasted no time sending it colliding into a ball with a green stripe. Everyone held their breath as it rolled toward the same pocket yours had gone into and you exhaled in defeat when it tipped over the edge and into the woven net.

The whole game was like that, one shot after another, a point and then a miss, making it a close game the whole time. You could hold your own, but the boys had been in plenty more bars than you had and you were all varying levels of drunk, with you on the tipsier side. Everyone was joking and talking shit about each other and somewhere in the middle of the game you actually started to have fun again. You got to show off a trick move your dad had taught you when you were first learning that had them losing their shit, begging you to do it again with their phones out and pointed at you.

Somehow you and Harry pulled it off with you scoring double points towards the very end and him finishing it off with the eight ball on his next turn.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” you said, pointing at Harry after he’d had taken a victory lap around the table.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” he apologized with admittance.

“You should be I just kicked all of your asses and I can do it again,” you declared, not hearing how your words were starting to slur.

“You did not we were tied for most of it,” Tom argued. “And I’m drunk.”

“We’re all drunk,” you corrected him. “You’re just a sore loser.”

“Accept your loss with dignity, mate,” Harry smirked and tipped his glass back, draining the remainder of beer from it.

“I’m impressed with your skills, y/n,” Harrison said, holding out his hand for a shake. “Good game.”

You just looked at his hand out in front of you. “I’m also good at skeeball.”

The next few days in Italy passed without much incident. There was still chatter on set about your mistake with the headset, which you always double checked was off now, which you probably should have been doing before. You didn’t even talk over headset that often and after yesterday you wanted to use it as little as possible. You were worried that as soon as it cut off whoever was on the other side of the line would just start talking about you, but it wasn’t like there was anything you could do about it.

You never heard about it from anyone above you, though. None of your bosses on set or back at HQ ever contacted you about anything out of the ordinary, so at least you still had a job. It was probably too awkward for anyone to bring up, which was equally as horrifying as it was relieving.

Every time Tom came up to you you were sure he was going to say something to you about the dream, but everyone was being surprisingly tight-lipped about the whole ordeal, which was unusual for the film industry.

Most of the cast apart from Tom and Jake Gyllenhaal left two days before the crew, getting a few days off before they were due in New York. As much as you missed all the horrible fast food there you weren’t as excited to go back to the States as you thought you’d be, even though it meant you were one step closer to this job being over.

You spent the morning of the last day in Venice packing most of your things so you wouldn’t have to do it ridiculously early tomorrow. Tom’s stuff was still absolutely everywhere, he had yet to pack any of it, and you wondered how this boy managed to get anywhere without losing half of his stuff. You were tempted to start doing the packing for him, but knew he’d only be pissed if you did. He was one of those people who believed that every thing had its place and you knew you’d get it wrong if you tried. Plus, things had been going well between the two of you the past few days and you didn’t want to ruin that by letting your handler side get the better of you.

You were almost out the door to meet everyone downstairs for the day when you got a message from Tom, asking you to approve an Instagram post for his feed. You smiled to yourself when you saw it was the picture you’d taken of him that night before dinner. It had only barely been touched by a filter, making the whole picture a little brighter. You liked the way it made his eyes look, and you liked the fact that he had been looking at you.

He’d tagged Harry in the picture and the caption, since he couldn’t tag you of course (he didn’t even follow you) which you thought was a little overkill, but you sent him an approval message anyway since you were running late and everything else looked fine.

When Watts called wrap at the end of the day it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You couldn’t wait to get back to the room and just read for the rest of the night. Maybe order room service.

Everyone clapped like they did when it was a full wrap day since production was moving to a new location and you usually didn’t like to glorify the actors more than they already were, but you joined in, clapping for yourself since you had made it so far, and through so much.

As soon as you were curled up on your side of the bed with your book Tom came crashing into the room from where ever he had just been bursting with energy. He rambled to you about dinner with Watts and Jake and how he and the boys were going to go up to the pool on the roof to go night swimming and about the flight the next day and everything in between.You were only able to follow about half of it, nodding where you thought was appropriate and working in ‘uh huhs’ when you had the energy..

It wasn’t Tom’s fault that his presence commanded so much attention, but you wished that at least once he could walk into a room without captivating everything and everyone in it.

“You should come to the pool with us,” Tom said, popping his head out of the bathroom where he’d been talking to you from.

“Isn’t it cold?”

“It’s a heated pool.”

You shook your head with uncertainty. “My swimsuit is at the bottom of my suitcase,” you protested.

“Come on, it’s our last night in Italy. Don’t you want to make some memories? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

You scrunched up your face, and Tom smirked because he knew you couldn’t say no to him, boss or not. “Fine.” His face lit up with victory. “I’ll meet you up there.”

You stood from the bed with a sigh one the door had shut behind Tom. Digging through your suitcase was even more difficult than you thought it’d be, and clothes were all over the floor once you found your bikini.

Putting it on was a chore as well because as much as you liked the print and color of it, it had taken you a long time to feel comfortable in a swimsuit, and sometimes it was still difficult to shrug off the insecurities that prickled in the back of your mind.

You took one of the clean towels from the bathroom and wrapped it around your body, hoping you wouldn’t run into any other guests in the hall on your way upstairs. Since the pool was only one floor up, you took the stairs, bracing yourself for the crowd of people sure to be out there. It was empty, aside from the boys who were already in the pool, batting around some sort of sports ball.

What you hadn’t been prepared for, though, was the view, and the chill. You wrapped your towel tighter around you, not sure if it would do any good, and took a step closer to the railing. The boys had yet to notice you and you took the opportunity to admire your surroundings. As much as you were relieved to be leaving the city tomorrow, you couldn’t deny that Venice was beautiful, especially at night. Small clusters of stars twinkled around the sky, and the moon hung low, partially hidden behind some distant buildings.

It was mostly dark, but a few windows were lit from within. You imagined parents tucking their children into bed who had stayed up past their bedtime, friends pouring themselves another glass of wine, and lovers putting on an old record and swaying to the rhythm until the needle reached the center.

“Y/n, you made it!” Harrison’s familiar voice called from behind you, and you turned, ripping yourself away from the city and all it’s untold stories.

“I did,” you said awkwardly and cleared your throat. The boys were clearly waiting for you to join them, but you were still standing off to the side with a towel wrapped around your body.

As quickly as humanly possible you unwrapped the towel from yourself unceremoniously and dropped it onto an adjacent pool chair. You felt pairs of eyes taking over your body, but you weren’t sure who they belonged to.

Not bothering to prolong what was already a painful process, you stepped down into the water until you were level with the rest of them, meeting eyes with Tom, waiting for him to take the lead.

He hesitated. You realized that for once the positions of power had been switched and instead of you being the one to tell him what to do, he was going to be telling you. You hoped the power wouldn’t go to his head.

“What about Marco Polo?” he suggested and everyone kind of rolled their eyes. “Anyone got any better ideas?”

No one did, so Marco Polo it was. Tom was it first since he had suggested it and everyone spread out as far as they could across the length of the pool. It wasn’t very big, which made the game pretty easy.

Tom’s arms weren’t very long, but he was fast and before you knew it his fingers were brushing your bare side signaling that it was your turn.

You weren’t as talented as Tom was. Your round took considerably longer than his had, and you spent a lot of time splashing around aimlessly, trying to ignore Harry’s laughter in the background. You wanted to get Tom back for tagging you, but ended up all but tackling Harrison into the water on accident. Either way, your turn was over.

You opened your eyes to find yourself clinging to Harrison’s back like a koala. Sheepishly, you detached yourself from his body and pushed back the hair that had gotten into your face.

“All you had to do was tag me, y/n,” he said, grinning and you shrugged apologetically.

“Just wanted to make sure I got you.”

The game went on for longer than you thought it would, and as it went on you got progressively more competitive. You pushed and shoved your way through the other boys to avoid being it again, and you had a pretty good streak going until Harrison got you back by accidentally backhanding you lightly across the face during his turn.

He opened his eyes with horror. “I’m so sorry I thought I was going for Tom’s shoulder!”

You touched your face gently where it still stung from the impact. “Right,” you joked, but stopped mid-sentence when you realized how bad he really felt about it. “Hey it’s fine, it was an accident.”

“I hit you.”

“We were playing around, I tackled you earlier it’s okay, really.”

Harrison reluctantly agreed, but you all moved on to a different game after that. Harry brought out a football for the four of you to toss around and that’s what you did until Haz decided to call it. He gave some excuse about getting up early for the flight tomorrow and hopped out of the water without further explanation. You knew he still felt shitty about what had happened during Marco Polo, but you didn’t know what to do to make him feel better.

Harry went with him since they were sharing a room, leaving you and Tom alone in the pool tossing the football back and forth. You figured you’d just go back to the room whenever Tom was ready since you wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was back anyway.

“What's your middle name?” Tom asked, breaking the silence that had hung in the air since the other two had left.

You struggled not to laugh. “What? Why?”

“I told you the other night, I don’t know anything about you. This is me trying to learn.”

“Well it sounds like you’re trying to steal my identity.”

He shrugged. “Added bonus.”

“It’s y/m/n, but I’m pretty sure Tom Holland doesn’t need a social security number from someone like me.”

“Maybe not, but I hear American passports are very valuable.” He tossed the football back to you. “Don’t you want to know my middle name?”

“Isn’t it Stanley?” you asked and he frowned. “I sign so many papers with your legal name on it, you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You’re right.”

“When am I not?” You quirked an eyebrow and Tom retaliated by throwing the football further than you could reach on purpose, sending it rolling onto the deck underneath the lounge chairs.

The ball was neglected to be found as Tom continued to pester you with more questions. You humored him and answered them all, telling him about your parents, hometown, college, and how your record for shotgunnning a beer was four seconds.

He listened to everything quietly, only stopping you to boast about his two and a half second shotgun record.

You never thought you’d be having this conversation with Tom Holland of all people, yet here you were, trading stories about near alcohol poisoning under the night sky on the roof of a hotel.

“Guess no one else wants to swim tonight,” you commented offhandedly, glancing around the pool area that had been empty all night.

“Oh, the pool’s been closed since eleven.”

“What?”

this probably has hella typos but i’m so tired. smut next week!! sorry again for all the confustion. lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

Forever Tags: @mischiefmanaged49 @bookingbee @cloverrover @captainbuckyy @perhaps-he-schnapped @awkwardfangirl2014 @the-queen-procrastinator @tastingthestarz @sleepybesson @everythingbooknerd @sunshine96love @bitchymathematician @livingincompletesilence @melsbooktrash @swim-deep-or-die @fizzy828 @spider-slutt @theamuz

WOKO Tags: @parkerstylesperalta @marvelellie @splashofbi @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @timelock97 @ohheyitsem @starsholland @honeymoonparker @zeenee @musicgirl234 @brozekey3215 @tryn25 @gracie4290 @lovinnholland @bluparis @summernykole @alt-ernativewonderland @hbmoore1986 @falling-stars-never-cry @in-the-corner-coffee-please @mihcellejones @lillypedalsxx @thedaydreamingwriter @being-deadly-sirius @sherizaraiyah@missmillions @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @tomsmelanin @dangerousluv1 @xitzbrookiex @illletitgrow @pleaseforthesakeofmysanity @fangirl-juchan @awkwardnesshabitat @hardzzello @canadianjelly @gioandreolli @obsessedmaggiemay @almostrosadiaz @beepboop67 @stargazerholland @claredolphinbear24 @storytimexmendes @lokihatemyselff

send me an ask to be added/removed from a taglist

#tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom #tommy #woko #were only kidding ourselves #tom holland x y/n #x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic

654 notes · View notes

mostajadat24 · 4 years

Text

Countries With the simplest And Worst Education Systems within the World.

