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misscrawfords · 3 years

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For the AU mashup list: Neighbours and Not A Date for Edmund and Fanny of Mansfield Park?

Well, here's the Mansfield Park High School AU I never thought I'd be writing. And I'm afraid it's rather got away from me!

Edmund and Fanny have been next door neighbours all their life. Fanny's family being... well... numerous (to put it in the kindest way), Edmund's parents have been something like an aunt and uncle to her. Fanny has always adored him in that mindless way that children do until something comes to challenge the adoration. Edmund has always noticed her when she's been invisible to everyone else.

But then, final year of school, Edmund suddenly decides to do the school play. He's never been interested in drama before and frankly Fanny is surprised. But she nods and believes him when he explains at great length to her in the car as he's driving them home that he's interested in the obscure German play they've picked. He is doing German A Level after all. It's sort of plausible. If only it didn't sound like he was trying to persuade himself, not her.

So Fanny volunteers her services as backstage crew. She's never done drama either, getting up on the stage is her idea of hell (she thought it was Edmund's too but hey, it's fun to discover she doesn't know everything about him), but where Edmund goes, Fanny follows, two years younger and still in her school uniform, A Level choices not yet made, like a little ghostly shadow.

It's quickly clear that it wasn't the quality of the play that attracted Edmund. The play is literally the worst. And she's not really sure it's all that suitable for a school but Mrs. Grant, the Head of Drama, has never cared much for things being "suitable".

No, the attraction for Edmund is Mary Crawford. Prefect Mary. Music scholar Mary. Mary with the bright eyes and the peels of laughter. Mary who had once stood up for Fanny back when Fanny was in Year 9 and Mrs. Norris was picking on her again, so Fanny can't hate her much as she wants to.

Soon Fanny and Edmund's drives to and from school, previously the highlight of her day, are torture. She hears nothing but Mary, Mary, Mary. And then she's forced to watch them in rehearsals together after school, sitting high up in the auditorium, taking notes on props and lighting. She's pretending not to see them but even if she's hunched over her notepad, she can still hear them, the whispers indistinct as they bend their heads together over their scripts. Then Mary's laughter cuts through every other sound and pierces Fanny to the core.

Sometimes she isn't needed for rehearsal. She could go home at the normal time. Get the bus like she used to before Edmund passed his driving test. But she's too masochistic for that. She will sit at the back of the auditorium and nominally do her homework waiting for him to finish rehearsing, observing them over the top of the text book, waiting for another heart-sickening car ride home.

Mary looks up and notices her and her face splits into a grin and she waves. "Hey, Fanny!"

Fanny waves back weakly. Her eyes slide to Edmund. He has his hands shoved into his trouser pockets, slightly hunched, a rueful, half smile on his face as if he is trying to make himself smaller, not that he really needs to try too hard, next to Mary's brilliance and vitality.

Don't betray my secret, his expression seems to tell her, you're the only one who knows.

Oh, Edmund, you dear fool. What secret?

And so it goes on. They get closer. Fanny watches, hating every minute and unable to stop herself.

"I want to ask Mary out," says Edmund one day, driving down the dual carriageway after rehearsal, as if this was an original statement that should come as a surprise to Fanny.

"So ask her out," Fanny replies evenly as her heart flops and plummets through her stomach and into her knees and she feels like throwing up.

Edmund navigates a roundabout before replying.

"It's really hard. I don't have much experience in dating."

I know. You've always been with me.

He starts to ramble. "I've got to choose my timing because it should be at rehearsal but not when everyone else is around. If she says no, I don't want anyone else to see... I've got to make it something she'd like and she's so much more, I don't know, fancy than you and me, right, Fanny? I can't just take her to Starbucks. Maybe that independent place across the square, Parsonage's, but I have some memory she had a bad experience there... What do you think? And then what do I do about paying? I'd want to pay but perhaps she'd be offended because she's always talking about what a feminist she is and I want to respect that but will it seem like it's not a date if I don't volunteer to pay? I'm just not sure what the etiquette is."

The car has stopped and Edmund finally stops speaking. It takes Fanny a moment to register because she is staring hard out of the passenger window, her throat choked and her hands white as she clenches the pleats of her school skirt in her fists.

"I don't know, Edmund," she manages to say. "I've never been on a date either."

"Hey! You know," continues Edmund, seeming not to notice her tone, "if this does go well, we can double date. You can come with Mary's brother - you'd like him, he's very into Shakespeare."

"Isn't he already at uni?" protests Fanny. "I don't think that would be a very good idea... He's four years older than me." But she spoke very quietly and Edmund does not register her objections, too caught up in a rosy and romantic future.

"A double date would be a really good idea," he continues. "I get so nervous around Mary, I really don't know what to say - having you and Henry there would really help."

Fanny wonders in passing why Edmund is so set on dating someone who makes him so nervous he wants other people with him on the date but what does she know?

"Hey, Fanny, are you free now? You don't have homework?"

She does, but she shakes her head anyway.

"Let's go there now and get a coffee. Like a dry run."

Fanny swivels in her seat till she faces him competely. "You want to rehearse your date?"

He doesn't meet her eyes. "Yeah, is that weird? You could pretend to be Mary. Just so I can think through what to say without putting my foot in it."

"Oh! I can't do that! Edmund, I can't pretend to be Mary! We are so - so different."

He laughs. "Oh, I know that. I know you don't do acting. I just mean that you'd be there and you'd tell me if I'm saying anything stupid. You're always honest with me, Fanny."

He gives her that sweet, lop-sided smile and her heart contracts again. She can refuse him nothing. She shruggs awkwardly. "Well, I guess..."

He immediately turns the engine back on. "That's great! Come on, let's check out Parsonage's."

They are in silence for the drive back into town. Fanny's heart is pounding. She and Edmund may be best friends but they don't do things together. They ride to school together and they wave at each from their bedroom windows like the leads in Drive Me Crazy (Fanny used to think that similarity Meant Something but she knows better now) but they have their own friendship groups at school and apart from the school play they don't hang out together at school or go anywhere together at weekends.

But now they are going to a coffee shop together.

It's not a date but when they walk into the coffee shop together and Edmund holds the door for her, she cannot help pretending to herself that it is. That this is what going on a date with Edmund would be like. They approach the counter. Edmund asks her what she wants and orders for her which feels like a very important thing. Perhaps Mary, president of the school's Feminism Soc, would have a lot to say about it, but to Fanny it just feels as if Edmund is taking care of her. She digs her purse out but Edmund waves it away and pays for both of them.

"I'll pay you back," she murmurs to him as she follows him to a table with only two chairs.

He waves it away again and protests that she's doing him a favour, not to worry about it.

A favour? Is that what she's doing?

They sit opposite each other. Edmund is relaxed, but she sits stiff and straight, her knees pressed together. Her eyes glance round the coffee shop.

She leans across the table. "People probably all think we're on a date right now," she hisses at him, half anxious, half proud.

He laughs with a bit of a scoff in it. "Wow, you really sound cut up about it; I'll try not to be offended! Anyway, we know it's not a date and who cares what anyone else thinks?"

True, but Fanny does care because if everyone else looks at them and thinks they are a couple then perhaps one day he will also think that. It is a justification of her fantasy and her hopeless hope.

She knows it is not a date.

But it is the best she is going to get.

#mansfield park #fanny price #edmund bertram #edmund x fanny #kind of #jane austen #fanfiction #rose writes #this got away from me but was immensely cathartic to write #who knew that high school mansfield park was what i needed in my life?

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zmwrites · 3 years

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tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose?

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft.

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her.

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado, @radiowrites, @pigeon-hold, @sleepyowlwrites, @akindofmagictoo, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

#tag games #about me

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bakubabes-tatakae · 4 years

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Melting My Heart (Part Three)

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be added to the tag list for this let me know. Happy to do it for anyone!

(Katsuki Bakugou x Reader)

Summary: The fireball with the attitude has one weakness, Y/N. When she’s the only thing that can break through his cold appearance around the other students, he starts to learn that being the best... isn’t the only thing out there.

AO3 Link

Part One, Part Two

Part Three:

Word Count: 2025

With the exams for UA High coming up Katsuki was training constantly. Our backyard was beginning to look like a war zone, craters littered the ground as he used his explosions to blow holes and then fill them back in, just to blast them back up again. I stepped into the backyard and smelt the familiar smell of caramel, Katsuki had to be working pretty hard if the sweet sweat smell was as strong as it is. When the sliding door to the backyard shut and I stepped out Katsuki paused and looked up at me, he was knelt over, out of breath. I walked over to him and he stood up straight, wiping some of the sweat from his forehead.

I smiled at him. “You’re still training Kacchan?”

He put his hand into a fist. “I have to be the best that I can be. I can’t afford to screw up, I have everything riding on this exam.”

“You’re going to do fine, I know you will. You’re quirk is amazing, there’s not much you can’t do Kacchan. You’ve always been one to succeed.”

He smiled a little at me and wrapped his arms around the back of my neck, pulling me into a hug. “I know, but I’ve got to push myself. How else am I going to make my queen’s life the best that it could possibly be?”

I chuckled and breathed in the sweet caramel smell once again. I knew he would make it, and he knew he would too, but he didn’t want to leave any room for error. “I’m going to see my dad today. He wants to talk to me more, wants to get to know his daughter a little more.”

Katsuki kissed the side of my head. “That’s good. How are you feeling about the whole thing?”

“I still don’t really know. I’m glad that I found him, I’m glad that he’s in my life, but it’s still just so sudden.”

“Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted tho?” He started stretching again, getting ready to start more training.

“It is, but it’s just not something I expected to have happen to me before the exam. What if it hinders me? I’m so unfocused lately. I don’t know how to snap myself out of this. I know it’s not his fault, it’s not like he knew that I was planning on taking the exam, but it still sucks. You know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean, but you know I’m going to be here to support you or pick up the pieces, whatever happens, I’m always going to be your crutch when you need it.”

I smiled weakly at him. “I know Kacchan.”

* * * * * *

I stepped into the doorway of the nearest coffee shop and looked around. I spotted the long black hair of Shouta Aizawa at a table near the window. I took a deep breath and slowly walked over to him. He waved when he saw me and smiled. I sat across from him and took in the moment. He pointed toward the cashier. “Do you want a coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee sounds fine.” I told him what I wanted and he stood, heading to the cash register to order for me. When he came back and handed me the coffee it felt almost surreal. I had grown up with a mother who seemed, at times, like she didn’t even care about me, and a father that I had never known. I had always been told that my father had never wanted anything to do with me, that he was a deadbeat, but here he was now… trying to have a relationship with me.

Shouta sat down across from me again and started to talk to me. “I know it’s probably still a little awkward for you, maybe even still completely uncomfortable for you, but I hope that’s something we can get over soon.” He smiled hopefully.

“It’s not that it’s awkward or uncomfortable, it’s just a little overwhelming for me. I’ve always wanted to know you, my whole life I’ve wanted to know who my father was. I always wanted to know where I got my quirk from.”

Shock took over his face. “Your quirk? Does that mean you got my quirk?”

“I got both you and mom’s quirk. It was a weird medical fluke. Most kids just get a combination of the two, or they get one or the other. I was lucky enough to get both of them.”

“Wow… I never realized how good it would feel to know that my daughter would have my quirk, something I could pass down. Not that you don’t already look like my daughter. We could be twins for heaven’s sake.”

I smiled thinking about it, putting the two of us next to each other you could definitely tell we were related. Same black hair, same tired eyes due to our quirks, same mannerisms. It felt so odd, but I loved every little thing I was learning about him… about my father.”

“So who are you staying with? If you don’t mind me asking anyway.”

“I’m staying with my boyfriend and his parents. They took me in when mom kicked me out, they couldn’t believe that mom had done it. Mom and his parents had known each other for a long time, we’ve been friends since we were little kids.”

Shouta leaned back in his chair, protective dad written all over his face already. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Katsuki.” I chuckled, I liked the thought of him being protective. “Katsuki Bakugou.”

He leaned forward again. “The boy that was just on the news the other day with the slime monster? The boy he had hostage?”

“Yea. That’s him.”

“He’s got an amazingly strong quirk. I haven’t seen one like that in a long time. He treats you well I hope.”

“Like a queen, trust me.”

“Good.” He leaned back again, relaxing more.

* * * * * *

The morning of the exam came faster than we thought it would. I had never seen Katsuki so nervous, yet so calm at the same time. As we walked up to the school we saw none other than Izuku Midoryia walking in front of us. I smiled at him as he turned around to greet us. “Kacchan, Y/N, good morning.”

Katsuki ignored him and continued to walk. “Get out of my way now, before I set you on fire.”

I smacked his arm and let go of his hand. “Good morning Izuku!”

Izuku still looked thrown aback by Katsuki’s comment and didn’t say anything. I waved to him and followed after Katsuki.

Katsuki wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we walked. “Why do you bother with that guy? He’s useless.”

I frowned at him. “He’s not useless Kacchan, leave him alone. If he wants to try to get into UA High then let him do it, he’s not hurting anyone.”

Katsuki huffed and looked forward again. As we made our way closer to the door kids were making comments about Katsuki and the slime monster, setting him into a bad mood, he didn’t want to be known for that. He wanted to be known for being the number one hero. We walked into the auditorium for the exam orientation portion of the day and took our seats. Izuku sat next to us and a man with blonde hair that I recognized came onto the stage.

The Pro-Hero Present Mic stood before us. “What’s up UA candidates? Thanks for tuning in to me, your school DJ. Come on and let me hear you!” He threw his hands in the air and stared at all of us.” We were all silent as we watched him. “Keeping it mellow, huh? That’s fine, I’ll skip straight to the main show. Let’s talk about how this practical exam is going to go down, okay? Are you ready!?”

Izuku was gushing next to us about Present Mic. Katsuki looked over at him and glared. “Will you shut up?” I elbowed his side.

“Like your application said, today you rockin boys and girls will be out there conducting ten minute mock battles in super hip urban settings. After I drop the mic here you’ll head to your specified battle setting.”

Katsuki, Izuku, and I looked down at our cards we had gotten upon entry to the auditorium and looked at the letters on them.

Katsuki spoke up. “I see what they’re doing, they’re splitting us up so we can’t work with any of our friends.” Izuku had battle center B while Katsuki and I had battle center A, surprised they hadn’t noticed our address being the same and split us up. Our exam numbers were all consecutive, yet they split us from Izuku.

Katsuki looked over at Izuku. “Get your eyes off my card.” Izuku leaned back a little, stunned by his words. “Damn, I was really looking forward to crushing you.”

Izuku laughed nervously as Present Mic spoke again. “Okay, okay, let’s check out your targets.” Three different robot monsters popped up on the screen in front of us. “There are three different types of villains in every battle center. You earn points based on their level of difficulty, so you better choose wisely. Your goal in this trial is to use your quirk to earn points by shredding these villains like a mid song guitar solo! But check it, make sure you’re keeping things heroic. Attacking other examinees is a UA no-no. You dig?”

A young man in front of us stood up and interrupted. “Excuse me sir?” We all turned to him. “But I have a question.”

“Hit me.”

A spotlight opened on the young boy. “On the print out you’ve listed four types of villains, not three.” He pointed to the paper and looked very serious. “With all respect, if this is an error on official UA materials it is shameful.” He put his hand to his chest in a fist. “We are exemplary students, we expect the best from Japan’s most notable school. A mistake such as this won’t do.” He turned toward Katsuki, Izuku, and I and pointed straight at Izuku. “Additionally, you with the unkempt hair, and the girl beside him, you’ve been muttering this entire time. Stop that.”

Izuku looked worried, but I shrugged it off. What a buzz kill? Who peed in his cereal?

He continued while Izuku looked around, worried. “If you can’t take this seriously then leave. You’re distracting the rest of us.”

Katsuki started to stand up to defend my honor, but I pulled him back down to his seat.

“Alright, alright, let’s settle down. Examinee number 7111, thanks for calling in with your request.” The forth villain on our paper popped in on the screen. “The fourth villain type is worth zero points. That guys just an obstacle we’ll be throwing in your way. There’s one in every battle center. THink of it as a hurdle you should try to avoid. It’s not that it can’t be beaten, but there’s kind of no point. I recommend my listeners try to ignore it and focus on the ones topping the charts.”

The young boy bowed to him. “Thank you very much, please continue.” He sat down and the spotlight turned off.

“That’s all I’ve got for you today, I’ll sign off with a little present. It’s a sample of our school motto. As General Napoleon Bonaparte once laid down, a true hero is one who overcomes life's misfortunes. Now that’s a tasty soundbite. Are you ready to go beyond? Let’s hear a plus ultra!” In big letters on the screen behind him ‘Plus Ultra’ popped up. “Good luck, hope you practiced hitting more than just books.”

I looked over at Katsuki and we both raised a fist, nodding. “We’re in the same battle center. What do you think about working as a team?”

Katsuki had never been one to work with other people, but when it came to me, he could never say no. He smiled dastardly, “You got it my queen, let’s take down every single one of these losers and show them what we’re made of.”

Taglist 💕 @wwwwyamd

Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Updated: 5/8/2020

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blvirz · 4 years

Text

Living Life Through A Lens: Chapter Three

Chapter 3: YG Entertainment

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: None

[8:00 AM KST]

The ride on the way to your meeting was a peaceful one in comparison to your ride to work back home. The difference being that you were now driven to work and that everything was quieter. There was rarely any honking and even the hustle and bustle of people on their daily commutes was barely audible.

Soon enough you arrived at YG Entertainment headquarters. The building was modern in style, very monotone with lots of glass windows. To you it looked like a gigantic version of a computer tower. A computer tower that just happened to be made of concrete, steel and glass. Parked under the building were a collection of black and silver vans. Just before pulling into the lot you see a billboard that had a picture of Blackpink, it read “BLINKS DEMAND FOR BLACKPINK.” You smiled and thought, I’ll give you the content you're waiting for Blinks, just you wait. Apart from the billboard you notice a large group of people with signs and various other banners gathered at the company gate. When the car slows you get a chance to look at their signs, you were shocked as some of them had your face on it causing you to chuckle. How did they find me…? Right you did an Instagram live yesterday.

As soon as you and Lex get out of the car you're met with three new bodyguards, Scott and a woman who introduced herself as YG’s assistant. Before heading into the building, you made your way to go meet the fans standing at the company gate but were instantly stopped by YG’s set of bodyguards. With a confused look on your face, “am I not allowed to greet them? They came here for me…”

The guards said nothing but instead looked to the assistant and waited for her to tell you why they had stopped you. “I’m sure you're well aware of the risks that comes with meeting your supporters but because of the lack of security and strict YG protocol we cannot allow you to meet them.”

“They would never hurt me. If I stand a few feet away could I at least just say hello?” you ask.

She didn’t say anything and that alone told you it was a no. Feeling sad and guilty you look back to see them waving at you with their big signs and smiles. You wave back with just as much enthusiasm and very slowly make your way into the building.

Walking into the building you're brought to a reception desk where immediately you are given a warm welcome and a badge with your name on it. Before making your way to the elevators you pass by the famous YG cafeteria, you wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the black-wall waterfall you’ve seen during one of Blackpink’s vlives. The elevator dings signaling its arrival. Playing With Fire is playing in the elevator and to break the tension you ask, “I like this song! Anyone know who sings it?” Everyone in the elevator laughs, even YG’s bodyguards.

Getting out of the elevator you and your team are seated in a conference room and are told that YG would be there soon. Spinning around in your chair you look for a distraction, as a reflex you look at your phone and notice more missed calls and text messages. With an achy feeling you put your phone faced down on the conference table in front of you. Through the glass panes of the conference room you notice a group of people making their way toward the conference room doors. You look closely and see that it was YG, and he was surrounded by not one, not two, not three but four people. He had an intimidating aura around him which only made you more nervous. Blackpink, however nowhere in sight.

YG and his team walk in and immediately you're on your feet, feeling lightheaded with how fast you stood up. Nervously, you bow forward and greet him, “hello. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Hello, Y/N is it? How are you enjoying South Korea so far?” YG asks as he goes in for a hug.

Hugging him awkwardly and then pulling away, “that’s me! How did you know? And yes, the people here have been so kind. And the food– don’t get me started on the food.”

“I have to admit that I’ve searched you up on the internet. I must say the photos don’t do you justice, you're much prettier in person.” He says confidently.

Before you could tell him thank you, an even larger group makes their way into the room. It was only a few seconds, but everything was in slow motion, everyone in the room turns to look and see that it’s the members of Blackpink along with their managers. Your jaw hung open at what was currently in front of you. Jisoo, Jennie, Rosé and Lisa all entered the room and now stood before you.

Each of them went straight in for a hug and greeted you a hello. It was barely audible as you were still shell shocked. Without thinking you say, “oh my gosh, this only happens in my dreams.” The room erupts in laughter.

After hugging each member and greeting their managers, YG sits down to start the meeting. YG was seated at the head of the conference table, his assistant and translator on his immediate left, followed by Scott, you and Lex. On his right sat another translator, Jisoo, Jennie, Rosé and then Lisa. On the other head of the table was a large TV screen and camera. A confused look on your face was noticed by Lex. As if answering the question in your head, she whispers “Ethan wanted to be included in the meeting last minute,” you nod in response.

The people at YG had technical difficulties trying to connect with Ethan, so while you were waiting you found yourself glancing over in the girls’ direction. Sometimes making eye contact and when you did you blushed and quickly spun your chair around to avoid their gaze, gaining a laugh from each of them every time you did it. When Ethan finally popped up on screen only then did you feel less nervous. Ethan was a smooth talker and good negotiator, so with him included in the meeting meant less time for you to talk. Or so you thought.

The meeting started with the formal introductions, everyone around the table said their name and their role in their respective companies. After that was over, Ethan and YG each took their turns discussing the business aspect behind the deal and each company’s expectations. You already knew what was expected of you so instead of listening you found yourself sneaking quick glances at the girls. Pinching yourself in the same spot until it turned red; your mind was still unable to process that this was real life. Suddenly you felt a nudge under the table from Lex, looking up you realized that everyone’s eyes were on you awaiting an answer.

Looking at the members in front of you blurt out, “sorry they’re so pretty its distracting,” immediately causing the members to blush and laugh amongst themselves.

Jisoo chuckles and speaks for the first time and though it’s in Korean the translator next to her looks to you and says, “Jisoo says for you to wait until you get to know each of the members, only then will you realize they’re not so charming.” In retaliation, Jennie and the other members playfully punch Jisoo’s shoulder. They will be the death of me, you thought to yourself.

The meeting continues and you explain how you’ve decided to film Blackpink’s upcoming documentary. Nervously looking around the room you start, “I hope you’ll forgive me for being so nervous, if I’m honest I am still shocked that we get to work together. It truly is a dream. But if you look to the information packet that my company has chosen to provide us for this meeting, you’ll see all my research and plans to make this documentary a successful one. It starts off with just the quick basic biography on me. What’s important in here is that my shooting and editing style are unique to me. It’s how I’ve always worked, and I don’t see it changing anytime soon. The next bit in this packet explains how I’m choosing to produce the film in its entirety.”

While holding up and pointing to the page you're referring to you continue, “it’s really simple. I have a small crew that works with me, I film. I have a sound person. I have someone looking at the monitor to make sure my shots are okay. Very small and intimate. As for how the film will be made, it happens in four phases. The first phase, there’s really no work done here other than us– and by us I mean myself, Jisoo, Jennie, Rosé and Lisa getting to know each other. This phase is a bit unorthodox in that it doesn’t really happen with other documentaries. I choose to include it as it takes away a lot of the awkwardness when it comes to filming. The more we know of each other, the easier it is on me as I learn the boundaries; what to film and what not to film etc. The second phase is the easy part, you go on about your schedules and I follow you around with the camera. On occasion we’ll have a few sit-down interviews here and there but that’s all. The third phase is just editing and then the fourth and final phase is the premiere–” you stop and notice that Jennie was looking at you oddly. You couldn’t quite tell what her expression was. Was it admiration? Interest? Confusion? Whatever it was caused you stop in your tracks.

Giving her a quick smile and to close the sudden silence you asked her shyly, “w-was there something you wanted me to go over?”

Jennie hesitated. “Me? - sorry was I staring? No, please continue.” Smiling and using her hands to also gesture you continue.

You continued with the rest of the information in the packet, and still in the corner of your eye you could see Jennie looking at you with the same look and occasional smile. Once what seemed like hours but in reality was only 45 minutes, you got through everything you needed. All that was left for the day was the major press event with Korea’s media and a few international networks. The event was to be held in a large auditorium where you and the members would be seated on a panel and would be asked questions regarding your partnership.

[1:30 PM KST]

Before the press event everyone in the meeting was encouraged to grab a quick meal at the company cafeteria. You all made your way down and after grabbing tea and a portion of fruit you sat down at one of the tables. Lex and Scott were both making conversation with some of the staff which was a blessing in disguise because you just wanted to eat in peace. Wanting to calm your nerves you took a sip of your tea and wondered what the press would ask. Would they stick to the details of the documentary? Would they venture into your personal life? Your breakup had now become public, so much so that your company had to make a statement:

“It is true that Y/N and one of our company lawyers have ended their seven year-long relationship, and although we would have wished for this matter to remain private it has become such a spectacle that we are forced to confirm this news. They both have said they’re focused on their current projects and wish that the public refrain from asking questions about their break-up.

Thank You, Universal Film and Entertainment.”

When the you first read the statement it made you angry, you argued that the statement would only fan the flames and that you wanted it to be handled privately. You wanted whoever made the news public to have their head on a pike. Before you could let yourself get mad again you felt someone sit next to you.

It was Lisa and soon enough she was followed by Rosé who sat on the other side of you. Not wanting to talk with food in your mouth you turn to each of them and smile, covering your mouth as you do. Jisoo and Jennie sat across from you and each of their plates were filled with a variety of breakfast food.

Lisa starts off the conversation, “so Y/N? How do I pronounce your name correctly?” She said it correctly, but to confirm you sounded out your name slowly going over each syllable.

As if she could feel you tense up Rosé spoke softly, “Y/N, I hope we don’t make you nervous. I know we only just met, but please treat us as your friends. In fact, treat us as you would if we’ve known each other for a long time.”

“I’ll try my best but naturally I’m timid and shy. It will take me awhile, but I hope that we become great friends and co-workers.” You say with a smile.

Jennie spoke next, “Y/N. What do you like to do in your free time? After this we have no schedules for the rest of the day so let’s do something that you like to do. Are you okay with that?”

Feeling a bit more comfortable you reply, “mmm… I’m really not all that interesting but I wanted to get to know the area around my apartment as I’m going to be living here for the next year. But besides that, I would like to eat and go shopping.”

They all laugh and each of them go on to talk about the shops they want to take you to. Soon enough, Lisa and Rosé start to argue about where to take you first. You reassure them that you have lots of time and would be able to visit them all. They really are how they seem on Blackpink House. While Jisoo was occupied with one of her managers and Lisa and Rosé still arguing, Jennie looks up at you and smiles.

“Is this all too much?” she asks. How does she know exactly how you feel? Was it the look on your face? You thought you hid it well.

“It was in the beginning, but I can feel myself warming up. Slowly. You guys really remind me of my friends back home if I–” but before you could say more Scott comes and tells you guys that it’s time for the press event.

[2:30 PM KST]

The press event was well underway, it had started with a few photos of you and the members of Blackpink in front of a large backdrop that had all your faces on it followed by introductions. You sat in the middle while Jennie and Jisoo were on your right, and Lisa and Rosé on your left. Pulling your mic closer to your body and fixing the earpiece that would translate the medias questions to English you waited patiently for the spokesperson to pick a person to ask you a question.

The first question was easy, “Y/N. In a previous statement you’ve said that this documentary will be different and will surely be successful. Could you please elaborate?”

“This documentary will be different in that it won’t be a regular two- and half-hour film. I have decided to film a docuseries instead. Each member will have their own respective episode followed by a final episode, which will be a movie length long, focusing on Blackpink collectively as one unit. As for the success of this I am quite confident. Blackpink’s fanbase, or should I say Blinks- are a fandom second to none. The support they show is unbelievable. Unlike any I have seen so far. Plus, because YG has confirmed their comeback scheduled in four months I hope to provide a behind-the-scenes look at the hard work they put into it, which is content I am sure Blinks will enjoy.”

The second question was for the girls and how excited they were to be getting their first official documentary. As an unofficial leader you found Jisoo pulling her mic closer toward her. Through the earpiece, it was a rough translation but in short, she said that they were excited and ready to show a different side to Blackpink in comparison to what they have shown in the past. Jisoo also said that she and her members already felt like you guys were already great friends and that the they hope the documentary will do well. It took a while for it all to come through the earpiece but when it was over you looked over and smiled at Jisoo and surprisingly she took your hand and gave it light squeeze while also returning a smile. Further in the distance you see Jennie’s eyes make their way to you and Jisoo holding hands, making eye contact with her you gave her a polite nod too.

It was about the tenth question in and you were hoping it’d be the last. However, this particular reporter who was chosen had a press badge with the large letters reading ET on the front. Dang it, Entertainment Tonight. This company always caused you great headaches. They were constantly prying into your personal life enough so that you had warned them multiple times in the past, which didn’t stop them of course. So, you sat there bracing yourself for impact.

“This question is for Y/N. Your recent breakup with high profile Universal lawyer Irene has recently made headlines. How has this affected your work, in terms of being able to get along and work through this documentary?” They really aren’t shy with their questions, are they? It takes everything in you to answer the question professionally, but you still have a hard time trying to answer anyway.

Looking down while fumbling with your fingers you begin, “uh- uhm. I- I mean we–” you look around for Scott for some help but instead you hear some fumbling and Jennie has her mic in her hands. Very quickly she’s able to shift the attention back to the documentary and away from you. Disappointed with your inability to answer the question you look down at your fingers fidgeting under the table. You feel Lisa’s hand grab a hold of yours while also feeling a light squeeze. Her doe-brown eyes meet yours and she mouths “it’s okay,” her mouth forming into a warm smile. You mouth a quick “thank you,” which goes unnoticed by the media as they are distracted with Jennie still. Lisa let go eventually, but from time to time for the rest of the event she would put her hand on your leg to encourage you.

The press event was finally over and you could slowly feel yourself relax again. The crushing feeling in your chest dissipated as you felt Lisa and Jennie link their arms with yours as you made it off the stage.

“I just wanted to say thank you again. I should have been more prepared.” You say shyly.

Jennie responds, “don’t even mention it. It shouldn’t happen but it does happen to the best of us.” You look up and finally see Lex and Scott typing away furiously on their phone. Oh man they must be furious. Although it was never mentioned, it was assumed that the questions asked at the press event were strictly supposed to be focused on the project, nothing personal. You unlink arms with the girls and give them both a polite nod before running toward Scott and Lex for a hug.

While still in a hug Scott rubs your back and says, “Oh my gosh Y/N. I am so sorry. I had no idea that they would be here let alone ask you that question. I am so sorry for not preparing you ahead of time. I’m trying to find our contact with ET. I’ll get this fixed in no time.”

It wasn’t okay, you were blindsided but to make Scott and Lex both feel better you told them that it was okay, and you were thankful for what Jennie did for you. You turn around and the members are standing off to the side with their managers. Jennie’s eyes are lasered in on Scott and Lex, when you she takes notice of you staring back at her she looks at you and smiles.

[4:30 PM KST]

Your team was too angry about what happened to go with you and the girls to dinner, they wanted to kill whoever was responsible at ET. Before you parted ways with them Lex pulled you aside and apologized again, she told you that she would meet you back at your apartment as she wanted to set a few things up for you at your new apartment as an apology. After telling her it wasn’t her fault for what seemed like the millionth time, you hugged her goodbye and made your way to Blackpink’s company van. You were going to ride with them to the restaurant while Scott and Lex took your van to the hotel and apartment. Turning back, you made sure Scott and Lex were safely settled in the van; this would be the last time you saw Scott in person as he would be travelling back home to get back to work. Where I would I be without you guys, you thought to yourself.

“Y/N! Are you coming?” Rosé says as she pops her head out from the van. Quickly you spun around and made your way to the van.

On the way to the restaurant you found yourself still in awe of South Korea. Everything was still so new and refreshing for you. The girls on the other hand couldn’t care less, their eyes were glued to their phones. Before you knew it, you arrived at the restaurant. It was a small mom and pop shop and you could feel your stomach grumbling on the way in.

You sat down in the booth and noticed Jennie sat immediately on your right. Lisa and Rosé both ran for the spot on your left, Rosé won, and you laughed.

“Nobody wants to sit next to me?” Jisoo asked in a pitiful tone.

“I’ll sit next to you unnie,” Lisa said as she sighed. This caused Jisoo hit Lisa in the left shoulder; she had said something to the effect of “why do you sound so disappointed” in Korean. You only understood as Rosé translated it for you.

After ordering, you thought of what you talk about with the girls. You remembered you wanted to make a few things clear before you started filming. You started, “hey I just wanted to say a few things that I couldn’t earlier.”

The girls immediately focused in on you making you a little nervous.

“I didn’t want to say it earlier in front of all the businesspeople at the meeting this morning, because frankly their job is to look at the numbers and make sure that this partnership does well on both ends. All they care about is the profits and margins, and there’s nothing wrong with that but– I guess what I’m trying to say is that before I am a director, editor, or whatever occupation I hold, I want to be your friend and someone you can trust first and foremost. So, if there is anything– and I mean anything that I catch on film or you don’t want filmed, just let me know you aren’t comfortable with it and I will delete it. I don’t believe in creating drama for views despite what our agencies might ask of us, so if you want something deleted, it’s gone. No questions asked.”

It was silent for a moment, but each of them expressed their gratitude for your honesty. They opened up about their experience in the industry thus far. You guys talked about how rare it was to just have genuine friendships, and that it was tiring trying to decipher who was real and who wasn’t. Being able to have this in common and bond over it made you all feel so much closer. The whole night wasn’t all serious though, you found yourself laughing and cracking jokes as if you guys had been friends for years.

While Jisoo was caught playing referee for an argument between Lisa and Rosé, you took this time as a chance to talk to Jennie. You didn’t have to get her attention as she was already looking at you. She was always looking at you. Why? You figured you would ask. What could go wrong?

Smiling and laughing as you ask her “why are you always looking at me?”

She laughs too, “Do I have to have a reason to?”

“I mean no, but it makes me nervous when you do.”

Teasingly she inches closer to you, so close that you could see her individual eyelashes. “Are you saying…I make you nervous Y/N?”

You push her away and out of breath you say, “yes. Very nervous.”

“Good,” she replies and goes back to eating her food. What is with this girl? Was she flirting as a joke? Should you flirt back?