When considering which countries have the simplest and worst education systems, one has got to take into consideration various factors. Overall literacy and graduation rates are important. Also, what percentage of grades are publicly funded and free for college kids to attend? Countries on top of this list even have high rates of graduates happening to higher degrees. Here may be a list of the five countries that rank among the simplest education systems within the world and therefore the five that are leaving their students far behind.

Countries with the simplest Education Systems:

Finland:

What puts this Scandinavian country on the highest of the list of best education systems? Among other things, their system does well: free school meals through all grades, well-respected teachers, and a “learn through play” strategy of education. Not only do they need consistently high literacy rates (99% in 2018) and grade completion, but they even have good student/teacher ratios. In 2014, Finland averaged about 13 students per teacher in grade school. Finland is the model for public education.

Japan:

Japan’s famously rigorous teaching system starts early, and Japanese students spend longer within the classroom than the other country’s students. Japanese students consistently place higher in standardized testing, but which will be a function of the competitive school culture instead of that specialize in student needs. highschool isn't mandatory, but the enrollment rate is 98%. to urge into the competitive high schools, many Japanese students steel oneself against the doorway exams in after-school prep. It’s not surprising that Japan features a 99% literacy rate, but did you recognize they even have a 99.99% school attendance rate? Students don't skip class during this highly competitive culture.

South Korea:

While statistics are virtually unknown for his or her North Korean counterparts, the South Korean system ranks among the highest systems for education. Education is very emphasized in South Korean culture. Children spend 16 hours each day learning, combining school with after-school prep classes. They also spend almost two months more in class per annum than Americans. South Korea has the very best high school graduation rate (97%) and therefore the highest college graduation rate within the world (69%).

Denmark:

This country is usually recognized among the simplest systems in Europe, with 99% literacy. While Denmark tends to rank lower on such metrics as resource availability, it's shown improvement in its learning environment. it's done this by lowering student/teacher ratios and increasing its specialize in younger students earlier in their development. Not only is college education free in Denmark, but Denmark grants its college students a $1,000/month stipend for living expenses.

Norway:

This country rounds out the highest five countries with the simplest education systems. Norway has achieved great strides like Denmark in recent years, taking a page from its neighbors and increasing student to teacher ratios. They boast a ratio as low together instructor for ten students and have a stellar literacy rate (99% in 2018). Norway reformed its education system in 2006, making I.T. (information technology) a compulsory subject. Most counties offer students specializing in I.T. in upper lyceum a free laptop.

Countries with the Worst Education Systems:

The sad thing about the list of worst education systems within the world is that it’s primarily thanks to one thing: money. Many of the poorest countries cannot afford to supply much education to their children beyond a couple of years of elementary studies. While many rock bottom ranking nations are located in Sub-Saharan Africa, the list doesn't only include countries from that continent. These are five countries with high adult illiteracy, low enrollment, and high dropout levels.

The central African Republic:

What is the rationale this country might be labeled as having the worst education system? it's just over 50% adult literacy. Its low rating is thanks to the long years of internal violence and the high rate of refugees leaving the country. Schools are notoriously underfunded, and teachers often go unpaid. Furthermore, materials like books and teaching supplies are scarce, and there's very low attendance.

Pakistan:

Despite having a primary, secondary, and high school system, Pakistan has one among rock bottom per-student expenditures. And there are low rates of attendance, particularly among girls, whose parents don't allow them to get quite a basic education. It’s estimated that up to 4.5 million school-age girls in Pakistan don't attend school. The literacy rate for ladies in rural areas is shockingly low, a mere 9.5%.

Angola:

This African country has only four years of free education per student, starting at age seven. then, children can go further but their parents must foot the bill. It’s estimated that 70% of Angolan boys don't attend school. That number is higher among girls, who are expected to remain reception. but one-hundredth of scholars goes far enough to urge a university degree.

Myanmar:

This is another country whose internal conflicts have taken a toll on their people. School isn't funded, and therefore the high poverty levels make it about impossible for youngsters to attend. Also, the govt makes it difficult for ethnic minorities to urge an education. most youngsters drop out of faculty by the fifth grade.

Mali:

This West African country is one of the world’s poorest. Half the population lives below the international poverty line, which is USD 1.25 per day. While education is free, and basic education is nine years, the value of supplies like books makes school out of reach for several children. Fewer than half the adults in Mali are literate.

#country #simplest #worst #education #system #world

2 notes · View notes

alongthoselineswrites · 5 years

Note

Plance: Kiss prompt #13??

*squints to see if I read that right* OK, Kiss on the ear it is.

#13: Kiss on the Ear.

Canon-verse. Post season 7. ~1000 words. Tooth-rotting fluff. Enjoy!

She had fallen asleep in his room again.

It’s not like it was even a new thing. They had been doing this for months, finding excuses to rest in each other’s company.

The first time it had happened it had been completely unintentional. Pidge had been in his room playing Killbot Phantasm I with him after Allura had taken to Lotor. Lance had been extremely grateful for Pidge’s company that night. They played late into the night, laughing and having fun; and now that Lance looked back on it, they had done a lot of flirting. When they woke up the next morning they were spooning in front of the television. They were awkward around each other until halfway through breakfast when Lance laughed so hard at one of Hunk’s jokes that he snarfed his space juice, and after that they were back to normal.

The second time, Lance had been keeping Pidge company after Matt had left again with the rebels. They talked about Earth and joked and Pidge worked on a project she had going, and Lance fell asleep playing on his phone on her bed at some point. Pidge, not wanting to sleep on the floor, crawled into bed with him later in the night, and they woke up cuddling again. They were considerably less awkward about it the second time.

Since then, it had become less of a “accidental” thing, and it became obvious that both of them preferred to sleep next to someone than by themselves. Lance knew that in the same way he purposefully visited late at night with the intention to fall asleep, that Pidge sometimes found excuses to come play video games at all hours. They had even started bringing their own pillows, and Lance had had a second stash of beauty supplies in Pidge’s bathroom.

There was even one time that they had both had the same idea to come and visit the other, and met accidentally in the hallway halfway between the two rooms. Blushing profusely, they decided to spend the night in Lance’s room, and walked there together, still slightly embarrassed.

Lance supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that the tradition continued now that they had returned to Earth. Especially since the two weren’t able to go stay with their families, who were living in nearby apartments on garrison property. The Paladins, however, had to live in the dorms, since they needed to be available at a moment’s notice.

Which led to today. Lance had been up for almost a half hour, going through his daily beauty routine, and Pidge had been staying with him long enough to not be woken up by his early morning movement. But with Iverson’s mandatory daily briefing less than twenty minutes out, Lance knew that he needed to wake her.

It had taken him longer than he was willing to admit, but somewhere in the process of all of it, Lance had fallen hard for the small green paladin. It had happened slowly, in the sure and constant way that the movies never talk about. It was practical and beautiful and strange; completely new and yet not changing a thing. His feelings defined their relationship for him, and if Lance was a betting man, he would put money on the fact that Pidge harbored some sort of feelings for him as well.

“Pidgey.” He singsonged at her from the entrance to the attached bathroom, but she didn’t stir. As he finished drying his face, he walked over towards their bed. My bed, He reminded himself sternly. Pidge and him weren’t dating, and had never even talked about whether or not they had romantic feelings for each other. They just happened to share a bed nine nights out of ten.

As he approached her, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked, starfished on his bed the way she was. In the back of his mind, Lance realized that the idea of having a girl in his bed should have had a sexual connotation, but he could only think of how adorable she looked; drool and all.

He leaned down, planning to whisper in her ear for her to wake up, when he was struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss her. Lying on her back with her head turned slightly towards the wall as she was, Lance had limited access to her face, and the most easily reachable part of her was her ear.

It seemed an odd thing to do, but Lance had been a paladin for too long to blink an eye at something that seemed odd to him. He had seen and done many strange things.

Which was what led him to gently lean all the way down and press his lips to the shell of Pidge’s ear. After a second or two, the girl began to stir, and Lance pulled away, abruptly remembering their status as “just friends.”

He didn’t retreat far though, and when Pidge turned her head drowsily to find what had woken her up, her confusion fell into contentment as her eyes found Lance’s. She yawned, exposing Lance to her fowl morning breath. She was lucky that it didn’t diminish his love for her.

She smiled softly, “Good morning, Lance.”

Lance chuckled as his eyes roamed over her face, taking in every detail of this precious moment, “It’s time to wake up, Pidge. We’ve got morning briefing in,” he looked at his watch, “eight minutes.”

Pidge groaned, before sitting up on the bed, leaving Lance crouched at the side. She gently rubbed at the ear he had kissed, and Lance felt his face heat up as a confused expression once again took over her face. She turned to Lance, and looked like she was about to ask a question, but stopped herself.

“What?” Lance said as she continued to give him a strange look.

She seemed to debate for a couple moments more before asking, “Did you kiss my ear?”

Lance thought he might die from the embarrassment.

#plance #pidgance #alongthoselineswrites #kissing prompts

149 notes · View notes

gregbaumann-blog1 · 5 years

Text

Breaking Bad

That would have been a great title for my book if it wasn’t already taken. But I’ve come up with a better working title for this project. The title I came up with several years ago was “Serving Sentences” based on the fact that I first started putting this story to paper after finding my old high school buddy, Spencer Clauss, in prison and becoming pen pals over the next four years. On my first visit to see Spencer in prison several months after finding him, I made a pact with him that I would write him a letter for every letter he wrote me from prison. This began a four-year period of Spencer and I trading stories on a monthly basis and “serving sentences” to each other (pun intended) as we had agreed. Sadly, Spencer never heard the end of this story due to liver cancer, which claimed his life on June 4, 2018.

I started looking for Spencer after attending my 30th high school reunion in Seguin, TX in 2007, and asking some of our old pals if they had heard from him or knew anything about his whereabouts. The rumor among my pals was that Spencer was dead following a heroin overdose “a while back.” That seemed perfectly plausible, but I wasn’t satisfied with that answer until I could verify it as fact. I did all the usual google searches trying to find my long-lost buddy, but came up empty-handed. I gave up trying to find him for several years, when out of the blue, I had a hunch to do an inmate search on the Texas Department of Criminal Justice website. I typed in Spencer’s name and found him instantly - it was that easy - I just wished I had thought of it three years earlier. I also learned that he was in prison for the third time since high school. This time, it was for attempted robbery with a firearm. He was nine-years into serving a mandatory 20-year sentence with no parole. Spencer wouldn’t be a free man again for another eleven years, meaning that he’d be 66 years-old. After the horror of spending just one night in jail after being framed by Yvonne, I couldn’t imagine waking up in Spencer’s shoes. I still can’t.

Spencer was my first life experience of having someone close to me break bad. We met when I was 14 years old shortly after moving from Dallas to Lake McQueeney (just outside of San Antonio). Spencer was 15 and going on 25. He grew up on the South Side of San Antonio (which had a reputation for being a tough part of town), and he already had enough life experience to write a book. I was a square, straight-A student from a Catholic grade school in Dallas. I had been an alter boy and a boy scout, and up until I met Spencer, I had never uttered a curse word in my life. Spencer was fluent in cursing. He articulately used the word “fuck” as a noun, an adjective, a verb, an adverb, an exclamation, and a prepositional phrase, depending on the context he was making use of the word for. This impressed me, despite the fact (or maybe because of it) that English was my favorite subject in school.

Spencer had gotten in trouble living with his mother on the South Side, and already had a rap sheet as a juvenile. His mother sent Spencer to live with his dad on Treasure Island, an affluent community on Lake McQueeney, in the summer of ’73. That was the same summer my family moved to Treasure Island, and it wasn’t long before I crossed paths with Spencer. Everything about Spencer was “cool” - from hIs hair (he wore a dirty-blond afro), to his voice (he was articulate and he had a smooth delivery), to his clothes (bellbottoms were the rage and he wore them with swagger), to his personality (people tended to gather around Spencer, especially girls), and last but not least, to his motorcycle (a blue Honda SL100). With all that going for him, Spencer had me at “hello,” not to mention that I had a Honda SL100 of my own (mine was green). Spencer and I bonded over our otherwise identical motorcycles, and became best friends and riding buddies overnight.

Its no secret to my Facebook friends from Seguin that I was a “head” in high school. If you’ve seen the movie “Dazed and Confused,” you’ve seen the movie of what life was like as a “head” at Seguin High School in the mid-70’s. This is where being a Gemini helped me. Gemini’s are said to have twin personalities. I think of it in terms of being like a chameleon and being able to switch “colors” instinctively in order to blend in with your surroundings. This gave me a natural talent for maintaining separate identities, one for my parents and one for my friends, and being able to make a seamless transition between the two. Thus, I had my parents fairly convinced that I was still a goody-two-shoes even though I was hanging out with a certified juvenile delinquent and quickly learning his trade. As a freshman and sophomore in high school, I could ingest just about any mind-altering substance and still present myself as “normal” to my parents and teachers. This would keep me out of trouble at home and at school for the most part because, unlike some of my friends (and especially my brother, Randy), I functioned pretty well stoned and didn’t “knock off” (the 70’s term for looking stoned). I would lose this ability around the age of 17 (which is when I decided to go straight), which is when my friendship with Spencer fizzled out as quickly as it started. By my Junior year, Spencer had gotten into so much trouble around Lake McQueeney that he was on my parent’s shit-list and I was banned from hanging out with him. As a result, I went to elaborate measures to maintain my friendship with Spencer and stay under my parent’s radar. We would hang out on “the street” before school, go to lunch together (which usually consisted of a reefer followed by a honeybun and chocolate milk), and hang out at his dad’s house across the lake after school when my dad was out of town, which was often because he was an airline pilot. Spencer’s dad (Spencer Clauss, Sr.), was married for the first two years of our friendship, but when Cathy divorced him, he hit the bottle pretty hard and stayed out late chasing women every night while Spencer, Jr. and I drank his bourbon and got stoned.

Things took a dramatic turn for the worse when Spencer made the regrettable error of breaking into the Ski Lodge twice (a private club on the lake that both of our parents were members of). He got away with the first break-in, but he got busted for the second, and his dad and step-mom got kicked out of the lodge as a result. This caused great embarrassment to Spencer’s folks and precipitated their divorce, and it led to Spencer being “Public Enemy #1” in the eyes of the community. It also led to the aforementioned ban (by my parents) on our continued friendship. It wasn’t as easy to spend time with Spencer after the second lodge break-in, and he began hanging out with older losers and getting deeper and deeper into drugs. It finally reached a point in our senior year that I had a “come to Jesus” talk with him about where his life was headed if he continued down that road. He didn’t want to hear any of it (which he confirmed on one of our prison visits), and when I told him on New Year’s Eve of 1976 that I was getting stoned with him for the last time that night, and that I was going straight when the sun came up, he told me he didn’t want to hangout with me anymore if I was going to be “uncool.”

When school resumed after the holidays, I had changed into a new man and no longer hung out on “the street” before school, no longer hung out with my “head” friends, and no longer got stoned. I wouldn’t hangout with Spencer again for another 37 years (2014) when I started visiting him in prison…

To Be Continued…

1 note · View note

scrthaddct-blog · 5 years

Text

Just A Few Moments @ Main St Station

I was waiting for my heroin dealer’s coke dealer.

John, my heroin dealer, could be relied on to have heroin 90% of the time. Other dealers were 50% on a good week. So I liked John, and tried to give him my business whenever possible. Sure, it was a mission to get to Main St from College and Bathurst, especially since my other dealer was at Howard Park and Roncesvalles, but I owed that guy $30 from two months ago and hadn’t gotten around to paying him back, probably because I’d recently gone back to blow after a long layoff. I hadn’t quit heroin or anything, and in fact had already grabbed a few points from John, but I wanted some coke too because I liked to be awake for the heroin high. Usually John would have everything ready at his apartment, which was eight minutes east on foot, but today his dealer was late so we were waiting together in that vast atrium below ground level but above the subway platforms

I typically saw John two or three times a week but our meetings were terse affairs, a few kind words during the exchange, meaningless banter or some grumbling about the Way Things Were. but today his dealer was two hours late and we were swiftly running out of common ground.

John was older than fifty and probably bound for the penitentiary. He’d been busted twice the previous autumn, with heroin both times, heroin containg fentanyl because all heroin these days contains fentanyl, but the cops inexplicably charged him with possession of carfentanil with intent to distribute, a crime that carries a mandatory prison sentence.

This all happened during the opiate crisis when fentanyl was in the news all the time. There were few facts but plenty of hysteria and misinformation. If a person in pain is administered an appropriate dose, fentanyl is a highly effective and safe painkiller, but carfentanil is lethal to humans at any amount, even a dose as infinitesimal as a grain of salt. I’d been buying and enjoying John’s heroin for over three months when they grabbed him, and there was simply no fucking way it contained carfentanil. That shit is for rhinoceros surgery, and John wasn’t a fucking zoologist. He was, unfortunately, an ex-convict with numerous prior offenses, making prison all but guaranteed. His trial kept getting pushed back and he didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, it delayed his inevitable incarceration. On the other, his lawyer was an addict and John was paying him in heroin.

“Motherfucker’s costing me a fortune,” he growled, pacing up and down. He was always pacing, like he was subconsciously rehearsing for jail. He had miraculous energy, John did, up at seven-thirty in the morning to head to Queen Station and sell to his nine-to-five clients, fanning out around town between ten and three, hitting the injection sites and miscellaneous workplaces (like mine...can’t tell you where, sorry). If you wanted drugs from him after three, you had to head up and over to Main St, where John was shooting up and making flaps for the following day, finally nodding off around midnight. He never stopped, John didn’t.

Another thing: he looked wildly different in age every time I saw him. And I don’t mean he was rapidly aging. He’d look thirty-five one day, like a senior citizen the next, then in his forties the next. It was fucked. I never asked him about it, though I wanted to. John was a unique guy. A fireball. Even when he looked old, he never stopped radiating fierce vitality. The thought of him behind bars made my chest feel funny. It wasn’t right to put him away like that, to stomp on someone so alive.

As we passed our second hour of waiting, I began to fidget. John had regaled me with detailed descriptions of seemingly every street fight he’d ever fought in, or watched from a safe distance, and I was bored. I didn’t doubt the veracity of some of the stories; we met at Yonge and Dundas one summer day and he was limping badly, his face covered in fresh cuts. But he was in a good mood. He swore he’d won, despite being outnumbered, a number that no doubt changed each time he told the tale to somebody.

He could lie sometimes, and he ripped me off a few times when I started buying blow because I actually thought a gram was $200, since a gram of heroin is $200, but after I’d bought three grams from him I learned that a gram of coke was in fact $100 and he’d been overcharging me by a criminal 100%. I didn’t pursue the matter, but the next time I told him I wanted blow, I made sure he knew I intended to pay $100 per gram moving forward. I still liked the guy. And it was my kinda fault for being so ignorant anyway. I wasn’t going to find a better dealer. I wasn’t. As I said, John always had heroin ready to go, but it was more than that. When you’re an addict, you get this exaggerated fondness and respect for your dealer. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s a form of Stockholm Syndrome. Doesn’t matter. Point is, I liked him. He was like the cool uncle you only see every other Christmas, the one your Mom insists you stay away from because he has a “checkered history” and always smells strange and musty, like he spends a lot of time gardening.

“Dumb motherfucker,” John muttered.

“Your lawyer?”

John looked at me like I was stupid. “No! My coke guy!” He was still pacing. He was on something, but it wasn’t heroin.

“Has he texted?”

“Only like...fifty times. Said he was leaving Broadview an hour ago. Then he said ‘just a few moments’ a half hour ago.”

I frowned. Broadview Station was twelve minutes away. But I knew John well enough to know that he would take any criticism of his coke dealer’s lateness as a criticism of him, John, an attack on his judgment of character. I had to sound diplomatic, almost neutral. “Is this guy… reliable?”

“Of course,” John narrowed his eyes at me. “He never ghosts me. He...oh! There’s one thing I should tell you.”

“Okay.”

“He kinda has this thing.”

“Okay…?”

“Uh…”

“Just say it.”

“He kinda thinks he looks like Robert Plant.”

I blinked. “What?”

“He thinks he looks like Robert Plant.”

“So...what am I supposed to do about that?”

“If he brings it up, just agree with him.”

“What?”

“Or if he asks you if you think he looks like anybody, tell him he looks like Robert Plant.”

“You want me to tell a grown man that he looks li-”

“YO!” a voice bellowed.

We looked. A man with sopping wet hair was grinning at us - well, at John - from the top of the escalator. He hopped off with an awkward lunge. Behind him a young woman was cresting the moving steps, sipping a bottle of Nestea and wearing some kind of sweater with a single sleeve.

“Hey!” John called back.

The cocaine dealer was wearing a wrinkled black and blue ski jacket he was keeping unzipped. Actually, “wearing” is too generous a verb for how he wore the jacket. The thing was hanging off him, almost like it was alive and trying to get away because it found him disgusting. He looked familiar, though, and as he got closer I realized something astounding. Astounding and...confusing.

The man looked exactly like Rod Stewart. Not Robert Plant, not even a little bit. But he looked every bit like Rod Stewart.

I turned to John in amazement. “Did you mean Rod Stewart?”

In a flash, John grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. He was not play fighting, he meant it. He sidled over to me and said through gritted teeth: “Robert. Plant. Okay?”

I nodded, terrified, and John released his grip and turned to greet our company. The man - Rod Stewart...I mean Robert Plant - hadn’t seen the scuffle. He was preoccupied with the young woman, who was nodding at everything he said but obviously not listening and obviously bored. As they approached I saw that she was wearing gauze on one arm, a hastily prepared cast of some kind, flapping wildly from that weird subway wind tunnel effect.

Rob motioned at them to follow us into the corner of the vast concourse, the corner with the bank of payphones. Nobody else was down there except for a busker in the very middle of the room. The guy seemed to know just three songs that he played over and over and over. As we were waiting earlier John had gone over and requested some Led Zeppelin but the dude shook his head, a pretentious I’m-the-artist-and-you’re-not gesture, and resumed his turgid trio of dirges. I didn’t recognize the songs and neither did John. They must have been originals. They were atrocious and also indistinguishable from one another. People passed him hurriedly in ceaseless procession, but nobody tossed coins and none of them gave us a second glance. It was a perfect place to buy or sell drugs. Yes, the omnipresent eye of the camera followed our movements, but does anyone actually monitor those things?

John had already taken his scale out of his backpack when I joined him at the payphone bank, Rod Stewart and his friend arriving moments later. He was still talking at her, and you could see from his body language he was bragging about something, something he considered an achievement of magnitude. You could see she was too tired to hate him. She would wear him down, over time, with her vast indifference. She would outlive him and inherit his empire. Or not.

Rod Stewart surreptitiously tossed a big bag of coke at John, who immediately got to work. relieved to have something to do with his hands, just relishing the task. I hope one day to love my job even half as much.

“Cover me,” John said over his shoulder. “All of you. Pretend you’re on the phone.”