The rest of the evening you guys talked for hours, so much so that the owners had to come by your table and say it was closing time. With all of you stuffed to the brim with food, it silent on the drive to your apartment. The girls were falling asleep and so were you.

After pulling into the driveway under of your apartment you said goodbye to each of the girls. You gave all the members a hug before exiting the van and while hugging Jisoo you notice a familiar figure waiting at the doors of your apartment building through the window of the van. The figure turns around and you see it’s Irene.

Chapter 4 - HERE

#Blackpink #Blackpink imagines #Jennie Kim #lalisa manoban #Blackpink Rosé #Blackpink Jisoo #Jisoo

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drunk-poets-society · 4 years

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tagging dead poets society stuff as dps gives me war flashbacks sometimes because i went to a (bad) public boarding school for a few months in like mid-third grade and it’s initials were literally DPS and it was the worst. it was so disorganized and way too strict but on one plus side we could go and pick berries in the adjoining forest for an hour every other evening after tea.

i tried running away from there once. climbed out of the dorm window and made a run for it but then at the end of the corridor the gate was locked and so i just said fuck it and went back to bed. came home for autumn breaks and never went back. every time we used to travel through that town i used to hide under the bus seat because i was scared they’d spot me and take me back there lol.

storytime! (that no one asked for!)

the principal was this hardcore military dude and it was pretty much a military school. we used to wake up at 5 and immediately went down to the ground for five or ten rounds, and then karate or table tennis or normal tennis and then came up, wash up, brush and get ready for breakfast and classes. after school was over the younger ones would get one hour rest time where you could do nothing but sleep and if you were caught doing anything else then god save you. it was study time for the older ones (fifth grade and up) and you were not supposed to talk or interact in any way. the whole school was silent. then it would be tea time and we’d go to the dining hall and have either 1) some god awful pea soup that you had to finish or you’d be punished 2) plain milk and some off brand terrible biscuits. if you took more than your share or talked during your meals you were made to stand on your chair (fortunately i did not have to suffer that fate). then was the hour or hour and a half or recreation where everyone would be all over the place, the dorms were off limits, and you either had to go to a dance class, or some crafts class or go out to the forest with a teacher for berries. after that was the study time for everyone, again you weren’t allowed to talk or anything for an hour. do your fucking homework and keep your mouth shut. after that we would line up, and the principal would give a candy or two to the most disciplined student. we’d go for dinner after that.

then we’d go up to our dorms and chill, polish our shoes, sort the uniform out for the next day, talk, fuck around, till the nighttime bell rang meaning that we had to go to sleep. and sleep meant sleep. no reading or chatting. sleep, or die by the dorm mistress’s sword. (yeah one teacher stayed in the dorms with us it was one of those looong rooms with bunk beds and the teacher had their own room at the end of the hallway) on saturdays we’d have movie days, with the principal’s oldest son (who was also a student) choosing what we’d watch on his projector from his laptop. but there’s a twist: only the ones who had all their week’s homework complete could go. if your work wasn’t up to date you were made to sit in a class and finish that shit and show it to the teacher and then you were allowed to go to the auditorium where the movie was. saturday nights were weekly phone call nights, where our parents would call the dorm mistress’s phone to talk to their kids. we could only do like 10-15 minutes max. and you could not say you were not liking it. if you did the mistress would report that to the principal and then you were done for. idk what they did to those kids. we also had to write letters to them once a week no matter what and they were read before being sent so you couldn’t say you weren’t liking it on those either. it was terrifying. also it was like in a completely isolated part of town, down a hill and surrounded by a forest. great barrier for preventing escapes.

so suffices to say i hated it there, and i didn’t learn anything of value there because i was too busy hating it. i did win a bronze medal for a long jump and scored the main part in a play, though. the dorms weren’t organised either? everyone was just everywhere? second graders to twelfth graders all in the same dorm, it was a shitshow. the friends i made were also huge bitches to me, so i made friends with a maid who used to bring me treats sometimes and i used to teach her english in return. also a couple of older boys. i think they only listened to me because they liked to hear the stories i made up. we were chummy and only saw each other like every other day when we were doing the crafts thing. also the principal’s youngest son was my classmate and was the most annoying son of a bitch i had ever met and every single girl in the class had ThE bIgGeSt CrUsH on him. one of my classmates asked me if i liked any of the boys in our class, and i was too busy hating the place to care, so i didn’t even have the time to fancy anyone so i just panicked and said that i liked him as well, when in reality i was way too attached to another senior in my dorm because she was the kindest soul ever and had the softest look in her eyes all the time and she used to bring food from the dining hall for the ones who were sick in bed, and painted bedsheets. i used to watch her every time she worked. i was mesmerized by her. (also on hindsight she was definitely a closeted lesbian. bless her soul i hope she’s doing fine now) and she was also the sister of one of my classmates. i was extremely thrilled when i got sick. because she’d pay attention to me and she did (because that’s just what she did for everyone it was sort of her job) and i was ecstatic. (sometimes i still think that i’m there in my bunk, sleeping and this all is a dream and that i’ll wake up any moment)

they also had like ponies there, for someone? to ride?? idk maybe they did teach that there i was too young to care (on hindsight i would’ve loved that today) so another new girl and i hatched a plan (you can probably see where this is going) to get out of the school at night and ride the ponies up the hill and then catch the bus back home. the night we were supposed to do it i stayed up till midnight and then went to wake her up and she was just like “no shut up let me sleep” so i was like fine. you suffer i’m getting the FUCK out of here. and that brings us back to the beginning of this storytime.

#august-october 2009(??? i guess? i can't math im sorry) was a wild rollercoaster of a few months for me.#initially i was thrilled to be going to a new school #but then regretted it immediately my first night in #so yeah. well you dont have to read this as usual i just felt like writing about an old school i went to #there's so much more i could say about that place it felt like a bizarre fever dream #phew #rambling #text #May 2020

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Control and Release - 12

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, dub-con, nipple clamps, breath play (more warnings as the story continues)

Words: 5k

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Parts 13, 14 & 15 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

You spend the weekend naked and fucking in nearly every room of his house. Sucking his cock in the middle of the kitchen, laid out over his sofa on display while he reads the paper, spanked until your ass is bright red. By Sunday night you’re tied to his bed frame and looking forward to the work week so you can get a few nights of well-deserved rest. It’s almost midnight when he sends you home, patting your cheek in appreciation then standing in his doorway, watching as you walk toward the waiting car.

There are faint black and blue marks around your wrists, leftover reminders of being bound and gagged. You look out the window, pressing on one wrist and enjoying the fading pain as the moment comes back in vivid detail. Sam can make your body respond, even when he’s not there.

There a question flickering to life in the back of your mind - how long can this last? But you push it down, refusing to acknowledge it.

Five Months Later

“What is going on down there?” Rolling your chair back, you glance down the hallway.

“Brent is getting axed.” Millie wheels her chair toward you, and the two of you sit side by side listening to the commotion down the hallway. There’s muted yelling coming from one of the conference rooms.

“Really?” You know he screwed up, it was bad enough for Sam to bring up in casual conversation. “I liked Brent, he wasn’t a total ass like the rest of them.”

“That’s probably why he didn’t last,” Lexi chimes in, walking up behind you, resting her hip on the corner of your desk. “I heard he got called up to the attic this morning. Word is, he told Sam that it wasn’t even him that mixed up the dates, it was Tobias but they blamed him.”

“You think that’s true?” you ask, listening as the yelling escalates and two uniformed security guards come trotting down the hallway.

“I don’t think Sam Winchester does anything unless he’s one hundred percent sure about it.” Millie offers and you shift in your seat.

While your arrangement with Sam has grown into itself, it still makes you uncomfortable when anyone else talks about him. It feels like they’re going to find out your secret just by the look on your face.

Life has been split into two categories. The normal work week, which is usually boring and predictable - you go to work, go home. You get the occasional text from Keith Campbell, a little homework every now and then but for the most part your professional life has turned into just that, strictly professional.

It’s the weekends that you indulge in each other. From Friday afternoon until Sunday night you live in a sexual fantasy, engaging in whatever wonderful torture he decides to inflict. He was the one who talked of compartmentalizing his life but you’ve done the same.

Bang.

The door to the conference room flies open, hitting the wall with a thud. All three of you jump. Brent is hauled out of the room by the guards, who are now joined by four more, as they wrestle him out of the building.

“Poor guy,” you mumble, looking away.

“Another one bites the dust.” Millie shakes her head. “We’ve got it good. We stay under the radar and just do our job.”

“We should head over to the auditorium.” Lexi taps the back of your chair.

It’s Sam’s monthly employee meeting and everyone is expected to be in attendance. Grabbing your coat, the three of you head out of the main building to the staff auditorium. There are always refreshments and snacks if you get there in enough time and you wander around, talking to other employees and sipping seltzer.

You’re discussing Lexi’s upcoming blind date when there’s a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you find Pepper, looking as irritated as always. “He wants to see you. Now.”

Sam hasn’t called for you in person, during work hours, in months. You’re taken off guard, looking sideways at Millie and Lexi who are both as surprised as you are. You’ve done your best to keep the fact that you occasionally meet with him a secret. As far they know you’re just another low-level assistant

“Come on!” Pepper snips, grabbing your arm and hauling you off. You follow her backstage, winding through a labyrinth of hallways until she stops at the door to a small room. You step inside and she closes the door.

Sam is standing, one hand in his pocket eyes fixed on his phone. He looks up, smiling when he sees you. “Hello.”

“Hi.” You clasp your hands together.

“You look surprised. Am I interrupting something?” He cocks an eyebrow, stepping closer. Every action he makes has a purpose, especially the way he moves.

“Not at all.” You tilt your chin up toward him. “I was just caught off guard. You don’t mix work and us these days. I’m always happy to come when you want me.”

That last statement makes his eye twitch, nostrils flaring.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He inches nearer, eyes dropping down your body. “I wanted to make sure that you don’t have plans this weekend.”

“Do I ever have plans?” you counter, watching him lick his lips. You know one thing for sure, the longer this has gone on, the hungrier he is for you. And the feeling is mutual.

“Yes, but today is your birthday. People normally celebrate with friends. You don’t have anyone coming into town?”

“No,” you nod, holding your head high. “I’m all yours.”

“Good. Be ready tonight at eight. Wear a dress, something nice. I’ll pick you up.”

“We’re going out?”

He hasn’t taken you anywhere other than his bed since San Francisco. In fact, some weekends you never wear anything at all, naked from Friday to Sunday. You wonder if this is for your birthday or one of his social engagements. It’s not uncommon for him to take a date, but as far as you know it’s always Pepper who accompanies him in public. He says it’s cleaner that way. Everyone knows she’s his assistant so there are no misunderstandings.

“Yes,” he confirms. “No panties, hair down.” His eyes linger then he steps back, smoothing down his tie.

“I look forward to it.” You watch as he leaves the room, always left in a wake of excitement and expectation.

It’s almost eight as you look in the mirror, adjusting your dress. It’s black and tight, falling just above your knee. The neckline is lower than you're used to but nothing scandalous. It’s the back that’s the real show stopper, it’s open all the way down to just above your ass crack. You hope it’s not too much, Sam will occasionally comment on your clothing choices but you think you’ve got a handle on his taste. Above all else he prefers class.

His car pulls up just before eight. You’re waiting by the front door of your brownstone apartment building, hurrying down the steps, eager to find out what’s in store.

The driver opens the door and you slide in next to him.

“How are you tonight?” he asks, his hand already on your knee, slipping between your legs.

“Excited. I haven’t been out in a long time.”

“Well, let’s hope this evening lives up to your expectations,” he purrs, hand sliding just a little further up your leg. “I hope you’re not too hungry, we aren’t eating until after.”

“After what?” You look up, his fingers pressing into the warm flesh inside of your thigh.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He grins, giving you a squeeze and removing his hand. “Before we go any further, I need to tell you that I allowed Pepper to choose a second assistant for the Tokyo trip next month. I expressed my preference for you, but she chose Lexi.”

“That’s no surprise I guess.” You can’t help but be disappointed. “I mean, I’d like to see Japan, but you know better than anyone Pepper hates me. We don’t work well together.”

He chuckles. “She’s not one to hide her feelings.”

“How long will you be gone for?”

“Two weeks. Don’t worry, I’ll have you report to me every night. You’ll have a list of tasks for while I’m gone.” He holds his stare and you get lost in the moment, drowning in those eyes that you’ve come to know oh so well.

“I look forward to it.”

“I would expect nothing less. We’re here.” He points out the window as the car pulls up to the Boston Museum of Modern Art.

“We’re going here?” you ask looking back at him. “It’s closed.”

“Not to us,” Sam corrects you, allowing the driver to help you out before following. You feel his hand on your naked back, sliding down to the dip in your lower back. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Excellent choice.”

“I thought you might like it.” You smile, taking his arm and walking toward the entrance. The thought dawns on you like a bolt of lightning. “This is the Yayoi exhibit.”

“You said you wanted to see it didn’t you? The timing was perfect.” He looks proud of himself as a porter opens the front door for you.

“I said I wanted tickets-” You’re dumbfounded, looking around at the empty museum.

“This is better. A private viewing without the distractions.”

There’s a man bustling toward you with several people following.

“Mr. Winchester!” A short, sharply dressed man extends his hand. “We are so honored to have you here. I’m Cecil Baton, the general director. On behalf of the entire board, we want to extend our heartfelt thanks for all the support you’ve offered over the years.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Sam nods in confirmation, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you forward. “This is Y/N, she’s very much looking forward to seeing Infinity Mirrors.”

Cecil takes your hand, shaking it vigorously.

“We are thrilled to be able to repay your generosity by hosting a viewing for you and your lovely friend.” Cecil makes a tsking sound and a uniformed waiter steps forward with two flutes of champagne. “May we interest you in a glass of Dom Perignon?”

“Thank you for the gesture, I don’t drink,” Sam affirms and looks to you. “Go ahead.”

You hesitate for a moment before taking the glass off the tray and then the two of you are whisked down a hall, as you explore the wonders of each colorful, unique room.

By the time you’re done, you’ve finished three glasses of champagne and are floating on cloud nine as Cecil chatters away, walking you out. He goes on and on about how wonderful Sam is. Leaving you to ponder exactly how much money he must have donated to get a reception like this. You probably don’t want to know.

“What did you think?” he inquires as you walk back toward the car.

“It was...better than I could have imagined. What an experience.” You feel like you’re vibrating with happiness. While you’ve never lived through any kind of cruelty, you’ve also never been pampered in any sense of the word. This is a scenario you could never have imagined. You turn to him, stopping in your tracks and gripping both his arms. “Thank you so, so much.”

“It was nothing.” He shakes it off, giving your elbow a squeeze. “Come on, we’ll be late for dinner.”

Dinner is at a French restaurant called Mistral.

He orders for you, but he’s better at it now than he was in the beginning. He’s come to know your preferences, even ordering you a fourth glass of champagne, toasting you with his seltzer water.

“Sam,” you start, looking from the tuna tartar. “Is there a reason you haven’t touched me yet tonight?”

“I touched you in the car,” he smirks.

“Yes, but you didn’t touch me. I mean, you are going to, aren’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckles, sitting back in his seat, one arm resting on the table. “It’s your birthday. The one day of the year I’m going to leave it up to you. Start thinking about what you want tonight. It’s your choice.”

You can’t help your grin, giggling a little as you sip from the flute. “I’m not sure I even know where to start.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” With a genuine laugh, he goes back to his salad as you talk about your favorite part of the exhibit and the various other artists you hope to see in your lifetime. When you finish he’s quietly watching you, seemingly satisfied to sit and listen as you ramble on. “Do you have anything on your bucket list? I know you have more money than God, so you can probably see and do anything you want but there’s gotta be something.”

“Hmm,” he indulges your question, really giving it thought. “I want to see the northern lights. I’ve never had the chance.”

“That’s a good one,” you agree as your empty plate is swapped out for a giant tower of chocolate and raspberries. You almost squeal, a little tipsy and having arguably the best birthday of your life. “Come on, try some. One spoonful of sugar won’t kill you.”

“No.” He shakes his head, face lit up in amusement.

“Oh come on Sam, it’s my birthday. You said I’m in charge tonight...one bite.”

He contemplates your request and just when you think he’s going to tell you no he reaches over and spoons a bite of your dessert. Popping it in his mouth and wincing, “too sugary.”

“Your loss,” you laugh, digging in.

“Have you decided?” Sam's teasing, watching you blush in the low light of his bedroom.

“Yes,” you nod. “There are several things I’d like tonight, but first I want you to take your clothes off.”

He raises his eyebrows, but compiles immediately, toeing his shoes off and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. You do the same, stripping down until you’re both nude and staring at each other. He’s already half hard, cock thickening right before your eyes.

“In a little bit, I want to suck your cock. Then I’d like you to spank me, not too hard though.” You explain, biting your bottom lip as he nods in agreement.

“We can do both those things.”

“But first I want you to lay down on the bed.” You clear your throat, not comfortable giving the instructions. This is his territory.

He walks over to the bed, sitting down before laying back on the pillows. You crawl over him, straddling his legs, then moving until you’re sitting across his upper thighs, his erection standing tall against your stomach.

“I want to touch you,” you admit, watching him blink in response. You reach up, placing your opens palms over his chest, feeling him twitch under your touch. Fanning outward you sweep your palms over his chest and toward his shoulders, sliding over warm skin. Both his hands are resting on your thighs. He sighs when you run your nails through the hair on his forearms and then lean forward to suck on the skin of his neck.