Rod Stewart and his partner ignored him, which made me feel like I couldn’t. I had to show them whose side I was on. There were four phones, so I picked the one farthest from the wall, farthest from the booth John was using to weigh the coke. I figured Rod Stewart would use his bulk to hide John from the steady stream of people heading for the escalators. But instead he did nothing. He just stood there like the asshole he was proving himself to be.

Feeling stupid, I picked up the phone and turned my back to John. Rod Stewart and his companion were still oblivious to the world around them, only now the young woman was speaking, berating really, and I realized she was a mail order bride. She was growling at him in a foreign language, Romanian maybe, something Eastern European probably, when she looked at me and instantly softened and smiled and for just a second I believed her before realizing she was only trying to make Rod Stewart angry and jealous.

He turned and saw me and visibly balked, rearing back with a sudden jerk, and I realized he hadn’t noticed me until that very moment. (I was doing a lot of realizing that afternoon, a thought which was itself a realization, I realized.) Here we go, I thought. Once again, having waited too long somewhere with someone, I have found myself in a circumstance of imminent violence. All because I like drugs because they help me forget I’m me. I don’t like being me. I don’t like me at all. Lots of people don’t like me, for good reason. I “borrowed” money to buy drugs, I stole, I cheated, I lied. And I’m sorry for all of it. But I swear on everything I’ve ever loved that it didn’t feel like a choice. It really didn’t. I was on autopilot. I had one directive: Get drugs. And I did everything I could to fulfill that directive.

Does that mean I deserve a beating? Probably. But if I have to die a drug related death, can’t it be closer to downtown? One of my old home stations? (That’s the station nearest your place, which is probably self-evident so sorry for explaining.) I’ve moved many times, though rarely by choice. You get kicked out of places a lot when you’re a drug addict. In my case, not for behavior. I don’t drink all the beer in the fridge or stagger home at 3 AM and play loud music. I just have a tendency to spend the rent money on drugs. I spend all money on drugs, a standing policy that has brought me here, staring at an angry man who looks like Rod Stewart and wants to hit me. He is breathing slowly and glaring at me, just staring and not moving.

One must adapt to the highly fluid circumstances endemic to the purchase of hard drugs in low quantities. Rich people don’t have to put up with this shit. They buy in bulk. There is a delivery service here in Toronto, possibly fictional but whispered of in hopeful, reverential tones, that offers every drug ever. Anything you wish, right to your door. One former dealer of mine (dead from OD) told me the minimum order for this mythical service is 5k. My Roncesvalles-Howard Park man snorted at that figure and insisted it’s only 2 grand. John insists it’s $10 000. Imagine that. Having the kind of money to order any drug you want, or might want later on. That’s the life I liked to tell myself I deserved, not a life of evading marauders and ersatz-Rod Stewarts, waiting for my heroin dealer to weigh out a fucking gram of coke, after already waiting two hours before that for my heroin dealer’s coke dealer who looks like Rod Stewart but thinks he looks like Robert Plant whose companion from Eastern Europe has an injured arm he was obviously responsible for to show up and WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING THESE PEOPLE SO LONG

YOU ARE DRUG DEALERS! DEAL DRUGS!

As the big galoot gaped at me, taking in my presence and blurting random vowels, John daintily picked a large rock of cocaine from his bag, not mine or his own, snorted it, and winked at me.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed one of those sudden laughs that sounds like a bark, further confusing an increasingly agitated Rod Stewart until John, turning back to his scale with a studious frown, like he’d been there the whole time, said casually over his shoulder, “that’s my boy I told you about. He’s with me.”

Just like that, like pressing enter on a password in a video game, Rod Stewart nodded and backed off.

Saved by John. What a guy. He’s with me. A wonderful phrase. Uttered by my dealer without forethought but nevertheless filling the father-sized hole in me, a warm sense of belonging, of mattering, spreading through my lower region...or else I was sicker than I realized (despite all the realizing going on elsewhere) and needed either heroin or a toilet very soon.

But even if the feeling was gastrointestinal distress, it didn’t diminish the sweetness of John’s sentiment. I was with him. I was not with Rod Stewart. I grabbed the phone because John told me to, making my allegiance plain, and it felt good to have John reciprocate. I decided to snort some H right then, to sustain the warmth inside me, when four police officers - Toronto Police, not Transit Cops - materialized seemingly out of nowhere at the bottom of the escalators and sized us up.

There was nowhere to run and they damn well knew it, and they knew we knew it, so they were taking their time, as police like to do when they know they’ve got you, like a cat toying with its prey. Taking pleasure in the kill.

More than a little belatedly, Rod Stewart and his friend from Eastern Europe picked up their respective phones and began nattering nonsense as John hurriedly swept the cocaine crumbs away and stuffed all three bags of it, his own, mine, and Rod Stewart’s, down the front of his pants. If we aren’t arrested, I thought, ask John if he’s wearing underwear.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my phone, closed my eyes and murmured an agnostic prayer, which goes please please please please please please please please please until someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Expecting a looming cop, all sarcasm and accusation, I was flabbergasted to see John grinning and pointing at the cops, all four of them, standing in the center of the room, interrogating the talentless busker, who was sputtering and kinda scared, and in that moment I forgave him his crimes against music and loved him for being my diversion. Our diversion.

The TTC has a recorded announcement that plays over the speakers inside every single station, something about reporting misconduct or felonious acts. I can only remember the ending: If you see something, say something.

We watched as the cops led the guy out of the station, his body language dramatically changed, gone from confident musician to sniveling inmate. He shot a helpless glance at me as he got on the escalator. I gave him a soft wave and a kiss. I’m an asshole.

“Poor fuckin loser,” Rob Stewart said, shaking his head.

“Here,” John handed me my bag, mercifully free of pubic hair, and I went home and snorted coke and heroin in alternating increments all night and into dawn until both were gone and I went to sleep and when I woke up I felt empty and lonely and depressed so I crawled out of bed and tried to figure out the quickest way to get drugs again.

I did not thank what or whomever I’d prayed to.

#mainst #heroin #cocaine #TTC #robertplant #rodstewart #easterneurope

4 notes · View notes

cloudyhyunjin · 6 years

Text

Runners

you can run and you can hide just don't die

OT9//Angst//2.8k

a/n: i can already tell that this story is gonna rip my fuckin heart out

In the beginning, there were ten of you, but now you were the only one left. You were the only one to make it out of the trial alive. It wasn't the first time you came out as the lone survivor, and it wouldn't be the last.

Once again, you found yourself sitting next to the neatly dressed men and women, the suits and dresses adorning their bodies splashed against the dark colors of the walls and table. There were at least two seats on either side of you that separated you from them. They looked at you with disgust in their eyes, some of them gagging at the smells floating off of your clothing. You couldn't blame them for their reactions. Blood and dirt covered your once tan clothes, and the hair on your head had become all too matted over the past two months. You looked awful, incredibly awful. But did they have to be so rude every damn time? You looked down at your hands and cracked your knuckles, your eyes coming back up to meet with those of the Doctor as the last crack rang throughout the room. Chills ran down your spine as you looked at him. You would never get used to the piercing red eyes that met yours every time you found yourself in the meeting room.

"Congratulations on making it through your most recent trial Y/n." His hands moved to the top of the table and his fingers intertwined. "You're our best runner yet." The smile on his face steadily grew. Officials crowding around the table copied his strange expression.

"You only have a few trials let Y/n." A blonde official sitting next to the Doctor spoke up. "After you finish the trials you'll be able to move on to stage two." You moved your eyes from the Doctor's to meet with those of the blonde official. You stared at her for a few seconds in an attempt to get her to say more. She stayed quiet. You rolled your eyes and sighed before speaking up or the first time.

"You said this was going to be my last trial." The room stayed quiet, the same sinister smiles plastered on the faces of every official. "It's been three years since my first trial. I should be on stage two already." The smiles that were once abundant disappeared as you finished your sentence. The Doctor sighed and stood up from his chair quickly, the chair tipping over and slamming into the ground in the process. You didn't flinch at the sound like he expected you to, like how you used to. He walked with a slow pace as he made his way towards your side of the table. He sat down on the table right next to you, his right hand moved to your left shoulder and squeezed lightly. His eyes scanning your face trying to read your emotions. A soft smile appeared on his face before he spoke.

"I think you should go take a shower Y/n." The Doctor removed his hand from your shoulder and wiped off the dirt and blood onto his pants. "It looks like you need one, an I can only assume that you want one." The smile on his face formed into something a bit more aggressive as he finished his sentence. You knew that you had no choice but to listen to him. Your hands moved to the arms of the chair as you tried to push yourself up. Your legs were still sore from all of the running you had been doing for the last three months. Your head felt fuzzy, and your legs got pins and needles the second you stood up. You needed food. You had barely eaten anything for the previous three months due to the trials. The Doctor walked right behind you as you stumbled towards the large grey door in the back of the room. Your bloodied hands pushed as hard as you could at the door, a blinding light flashing into your eyes as you walked out of the meeting room and onto the balcony above the courtyard. You looked back at the Doctor and gave him a fake smile before pushing the door closed. You rested your head on the grey metal of the door for a few seconds as you took in the silence of the people sitting in the courtyard below you. Everyone was looking at you, waiting for you to say something or do something. You pushed yourself off of the door and turned towards the stairs leading into the courtyard. Your hand wrapped around each of the railings as you slowly made your way down the stairs. Your legs almost gave out with each step you took.

"Can I give you a hand?" A soft voice rang out as your foot hit the third step. Your head shot up to make eye contact with one of the other runners. His hand wrapped around your waist before you could decline his help, but you needed his help. You let go of the railings and placed your left arm around his shoulders. Your right hand grabbed his, which had tightly held your waist to try and keep you steady. The two of you walked cautiously down the stairs, his arms supporting you almost the entire time. You appreciated his generosity as he walked you back to your room, but it was clear that he didn't know who you were. You dealt with it though. For the moment, you enjoyed the random act of kindness. His left hand left yours for a second so that he could open the door to your room. "I'm Chan by the way.” You looked up at Chan and made eye contact with him. He gave you a soft smile before helping you onto your bed. You groaned as your back hit the firm mattress, it had been months since you could sleep without worrying about dying. You took the opportunity and fell asleep right away, forgetting to thank Chan before you did. ~ You woke up to loud snoring coming from the other side of your room. You had been living alone for the past year, so snoring wasn't something that you heard often. Your eyes shot open to meet with Chan's face. He sat asleep in the chair across the room from your bed. His mouth hung open, and his head rested on his shoulder. You looked at him for a few seconds before pushing yourself out of your bed and walking to him. You pushed lightly on his shoulder to try and wake him up, but when that didn't work you kicked his foot instead. Chan jolted upright and pushed himself and the chair away from you at the impact. He looked at you with wide eyes, and his breathing got heavy for a few seconds before returning back to normal.

"You get scared easily," you commented and sat back down on your bed, the springs in your mattress making noise as you did so. You looked at Chan and tried to figure out how long he would last in a trial. He was a decent height; small enough to hide and tall enough to scale fences and walls. He didn't look very thin which meant that he probably took advantage of the mandatory training hours instead of fooling around like everyone else. You figured that he would be a good partner, but being paired with him meant you would have to look after him and his group. He would be too much of a responsibility. You hoped that by the time your next trial came around your districts wouldn't be paired together.

"I don't get scared easily." Chan sat up straight in his chair before running a hand through his hair and bending over to place his elbows on his knees. You chuckled at his comment and copied his actions. The two of you sat in silence for a few more seconds before Chan decided to speak again. "They're announcing the second district for the next trials today. We have to be down there within the hour." You tilted your head to the side and looked at Chan with narrow eyes.

"They're already pulling for the next trials?" You struggled to push yourself off of the bed, Chan saw this and quickly stood up so he could help you get up. You grabbed his arm for support as the two of you stood in the middle of your room.