A low groan leaves his throat as you nip at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and before you think better of it you place a kiss just under his ear. It’s a lingering touch and then you do it again and again moving downward until you find yourself under his jaw, scraping teeth over his five o’clock shadow. When you raise your head to look down at him, his eyes are closed, popping open seconds later. Staring at each other, his hands slide around to cup your ass cheeks, rocking upward as his cock rubs over your stomach.

You shift forward and rub your clit against his cock, nose pressed into the side of his cheek.

“Fuck my mouth,” you whisper.

Sam moves in record time, flipping you onto your back as you yelp in surprise. Getting off the bed he grabs you by the ankle rolling you onto your belly then turning you in a half circle until your head is hanging over the edge of the bed.

“Open.” Your jaw falls slack as he slides the head of his dick past your lips and you suck hard, as he slides forward. “Take it,” Sam purrs, reaching down to stroke your cheek as his cock hits the back of your throat. You hum around his dick, let him push forward until his balls press into your chin. “Just like that.”

His deep voice conveying words of praise go straight to your clit, throbbing between your legs, triggering the slick that’s leaking from your sex. You let him fuck your throat looking up as he stares down at you with forced concentration. Without warning, he pulls out of your mouth leaving a trail of spit as he taps your shoulder like he’s tapping out of a fight.

“Roll over,” he commands, big hands turning you over as you comply without hesitation. Head tilting backward over the edge of the bed, upside down. He places one hand at the side of your face, the other on his cock as he pushes back between your lips. “Open up.”

He slides his cock over your tongue and past your uvula as you swallow him whole. Pressing forward he watches the bulge in your throat, then reaches down to rub the outline of the head of his cock as you choke around him. “Fucking perfect.”

He holds himself there for a five count, you know it well. He’s rough, but consistent which helps for things like this. The next one will be longer, but if you count to ten you know he’ll give you relief.

He pulls out, drool leaking over the sides of your face as you gasp for air. Holding his spit-wet dick in his hand he rubs the head over your face, tapping your cheek several times before sliding back inside, right back into the deep stretch while you concentrate on breathing through your nose.

This is one of your favorite things. While you knew you liked sucking dick, having him fuck your mouth as you lay on the bed is a whole other level. Your pussy is slick, throbbing with excitement as you gag around his thick shaft.

“I can see my cock in your throat,” he observes, rubbing the bulge with two fingers. He pulls back, leaving you a mess of spit and tears, eyes watering, but you eagerly open back up, tongue out as he thrusts back in. “Do you like this? Choking on a cock?”

“Uhhh,” you rattle, vibrating around him, unable to do little more than make desperate gurgling sounds.

“I know you do.” He strokes your cheek, rocking forward, getting just a tiny bit deeper. “What do you say?”

“Huh ooo,” is your version of thank you as you swallow him whole.

“Where do you want me to cum?” he grunts, pulling out. You look up at the sight of him holding his cock in his hand, inches from your face.

“In my mouth,” you confirm, clamping your thighs together. “I want to taste you.”

“Open wide.” Reaching forward he gives your nipple a hard squeeze before jerks himself with the head of his cock on your tongue. A half dozen strokes later he's cumming warm and salty as you suck and swallow with fervor. “Keep sucking, just like that,” he instructs as your tongue gently swirls around the sensitive head.

When he’s really into it he can stay hard after he cums. He’s done it plenty of times before. He can’t always get off again, but he can damn sure fuck you into next week.

You carefully attend to his cock, rolling his balls in your hand until he’s sufficiently aroused and then he pulls you off his dick by your hair.

“On your hand and knees,” he instructs, gesturing toward the bed. You scramble into position, feeling your pussy ache as he knees his way between your calves. “You want me to spank you?”

“Yes, please.” You look back at him, arching your back, widening your legs.

“You’re going to get a spanking while my cock is in your pussy,” he huffs, running a hand over your lower back, down the crack of your ass. “Make sure you ask before you cum. No more rule breaking, not even on your birthday.”

You swallowed his load before he told you to, part of you was wondering if he’d punish you for it.

“I understand,” you confirm feeling the thick head of his cock sink into your slippery pink cunt. It’s an easy slide despite his size, but you're wet enough to take him to the root on the first stroke. He holds himself deep, balls pressed into your mound and then his hand comes down on your backside.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

It’s perfect. He knows your body to a tee, knows exactly how hard you like it. His harder spanks are saved for discipline and his softer ones are teasing, but this is the perfect sting.

“It’s your birthday, twenty-nine would be the tradition, wouldn’t it?” He strokes in and out, nestling back inside before bestowing three more smacks on the other cheek.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

“Fuck,” you breath, clenching around his shaft.

He pulls out, only to thrust back inside and then they come in rapid succession. Too many to count. All you can do is howl, twisting on his cock until he finally stops, both hands gripping your ass, squeezing.

“Would you like to cum now?” His inquiry is accompanied by a series of shallow thrusts.

“Yes.”

“How? Like this?” You’re not used to being asked for your preference and hesitate before answering.

“Yes, but I want you to hold yourself deep and rub my clit.”

He snorts, leaning over your back. “Anything for the birthday girl.”

Pressing forward he stuffs your cunt until he’s right against your cervix, sending out those little sparks of pain you love so much. His middle finger finds its way to your clit, making soft circles and you’re already there.

“May I cum?” you pant, eyes shut, mouth hanging open.

“Yes.”

It’s the only permission you need before falling over the edge and cumming around his cock. You jerk, moaning and whimpering as you tighten around his shaft. He takes his hand away from your bud but holds himself inside you until your orgasm begins to fade. He pulls out only to slide back inside again, thrusting slow and even, two hands gripping your hips.

“We’re going to get one more out of you tonight.”

You’re sweating.

You flex, blinking awake trying to figure out why you’re overheated only to find Sam wrapped around you, his chest pressed against your shoulder blades, soft belly at the small of your back.

It’s not the first time. He often slings an arm over you in his sleep, but he’s never cocooned you before. You wiggle backward, testing the waters and his grip tightens as the arm over your side curls under your stomach, pulling you back into him.

If he woke up like this you’re not sure what reaction he’d have. The two of you live in a strange world, a weekend relationship devoid of soft affection but always intense. The two of you have slipped into a safe space, an agreement and routine that seems to be working. This isn’t moving backward or forward, you’re stuck in a loop of sex and gratification that never fails to leave you somewhat crestfallen as you head into the week. You spend your time waiting until you’ll see him next, hoping for a little more.

You lie there, half awake, body hyper aware of him holding you for nearly two hours. It’s morning when he finally rolls away, grunting in his sleep and flipping onto his stomach retreating back to his side of the bed.

Sam’s sleeping belly down in the bed, mouth open as his back slowly rises and falls with his breath. You lay there, unmoving, watching his relaxed features, that handsome face looking almost boyish with his pink-flush cheek smashed into the pillow. He’d never let you gaze at him like this if he was awake, so you indulge while you can.

There’s no need to look at the clock to know it’s early, the way the light filters through his windows shifts depending on the time of day. That and he’s not up yet. It must be before six if he’s still out like a light.

The clock confirms it’s five forty-five and for once on a Saturday morning, you’re willingly awake before noon. He normally let’s you sleep in while he goes for a run and does a few hours of work. You give him one last look and gently crawl out of bed, pulling on white cotton panties and foregoing all other clothes, heading to the kitchen to make tea.

You’ve just taken the kettle off the stove when you hear it, a shuffling behind you. It’s impossible to explain how you know it’s not Sam, but you do. You can sense it. Every hair on your body stands up on end and when you turn around you’re faced with a stranger standing in the middle of Sam’s kitchen.

He’s tall, not as tall as Sam but a big guy and you’re instantly frozen in place, practically naked, blinking at the man in front of you. His shirt is spattered with blood, the red stains that are unmistakable.

“Well shit,” he smirks, a grin tugging at his mouth as he eyes your naked tits. “He always had good taste.”

“Um,” you stammer, taking a step back. “Um, who-”

You can’t find the words, your brain shutting down as he gets closer.

“Look at you,” he whistles, sauntering around you as you turn in a slow circle to keep him in your line of sight. His eyes dropping down the length of your body, head to toe. “How much does a guy like Sam pay for a girl like you? Do you charge by the hour or the night? I mean, I’ve been to Vegas, fucked my fair share of working girls but hot damn sweetheart, you are something special.”

It’s at that moment that your thoughts come together to form a coherent thought. This is Dean, Sam’s brother.

“Pleasedon’thurtme,” you squeak out in one quick utterance.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. My brother has never been very good at sharing anyway.” His eyes hone in on the fresh bruises on your hips, leftover handprints.

“Wh-what do you want?” you stutter, now shaking in fear. Dean closes in and you back up into the counter, trapped by his advance.

“Don’t worry,” he eyes your tits again. “Nothing you can give me, at least not right now.”

“Get away from her.” Sam’s voice booms from across the kitchen, standing bare-chested in a pair of pajama pants, eyes on fire. He looks from Dean to you, extending a hand. “Come here.”

“We were just getting to know each other.” Dean offers a lopsided grin.

Eyes glued on Dean, you inch sideways until you can scurry across the kitchen, letting Sam pull you to him.

“Sam,” you look at him, eyes wide.

“It’s okay.” He takes a half step in front of you, putting himself between you and his brother. “What are you doing here, Dean?”

“Did I come at a bad time? I understand if you wanna be sure you get your money’s worth before we get down to business.”

“She’s not a hooker,” Sam clarifies, tilting his head, eyes never leaving his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, making a production of leaning to the side to look at you. “Didn’t think so. Good for you, getting back on the horse after all these years. I’m happy for ya.”

“Cut the shit,” Sam steps forward and you move with him, pressing against his back. “What the hell are you doing in my house? Are you trying to get me arrested?”

“Trust me.” Biting his lip, Dean chuckles to himself. “This is the last fucking place I want to be. But I need you, Sammy, there’s some bad shit about to go down. End of the world type stuff. Dad and I need you.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Sam snorts, his posture softening. “No.”

“Tell you what. How ‘bout you put your girl back to bed and we talk about this alone?”

“How about you get the hell out of my house?” Sam counters. “You must be high if you think I would ever do anything for you or dad.”

“Just hear me out, Sam.” All the playfulness drains from Dean’s face. “Dad went on an a...hunting trip. He hasn’t been home in a while.”

“How is this any different from any other time?” Sam shakes his head. “You know this feels familiar. It’s been fourteen years since the last time you showed up with this same story. I went with you and Jess ended up dead. You ruined my life and Dad showed up when he damn well felt like it. So no, there is no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you.”

“We need you.” Dean’s mouth pulls tight. “I know you’ve got a whole white collar thing going on and a life, a girlfriend. I wouldn’t ask if I had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice Dean. I made mine a long time ago. Dad said if I left not to come back and I haven’t. So get the fuck out of my kitchen.”

“Sam,” Dean takes a step forward. “This is your family.”

“No,” Sam spits back. “Family was an illusion. A convenient guilt trip to get me to do what you and dad wanted. I don’t have time for family, Dean. My life is full up.”

“Okay,” Dean looks at the floor, before leaning to the side to look at you again. “Nice to meet you-”

“Stop talking to her.” Sam’s voice is colder than you’ve ever heard him, venom simmering under his words. “You stay away from me and you stay away from her. You hear me, Dean?”

“I hear you.” Dean waits for a beat, looking from Sam to you and then he’s gone just as quick as he came.

“Sam,” you sputter as he turns to you, placing a hand on each shoulder.

“We need to talk.”

#Control and release #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

Peggysous Week Day One: Edelweiss

Read on Ao3 (tumblr’s a fuck pls click the link)

Thanks to @fandomsandxfiles-writes for hosting!

Edelweiss: Signifies deep love and devotion. Native to the Alps, so those who harvest this flower must face danger to prove that love and devotion.

***

The war is over. They’re home now. And yet, Peggy still has not stepped foot in a cinema? Daniel’s not having it. Plus, they both could do with a…little reminder, of sorts.

“I’m not one for the cinema.”

“I know, Peg,” Daniel says, handing her the bowl, “believe me.”

Peggy stifles a laugh at Daniel’s patient exasperation. “I believe Mr. Jarvis had a…similar reaction.”

“Did he?”

“We were at the racetrack, looking for Calvin Chadwick.” Daniel hums. “I didn’t know who Whitney Frost was.”

“Wait, seriously?” Daniel turns off the sink and drapes the towel over the fridge handle. “Peg, her face was on posters everywhere in New York.”

Peggy shrugs. “Like I said, I’m not one for the cinema.”

Daniel just shakes his head with a smile. “And what did Jarvis have to say to that.”

“He asked me if I assemble rifles in my free time.”

Daniel throws his head back, laughing. Peggy glares at him in mock offense, only to have it ruined when she can’t help but smile when he looks at her. He slumps against the counter for support, still laughing.

“If only he knew,” Daniel murmurs through the last of his chuckles.

“If only he knew what?”

“That you spend your free time reading Agatha Christie and muttering about how stupid the characters are under your breath.”

“It’s not like it’s hard,” Peggy mutters.

“Like that.”

Peggy whacks his arm halfheartedly with her own dish towel. “I’ll have you know I’m getting better at it.”

“What, predicting the ending or not getting frustrated with fictional characters?”

“…yes.”

Daniel bumps her shoulder lightly. “Well, call me crazy, but I think that might have something to do with what you do for a living.” He turns around, leaning against the counter. “Long days solving mysteries, chasing bad guys, all you’re missing is a trench coat and a fedora.”

“I’ll have you know I have perfectly suitable hats,” Peggy says, making them both laugh.

“Seriously, Peg,” Daniel says after they both stop laughing, “if you don’t wanna go, you don’t have to. I just…well, I kinda wanna know why.”

Peggy sighs, making sure none of the drying dishes will topple over as she hangs up her towel. “I suppose I’ve never understood the appeal.”

Daniel shrugs. “Escapism? Momentary reprieve?”

“But the same thing can be accomplished through a book,” Peggy says, “and then I’m not limited by whomever they cast to play the roles. I can let my imagination do the work for me.”

“True,” Daniel says, “but there are some things that words can’t really do when they’re just on paper. Sometimes you need the nuance of spoken word to really get everything out of a certain situation.”

Peggy squints. “Why does this sound suspiciously like how you argued for Dooley to give us the recordings of the interrogations as opposed to just the transcripts?”

The innocent shrug and the look he gives her fool absolutely no one.

Peggy switches tactics, perching one hand on her hip. “Why do you enjoy it, then?”

“I’ve always found them to be a bit better at holding my attention.” Daniel gestures with his hand. “Not just my imagination, but my sight. The sound. The music of it. Helps me flush everything out.”

“A more complete experience, then.”

Daniel nods. “Plus, it’s not just the picture itself. It’s going out, late at night, to see a show. It’s…you know, it’s its own deal.”

He pushes off the counter, taking Peggy’s hands in his. “It’s walking back late at night,” he murmurs, “your head buzzing. Someone special in your arms, both of your hearts still beating fast.”

Peggy smiles when he takes her into his arms. She’s learned that Daniel can be very persuasive when he wants.

“It’s sitting in a room full of people and only being able to pay attention to the person right next to you.” Daniel rests his chin on her shoulder. “It’s being able to share a story with someone.”

He pulls back, that terribly cocky smirk on his face. “Can’t really do that with a book, now can you?”

Peggy huffs. “Oh, alright.” She raises an eyebrow at Daniel’s childlike excitement. “You’re certainly eager.”

“Come on, Peg,” Daniel laughs, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek, “let me share a story with you?”

Well, that’s just not fair. How the hell is she supposed to say no to that?

They choose next Friday. Daniel picks the picture, buys the tickets. Peggy picks the restaurant. They discuss the last of the work plans over pasta and garlic bread until Daniel reaches across the table to cover her hand midway through a discussion of their current case.

“Peggy,” he chides gently, amusement sparkling in his eyes, “no more work talk tonight, okay? Take the night off, please.”

Peggy protests halfheartedly until Daniel gives her those puppy-dog eyes that she swears do not work.

“Oh, alright,” she relents, “I suppose one night won’t throw us overboard.”

“It won’t,” Daniel promises, “but it will do you some good. Now,” he continues, picking up his fork again, “tell me about the current book you’re reading and how stupid the characters are.”

They make playful jabs at mystery tropes until they’re finished, carrying on as they walk down the block to the theater. The night is young, the sun just setting behind the horizon. The air is still warm from its rays, bathing the street in a soft haze that makes the streetlights glow a little fuzzier at the edges. Peggy finds that as their conversation meanders, she cares less and less about trying to follow it, letting Daniel’s arm in hers hold her steady as they fade into the nightlife.

“Right here,” Daniel says, sweeping them through the doors. “This way, I think.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Once,” Daniel says, “came with Rose after I lost a bet.”

“You should know better than to take a bet against Rose,” Peggy laughs.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel mutters as they step into the auditorium, “it wasn’t a big deal.”

“What was the bet?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Daniel,” she laughs, poking his shoulder as they sit down, “tell me.”

“Alright, alright.” Daniel lays his crutch out of the way. “It was a stupid filing competition. Who could finish their stack of paperwork first.”

“Why on earth would you take that bet against Rose?”

“Because if I could suffer through Thompson and Krezminski’s filing,” Daniel shoots back, “I could damn well suffer through my own.”

Peggy laughs, conceding. The New York office did not exactly have the best reputation for scrupulous filing. “And you lost and came here?”

“Rose wanted to see the noir based on The Brick Foxhole,” Daniel explains, “it was called ‘Crossfire’ or something.”

Peggy makes a noise of understanding, glancing around. The place is filling up nicely, even though it’s not quite full. Daniel follows her gaze.

“Normally the shows get fuller as the night goes on,” he murmurs, “picked an earlier time so we wouldn’t get caught in the crowd.”

Peggy nods in thanks, settling into her chair. Soon enough, the lights start to dim and the screen lights up. The film begins to roll and Daniel carefully nudges her shoulder. She looks over to see him staring at her hopefully, his hand laying open in the space between their seats. She tries to pretend she isn’t blushing when he smiles warmly as she takes it.

It’s dark, she can get away with it.

As always, her trust in Daniel is not misplaced. The picture is, indeed, a mystery story. Something about a female spy returning from abroad to team up with an older detective, trying to find out what’s happened to her missing husband. The characters, while…limited, perhaps, by the constraints of the medium, are interesting enough that Peggy finds herself furrowing her brow in concentration as she tries to figure out the story before the characters do. She hears Daniel chuckle a few times when nothing funny has happened on the screen and glances over, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve got your focused face on,” he whispers, leaning close so as not to disturb the other movie-goers, “you enjoying it?”

“Don’t be smug,” she whispers back.

“I’m not,” he defends, leaning back a little, the flickering light from the screen showing a warm smile, “I’m happy.”

Unfortunately for Peggy, this time when she turns away, the screen is bright enough that she can’t hide her blush.

She figures out it was the husband fairly easily. He had faked his own death, it turns out, and has secretly sided with the enemy, becoming the very antagonist the spy and the detective were attempting to vanquish. She does understand what Daniel was talking about; the nuances of the actor’s faces convey things she has no idea how to put into words, the music in the background makes her heart beat faster when tensions rise, and she finds her work instincts taking over, getting frustrated when the camera won’t pan down far enough to let her see the whole room.

She keeps a hold of Daniel’s hand the whole time.

Right before the climax, there’s a quiet scene. The spy is standing by the window, looking out over the city. The detective comes in behind her, shutting the door.

“I don’t know why he did it,” the spy sniffs, folding her arms, “I don’t know why he decided to go off and join the people he signed up to fight.”

“People do crazy things,” the detective mutters, coming up behind the spy, “for crazy reasons.”

“Even go to war?”

Peggy scoffs at the melodramatic delivery.

“Even go to war,” the detective agrees, looking at the spy. “You know that, right?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” the spy says, making Peggy scoff again. Honestly. “I went to war because I had nothing. Because it took everything from me and I had to try and take some of it back.”

Oh.

“And you didn’t go to war,” the spy cries, whirling around to point a trembling finger at the detective, “so how could you know? What would you go to war for?”

“I’d go to war for you.”

Ah. There it is.

The husband gets caught, the detective kisses the spy, the screen fades out.

“Well,” Daniel says, turning to Peggy as the other people start to get up, “what did you think?”

“Why didn’t they realize it was the husband when they initially found his draft card?”

Daniel rolls his eyes fondly, getting to his feet, grabbing his crutch, and starting out of the theatre, still pulling Peggy by the hand. She keeps up her ‘review’ of the story as they walk back along the street. It’s cooler now, the breeze ruffling her hair, the indigo sky turning brisk where the streetlights glow amber. They chat idly about the story, what they liked, what they didn’t, lapsing into silence when they run out of things to say.

Peggy glanced down at their entwined arms. Daniel is warm against the gentle breeze.

“Peggy?”

They stop, Daniel turning to face her with a look of concern on his face. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Peggy says quickly, “just thinking.”

“Uh-huh.” Daniel squeezes her arm gently. “I know you better than that. Come on, tell me.”

“It’s silly.”

“If it’s worrying you, it’s not.”

Peggy smiles at the sincerity in his voice. “It was one of the scenes,” she confesses, “the one where they were…at the window.”

Daniel curses under his breath. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I tried to pick a picture where there wouldn’t be a lot of that, but, uh, guess we can’t escape from it.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Peggy shakes her head. “I just…it reminded me of…something.”

Daniel’s face falls, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, Peg, or to remind you of—“

“Not Steve,” Peggy clarifies, smiling a little when Daniel’s shoulders slump in relief, “just…how I got started.”

Daniel nods, accepting the answer and gesturing to the sidewalk in front of them. Peggy accepts his invitation to keep walking, the slight daze from the movie beginning to sap some of her strength. She leans more heavily into Daniel who comes a little closer to support her, sharing their warmth.

“I get what you mean,” he says out of nowhere, “about that scene. It, uh, well…it had a good question in it.”

At Peggy’s quizzical look, he elaborates. “About what people go to war for.”

“Ah.”

Yes, well, that is quite a question, isn’t it?

“That was quite the declaration,” she says, trying to lighten the mood, “the detective saying he’d go to war for her?”

“Yeah.” Daniel’s crutch clicks against the sidewalk. “That’s one way to do it.”

“Well,” Peggy murmurs, “let’s hope we never have to worry about that. One war in my lifetime is quite enough for me.”

Daniel chuckles. “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

Peggy stops them, frowning. “What on earth does that mean?”

Daniel stops too, turning to face her. “Peg, what does that quote mean to you?”

“Pardon?”

“When the detective said it,” Daniel says, “what did it mean?”

Peggy blinks. “That the detective was willing to go to war for the spy.”

“So she wouldn’t have to or to fight alongside her?”

Peggy’s words die in her throat. Daniel scratches the back of his head and takes a deep breath. When he looks up at her, the trust and faith in his eyes is enough to take her breath away.

“If working at the SSR has taught me anything, it’s that war isn’t just two sides shooting at each other on a battlefield,” he says. “It’s information, it’s secrets, it’s covert operations and talking and teamwork.”

He gestures between the two of them. “We can fight wars every day at our jobs, just by doing paperwork and making phone calls. Hell, we’ve fought wars by doing that.”

“Daniel,” Peggy says, holding out her hands, “what…what are you saying?”

Daniel takes a step closer. “I’m saying I’ve already gone to war for you, Peg. I fought the whole damn War Department for you. And yeah, I’d do it again.”

He holds out a hand when she opens her mouth. “And before you say anything, I need to tell you that quote means something different for me.”

Peggy closes her mouth, waiting as Daniel comes close enough for her to see the glow of the streetlight reflected in his eyes.

“I would go to war to follow you, Peg,” he says, “because I know damn well you’re going anyway and I’m sure as hell not stupid enough to try and stop you.”

“Oh, Daniel…”

“Just…” and it’s his turn to blush, the tips of his ears going red as he coughs into his fist. “Let me share the story with you?”

How is she supposed to say no?

Instead, she kisses him, bathed in the warm glow of the streetlight, until neither of them can say anything.

#fic #dragonbabbles #peggy carter #daniel sousa #peggysous #peggysous week 2020 #agent carter

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obsidiancreates · 4 years

Text

Old Writing Part Two: Electric Boogaloo

Yeah so uh here’s the “Fandom School” one.

This one has not been seen by even myself since like... October of 2016.

Oh jeez. That’s so long ago. Fuck time.

So this is... the whole story. Each Chapter was super short, the first three are under 400 words, so I just stuck ‘em all in here.

This one... is from 12 year old Sid. Yup. Little baby Sid.

It is bad. I’m warning you now. But perhaps, entertaining. At the very least, a good example of being able to grow and improve with enough practice.

Chapter One: Fangirlish

Abby shouted as she hit the floor. Her brother came running in, a look of worry on his face.

"What was that thud?" he asked.

"I laughed to hard while watching Venturiantale and fell off the bed."

Her brother face-palmed.

"Come on, Jeremy. Don't face-palm. They're funny!" Abby said with a grin.

"They're all you think about! You really need to stop obsessing. "

Abby gasped and looked at him like he just asked her to eat a smelly boot. "How could you say such a thing! Plus, they're not all that I think about. I also think about Doctor Who, and Star Wars, and Tolkien stuff, and Percy Jackson, and My Little Pony, and Monster High, and Warriors. "

Jeremy sighed. "Those are all....what do you call them? Fandoms?"

"Indeed. However, I am obsessed with them because they are beautiful. They are fabulous in ways you do not understand, mortal. Be gone!" Abby cried. She grabbed the ballpoint pen she took with her everywhere and uncapped it. "Be gone, or else you shall face the wrath if Riptide! Wait, Riptide can't harm mortals."

Jeremy sighed again and left the room, muttering about Abby being weird.

Abby went back to her video, laughing her butt off. After she finished it she went and read some Percy Jackson fanfiction. She was deeply absorbed in a very interesting fanfic when her alarm went off. It was time. She got up off her bed and went over to her desk.

She sat down and took out her notebook. She put on some music, written by Venturian of course, and began writing. She was writing a fanfic about Doctor Who.

"Abby, there's someone here to see you!" her mom shouted. Abby sighed, but went downstairs anyway.

She entered the living room to find a girl around her age sitting on the couch. She had blond hair with blue streaks and green eyes. She was wearing a t-shirt that said 'Fandom U' on it.

"Hello Abby, "she said with a grin, "I hear you're quite the fangirl."

Chapter Two: A Fellow Fan

Abby was a little creeped out. Who wouldn't be if a girl you had never met before was sitting in your living room saying she had heard about you?

The girl seemed to notice that Abby was weirded out, and spoke again. "My name is Bell, by the way."

"Bell? Who names their kid Bell?"

Bell laughed. "My mom's favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast. Anyway, you're a fangirl, are you not?"

"Yeah, kinda. And by kinda, I mean totally." Abby said. She was still a bit creeped out, but Bell seemed friendly enough. "Why do you ask? More importantly, how the heck did you hear about me? That's kinda creepy, considering this is the first time I've ever seen you."

Bell smirked. "So you're asking to know my secret?" She said the last part in a creepy voice.

"Wait, you watch Venturiantale? Awesome! But, could you at least answer my first question?"

Instead of responding, Bell handed Abby a piece of paper. It looked like a letter you would get from school. "Here, read this. If you decide you want to attend, just call the number at the bottom of the page." With that Bell left, humming a tune Abby recognized as the theme of Rohan.

She went back up to her room with the paper and began reading it. At the top it said, in big, bolded letters, Fandom U.

That's what Bell's shirt said.

As she read the paper her eyes widened.

Dear Whom It May Concern It has come to our attention that you are a massive fangirl. We are pleased to announce that you have been accepted into Fandom U. All supplies we be provided upon arrival, should you choose to attend. Please note that some fangirls can be dangerous if you speak negatively about their fandom, and the school is not responsible for any injuries should you be insensitive enough to do so.

Sincerely, The faculty of Fandom U

Excitement came over Abby. "I'm going to Fandom U!" she screamed happily.

Chapter 3: Belonging

A few weeks later, Abby was all packed and ready to go. She had called the school and arranged everything. She was sitting at the bus stop, waiting for her transportation. She bounced her leg up and down, a nervous habit of hers. Finally a bus labeled 'Fandom U' arrived. The doors to the bus opened, and Abby couldn't help but stare at the driver.

"Well, get in!" the driver said through his mask. He was dressed in a full on Stormtrooper cosplay. As Abby stepped onto the bus, she wondered how he wasn't being baked alive in the heat.

She discovered that each row represented a different fandom. She took a seat in the Doctor Who section because it, somehow, had more room then the other sections. The bus started up, making the same sounds the T.A.R.D.I.S makes. Abby stared out at her hometown, feeling excitement at what lay before her. She leaned back in her seat, humming fandom songs. Normally people would look at her like she was crazy, but instead everyone joined in, humming with her.

She had found where she belonged, and she loved it. The whole bus ride was filled with fan theories, discussions about characters, and tons of references. It was the most fun Abby ever had!

After what seemed like only minutes, they had arrived. Abby looked up at the building in front of her in awe.

It was enormous, like a castle. Above the door there was a huge sign reading 'Welcome to Fandom U!'. The building was shaped in an unusual way. So unusual that Abby wasn't even sure what shape it was. The outer walls were painted with so many fandom symbols that Abby had a hard time seeing anything else.

"Abby!" a voice called. Abby turned around to see Bell running towards her. "Abby, great news! They made me your escort!"

"Escort?"

"Well, yeah. It's a huge school. Plus it's your first day. I'm here to show you around!" Bell said.

She looked at Abby's face, which was still a face of awe. Bell grinned and said "Abby, welcome to Fandom U!"

Chapter 4: Orientation

"This place is amazing!" Abby said. She looked over at Bell, who seemed just as excited as Abby felt.

"Wait until you see the inside," Bell said. She started walking and motioned for Abby to follow. Abby grinned and walked with her into the school.

The inside was more amazing than the outside. The entrance was decorated with hundreds of pieces of fandom merch from hundreds of different fandoms. Abby noticed a T.A.R.D.I.S replica, a statue of a cave troll from The Lord of the Rings, a replica of Luke Castilian's sword Backbiter, and what appeared to be a statue of Papa Achachalla.

As she and Bell continued to wherever they were headed, Abby took in everything she could. The halls were each themed around a different fandom. There was a Doctor Who hall styled like the inside of a Dalek spacecraft, a Narnia hall styled like the Pevensy's castle, a Lord of the Rings hall styled like the halls of Rivendell, and a Venturiantale hall decorated with the channel's colors and each of the siblings emblems, among many others.

The classroom doors were all shut, so Abby didn't get the chance to see inside. She followed Bell to a large room resembling a theater.

"Welcome to the auditorium! This is where all the assemblies are held, as well as the school plays!" Bell said. She led Abby over to the very middle row and took a seat. She motioned for Abby to sit next to her, which is just what Abby did.

"This room is huge! How many students are there?" Abby asked.

"I'm not sure. A few hundred, maybe. Possibly more," Bell answered. "Oh, orientation's starting! We better stop talking. "

All the other students had sat down while they were talking. They all went quiet as a lady walked up on stage. "Greetings, students! I am Miss Silnet, your headmistress," she announced. Abby was shocked. The lady definitely wasn't dressed like a headmistress. She wore a camp Half-blood t-shirt underneath a black sweatshirt, a pair of jeans with fandom references doodled all over them, and a pair of plain red sneakers. Her ginger hair was pulled into a loose braid with bits of silver weaved in. She couldn't have been older than thirty, yet was still clearly a fangirl.

"Welcome to Fandom U! I'm sure some of you new students are curious as to what the U stands for. Most people think it means university. However, a university is a collage, and here all ages of fans are welcome. The U in fact stands for United. We are all united under our love of our fandoms! Join me as I say the school's pledge," she said. She put her hand on her heart and began the pledge, with many returning students saying it with her.

To be obsessed For all our lives, To value the next part Over the next school test. To love those who do not love back, To stalk them on the Internet. To unite as one Under the fandom sun.

Abby looked around her, thinking about how all these people had similar interests, habits, preferences, possibly even crushes as her. She realized that they truly were united in their love of fandoms. She could tell this was going to be her best school year ever.

Chapter 5: Classes

After orientation Bell lead Abby to her dorm. The room had two beds, two dressers, two closets, two trashcans, two desks, two bookshelves, and, to Abby's surprise, two TVs. There was a dark blue couch in front of each TV, the bedding was purple on both beds, and at each desk there was a chair made of oak with dark green built-in cushions. There was a large window in the middle of the wall leading outside, with a view of the huge field behind the school. In front of the window was a kitchen, complete with all the cooking utensils you could ever need. On both sides of the room there was a private bathroom with a shower, sink, medicine cabinet, mirror, and, of course, toilet.

"This room is amazing!" Abby marveled.

"It gets better. Guess who your dorm mate is. Me!" Bell said. Abby was very happy to hear that. Despite having only known Bell for a short time, the two seemed to be best friends. Plus, Bell was the only person Abby actually knew!

Abby then noticed the large boxes sitting by the desks. They were labeled School Supplies.

"So, which side do you want?" Abby asked Bell.

"Hm. The right side, I think."

"Okay!" Abby said. She set down her luggage, which she had been hauling around all day, on her bed. She walked over to her desk and opened the box.

Inside was everything a fangirl could need. There was a laptop, about a dozen brand new books, some notebooks, some pencils, some pens, a spare phone charger for both Apple and Android brands, a charger for the laptop, an extra pillow in case of a feels attack, a sketchbook for fanart, colored pencils, and many course books for class.

She closed the box, not feeling like unpacking it. Her eyes fell on some paper on her desk. She picked it up and asked Bell, "What's this?"

"It's a list of all the different classes you can take. In this school you get to choose all your own classes! What you do is pick your five main fandoms, then pick two classes per fandom. Later one of the teachers will come to collect it. They enter it into a computer, which then devises a schedule," Bell explained.

"Oh. Thanks!" Abby said. She turned her attention back to the paper. On the first page were five spots to write her fandoms. She thought for awhile, then chose Doctor Who, Percy Jackson, Venturiantale, Star Wars, and Warriors.

She turned to the next page, which had a list of the different classes for each fandom. She read over all the options, then chose the ones that interested her most.

Abby's choices:

Venturiantale: Tale Fighting, the class where you learn to fight like the Tale characters, and Lore 101, the study and attempt to make sense of VT lore.

Percy Jackson: Demigod Combat, the class where you learn how to fight like a Demigod, and Camp Cooking, the class of learning to cook the meals they eat at camp.

Doctor Who: A Study of Time, the class on understanding how time works, and Regeneration History, the study of the Doctor's personal history.