"They've already pulled for the trials," your eyes widened with surprise and your head whipped up towards Chan's face.

"Who did they pull?" you prayed that they didn't pull your name. You were the only person left in your district which meant that you would have been paired with others from different districts to make a group of at least ten. Chan chuckled at your concerned expression before replying.

"Don't worry they didn't pull you," Chan gave you a soft smile "they actually pulled my district but we only have nine so they'll have to pull someone else. It won't be you, you just got back from a trial." You tried to accept his reassuring words, but you were a bit too worried to calm down. He seemed too soft and easily scared to last long in the trials. You hoped that there were people in his district that would be able to take care of him.

"Good luck on your trials, Chan." You patted his shoulder lightly and tried to smile as best you could, but it didn't come off the way you wanted it too. You pushed yourself away from Chan and walked towards the door. "I'm gonna go take a shower. You can go back down to the courtyard, I'm sure your district is probably concerned about you." You put all of your effort into opening the door but it barely moved. Chan chuckled behind you and walked over to give you some help, the two of you leaning forward with the movement of the door. Chan thought about letting you spend the rest of the day alone, but he knew that you wouldn't be able to make it through the day without someone helping you out. So, he grabbed your arm again and placed it over his shoulders like he had done a few hours earlier. He practically dragged you to the showers, it was the first time in months that you had a chance to properly clean yourself. You tried to take your time, but the voice of the Doctor rang out through the loudspeakers every few minutes to remind everyone to make their way to the commons. You rushed to finish your shower and then get dressed before Chan once again helped you walk to the commons. ~ You sat at the very back of the large grey bus, your right hand mindlessly playing with the hole in your pants. Chan was wrong, so incredibly wrong. Only one person was needed to join their trials, and your district just so happened to have only one person left. Of course you would be pulled. You looked up to the boy on the other side of the bus, he was probably about the same age as you were during your first trial. It was easy to tell he was nervous, even if the harsh movement of the bus helped to conceal how much his hands were shaking. You leaned forward and placed your elbows on your knees. He took notice of your movement and looked up at you with wide eyes.

"Are you nervous?" He nodded his head slightly, confirming your suspicions. You smiled at him and thought about how you could reassure him. "Don't worry, nothings going to happen to you." He moved forward in his chair and you leaned closer to him again.

"Are you sure?" His voice was just above a whisper. You chuckled and nodded your head as a response.

"I'll keep you safe." He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes. His shoulders falling as he breathed out, almost as if he was trying to relax. "What's your name?"

"I'm Jeongin." A grin spread across his face as he introduced himself, his braces being exposed with the action. You smiled back and started to lean towards him to pat him on the knee. However, your action was cut short by the bus braking harshly. Your right shoulder slammed into the back of the bus, the boy across from you doing the same. Your hand flew to your shoulder and you heard groans coming from the other boys. You barely had time to check to see if Jeongin was alright before the back doors of the bus flew open. Streams of light entered the bus along with the sound of footsteps.

"Alright, I'm gonna call off two names. The two of you will exit the bus and make it to the maze's center on your own." The booming voice of the Commander rang throughout the bus. Some of the boys looked at him with fear in their eyes, others seemed too worried about the trial to be scared of him. The Commander scanned over all of the boys before his eyes landed on you, he smiled at the sight of you and turned his whole body in your direction. "So, they pulled you again."

"Max, be nice to them please." You stood from your seat on the bus, your hand still gripping your shoulder. The Commander chuckled at your use of his first name, his hand moved to your head and patted it lightly. You moved your hand from your shoulder and pushed him away. You grabbed your shoulder again and turned your head to look at the boys before continuing your conversation. "It's their first trial and they're all nervous. Let me pick the duos, please Max." Max smiled softly at you and placed his hand over yours on your hurt shoulder.

"You know you've always been my favorite little bird, and I'm always rooting for you." He pulled your hand off your shoulder, he tilted his head and spoke again. "But, I can't let you choose now can I?" He turned away from you and grabbed the clipboard from one of the other soldiers. Max flipped through a few pages on the clipboard, he chuckled at the papers and looked back up at you. "Looks like you and Hyunjin are up first little bird." Sounds of confusion erupted behind you, you could hear a few of the boys reassuring Hyunjin that he would be just fine. You turned around just in time to see Hyunjin standing up from his seat. He looked at you with determination in his eyes, if he was scared he didn't show it. You turned back around and walked to the back of the bus before jumping onto the soft sand below you. A quiet thud came from directly behind you, and you turned around to see Hyunjin sitting on the ground. He looked at his hands for a few seconds before brushing the sand off of them. He looked around the area at the large hills spanning for miles. The maze was just barely visible with light beaming from the city that sat in the center of it. He was dazed and you wondered if he would ever come out of the trance that the landscape had him under. You snapped your fingers a few times, his eyes quickly coming to meet yours at the sound.

"Try not to fall behind." Hyunjin fumbled as he tried to stand as quickly as possible. Even though the space around you was silent you assumed that he couldn't hear you. "Hey, if you fall behind it's gonna take longer to get to the center so try and-"

"Yeah," Hyunjin interrupted you as he dusted all of the sand off his pants. "Keep up, if I fall behind I die." He looked back up at you, the fear in his eyes that was absent before now hard to miss. You turned your head forward and motioned for him to start following you.

"You're not going to die Hyunjin." You tried your best to sound convincing, but it was hard. You had never been good at lying in the first place.

#sk-writersnet #straykidznet #forskz #masterlist #stray kids #angst #fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids ot9 #yang jeongin #hwang hyunjin #bang chan #runners

43 notes · View notes

pixiealtaira · 6 years

Text

Dragged Kicking and Screaming ( 10 / 22)

Title: Dragged Kicking and Screaming

Or How Burt Hummel Mashed the Hummels and Hudsons Into One Functioning Family.

Characters(s): Kurt, Burt, Carole, Finn, with short appearances by the New Directions guys and various ops who mostly take up space. Rating: PG13 Summary: Somehow the Hummel household and the Hudson household had to come together…

Chapter Nine

(Authors note: Sorry, Have been caught up n trying to script write for summer musical theater camp...there has got to be a template for it out there somewhere for free, but i never did find one. One scene fixed...two or three more to go. But at least the casting was finished and we don’t think we forgot anyone. however...we have to add characters and lines...we had more kids than parts!)

10.

Breakfast wasn’t pretty. Carole was mad at him, Finn was mad at him and Kurt was just mad. Finn had broken the head of the shower in the bathroom downstairs and hadn’t told anyone. Kurt had had to spend over an hour cleaning up after trying to use the shower. Burt had sent him upstairs to shower before breakfast and told Finn he was buying the new shower head with his own money…Burt would be taking him as soon as they were done and if Finn didn’t produce enough money to pay for it and Burt had to…Finn would be shoveling snow from the shop’s parking lot for the next two months without any compensation for it…in other words without pay. Carole huffed about it but she was holding her head and kept complaining that he was moving the house too much so Burt didn’t really care. She hadn’t appreciated him making her get up and telling her her hang over was her fault, not his, and he had no sympathy for her at all. Kurt had made breakfast, like he said he would, but he made crepes and a frittata, things that Carole and Finn were not used to eating. Finn insisted he should be able to go so he could find real food. Kurt lectured Finn on how what he had made was real food, especially compared to Finn’s sugary dry cereal. Carole snapped at the both and tried to go back up to bed. Burt refused to let anyone leave the table …even after they ate. Well, he let Kurt leave long enough to grab the stack of notebooks and pencil pouch the boy had brought up with him…then he made Kurt sit and stay as well.

“This is the first Hummel-Hudson Family meeting,” Burt said. “We will stay here today until we have come to an agreement on how we are going to do things as a family. I’ve played it everyone else’s way for a bit over a month and come to a conclusion that we should have done this day one, maybe even before day one. I have a list of topics. I am writing everything down. Kurt will write everything down too, I’m sure. If anyone else wants to write things down, go now and get paper and pencils. No one? Good. I have calendars and charts and everything we need. Is there a topic anyone would like to start with?”

Kurt went to say something and snapped his mouth shut, Burt scooted back his chair far enough to see Finn kick him under the table again.

“Finn,” Burt said. “Maybe we’ll start with things like that.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Finn snapped.

“I saw you kick Kurt.” Burt said.

“No,” Carole said. “We’ll start with schedules.”

Burt nodded, but wrote down Finn’s physical picking on Kurt on the side.

Burt pulled out one of the big desktop calendars they had made for the garage every year. Kurt could tell it was the most recent version and one of the promotional ones that they offered customers, along with the checkbook size or the little sticky backed ones that could go in cars.

“This will sit on the island part of the counter that no-one eats at. I want on it work schedules, games and concerts, dates and nights out to the movies, baby sitting, trips, anything that planning must be done for or money must be used for or people should attend. You will put on it school schedules and afterschool practices, and before school practices. I want to see listed places where you will be driving, like to the movies or mall, if they are planned before hand or places where you might need to be driven, as the case may be. Remember, you are to call and get permission to be someplace else other than what is listed on the schedule so people know where you are. Always. I will be assuming that if you have not listed a different destination on the schedule, you are home. IF you are not and have not permission to not be home, you will be punished. Any gathering at the house needs to be listed if it is larger than three and/or it needs food. Does everyone understand? It won’t just be you boys either. Carole and I will have our schedules and whereabouts listed on the calendar as well. It is just as important that you two know where we are as it is that we know where you are. IF we cannot manage this and we are still running into problems because people were not where they were supposed to be when we move into a new house, we will implement Sunday Night Family Planning Meetings. These will be non-negotiable and mandatory.”

Kurt nodded and Carole nodded. It was nothing new for Kurt; they’d always had one on the fridge. Finn just glared at it and had been for so long that Kurt suspected he also hadn’t been listening to anything Burt had said.

“Why are there already things written down? If I didn’t say anything nothing should be written, that’s not fair.” Finn asked, unable to read the entries upside down so tilting his head oddly and leaning sideways till he was almost falling out of his chair. Kurt snorted.

“Calendars list holidays, Finn. Friday Night Dinners are also already listed. Friday Night Dinner is non-negotiable unless you cannot make it due to a school event, then we’d better know and be invited if possible.” Burt said. “You WILL be at the table, not just in the house. IF someone has to work, we will eat either early or late. If something is very important, you can make a case for you to be able to miss Friday Night Dinner and I will decide if it is a good reason. Kurt, try to get things set up so that you have left Dalton by 4pm on Fridays, if you can. This semester’s set up wasn’t too bad, but I am aware you might have latter classes since early ones won’t be an option. I can tell you right now, a date is not a good reason unless it is Valentine’s Day, on your significant other’s actual birthday, or an actual anniversary of a year or more.”

“Mom!” Finn whined. “I can’t eat here every Friday Night. I’ll get teased.”

“You have not missed being in the house at dinner time on Friday night yet,” Burt said. “Even if sometimes you didn’t come to the table and expected to have your dinner brought to you…which will not happen any longer. There have been too many accidents that have not been cleaned up and too much trash left lying around. Dinner time will be marked on the schedule and we will eat together as a family unless you are not home for dinner, which will be known about because it will be marked on the schedule. Everyone will eat at a table, in the kitchen or dining room, unless a large enough gathering is happening that requires people eat elsewhere. If that is the case, whoever invited people over is to make sure everything is picked up and cleaned up within three hours after their guests have left, unless given specific permission for it to wait. Right now I will let people eat chips and popcorn and other snacks of that sort outside of the kitchen and dining room, but nothing else. No more plates or food boxes left on floors for days, no more spills left unattended. IF you eat outside of meal time, you clean-up after yourself. You put your trash in the garbage, you clean your dishes, and you load them into the dishwasher.”