Warriors: Knowing Your Herbs, the class on healing methods the clans use, and Warriors Speak 101, the study of Warriors phrases and words.

Star Wars: Understanding the Force, the study of what the Force is as well as how it is used, and Dark vs Light, a debate class studying the pros and cons of each side in an attempt to find out which one is truly better.

Abby finished filling out the paper and looked over at Bell, who appeared to be doing the same.

Abby and Bell spent the rest of the night unpacking. Abby discovered that the closest was filled with fandom clothes, as well as the dresser. "How did they know my size?" she asked, a tad creeped out.

"Your mom had to put it on your admission papers."

"Oh."

Just before Abby went to bed there was a knock at the door. The teacher had come by to collect the class papers. After the girls had handed them over they got into bed. Bell seemed to fall asleep pretty quick, but Abby stayed up for hours,unable to sleep at the anticipation of the next day.

And then I never wrote Chapter Six. I guess she overslept, huh? Heh.

#my old writing #Whaaat no Abby's not a self-insert named after my favorite Monster High character #Psssh that's- that's crazy talk

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lets-talk-appella · 5 years

Text

Aubrey’s Least Favorite Game

Bechloe Week 2019: Truth or Dare

Summary: Or, the three times Aubrey hated Truth or Dare and the one time she didn't. For Bechloe Week 2019: Truth or Dare.

Word Count: 3k

Rating: G

AO3 and FFN

The first time Aubrey played Truth or Dare, she swore to never play again.

She was in middle school, and Taryn Henning dared Mitch Benson to kiss her. On the mouth, even. Before Aubrey could protest or punch him, Mitch just swooped down and pressed his awkward seventh grade mouth to hers. He had horrible breath, everyone was looking, and Aubrey just wanted it to end, which it did eventually, thank God. Then she punched him.

She was furious for days. You can’t just dare a first kiss on someone against their will. It’s rude, for one thing, and it was her first kiss. She had a whole scenario planned for her first kiss (one that involved sunsets and picnics and maybe Leonardo di Caprio), so for one idiot and a stupid game to take that from her was traumatic, to say the least.

Aubrey never wanted to play Truth or Dare again, or any game like it, to be completely honest. And for the most part, she succeeded in that venture. For any subsequent middle school and early high school party, Aubrey abstained from Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven, and pretty much every other game her friends seemed to find endless enjoyment in.

Thankfully, the fun of those sorts of games wore off over time. By the time she was a junior in high school, she allowed herself to think that she might actually be free of Truth or Dare for the rest of her life.

And then she went to college and joined the Barden Bellas.

********************

It wasn’t until Alice, the tyrannical Bella captain, dared her and Chloe to streak across campus that Aubrey realized she may have made a mistake in joining the Bellas.

“This is stupid,” she said to Chloe even as they undressed behind the auditorium. “It’s hazing, you know, and we could seriously bust them for this.”

Chloe shrugged and Aubrey looked pointedly up at the night sky; Chloe was already naked. “It’s not like it’s dangerous,” she said. “It’s bonding, like Alice said. Just Truth or Dare. We’ll get her back next round.”

“We could get in trouble,” Aubrey reminded her as she finished stripping and placed her clothes in a neat pile against the side of the building with Chloe’s.

“No one’s out there,” Chloe assured her. She was right; it was a Saturday evening right at the start of the school year, so campus had become a ghost town.

“Still,” Aubrey emphasized, crossing her arms over her chest and angling her body slightly to the side. She didn’t understand why Chloe wasn’t more upset about this. She also definitely didn’t understand how Chloe could just… stand there, totally natural, as if she wasn’t in her birthday suit in front of a near-stranger. They’d only met that night at the first rehearsal, and yet, Chloe was acting like they’d been friends for years.

Chloe shifted in place, glancing toward the window Alice and the other sophomore Bellas were watching them from. “Look, I know it’s not great, but if we wanna join the Bellas, we just have to do this little dare. Just this one, okay?”

“We’ve been doing stupid dares for that stupid game all night,” Aubrey complained. “You really think this is the last one?”

“I…” Chloe hesitated, then looked down. “I just really want to be a Bella, okay?”

Aubrey deflated slightly. She understood completely. “Fine,” she agreed through clenched teeth, bringing Chloe’s eyes back up to meet hers. “But when we’re co-captains of the Bellas,” she said, making Chloe smile, “let’s promise not to make new girls do crap like this, okay?”

“Deal,” Chloe said, then, “Race you?”

It was dumb, but even that hint of competition made Aubrey’s stomach tighten. “You got it,” she said stiffly, stopping herself from looking at Alice. She didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“Ready?” Chloe asked, starting in a lunge that Aubrey mirrored. “Three… two… one… go!”

It wasn’t until later, after their naked sprint across campus was done and they’d put their clothes back on, that Aubrey wondered if Chloe had let her win. The more she thought about it, hovering in the back of her mind even as Alice officially welcomed her and Chloe to the Bellas (“I guess you slut-bags are in it for the long haul,” she’d said), the more Aubrey was certain that Chloe had only done the whole thing to take her mind off of the situation.

As much as Aubrey had hated that dare, it had told her one thing: even after knowing her for barely an hour, Chloe had known competition would be just what Aubrey needed to get through.

********************

The next time Aubrey was coerced into playing Truth or Dare, it was actually Chloe’s idea. It was their senior year, and they’d somehow found themselves co-captaining the strangest band of Bellas of all time. Really, why would anyone want to be known as “Fat” Amy? Chloe had insisted on the game, claiming it would help them all bond.

“Oh, you mean like it bonded us and the old Bellas?” Aubrey whispered furiously to Chloe, pulling her aside almost as soon as the suggestion had left her mouth. “We promised, Chloe. We wouldn’t make them do this.”

Chloe was already shaking her head. “This won’t be like that,” she said. “This isn’t initiation, and we won’t make anyone do anything they don’t want to do. It’s just bonding!”

“I really don’t think—”

“Okay, Bellas!” Chloe called to their new recruits, clapping her hands as she turned away from Aubrey and the whiteboards. “Form a circle, and we’ll play!”

“Chloe!” Aubrey hissed, but her voice was lost under the mingled groans and cheers emitted by the ragtag group as they dragged their metal chairs into a sloppy circle that was really more of an ellipse.

“Does everyone know how to play?” Chloe asked, taking her own seat. “You just pick on a person, and have them choose between a truth or a dare, and then—”

“Yeah, we know, let’s get on with it,” Amy said loudly, waving her hand.

“Totes!” Chloe chirped. “Um, Beca, do you want to start?”

Aubrey had to bite back a sarcastic laugh; the alt girl that Chloe had begged her to let join looked about as happy about this as Aubrey felt.

“Um, I’m good,” Beca muttered, her eyes flicking toward the door. “Maybe someone else wants to—”

“I’ll go,” Stacie said, looking delighted. “Chloe, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Chloe said, and Stacie’s eyes gleamed.

“Who was that guy you were making out with at Hood Night?” she asked, leaning forward.

Aubrey rolled her eyes as most of the other girls “oooohed,” though she noticed Beca took on a more sullen look than usual.

Chloe beamed and launched into an explanation of Tom, which kicked off the annoying game in full. Chloe dared Amy to stand on her chair and sing the alphabet (which she did, stretching it out for a full three minutes, making every letter into one ridiculously long, rather off-tune note); Amy picked Cynthia Rose, who chose dare (to Amy’s disappointment) and subsequently had to attempt to perform a handstand; she looked at Lilly, who grinned evilly, before choosing Aubrey.

Aubrey sighed. “Truth.”

Cynthia Rose grinned. “Do you hate the Trebles because you’re secretly in love with Bumper?”

A few of the Bellas laughed, except for Chloe, who winced.

Aubrey smiled tightly. “No, Cynthia Rose, I hate them because they’re immature assholes whose male energy taints those who are unfortunate enough to find themselves near to them,” she answered, then looked across the circle. “Beca. Truth or dare?”

Beca rolled her eyes so hard that Aubrey was briefly concerned about retinal detachment. “How about neither?”

“Truth it is,” Aubrey decided for her, ignoring Chloe’s small sound of protest. “Are you boning Jesse?”

She knew it was a long shot (Beca had already denied her obvious toner and wasn’t about to admit it in front of all of them) but maybe she’d catch Beca by surprise and be able to toss her snarky ass out of the Bellas.

“Oh my God! Again?” Beca asked, throwing her hands into the air. “Dude, you don’t get it, do you?”

“I asked you—”

“Aubrey—”

“Okay, you know what?” Beca spoke over her and Chloe. “I have to be at the station for my actual job, not wasting time playing this—playing middle school games!” she stood from her chair quickly, grabbing her bag.

“Wait, Beca!” Chloe called after her, but Beca only glanced her way before storming out of the auditorium.

Chloe sighed and looked down at her lap. A trickle of guilt ran down Aubrey’s spine; she hadn’t meant for that to happen.

“So, are we still playing, or…” Amy trailed off.

“I can lead you to Ancient Mesopotamian art,” Lily whispered.

“No, you guys can go,” Chloe dismissed with an attempt at a smile. “Thanks for playing, that was really…” she stopped, her voice lost under the sound of seven metal chairs scraping backward as the new Bellas rose to their feet and started picking up their things. Stacie waved goodbye, but the rest of the girls wandered away and out of the auditorium without a second look.

Chloe wouldn’t look at Aubrey; her eyes stayed focused on her lap even after everyone else was gone.

Aubrey cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “Look, Chloe, I’m—”

“Did you have to ask her that again?” Chloe asked, picking up her head to glare at Aubrey. “She already told you she isn’t seeing him, and besides, you know I—” she stopped abruptly, looking away again.

Aubrey shifted in her chair uncomfortably. “I didn’t know she’d leave like that.”

“You never even—you know what?” Chloe huffed. “I’m gonna walk home. I’ll meet you there.”

“Wait, Chloe, I can still drive us!” Aubrey called after her, but Chloe was already up and walking to the exit.

********************

Aubrey had to hand it to herself; her retreat was a total success.

So what if maybe it had more to do with Beca finally realizing that her ass was not, in fact, a hat, and admitting to Chloe (and everyone, but mostly to Chloe) that she’d been doing a secret internship the entire time. Aubrey thought that was pretty impressive, actually, and was secretly pretty proud of Beca—not everyone gets an opportunity like that—and her confession seemed just the thing to fix whatever weirdness had been happening between all the Bellas.

The hope that the Bellas as an institution might actually continue following a potential success at the Worlds competition put Aubrey in a good mood. Such a good mood, actually, that she didn’t even protest when Emily suggested a game of Truth or Dare around the campfire.

Instead, she joined in, having fun with it for the first time in her life because she was friends with every single person playing. She trusted them, and that made all the difference.

Emily dared Amy to put six marshmallows in her mouth at once, a feat which was accomplished happily; Amy got Flo to confess that she still sleeps with no fewer than twenty-eight Beanie Babies; Flo got her turn, and asked Lily what she was going to do over the summer, the answer to which Aubrey didn’t catch but had both Flo and Amy reeling away from her in horror; no one could hear who Lilly called on, so Cynthia Rose took her turn and dared Stacie to play the rest of the game topless.

Aubrey was about to intervene at that point—the less nudity, the better—but Beca beat her to it.

“Oh come on, don’t make her do that,” she said, picking up a marshmallow to spear on the end of a stick. “The rest of us would have to suffer.”

“You don’t wanna see my goodies?” Stacie pouted, already reaching to take off her shirt. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Your goodies might catch on fire,” Beca deadpanned, now holding her stick out to roast the marshmallow.

Stacie looked horrified and crossed her arms immediately.

Beside Aubrey, Chloe started to laugh. “Okay, move on,” she said, as the unofficial referee of the game. “Cynthia Rose, you can go again though.”

Cynthia Rose paused. “If there’s no nudity, they have to do it, right?”

Aubrey didn’t like the look in her eyes.

Chloe frowned. “I… nothing illegal, either.”

Cynthia Rose widened her eyes, the picture of innocence. “It’s not illegal! Promise.”

“I guess…” Chloe allowed slowly, and almost immediately, an evil look came over Cynthia Rose’s face.

“Um—” Aubrey started, wanting to shout a general warning before—

“Chloe, truth or dare?” Cynthia Rose asked.

Chloe thought for a moment before replying, “Dare.”

As soon as she said it, Aubrey knew it had been the wrong decision.

Cynthia Rose’s smile widened. “I dare you to kiss Beca.”

Aubrey’s stomach panged unpleasantly. Around her, the Bellas went silent and still; Chloe stared, her mouth hanging open, and Beca sat frozen as the marshmallow at the end of her stick caught on fire.

Then it was like a switch flipped, and suddenly the campfire erupted with noise and Chloe was being urged up from her chair by Stacie and guided around the fire to stand in front of Beca, who still wasn’t moving or blinking or even breathing that Aubrey could see.

And Aubrey was flung back to the seventh grade and Mitch Benson and something about the rigidity in Chloe’s spine and the panic in Beca’s face made her chest constrict because Aubrey wasn’t blind; she knew exactly what had been going on between Chloe and Beca for years (even if they wouldn’t admit it themselves) and she knew with complete certainty that neither of them would have wanted it to happen like this.

“Okay, hang on, stop!” she called out in her drill sergeant voice, and everyone stopped to look at her.

Aubrey took a breath, thinking fast. Chloe still looked like she was in shock; Beca’s marshmallow had fallen into the flames long ago, and now the stick she still held was burning.

“Beca, drop your stick!” she said, and Beca snapped to life, dropping the flaming wood into the fire with a yelp. Aubrey sighed and continued, “We can’t do this, guys, come on.”

“But—but Chloe said!” Cynthia Rose sputtered. “She has to!”

“Right, yes, she did,” Aubrey agreed, “and, um, I was going to say that we can’t do this without a camera.”

The relief on Beca and Chloe’s faces turned to horror.

“So, um, Amy, can you go to the cabin and grab me the camera?”

“But we all have phones.”

“Amy! Go get the camera!”

“All right, all right,” Amy said, hands raised defensively as she stood and started walking toward the cabin. “I’m going! Yeesh, no need to get all—”

She was cut off by her own scream, hoisted into the air by yet another bear trap.

“Oh—Amy!” Cynthia Rose shouted and ran to her, followed closely by the rest of the Bellas apart from Beca and Chloe, who stared at Aubrey.

“Did you just…” Beca started.

Aubrey lifted a finger to her lips. “They’ll forget all about it.”

The smile that Chloe sent her made it all worth it.

“Okay, ladies, get in formation,” Aubrey shouted to Cynthia Rose and the others, walking over to stand halfway between them and Beca and Chloe; she had to direct the take-down. “We’ve done this before, now, get under her!”

She tried not to listen, she really did. But she’d always had keen, military-grade hearing, and really, it wasn’t like Beca and Chloe were being nearly as quiet as they should have been. But as she supervised and directed Amy’s rescue for the second time that night, she overheard the conversation happening not ten feet behind her back.

“So, that was close,” Beca huffed quietly (not quietly enough).

“Yeah, um, would have been really aca-awkward.”

There was a pause during which Amy asked loudly for a juice box, and Aubrey pictured how Beca and Chloe were probably looking everywhere except at each other.

“Do you…” Chloe’s voice was barely there, shaking with nerves. “Do you, you know, maybe want to… try that… without an audience?”

Aubrey stopped trying not to listen and instead focused all her attention on what was happening behind her (sorry, Amy).

“I… you mean, the, like, the… kissing thing?”

“Yeah. Only if you want!”

“Well, there’s—I’m still—Jesse,” Beca muttered, and Aubrey wanted to roll her eyes. She’d seen that one coming a mile away, too, and no one had listened.

“Oh.” Aubrey winced at the disappointment in Chloe’s voice.

“But,” Beca said quickly. “I… well, he and I aren’t…”

Aubrey’s heart rate picked up.

“Look,” Beca sighed, “let me talk to him first, and then, you know, maybe we can try… that… not with an audience? I’d—I’d like to.”

Aubrey could almost feel the excitement coming off Chloe without looking at her.

“Yeah, that’s—totes.”

“Totes,” Beca said, and with great timing; the rope holding Amy up snapped, and she fell with a shout directly on top of Cynthia Rose and Flo.

“Um, great work!” Aubrey shouted over the chaos. “The teamwork was really…” she trailed off, no one listening to her, and glanced back in time to see Chloe reach out her hand and Beca take it, smiling at her more softly than she believed possible.

Well, thought Aubrey, satisfaction creeping through her. Maybe Truth or Dare doesn’t always have a bad ending.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #aubrey posen #beca mitchell #chloe beale #aubrey POV #bechloe week 2019

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incorrectsmashbrosquotes · 5 years

Text

Rage

Today in the Smash mansion, Crazy Hand has gathered almost everyone here for a special announcement.

“Everyone, I have some great news to tell you!” He stated. “I have picked the next person to be a part of the Smash roster!”

Mario stood up from the audience. “But, isn’t Master Hand in charge of that while you’re in charge of cuts?”

“And didn’t he say you weren’t allowed to choose?” Link asked from the back.

“Yes and yes. That’s why I made this a surprise!” Crazy answered. “Now, this newcomer is from the Earthbound series…”

“Ninten!!” Ness cheered from his spot of the auditorium.

Crazy Hand continued. “Is well known and requested…”

Ness shouted again. “Ninten!!”

“And, he’s a villain!” Crazy added.

“…Gigyas?” Ness asked, now tilting his head.

“I present to you…the newest addition to the roster….” Crazy Hand then pulled the curtains aside, revealing the newcomer. “Porky!!”

Porky was wearing his red and black buisness suit standing next to his splash screen quote, “Porky takes over!!”.

“All hail the King of New Pork City!!” Porky laughed. Other than the applause that was somehow coming out of Crazy Hand, everyone was silent.

“Huh. Nice to see someone from your home series added, huh Ness?” Luigi asked. All Luigi would find was Ness staring blank faced at what he was seeing.

Master Hand entered the auditorium, wearing some towels over his fingers. “What’s with all of the-” He then saw the same sight the other Smashers saw.

“Surprise!” Crazy shouted.

You could almost hear Master Hand facepalm.“Crazy, what the hell…”

——-

Master Hand told the Smashers he’d go talk to Crazy Hand about this. That being said, Porky was sent to hang out with the younger Smashers. Porky currently had his arm wrapped around Ness incredibly tight while some of the other kids looked on in confusion.

“So this is where you’ve been hanging out at, huh?” Porky asked, looking the other kids.

Ness struggled to force a smile. “Y-Yep…” He really didn’t want to talk to Porky after everything he had done. He may have used to be his friend before, but after all of that, forgiving him was near impossible. Unless…

“Say, Porky?” Ness started. “Do you…remember anything about…."

Porky then shoved Ness to the ground. "Woah, that kid has a flaming lizard. With wings!” Porky than ran over to Red and looked all over his Charizard, much to Red’s dismay.

Ness sighed. If only Porky didn’t remember, than there could’ve been a way to keep him from turning out the way he did…and I could save the one person I wasn’t able to…

Pit and Meggy walked over and helped Ness up. “Who’s that kid, Ness?” Meggy asked.

“That’s Porky. He was my childhood friend before all the stuff with Gigyas happened. It’s…much easier to get the whole story if you play Mother 2…” Ness sighed.

“Oh yeah. I think I heard Lady Palutena mention some pig kid ruining Lucas’ life in one of her guidances.” Pit recalled.

Ness’ eyes widened. “Crap, where’s Lucas?!” He asked in a panicked tone.

“Uh, he’s out with Bayonetta and Joker. Why?” Pit asked.

“Guys, we cannot let him find out about Porky! If he does, he’ll be stuck with the person who single-handedly ruined his entire life, and he’ll never be happy again!”

“We can’t let that happen!” Pit said.

“Guys, Master Hand said that he’d handle it. I mean, I’m pretty sure that he’s almost got it sorted out by now. He’ll get it done before Lucas even comes back!” Meggy tried to reassure them.

Ness looked down. “Y-Yeah, you’re right.”

Toon Link glanced out the window. “Uh, Lucas is back, everyone.” He pointed to Lucas walking with Bayonetta and Joker carrying some shopping bags.

Their eyes shrank and they glanced at Porky, who was busy pulling on Ivysaur’s bulb. Leaf was about five seconds away from knocking his block off.

“Guys, we have to hide Porky!” Ness shouted.

——

.Lucas’ day had been spent mostly shopping for clothes and other accessories. Joker picked out Lucas’ new attire, which all in all looked pretty stylish. Lucas then made his way up to the kids room, where he heard some loud shuffling.

He opened the door and saw all of the kids crowded around what appeared to be a new piece of furniture with a blanket over it.

“Hi guys. Um, what are you doing?” He asked, tilting his head.

“O-Oh, you know us! J-Just….being fresh!” Blue said with a nervous smile. “Resting on this…exotic table Vill got us!”

Villager nodded nervously and gave a thumbs up.

“Huh. Well, I got some new clothes so I’m gonna-” Lucas walked over to the closet.

“Neeesss, I wanna come out from under the blanket!” A whiny voice was heard. “The king of New Pork City demands it!

Lucas looked back. "What…was that?”

Ness punched the “furniture” hard. “Nothing! I didn’t hear anything!”

“Hey, don’t punch me!” Porky made his way out from under the blanket.

Lucas stood and saw the absolute last person he had ever wanted to see, standing right in front of him. He dropped the bags on the floor. His expression read complete shock.“What…is he…doing here…?”

30%

Ness looked over at Lucas. “Dude, I’m really sorry! Crazy Hand thought it was a good idea to add Porky.”

“After…everything he’s done….” Lucas mumbled.

50%

Porky looked over at Lucas and raised an eyebrow. “Eh, who’s….” He then remembered. “Oh, your that kid from that other time!”

60%

“You….” Lucas mumbled.

Porky laughed. “Man, I can’t believe I have to share a mansion with this crybaby!…Wait, you look familiar…”

80%

“Oh, you look exactly like my general, Masked Man!” Porky announced.

Popo and Nana looked over to Lucas. Once they saw his expression, they became terrified, as if it brought back terrible memories. Not the face specifically, but what came after. The two ran out the room.

“He had a name…” Lucas said, now audible. His fists were clenched.

“Hm? What was his name? Clover? Claps? Wait, no. Clown?” Porky said that last one in an incredibly mocking tone.

95%

“He kept on crying about how he wanted his mom or something before I turned him into a chimera. What a baby! I’m actually glad that the Mecha Drago did what it did.” Porky admitted with no shame.

Ness stepped forward. “Okay, Porky. That’s eno-”

Porky wasn’t there. Neither was Lucas. All that was there was a giant hole leading outside, with Lucas in midair holding Porky by the neck.

“Shut your…DAMN MOUTH!!" Lucas shouted. His eyes were now red, and his hair was in a much more messy state than the way it was usually in.

100% - Rage

————-

Snake was relaxing with the other adults in the hangspace, laughing at a joke he had made.

"I’m serious! That actually happened!” Snake told them. “And then Colonel said-”

“Snake!”

The joke was cut off when the Ice Climbers ran in panicking. Snake turned towards them.

“S-Snake…It’s…it’s Lucas….” Nana said.

Snake raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“It’s happening again!” Popo shouted.

Chrom looked over to Snake with a worried expression. “Snake, what are they talking about?”

Snake’s had a shocked look on his face. He quickly got up from his chair. “We have to-!”

CRASH!!!

A loud noise was heard outside. Snake, the Ice Climbers and some of the other adults glanced in the direction. “Oh no…” Snake mumbled.

———————

Porky was laid out by a tree that didn’t break when he was hit into it. So far, Lucas has been knocking him all around the backyard, practically demolishing everything in the area. Now, there were Porky shaped holes, and demolished trees all around the mansion.

Lucas slowly walked toward him, a dead expression in his eyes. “Get up."

Porky sniffled. "P-Please…n-no m-more…it h-hurts…” Tears streamed down his face.

Lucas picked him up by his hair and punched his already incredibly bruised face. "Funny. How many innocent creatures…“ He punched Porky again. ”Including my brother and mother said that before you mercilessly took their lives?“

Porky sniffled again, then threw something at Lucas. Albeit, it completely missed. Lucas sighed and shook his head, throwing Porky into yet another tree, and slowly walking towards him.

"Lucas, stop!"

Lucas shifted his eyes over to the other kids and some of the adults who had ran outside. He had stopped in a position right where the object Porky

"Luke, I know you’re really angry, but you need to calm down!” Snake shouted.

Lucas was still for a second, then turned around to face them. “Why the hell should I?! After everything he’s done, he deserves this!!”

“Dude, I know your really upset, but Master Hand said Crazy wasn’t allowed to add fighters!” Meggy shouted.

Unknown to them, Porky had a grin on his face. He reached into his pocket and pressed a button, causing the object he had thrown that was right behind Lucas to react.

“Yeah! He’ll get this sorted out and then you’ll-!” Pit started.

Suddenly the sky darkened and a purple puff appeared behind Lucas. Lucas turned around, and saw the Ultimate Chimera with it’s jaws wide open.

“LUCAS!!” Ness shouted.

CRUNCH!!!

The Ultimate Chimera closed it’s mouth on Lucas’ body. Getting caught in the jaws of the Ultimate Chimera was pretty much a guaranteed death. Porky laughed.

“How do you like that?! That was my Ultimate Chimera in a capsule device! It can summon one of those bad boys to my disposal! Now then…” Porky pressed another button on his device, summoning the giant robot he had used in Subspace Emissary. It still had the All Safe Capsule attached to it. “Time to take out everyone who opposes me!!” He shouted as he leapt into the machine.

(Note: In the All Safe Capsule from Earthbound, it is impossible to be hurt. Nothing can get in to harm you, and once you’re in, you can’t leave. The glass is unbreakable. You are stuck, forever to be in perfect health for the end of time, outliving everyone.

“…Lucas…” Ness muttered.

………

“Ashley’s gonna kill us…” Toon Link muttered.

…………….

“Ness, this guy was your friend?” Pit asked.

“That is a heavy was.” Ness answered.

“Enough!” Porky shouted from his machine. “Now, I’ll start with Ness! Specifically since I dislike him the most! But don’t worry, I’ll keep the angels, those squid people, and whatever animals those other kids keep in those orbs as henchmen! They might actually serve as good chimera’s!”

Suddenly, there was a loud burst of energy that had came from the Ultimate Chimera. Everyone looked in the direction, and saw that the top jaw of the Chimera had been torn off due to the blast, and the teeth in the bottom jaw was pretty much destroyed. The rest of the machine was lying on the ground, occasionally twitching it’s legs. On the teeth, was Lucas. However, his clothes were tattered, his face was completely blacked out, and his eyes were glowing a pure white.

.Lucas’ percent:………….???%……………

Porky grimaced. “No…no, your supposed to be dead!!” He shouted.

“He’s alright!” Ness shouted with relief. However, Snake held his arm out, as if to tell everyone not to approach Lucas.

Nana was clinging onto Popo, who was currently shaking in fear. Pit noticed this. “Hey, what is it?” He asked.

“It…I-It’s happening again…” Popo mumbled.

Porky screamed and fired lasers at Lucas. As the lasers approached, Lucas simply held his hand out. Using his PK energy absorption, he took the energy of the lasers. Lucas then teleported right next to Porky’s machine, and landed a kick so powerful the it took off two of the robotic arms. Porky’s mech lost it’s balance, but then tried to attack Lucas with a multi-jab attack. Lucas used psychic energy to form a barrier around himself so he wouldn’t get hit by it. He then grabbed the robotic arm and bashed Porky’s machine away with it, sending him flying across some more trees.

“Gah! Quit hitting me and fall already!” Porky charged an energy shot and fired at Lucas, who then absorbed it once more.

“…I don’t want it. You can have it back…." He held out his palm. "PK….Goner…."

What followed next was a powerful PK blast that hit Porky’s robot. It’s power was great enough to not only destroy the vicinity of the area, but blow everyone back as well. Once the dust subsided, Porky’s now destroyed machine laid down in the deep crater that was created by Lucas’ blast.

”….“ Lucas teleported over to Porky, now standing on top of the glass that separated the two. He then crouched and started punching the glass

Porky had a sinister grin on his face. "Heh…you won’t be able to get me now. Once I’m in here, that’s it! I’ll be safe in here for-"

Crack!

Porky’s eyes widened as he saw the glass begin to crack due to Lucas’ punches. This wasn’t making sense. The glass was supposed to be unbreakable! No one should be able to touch him! So how was Lucas…?

Lucas’ fist finally shattered the glass, puling Porky out of it. Porky now had scratches from the broken glass Lucas pulled him through. Holding the King of Pork City by his head he threw him to the ground, and planted his food firmly on his chest to hold him down. Lucas pointed a finger at Porky.

"N-No!” Porky shouted again. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He was once again crying.

Lucas looked at him with a blank expression. “….Porky, it’s not the date of your birth, we aren’t at the hospital, you aren’t your mother, and I’m sure as hell not your father." Lucas’ finger then began to charge a PK Fire.

"Lucas, wait!"

Lucas would turn around to see Ness and the others behind him, finally getting to where he was. "Lucas, it’s okay! You don’t have to beat him up!” Ness shouted.

Lucas just turned and glared at them. His finger still held the PK Fire.

Snake gulped. “Kid, please….” Popo and Nana just trembeld in fear.

Lucas continued to glare at them. He then turned to face Porky. “….." His face slowly began to turn to normal. ”…Tell Dr. Mario to clean him up…“ Lucas mumbled before storming off past everyone.

Everyone watched as Lucas walked off. "Is…is he gonna be alright?” Pit asked.

“…” Ness didn’t have an answer for this. He had expected Lucas to be greatly saddened by the return of Porky, but instead got a full show of Lucas’ pent up rage towards Porky come to light. “…I don’t know…”

#smash bros #submission #Source: Mob Psycho 100 #super smash bros #incorrect super smash bros #incorrect quotes #Ness #Lucas #Porky #Snake #Bayonetta #Earthbound #Metal Gear Solid

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lostinfic · 5 years

Text

Dissonance and Harmony | 5

Pairing: Roderick Peterson (Nativity 2) x Alison Crosby (The Canterbury Tales).

*You don’t need to have seen either film.*

Summary: Alison wants to boost her pop music career whereas Roderick needs to restore his reputation in the world of classical music. Neither of them is above using “irregular” means to get what they want, so when she joins his choir, they are in a unique position to help each other… if only they could get along.

A/N: Apparently, turtlenecks are called polo necks in the UK. Here’s a link to the bells video Roderick shows her.

Rating: M | Word count: 5,4k

Part 1 and 2 | Part 3 and 4 | Ao3

♪ ♪ ♪

Today, when Alison arrives at the theatre earlier, it’s not in the hopes of time alone with Roderick, but for a job interview with Vera, his associate.

Vera asks her a few questions, but she’s a no-nonsense type of woman who quickly sees that Alison has all the requirements both in terms of job experience and people skills.

“I can see why Roderick recommended you for the job,” Vera says as they shake hands.

“I can see why you two are business partners.”

Alison will work at the ticket booth during the day and show performers around when they arrive ahead of their concert. Some nights, she will guide people to their seats and bartend during intermission. The pay is average, but it will compensate for the hours she can’t work at the pub anymore. And there’s a tiny chance she’ll meet interesting people in the business. Still nowhere near the 7000‎£ her ex-husband is suing her for.

There’s an hour left before the beginning of choir practice, enough time to call her friend in Canterbury. Lisa is an old friend, and, more importantly, a terrible gossip. If anyone in Canterbury knows the reasons behind John’s lawsuit, it will be her.

Alison sits in the staircase, and tells her friend the little she knows.

“He’s suing you?” Lisa exclaims. “I can’t believe it. You know, even after you left him, he kept defending you. He was clearly in denial.”

“Aaww. What’s made him change his mind, then?”

“I’ll give you the straight tip: he’s dating the new solicitor in town.”

Lisa has a lot to say about this woman, but Alison focuses on only one thing: with every party emotionally involved, there will be no easy way out.

“If I could talk directly to John, I’m sure I could convince him to drop this,” Alison says.

“Use your loaf, Crosby: he thinks you manipulated him once, he’s not gonna talk to you again.”

“Fuck.”

“Besides, you’re famous now, so what’s the problem?”

“I’m famous?”

“We all saw you on the telly this summer with Robbie William.”

“That was once! I replaced a backup singer at the last minute and never saw him again. I work in a pub and sing in a choir. That’s it.”

When Alison hangs up, she heaves a long sigh. She has some answers now, but not the ones she wanted. If John thinks she’s rich and his new girlfriend convinced him to take advantage of this, she has to prove them wrong. But how if they won’t even talk to her?

Footsteps echo in the staircase, and she springs to her feet. It’s Roderick, shaking rain off his black trench coat as he walks up to his office. Butterflies erupt in her stomach. The man she insulted then impulsively hugged. The two days off they’ve had since that event haven’t decreased her embarrassment in any way.

He stops two steps lower than her. For once, they’re at eye-level.

“Are you alright?” he asks when he sees her.

She smooths her hair self-consciously. “Erm, yeah. Yeah. So, have you heard back from the investors?”

“Yes, we were lucky, Vera told me they couldn’t stay to watch after all. So they didn’t see that disastrous performance.”

“Oh, good. Whew.” She mimes wiping sweat off her forehead. “Unless they left because they’re not interested in sponsoring us after all.”

“No, they’ll be back next Friday… They said they liked the choristers they met in the lobby.”

“That’d be me and Marcus. Guess choosing me for my good looks is already paying off,” she says it good-humouredly, not an accusation, just banter. She tilts her head to the side with a mischievous smile. “My, what a fetching polo neck you’re wearing today.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m practicing.” She flutters her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“You might not want to sound so sarcastic.”

“Noted. You really do give the best advice, Mr Peterson.”

“Thank you.” He puffs up his chest slightly. “It comes from my extensive experience as a teacher and mentor.”

“See what I did there? Not so sarcastic this time, was I?”

She smiles smugly, and Roderick rolls his eyes, but there is a certain fondness to the way he shakes his head.

“Well played, miss Crosby, well played.”

“I’ve got it covered. So, we have till Friday to improve and dazzle the investors?”

“Not the word I would’ve used, but, in essence, yes,” he says. “Are you going to the coffee shop?”

“Nah, brought my own tea today. Gotta save money.”

“Ok. I will see you in eighteen minutes.”

Alison skips down the stairs, whistling a show tune.

There’s nothing she can do about the lawsuit now, but there is something she can do about the investors.

They had two days off after the last practice session. She’d spent the better part of them reflecting on Roderick’s words and her behaviour towards the choir. He was right, she was making it all about herself and acting like a brat. She still plans on using the choir to boost her own career, but in order to do so, the choir must perform well and win, and that can only happen if they work together. So last night, carried along by a surge of generosity and fondness towards her fellow choristers, she baked a whole lot of cookies.