Kurt groaned but nodded.

“But…” Finn started again.

“But nothing. I’m sorry if this will be odd for you Finn, but you will get used to it. Next topic?”

“Money,” Finn shouted.

“Ok. Allowances. Carole what do you give Finn for an allowance and what is it dependent on?”

“He gets 50 bucks a week.” Carole said. “It isn’t dependent on anything; he needs money as a teen so he can do things with his friends. I give him extra money for things like taking his girlfriends out or going to the movies or doing other more expensive activities.”

Burt looked at Carole with wide eyes and Kurt struggled not to laugh.

Carole smiled indulgently at Finn. “I also reward him when he does a good job at something and when he does something I ask and when he asks for money I give it to him if I can.”

Burt wrote notes on the paper in front of him. Kurt kept trying to peek at what he was writing.

“Can I get a ball park on what you just give to Finn when he asks?” Burt asked.

Carole shrugged and started to answer but Finn interrupted.

“How much do you give Kurt?” Finn asked. “I mean he has his fancy car and fancy clothes and all that fancy shit for his face and all his gadgets, you must be giving him a HUGE allowance and I want in.”

Kurt snorted.

Burt smiled. “You want to change your allowance system to Kurt’s, huh?”

“Yeah.” Finn said.

“Finn, I’m not sure…” Carole started but Finn interrupted her again. She shook her head, groaned and scrunched her eyes tight before placing her head back into her hands.

“He always has money, Mom. I mean he has to have a huge allowance to buy his clothes and crap.”

Carole lifted her head to look at Finn, who was rubbing his hands together and sighed.

“Ok, Finn wants an allowance like Kurt has. We can work with that.” Burt said with a smile and Carole slapped her hand against her forehead and then moaned in pain.

“Kurt gets a base 10 dollars for his weekly allowance and half must be placed in his savings account. Two weeks a year Kurt gets 20 dollars as a base, right now he has chosen the first week of June and the first week of December as those weeks he gets more. On top of that, Kurt gets paid for chores done around the house. When all his household chores are done he gets five more bucks a day. He washes dishes, sets and clears the table, cleans and vacuums the common areas –kitchen, dining room, downstairs rec room, living room and main floor bathroom, he cleans his room and bathroom and I check every day before bed to see if it is done. He makes breakfast. On days he makes dinner he gets another half dollar. In winter he has to shovel the walks. In summer there are gardening chores. He gets another 10 bucks if he completes the weekly chores: shoveling the driveway completely, cleaning the bathrooms- all of them, mowing the lawn or weeding the garden. Then there are the big chores: cleaning out the fridge, doing any deep cleaning of the carpets, heavy gardening, deep cleaning the bathrooms and any other big chore I list. Our deal is one big chore a weekend for free. Any other big chore I’d like for him to do is paid on an individual basis. There is a list in the pantry. He only gets paid for those if he completed the chores every day and all his weekend chores and if I asked him to do it or I OKed it as a paid chore. If he didn’t whatever big chores I ask are just done. No complaints. Grocery shopping is generally gas plus 10 bucks, unless it is just a run to the store and then it is just a flat five. If he has to use his own money for family groceries he is reimbursed, but he has to have the receipt. At the end of the calculations Kurt must put 25 percent of what he earned on top his original 10 in his saving account or his collage fund, and 10 bucks into the grocery jar if he has eaten more than his designated snack allotment for the week, and provide all his gas money past his every other week fill-up. This will change when he is driving to Dalton, I will drive him there once or twice and calculate the mileage and pay for his gas to and from the school. Oh, we will be setting up a fund for Finn to use for further study after high school…it cannot be touched until then. We do have a deal that in October and December Kurt only has to put 10 percent of that above the initial 10 in his savings or college fund. Kurt buys all his gifts for friends and family members. Kurt also gets paid 10 bucks an A and 5 bucks a B when report cards come in. He is docked 15 bucks for a failing grade. In this house that is a D or F. I do pay for school lunches monthly. If Kurt eats something not covered by a meal, anything extra he has to pay.”

“Mom! No way! I don’t want Kurt’s allowance system anymore. Mom!”

“Tough luck, kid.” Burt said. “If you keep your system, you will still be doing chores, you just will not get paid at all for doing them. That is one thing that is changing in this household. I am not a slave, your mother is not a slave and KURT is not a slave.”

“But….I can’t do chores. It’s not manly to do chores.”

“Do you want me to go ask all your buddies if they have to do chores?” Burt asked. “I will and I do not think you will like the answers I get. In fact, let us start with Puck. Or Mike.”

“No!” Finn shouted.

“Now, if we split up the chores, we half the amount each gets…and some will also be done by your mom and I. So should we discuss money more or do chores and then come back?”

“Let’s finish the money discussion, Dad.” Kurt said quietly.

“Ok….so we will start with a base of 15 now, since you boys won’t make as much on chores but neither will anyone have huge burden of chores. So everyday chores will be 2.50 a day and I will still pay a full 10 for weekend chores, even though those will be split as well. Kurt will still get an extra 50 cents when he cooks dinner, and Finn can as well if he cooks and dinner is edible. Grocery shopping will stay the same although I am willing to look closer at that due to the time that adding more members of the family will generate. Grades will stay the same…remember I need the report card to get the money for those. Kurt…I will dock for unfinished supplemental courses, and it will be more than 15 for those. The amount which goes into your savings and college accounts will stay the same. However, I will admit that outings might take more. So, each of you will get 20 extra for movies or taking friends out to lunch on a shopping trip or bowling or such…at the time you need it, not every week, mind you. I think we will start with twice a month and if you abuse that drop it to once a month. So, you’d better remember that and plan accordingly. However…I need to know where you will be and who you will be with and you must prove you went out where you said you were going. “

“But…” Finn spouted. “How am I going to have any life at all? I can’t live on so little! And with so many questions.”

Kurt sighed and rolled his eyes.

“If you do your chores every day you get 17.50. IF you do your weekend chores that is another 10 bucks that you have earned, sometimes more, but will just figure in the least amount right now. We start with 15 dollars. That is 42 dollars and 50 cents that will we earn for the week, without any extras. AND Dad is offering 20 extra bucks for doing things with friends more than once a month. You can earn more if you get things together.” Kurt said.

“You don’t understand, Kurt. Mom gives me money all the time. I just say, Mom I need a ten and she just gives it to me. THAT is how this whole parent thing is supposed to work. She asks me to wash the car and I hesitate and she gets me something, so I wash the car and she rewards me with something else. I ask for a new game and she gets it for me.”

Kurt laughed at Finn.

“You are probably the only kid whose parent works like that. Most parents try to teach their children responsibility and a good sense of work ethic. Oh, and a bit of honor.” Kurt said.

“I am not doing chores and I am not doing anything I don’t want.” Finn said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you are.” Burt said. “If you don’t do chores, you don’t get to go out and do things and you lose privileges.”

“What?” Finn shouted. “You can’t not give me money and punish me!”

“You are being asked to do something. In not doing it, you are being disrespectful and defiant and you are not doing your share. Doing chores, doing your share as part of a family is how a family manages to live together. If you don’t care to work as part of a family, well that is your choice, but you don’t just get to ride along for free. You lose your ability to have friends over, you lose your ability to have a cell phone, you lose your ability to play games and watch TV. You will find that all you are able to do is homework and read a book. Oh, you also start losing things when you get bad grades and break rules.” Burt said.

“But…” Finn said.

“And Kurt gets paid if he does your chores…your pay.” Burt said.

“Mom!” Finn shouted.

“I’ve been telling you for years you needed to do some chores, Finn. Now maybe you’ll do them.” Carole said. Then she turned to Burt. “However Burt, Finn needs more money than what is currently being offered. Going out on dates is expensive and the girls want at least two or three dates a week. I think Finn needs to start with at least 25 bucks as a base, maybe 30. And I’ll cover at least one of his dates a week…so I’ll give him at least 50 for that. He’ll need that every week.” Carole said.

“And Kurt?” Burt asked.

“Kurt what?” Carole asked.

“Are you covering all of Finn’s allowance?” Burt asked.

“Well, if we are going to do allowance as a family than I figured it would come out of the family account, so no.” Carole said.

“But you are giving Finn an extra 50 a week anyway? So are you giving Kurt anything?” Burt asked.

“Kurt isn’t MY kid, he’s YOUR kid.” Carole said.

“I thought they were our kids now?” Burt asked. “Well, then I’ll just have to give Kurt an extra 50 as well. After all, he is bound to need it.”

“You can’t do that! What about Finn? How is Finn supposed to understand you care about him like a father if you do that?” Carole snapped.

Burt just looked at her.

“If you give Finn 50 bucks a week, I will give Kurt 50 bucks a week. IF you bribe Finn, I will bribe Kurt. OR we as a family can work as a family and live as a family and not set our kids against each other. Allowances stay as is, unless I can be convinced that the base needs to be raised. I will need facts. Furthermore, Finn does not need to take the girls out two or three times week. Not unless his grades are stellar and he’s done his chores. It is time some things start coming first, and those things are not what has been being put first. Finn will just have to get used to it. If need be I’ll explain it to Rachel, or Quinn…or whoever Finn is dating…and their parents. Now, this holiday season is a bit far into it for us to be changing how Finn gives gifts, so I’m willing to allot each boy 150 bucks for buying gifts for friends and whoever else they need to buy for. Finn, if you don’t think that will cover things get Kurt to help you shop. Anything else on allowances?”

Carole and Finn looked at Burt wide eyed and Kurt just hummed and wrote in the note book…Burt could see the figures off on the edge. He watched as Kurt added different sets of numbers for different scenarios, a half smile on his face while he did so.

“Anyone?” Burt asked again.

Everyone shook their heads. Burt smiled.

#glee fanfic #burt hummel #Kurt Hummel #hummel household

4 notes · View notes

idolizerp · 6 years

Photo

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON OLYMPUS’ LEAD DANCE SUNGYEOL…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 30 DEBUT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 19 SKILL POINTS: 08 VOCAL | 17 DANCE | 00 RAP | 15 PERFORMANCE SECONDARY SKILLS: Variety

INTERVIEW

“Who do you like the most out of your members?” “Oh, I love all of them equally.”

Sungyeol was a perfect contender to become the big brother within the group.

“And between the MCs, who do you like better?” “Neither. I like Yoo Jaesuk best, sorry.”

But his personality is a bit too strong and his remarks are a bit too unfiltered for the title. So they make him a fun two-sided coin. In between his lack of interest and deadpan comments towards in front of the cameras that are interpreted as humor, a softer side peeks trough when he’s with the members. Cameras capture him handing out drinks, in smiley conversations with the rest of the group or in the crowd of fans during the member’s solo schedules, acting as support while his disinterested face is a reoccurring joke. The sole ambasador of faking sensibility and a great dynamic between the members, wit quick enough to brush over any slip ups and make them into jokes.

It’s endearing. The silent promise of a wildcard that only broods on his loved one. It captures some fans from the start despite the popular dislike of his styling — hair too permed on skin too tan for 2010.

It’s no surprise that his deadpan expressions and smartass answers to questions received during interviews gathered some mixed reactions. When some fans and netizens took offense, the majority were quick to reason and enjoyed his “sense of humor”, making some screen captures of his remarks into relatable jokes. They got a chance to feel proud of it when his personality earned him some solo activities. The first years of his career were relatively busy with promotions and a few variety appearances here and there that gained some attention.

He was forced to appeal to fans, all smiles and friendly conversations, fitting reactions to problems expressed and heartful thank yous to compliments received. Harsh remarks coming from him were covered up by smiles and innocent laughter to make the idea that Sungyeol said it just to be likable and quirky believable. It seems to be a good match with his evolving styling, gaining more eyes and a silent ‘Sungyeol can do no wrong’ mentality. It was a big bite he couldn’t swallow. Keeping the image up ended up his biggest struggle when he progressed to exhaustion and complete resentment towards the idol world. So much that the company pulls him back before he could crash and fall into the darkness of his own mind and ship him off to execute his mandatory military service early. It leaves a lot of fans torn, how can Midas send Yeollie off so early without any reason?

While serving the police didn’t change him, Midas wanted people to believe it did. The request after he comes back is that he shows more of his so-called brotherly side to people outside of the group, projecting a vision that he grew out of his remarks into a man somewhat resembling the second lead in a drama. He plays along with the modern day torture for a few years, any minor slip up quickly covered.

It was almost disgusting. How clean he was.

BIOGRAPHY

01. His parents worried about the weeping baby that didn’t have that much interest in anything other than crying. Day to night continuous howling that wished his father good luck at work and welcomed him home after a long day in his office. The pediatrician always joked “You will have some lungs there when you grow up, little one.” whenever they took him in for a visit in hopes to find a cause for the constant screaming. They never did. It appeared their infant had simply found a hobby he was unwilling to give up on. Until one day he did, scaring his parents. “Honey, Sungyeol isn’t crying,“ a glass breaks and two pairs of feet run to find their child alright.

That’s how he led into life, full of passion until he got bored and never revisited it again.

02. The mother slapped sunscreen on the nine-year-old’s cheeks that were already too tan to fit into the traditional lines of ‘pretty’, while other pairs of eyes in the room were on the TV. It showcased fingers moving across the strings of a musical instrument, something Sungyeol had expressed interest in loudly that day. After football lessons and multiple other athletic hobbies he partook, music seemed out of place.

A few months later Sungyeol found out that the instrument he saw on the screen was the violoncello. Much too big for his childish frame, a size to grow into, his teacher told him. It was an idea he chased for five years, surprising his parents with the dedication towards mastering the instrument that grew in size together with Sungyeol. He enjoyed the strings vibrating beneath his fingers. There was even pride in him, that he could read notes and add his own character with a tug of a bow over the strings (“Sungyeol, classical pieces should be played classically, please stop with the interpretations.”)

It’s almost like life disliked the idea that a boy with little interest kept a hobby up for such a long time when a trip to a ski resort ends up with two broken wrists and a fractured nose. The damage was almost forgotten months later, both hands healed and the nose reshaped into something much straighter and prettier. Except that the moment Sungyeol held the cello again, his hands cramped up, the bow dropping to the floor minutes after it was picked up. Likely nerve damage, doctors tell the Kim family. Truthfully, they didn’t know why the young boy’s hands kept cramping up in certain positions or why they were always shaking. All they suggested was dropping the instrument to prevent further complications.

Maybe because it was taken away from him before Sungyeol could lose interest was why the somber brought out by any piece played by Rostropovich felt like a direct stab.

03. When his parents suggest other instruments, they meet with a political response — “I’m gonna focus on my studying (career)”. And he does. Sungyeol really, really tries to make his grades go up, spending the newly found free time in the school library. Grades do go up until he’s bored of the books and chasing people that studied with him in long hours became more interesting than an eighty on a test.

He’s also bored of himself. Or so it seems as his character flips. A call that had his mother rushing to the school to meet the class A homeroom teacher still in her nurse’s outfit only to find that her son was healthy and alright. It was his attitude that was concerning. Frankly, the teachers didn’t find his snarky remarks and sarcastic answers to questions as amusing as the students in the classroom did. “It was all in good humor,” Sungyeol hissed out at his mother as she dragged him out by his ear that day. No form of discipline helped, any move Sungyeol’s parents made further fuel for more embarrassment he caused them the next day.

They said it was just a little rebellious phase. Something that all sixteen-year-olds face. But traces of it never left Sungyeol, forming the boy into an eccentric, out-spoken individual. He never thought twice about how appropriate the content that left his mouth was in certain occasions, earning just as many curious glances as he did glares.

04. Joining an idol company was supposed to teach him discipline, a punishment in his father’s eyes, a blessing in the eyes of his mother (her H.O.T Tony t-shirts collecting dust somewhere in the back of their closet). At first the standing in lines, filling out forms, collecting numbers with little company logos on them is like a joke. But the smile he carried gradually subdued with every ‘no’ received until getting into a company became a matter of principle. Sure, he wasn’t all that, but he still was something; not an exquisite singer but could read and match notes. And he could move well enough without tripping on his own lengthy limbs. It’s not like he’s that much worse than the remaining peers in line.

The fact their son is serious about idol training doesn’t pass the head of their family, who tried to convince Sungyeol to stop with the idol delusion. “You learned your lesson, now prepare for exams.“ It was the same day Sungyeol passed an audition. The company that took him under it’s care wasn’t Midas or MSG, but it was big enough to invest time and money into the seventeen-year-old that ends up in a different company in the end, a mere year later.

05. Training in Midas was a living hell. Good was far from perfect and perfect was never enough. More than the long hours in practice rooms, the sore throat and aching muscles, Sungyeol was bothered by the amount of commands he had to listen to daily. It could have been bearable had no one expected overcompensation every step of the way. When beyond the limit was the norm, doing just enough was the equivalent of slacking, Sungyeol falling under the later category for the first months of his training in Midas.

”What if I want it just as much as the next person, I’m just too exhausted to do anything else.“ A remark that followed him like a shadow, shared during one of the evaluations he was marked average on. There was no space for whining in the trainee world so it slapped him back a few steps, the company finding his statement as weak and unworthy. Just like his father did the last time they’d spoken on the phone. Sungyeol’s involvement in a silly entertainment industry was the talk of the whole family, all in line of more traditional professions, was something the young man learned in the first company he trained at. His mother was proud but their traditional household was dominated by the father figure, who decided to cut ties with his son during the third year of his training in Midas.

(“Sungyeol, what is your relationship with your parents?”

“It’s great <…>“)

Sungyeol wasn’t aware of whether he’s still considered a part of the Kim family. At least he got to debut. At cost of his own family. At cost of his own health. At cost of potential friendships in the company. His father’s tone and the setback in training ignited an ‘I’ll show you’ attitude. It wasn’t a pretty sight on the trainee, as he bit at whoever came close to him and ended up in petty conflicts with other trainees. Kim Sungyeol wasn’t the most popular in the bunch, but the work he put into becoming a presentable personality and execution of choreography was well received. Enough to get him a spot in Olympus. A title of a lead dancer — something he wasn’t born into but rather earned and grew into. It was no secret he overcompensated for his defected hands in training after exchanging his dorm mattress with the wooden floor in the practice room.

06. After fighting for a spot in the upcoming group, reaching his goal of the spotlight, Sungyeol surprisingly isn’t bored. Debut was a new territory. One he stepped into with permed hair and tan skin, a styling that wasn’t received that well but grew on people. Mostly because of his quick wit and forward answers. They invited him to do small variety gigs, unimportant shows that had slight increases in ratings considering the loyalty of Olympus’ fans. It lead him into one notable appearance in Infinity Challenge in which he kept calling out to God Yoo. There were subtle whispers of test shots and recurring guest spots on more significant TV programs after that.

No matter how much he enjoyed variety, he suffocated under the big brother role he played the majority of the time. At first he thought he was just bored of playing his role and simple distractions would clear his mind so he could come to work every day and joyfully pretend to be who he wasn’t. He took up a lot of things in the shadows. They often got more attention from him than his actual job in his juggle of both. Sungyeol frequented university, learned a few crafts and involved himself into well hidden relationships that never lasted with his quick-moving pace. Nothing pulled him out of the hole he felt he was falling into.

It starts within his eyes and seeps into his bones. You look at him and there’s nothing. A spark ignites in front of cameras but he’s faded the next minute when they’re off. It catches the attention of Midas due to the excessive image control. It was hard to miss, since Sungyeol started showing up late to schedules, stayed quiet in meetings, starring at one particularly interesting spot in the ceiling and nodding along when someone needed his attention. The obvious lack of character was distressing. There was no spite or anger in his actions, Sungyeol reminded more of a person that was exhausted of his own life. The conclusion swooped the Olympus’ team into a discussion of what to do next.

How unfortunate that he couldn’t drop a ten year contract without repercussions.

They ship him off to serve the police force. A distraction from his sinking character that might have started to show in public had they waited longer. It leaves fans in confusion, why would a twenty-five year old idol leave so early. But if Midas says that it’s for personal growth, it’s for personal growth. If Sungyeol says that he’s doing so in order to be with Olympians without any distractions in the future, it must be it.

07. The police force felt like a vacation. Sungyeol did not want to come back to the reality that was his; discord with the members and playing some role he wasn’t cut out for him in the first place. There was naive hope that his company will let him grip onto the side of his image that was closer to him. That part of him was quick and snarky. Interesting and much truer. But they want the brother. A twenty-seven year old that is ready to put forward his mature side, showcase that he grew a little as a person every time he put on his uniform. Someone who learned to care for anyone around just as he cared for the country. Reasoning with the company just makes him feel like Sisyphus.

He has patience to play the role for three years, participate in soft-cut TV programs. A particular Hello Councelor guest appearance snaps people into viewing him as someone fit for a particular style of variety.

(“Sungyeol, there’s a story about a father refusing to care for his son, play it up.”

“How?”

“Can you tear up on demand?”)

Until he feels like he’s slipping back into the hole he was in before his service. Trying to upkeep people’s expectations of him. A best version of him that wasn’t at all Sungyeol. Instead of slipping back into it he takes another road — anger and resentment. Instead of losing his personality, he triples it. It ultimately results in slip ups, his true self peeking in the family friendly TV shows.

“If this is such a huge deal, why not send me off to Running man or something…” it comes out as an innocent though. It means to linger.

All Sungyeol gets is a maybe. And maybes don’t resign contracts.

#id.bio #id.midas #id.olympus #id.shim changmin

1 note · View note

micahrodney · 3 years

Text

Thread; Chapter 3 - Over The River

The following is a commission for Matthew Caveat Zealot. Neil screamed, and started forward. His head collided with something hard, but it wasn't his claustrophobia-inducing ceiling. As the foam-padded leather made contact with his face, he realized he was no longer in bed. The young man was sitting upright, belted into the rear passenger seat of his father's Plymouth Voyager.

“Whoa-” Neil's father cried in response, nearly losing control of the vehicle. “Are you okay?”

Taking stock of his new reality required some mental recalibration. Last he remembered was spending the evening with Damian. The people-pleasing and worldly youth had been attempting to get Neil to broaden his horizons – and more relevantly his palate – by eating some chicken dish called Tom Kha Gai. Afterwards they went back to Neil's place and may have had a bit to drink. He vaguely recalled getting a voicemail from his father. His dreams were vast and vivid, but as he tried to scrape together the scattered fragments of his vision they faded away. More importantly was the rather noticeable gap in events.

Neil took a deep breath as his father began to steer the vehicle towards the side of the highway. The digital clock above the tape deck read 5:45 PM. A large highway sign revealed that they were just 60 miles outside of St. Clair, Michigan. They were 300 miles from his dorm room.

To his left was his sister, Dawn. She was the younger of his two sisters, but she still had two years on him. While the older sister, Kim, had been the spitting image of their mother, Dawn looked more like their father. Her hair was naturally chestnut brown, though it was presently dyed black with electric yellow streaks, the better to match her grunge aesthetic. Dawn's usual attire was comprised of leather jackets and jeans, though she was wearing black sweats for the road trip.

Occupying the passenger seat, into which Neil had just rammed his head, was his brother Travis. His beard seemed to have grown two inches since they had last spoken. The boisterous one in the family was oddly quiet today, wearing a plain forest green sweater. This was also a far cry from his Hawaiian shirt obsession.

“Neil?” His father asked, after putting the car in park on the shoulder. “You good?”

“I'm sorry, I just had a nightmare I think,” Neil explained. Maybe he was still having a nightmare.

That, or he had somehow lost several days of his life. They were on their way to his mother's memorial, which meant he had somehow fast-forwarded his life by about three days. Which begged the question: how the hell did that happen and why could he not remember any of it?

“It's a nice change of pace, dude,” Dawn said, her attention split between her Gameboy, Walkman and the stick of gum she was chewing on. “Honestly you've been kind of a zombie since we picked you up.”

“Oh yeah, says the Borg,” Travis teased.

“Don't hate my tech. It makes the real world way more bearable,” Dawn retorted, resting her temporarily-misplaced headphone back over her ear.

Neil took special notice of the word 'zombie' and decided to expand on that thought. “Have I been acting weirdly?”

“I mean I figured you were just sad because of... you know,” Travis gestured towards the others in the car.

It had to be especially hard for him, now sitting in the spot where their mother had for most of their lives, until the accident. Three years had passed by in a miserable blink. What were three days in the grand scheme of things?

“This is gonna sound weird,” Neil began, and that was putting it mildly. How exactly did one ask the question he was going to ask?

“That would be a first,” Dawn quipped sarcastically. Clearly The Smashing Pumpkins were not excluding her from the conversation.

The proud patriarch Kevin Brown turned to Neil and gave him that same kind and understanding gaze that he always did. His gentle eyes, that distinctive cleft in his chin, and a soft smile that won over even his mother. Neil could trust this man, out-of-touch as he was, with anything.

“What day is it?” Neil asked.

“Neil, you're scaring me now. Are you okay?”

“Dad, please. What day?” Neil insisted.

“It's Friday. We picked you up from your dorm this morning,” Kevin said. “Neil... you're not on drugs are you?”

“No, dad it's not like that,” Neil scoffed. “I just- I don't know, I haven't been sleeping right lately and everything is all... hazy.”

“Dude, it's dad. If you're on something he won't get mad at-”

“I'm not on anything!” Neil shouted. The confusion had devolved into frustration and Travis's well-intentioned comment was doing nothing to abate it. “Just because you fucked up your scholarship-”

“Hey!” Kevin interjected soothingly, reaching back to place a bracing hand on his shoulder. “Easy now, there's no need to go off on your brother like that.”

Travis had turned back to face the road. A few cars passed them, one even blaring on its horn unhelpfully. Dawn popped a bubble between her teeth.

“Now listen, son. If you say you're not, then you're not. I trust you completely,” Kevin said. “We'll take you to a hospital when we get to St. Clair and have the doctor check you out, okay?”

“A hospital,” Neil nodded. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.”

“Maybe they'll put you in a straitjacket,” Dawn smirked.

There was no malice behind the comment. Underneath the would-be nihilist's harsh exterior was a tiny grain of affection for her family, especially her younger brother. This was her twisted way of trying to calm him down and make him feel at home. And, oddly, it was working.

“Sorry, Travis,” Neil said. “I'm just really... I don't know.”

“You don't have to apologize,” Travis said, still not turning around. “It's a hard time for all of us.”

He had the biggest heart of any of them, but it was also the most easily wounded. When they were younger, Neil had been intensely jealous of the theater kid brother of his. He was the center of attention, and by a wide margin the “favorite” child of their father. As a result, the two boys fought constantly and viciously.

Things only started to change when Travis left for college and started to mature. But with the maturing mind came evolving tastes. He was a self-described “party animal”. And one night he had partied too hard on the wrong side of LA. Within a few weeks he was absent to all of his classes, and a no-call no-show termination at work.

They found him on the UCLA campus between two bushes. It had taken a lot of work, but their father had managed to turn a five-year jail sentence into two months of rehabilitation. Being a lawyer's son had its perks. The true penalty was the loss of his football scholarship. That and the expression on their mother's face when he confessed to her he was an addict.

Neil regretted his words now. Apart from being the one big taboo in the otherwise accepting family, making such a cheap shot at his brother made him feel unclean. When Neil had first found out, he was a little too keen to finally have something to one-up the perfect son with. Teenage hormones were no help, and he hadn't developed a proper sense of empathy yet.

“There but for the grace of God go you,” their mother would always tell Neil.

That was bullshit as far as Neil was concerned, in the infinite wisdom of a adolescent. He was better than Travis. He was smarter. He didn't fall into the stupid obvious traps that all drug users did. The mandatory D.A.R.E. Program had done a number on his concept of nuance. But even as Neil railed on his brother, all their parents could do was just shake their heads with a mixture of disappointment and sad amusement.

Disappointment. That was a potent word. And that's what Neil felt like: The family disappointment. In spite of Dawn's fashion sense, Travis's past, and Kim's taste in men, Neil was the one who didn't fit in. And it was nobody's fault but his own.

---

St. Clair, Michigan was the homestead of their mother. It was as far removed from Voxton as you could be. The scenic town was nestled in the isthmus between Lake Erie and Lake Huron. It was founded along the St. Clair River which flowed somewhat unimaginatively into Lake St. Clair.

The river was one of the geographical borders which marked the edge of the continental United States. Across the river to the east was Canada, should one feel inclined to attempt a crossing in the frigid waters. Neil had only been here a few times in his life, and never while his mother was alive. For some reason it was her dying wish to be interred in the family plot a few miles up-river, but she'd never expressed any interest in visiting the place.

This was their fourth trip to the charming post-card worthy dell, where every street corner looked ripe for a postcard and every citizen seemed to come straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. The skies were blue, the horizon dotted with lighthouses and the only noise was the sound of motorboats gently cruising down the river.

“How are you feeling, Neil?” His father asked, when they parked the car outside their hotel. While Kevin Brown dressed to the nines when he was with clients or in court, he preferred a casual look; khaki's with a crimson-and-grey striped cardigan.

“I think I'm okay for right now. Still a little fuzzy on the past few days,” he replied.

Fuzzy, but details were coming back to him. It was rather odd, more like he was recalling an episode of a television show which he'd fallen asleep during. He seemed to have some vague idea of stumbling to his classes for the week, but there was something hollow and robotic about the memories. They had no spark to them, no authenticity. It was like he was on auto-pilot, which may have very well have been the case.

For a moment he did consider the possibility that he had been drugged. But the only people he had been with in the past week were Damian and his classmates, none of whom had the means or motive to do so.

“We'll have a doctor check you out anyway,” Kevin said, in the way that brokered no argument. “There's a nice new facility just south of here in East China. Only opened up a couple years ago.”

Modernity was Kevin Brown's sole rubric for quality.

“Daddy!” Came an overeager feminine voice from the opposite end of the parking lot.

Kim, the oldest child, was eternally dressed like was late for a board meeting. Straight out of the 80s with a shoulder-padded salmon pantsuit and her dyed-blonde hair in a perm that framed her slightly chubby face. She had come a long way from the auburn-haired teen in overall's Neil had a vague memory of from his childhood.

She was tailed by her current boyfriend, a middle-aged trucker who chose to mark this momentous occasion by putting his least-stained plaid shirt. The corners of his stubbled mouth were still dripping with chewing tobacco residue.

“Honey!” Kevin said, embracing his daughter. “And this must be uh...”

After disentangling herself from her father, Kim lifted a hand gesturing vaguely in the direction of the gentleman. “This is Rocky.”

“Pleased to meet ya, sir,” said the trucker, taking Kevin's hand.

“Uh, likewise Rocky,” Kevin replied, shaking it hesitantly. He was presently engaged in trying to calculate the staggeringly narrow age-difference between him and the man now dating his first child.

“Guys how are you all!” Kim said, pulling all of them in a group hug.

Only Travis truly returned the hug. Neil was trying not to suffocate under the noxious fumes of whatever perfume she was wearing, and Dawn with her slender frame had managed to slip out of the grasp entirely.

“Glad to see you haven't changed, sis,” Travis teased. “Still pushing papers?”

“Papers nothing, little bro. Real estate has never been this good. You know I don't know what that guy in the White House is doing right now, but if keeps it up, I'm gonna be filthy rich,” Kim laughed in a way that she surely thought was musical.

“Maybe you can buy some clothes that come in colors that don't belong in an old folk's home,” Dawn remarked, her attention somehow still fixed on the Gameboy which should surely have been running out of battery by now.

“Oh you,” Kim sighed, giving Dawn her own special hug. A sour-sounding electronic chirp seemed to indicate the gesture had cost Dawn a life. “I love your hair! I bet this is such a fun time in your life.”

That was the saccharine-sweet way of saying “this is just a phase”. There was definitely a wide line between the two older children and the two younger. Travis had been made humble by his fall from grace. Had he not, he would have turned out exactly like Kim. Brimming with sunshine and not a drop of it genuine.

“So,” Kevin said, cutting in. “The ceremony begins at noon tomorrow. We have to run Neil to the hospital real quick.”

Kim let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh no! What's wrong, little man?”

“It's nothing big,” Neil replied, dodging another attempted hug. “And it's kind of a private matter.”

Kevin caught the comment and nodded his approval. “Dawn, Travis are you two going to be okay here at the hotel by yourself?”

Dawn nodded and began walking towards the hotel. If she had enough AA batteries, she could have survived in a cardboard box.

“I think we'll be okay, Pops,” Travis said. “I hope you feel better, Neil.”

Neil patted Travis's shoulder in a conciliatory way, and the two parted. He was unable to dodge the second attempt at a hug from Kim, who pushed her head into his shoulder, even though she had to lean down slightly to do it.

“Feel better, buddy!”

“Thank you, Kim,” Neil grunted, more than a little embarrassed.

---

The doctor's visit was about what could be expected. There was nothing wrong with his brain, according to a CAT scan and an MRI. Kevin Brown's money always did the talking about both procedures were tackled over a five-hour period, despite a warning from the doctor of potential complications with the readings.

His father was brilliant and humble, but he knew exactly how to get what he wanted. To benefit his children he would go to any lengths. After Neil had been poked, prodded and had an unseemly collection of fluids removed from and added to his body, the final diagnosis was remarkably unhelpful.

“Stress-induced narcolepsy?” Kevin asked. “My son wasn't asleep, he just doesn't remember anything.”

“That's the best conclusion we have right now. Some patients with narcolepsy can also experience somnambulism; sleep-walking. It's uncommon, but it has happened,” replied the stoic, but clearly annoyed Dr. Faust.

“I just,” Kevin sighed in frustration. “I don't understand.”

“Sir, your son's brain chemistry is fine,” Dr. Faust explained. “Apart from a little sleep deprivation his scans are perfectly normal. Furthermore the toxicology reports show a clean bill of health. Only that came back was a little bit of underage drinking. It's not drugs, it's not some form of mental disorder. The truth is, sir, I don't know what happened to your son. The best thing we can do is keep an eye on him and if he has another attack like that, bring him right in so we can examine him.”

“This is unbelievable,” Kevin fumed, his docile nature slowly ebbing away from stress.

“It's okay, Dad,” Neil said, placing a hand on his father's shoulder. “Let's just go, it's midnight and we have the memorial tomorrow.”

Kevin was willing to stay there all night if he had to, but Neil's pleading had worked. He put his jacket back on, without bothering to roll up his sleeves and straightened his tie. Ever requiring the last word, he turned back to Faust.

“I hope you're right, Doc,” Kevin declared. “Come on, Neil.”

#writing #commission #shortfic #cosmichorror #scifi #sliceoflife #fiction #serial #thread

0 notes