In the basement, where they’ll practice today, she folds out a table to display the three batches of cookies (chocolate, double chocolate and shortbread) with cute napkins.

As she waits for the others to arrive, she sings “Tiny Dancer” to herself and explores the room with improvised dance steps.

She spends so much time at the Lux Aeterna theatre now, it feels like a second home. She calls it simply “Lux”, like an old friend. “I’ll be at Lux all day,” she’ll say sometimes. Lux. Light. Even the basement is luminous somehow. Cold November sun streams through small stained glass windows and creates a colourful pattern over the exposed stone wall.

She grew up in places like these: church basements, school auditoriums, community centres. Cupboards full of old costumes and stage props, mismatched chair, yellowing paper on bulletin boards. The scent of dust and incense lingers decades after. Her love of the stage, and backstage, started young, at 4, when a speech therapist suggested she tried singing to overcome a light stutter, and suddenly she could express herself so fluently. These spaces she associates with freedom now.

“Nice choreography,” Marcus says as he rolls down the back entrance access ramp.

Cold wind rushes in with him, and Alison gathers the cowl neck of her sweater dress over her cheeks.

Marcus helps himself to four cookies and, after some small talk about their weekends, cuts to the chase and asks what happened backstage with Roderick last time.

“We had a row. He called me a brat. I called him selfish,” Alison sums up.

“And yet you’re still in the choir?”

“Yeah, it’s all fine now.” She waves dismissively. “I guess he kind of needs me.”

“How so?”

She sits down next to him, leaning forward to confide in him.

“You know how on the first day you asked why he’d chosen me. Well, he told me. It’s for my… sex appeal.”

Marcus removes his cap to run a hand through his light hair. “Whoa. Makes sense, I suppose. Some people think you’re sleeping with him.”

“What? Who? No! They thought we were off shagging backstage or something?” An image flashes through her mind: shutting Roderick up with a kiss mid-argument and being lifted against the wall, amongst the ropes and pulleys, nibbling on the skin under his turtleneck to leave a hickey— she wipes out the thought. “It’s not like that. He’s soooo not into me. That’s just ridiculous. He wants me to, I don’t know, seduce the judges or attract a male audience.”

“Will you? How do you feel about that?”

“There’s no harm in that, is there? I wear something nice, stroke their ego a bit, brighten their day. That’s what I’m best at.” Alison shrugs and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I just feel… daft for thinking he’d chosen me for my voice.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a good singer Alison. Bit of a diva, but nothing that can’t be fixed.” He pats her knee playfully. “It’s like I said that day. He must’ve thought you have a great voice too. He wouldn’t have chosen you for your looks alone.”

“I suppose, yeah. Has he mentioned using your disability?”

“No, but I noticed that whenever there’s a more plaintive part in a song, he always gives it to me. But, hey, I get to sing more than the other blokes. More exposure for me if a talent scout comes to the concert.”

More people come in, and Alison quickly offers them cookies. Some are wary of her sudden generosity, but no one refuses a freshly-baked cookie.

Janet and Abel in particular are grateful for the pick-me-up after what they saw in the lobby: new posters advertising their concert in December. It features a blurry photo taken, unbeknownst to them, during one of their practices and a large close-up of their conductor, with “Roderick Peterson’s choir” written in bold letters. The information spreads as more people arrive, and pictures taken with mobiles circulate.

“We didn’t even get to choose the choir’s name.”

“I reckon we won’t get a say in the setlist either.”

The poster bother Alison too, but mostly because it’s derailing her plan to become everyone’s friend and lead them to victory. Hoping to change the mood, she tells them about the potential sponsorship. “Mr Peterson and I talked, and we agreed that we must impress these investors,” she says. She might be exaggerating her part, and that won’t help with the rumours, but it’s worth it to see Clarissa seethe. Except she’s not the only seething one, the fact that Roderick himself didn’t inform them of this, adds fuel to the fire.

Annoyance rises in Alison, she sighs heavily and crosses her arms. You don’t understand, he cares about us, she wants to say, but bites her bottom lip to stay on their side.

“Why didn’t he tell us last week? We would’ve sang better,” Janet says.

“Because the quality of your performance should not be contingent upon the presence of investors,” says Roderick from the doorway. They all startle and turn around to him. “I expect you to be at your best. Every. Time. Is that clear?” No one dares speak. The threat of eviction from the choir still hangs above their heads. “Besides, you should not concern yourselves with administrative matters.”

Marcus breaks the silence by clearing his throat, everyone watches intently as he rolls up to Roderick. “With all due respect, Mr Peterson, you’re not teaching children anymore. You can consult us.”

Roderick clasps his hands behind his ram rod-straight back. Only a slight contraction around his jaw indicates his annoyance. “Thank you for your opinion, Mr Bailey. Now, let’s begin.”

They take their places in the middle of the room, Roderick at the piano, and sing through the usual warm-ups. Inhale for four beats, and hum the breath out on the same note for another four. Chests lifted, shoulders straight. Their abdomens widen and flatten simultaneously, each of them an alveoli of the same lung. Dissatisfactions are forgotten. Music prevails. “Lauda Mater Ecclesia”, “Saint Nicolas, Op. 42”, “Thou, my love, art fair”.

Alison fights her instinct to draw attention to herself. It’s not easy, just as it isn’t easy for Roderick to give compliments, but he manages to do so. In as much as “adequate” and “reasonable” said looking like he just threw up a little in his mouth can be considered compliments. She likes to think she was instrumental in that change of attitude. It no less surprises her when, at the end of the next practice, he asks, “Which song would you like to work on this week?”

Glances are exchanged, but no titles offered. Alison can’t think of any song what would not cause him to scoff.

“Well?”

Abel hesitantly raises his hand. “Maybe something by Eric Whitacre?”

“Whitacre? Seriously?” The choristers hold their breaths. “Okay, I suppose we can try that.”

The next day, Roderick hands them new scores. “Who wants to sing the solo? Everyone is welcome to try.” He has never asked before.

Alison starts raising her hand, but lowers it. He’s said “the more you try to make it about you, the less it will be”.

“Miss Crosby?” he asks.

“I— I don’t know.”

“This isn’t some test designed to torture you.” He sounds impatient, but there is something encouraging in the way he nods at her.

“Okay.”

“Take 15 to study the score. I’ll see the soloist individually.”

Alison goes into one of the small, soundproof booths that line the basement. As she studies and hums the notes, she realizes how differently she’s approaching this part. Unlike she would have three months ago, she immediately thinks of it in terms of its place in the whole of the song. She wonders how to complement the others rather than stand out.

“I wasn’t ready before,” she remarks when Roderick joins her in the room.

“Show me what you understand now.”

Her pulse quickens. This is her chance. She can’t let him down. She strikes the pose, relaxes her jaw, and sings the first lines.

Roderick interrupts her with a cluck of his tongue. “The notes are perfect. But you must put your guts into it.” He stretches his hand over her stomach and presses it into her flesh.

The contact jolts through her, and she gasps.

“Again,” he commands.

She holds his gaze and leans into his hand. This time, her voice is infused with determination. It erupts from her core until she’s completely out of breath.

“That was better.”

He swiftly leaves the room, leaving Alison to lean against the wall, bewildered.

♪

When Roderick arrives at work the next day, Alison is working in the ticket booth by the entrance of the theatre. It’s not a demanding job— answering phone calls, printing out tickets, selling to the occasional walk-in client— so he knows she has time to talk with him.

He’s just come back from their coffee shop, one black coffee in hand, and a beverage for her too. It’s some awful seasonal concoction. He thought of her when he saw it advertised in the window, and he needed something to smooth things over. His conduct yesterday, touching her like that, was inappropriate. He knew he could get so much more depth out of her. He’d wanted to rouse that boldness she has, and it worked. But she has to learn to engage it by herself.

He places the clear plastic cup in front of her, glad to put the artificial scent of peppermint and vanilla away from him. Her eyes widen at the sight of the indecent amount of whipped cream, but she expresses none of the enthusiasm he expected.

“I didn’t get the solo,” she says.

For a moment, he fails to see the connection. “Oh, miss Crosby, you’ve known me for some time now, have I ever cajoled someone when I was displeased with their performance?”

She giggles and grabs the drink. “Not quite your style, no.” She sips noisily through the straw. “Mmmm. It’s the one called Elf Brew, innit? Want a sip?”

“No. I’m a vegetarian so no elf meat smoothie for me.”

“You’re funny.”

He finds he doesn’t mind this new habit of hers of flirting with him. It’s all a laugh, of course, she doesn’t mean any of it. But it lets him know she’s not upset about what happened.

“So, I didn’t not get the solo?”

“I’m still considering my options. Luisa did very well too.”

“Right, yeah.” She shrugs and swirls the straw around her drink. “I mean, Whitacre's her favourite composer. It’s more her thing than mine. She should probably get it.”

Roderick arches an eyebrow in surprise.

“We’ll find something else that’s a better fit for me, yeah?” she adds.

“That’s more like it.”

She offers a smile that fades quickly. He pretends to take an interest in the brochures around her booth.

“But I’m trying, though,” she says. “I’m making an effort to really be a part of the choir.”

“I noticed.”

He wonders how long that will last, but it seems his words had an effect on her. Just like her words had one on him. She was right, he had been making the choir all about himself. And Marcus was right too, he isn’t teaching children anymore. It’s all getting in the way of his success.

“I decided to make changes to the posters that created such a stir,” Roderick announces.

“Really? That’s very cool of you. ”

“Today in fact. Can you do something about your face?” He gestures vaguely in front of her.

Her smile vanishes. “What’s wrong with my face?”

He could kick himself for phrasing his request like that. He explains that a photographer will arrive shortly to take new photos for the promotional material. She rushes to the bathroom with her handbag. Ten minutes later, Alison comes out with a fresh coat of pink lipstick, loose hair and, somehow, glitter on her eyelids.

In the auditorium, the photographer asks her to sing while he snaps photos around her. Then she smiles and poses with a binder of music sheets. He’s efficient, he’s worked with Roderick before and knows what he wants, but he’s taking more pictures than necessary and getting too friendly with Alison. She, of course, is enjoying every minute of it. Roderick should be annoyed with this kind of vain attitude, but she remains professional and focused.

“Beautiful. You’re a natural, luv. Lean over. Okay, cross your arms. Yes. Look at me.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Roderick intervenes.

“But we’re only getting started,” the photographer retorts. “I think we need her in a skirt. No? Okay, you’re the boss. Alison, here’s my card if you’re interested in modelling—”

“She already works for me,” Roderick insists, shoving the photographer’s bag in his arms.

After he’s gone, Alison asks, “D’you want me to tell the others there’s gonna be a photoshoot when they come in? I can text them right now.”

“No, we’re not taking pictures of the others, your face will suffice.”

“It’ll be only me? Outside on the marquee of the theatre? On a busy street in central London? Whoa.” She smiles brightly.

“Well, there will be my face too, and then you underneath me— I mean, under the title. Anyway.”

“I see. I suppose it’s like I’m representing the choir. The others— I just… Okay. No. That’s for the best.”

♪

By Friday, the new posters aren’t up on the marquee yet. Good. Alison doesn’t want them to distract her colleagues on this important day when the investors are coming to hear them sing.

She joins everyone in the auditorium. They all scrubbed up well.

“Nice shirt, Marcus,” she says. “Love your scarf, Janet. Luisa, new haircut? Beautiful. Abel you shaved!” There’s a thickness in her throat that isn’t from stress. She’s overcompensating. She should have insisted her friends be in the promotional photos too. She argues with herself that she let Luisa have the solo. And if her pretty face helps sell more tickets for the December concert, than she’s helping everyone. In a way. Being pretty is her thing, and if that’s all she is, then she bloody well deserves her face on a poster. But the guilt doesn’t go away.

She redirects her thoughts to the present when Roderick walks on stage. He greets the investors who are standing at the back of the room. They haven’t introduced themselves to the choir so as not to raise their hopes. They prefer to watch from a distance to better assess their performance. Love of music isn’t their only motivation, they need this association to reflect well on their business, and their logo on the program to pay off.

Roderick’s gaze sweeps across the choristers, and Alison smiles at him. No vein throbs on his forehead, and the movements of his hands and arms are more fluid; they have his back, and he knows it now.

They run through warm-ups and the song they know best. Nervousness strains their voices a little bit, but they cover up each other’s misses. Luisa sings the solo beautifully, and Clarissa is perfect, of course. Alison simply can’t be mad at either of them.

After the first hour, Vera walks on stage to introduce “your new sponsors.” Alison is the first to shake their hands with a warm smile.

“You have great potential, and our bank always believed in encouraging young talent,” they say in a speech that sounds like a marketing pitch.

True to her nature, after the rehearsal, Alison invites everyone to the Blue Bear pub’s Open Mic night to celebrate. Marcus accepts right away, and convinces others to do the same. Even Roderick agrees after they beg him in chorus. “Only for one drink.”

In the theatre’s lobby, a handyman is putting the new posters for the concert. The ones that feature Alison prominently. She doesn’t usually shy away from attention, but when her friends notice it, she wants the floor to swallow her. She sputters some excuses. Thankfully, Marcus smooths things over. “I’m too happy to be pissed right now, let’s not spoil our mood.” No other complaint is voiced, but Alison knows they’re all still thinking about it.

At the Blue Bear, Javier is surprised to see her. “Your shift only starts in an hour.”

“I know, I brought some friends to hang out and sing. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, of course, I don’t mind customers.”

“I’ll just grab a few things.” She passes behind the bar and picks up a bottle of whiskey along with glasses.

“Paying customers, yeah?” Javier says.

Elife is there too, with her bandmates. “You didn’t have time to go out for my birthday, but you have time for your new friends?” she accuses Alison.

“I’m sorry. We got the sponsorship! It’s like a team-building activity, it’s work.” She hugs her friend. “I’ll introduce you to Marcus, you can thank me later.”

They push tables together to sit the dozen choristers who came. Roderick sits at the head of the table, he raises his glass to them.

“As Bach once said: ‘I was obliged to be industrious. Whoever is equally industrious will succeed equally well.’”

“That’s it?” Marcus whispers. “Alright. Cheers!”

Janet is the first to go on stage to sing “Back to Black”. Alison’s focus shifts to Roderick. Does he even know Amy Winehouse? She’s a genius just as much as Beethoven. Even sitting at the same table as them, he’s distant. This pub, with its hunting ephemera on the walls and hanging lamps made out of beer bottles, is a far cry from his modern theatre. She’s sure he thinks it’s not good enough for him. Nothing is good enough for him.

She grows annoyed, but she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Maybe because he called her self-absorbed yet encouraged it by having her pose alone for the photographer. He should have asked the others too or at least explained his decision to them. She’s not the only guilty one. It’s infuriating that he can he be so caring one minute— bringing her tea, finding a solution to her problems, saying she’s sexy, hugging her, smelling good, and that little smile he has sometimes— yet so distant and annoying the next.

Why didn’t he give her a solo? She improved. She worked hard. Why does he want only her face and not her voice? How is she supposed to sing with her guts when all the songs he chooses are hymns to a deity she’s not sure she believes in? Singing with the others is uplifting, but the lyrics are meaningless to her.

“I’ll show him,” she mutters to herself as she makes her way to the stage. Impulsively, she chooses a song by Carly Simon.

Alison keeps the microphone on its stand but puts her two hands over it, she undulates her hips to the first guitar notes.

“You walked into the party. Like you were walking on a yacht,” she sings with a voice deeper than usual.

Her friends cheer when they recognize the song and sing along to the chorus.

“You're so vain. You probably think this song is about you. You're so vain. I'll bet you think this song is about you. Don't you? Don't you?”

She presses her hand to her stomach as she belts out the last lines. It’s cathartic. Her frustration dissolves. She bows to the applause. Feeling better, she saunters off stage.

She crosses Roderick’s path as he’s walking to the exit, putting on his coat.

“You’re going already? It’s not ‘cause of the song, is it?”

“I thought it wasn’t about me,” he says with a playful tone. “I liked it.”

She wishes his approval didn’t make her feel so warm inside.

“Thank you for coming, it means a lot. To everyone.”

“Thank you, Alison. Good night.”

As he walks away, she considers insisting he stays, but Javier calls her to begin her shift.

Alison dons her apron and goes around the tables whiles her friends keep singing on stage. They’re absolutely killing it. Marcus’s rendition of “I Believe I Can Fly” has the crowd cackling, and a few minutes later, he and Elife are snogging like their lives depend on it. Janet and Luisa sing a duet, and are soon joined by a tipsy Abel. And the night wouldn’t be complete without “Bohemian Rhapsody” which she has time to join between two orders.

They stay until closing time, at 11. Alison takes the booze away from them, and goes around wiping tables while they discuss the choir.

“We should sing more songs like we did tonight.”

“We were so good.”

“More people would come to the show.”

“I’ve had enough of bloody hymns.”

“Do you know what we should do? Mash-ups!” Luisa says.

This suggestion is followed by a chorus of enthusiastic agreement.

“Mr Peterson will never let, though,” Janet complains.

“I don’t know,” Alison says. “I mean, he’s been making an effort to talk to us more like we’re actual humans. He’s trying, no?”

“That’s right, he has been making an effort,” Luisa agrees, “since you talked to him.”

They all turn to Alison with intent stares and mischievous smiles.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re going to ask him to change the setlist.”

“Oh, no, no.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Janet replies.

“We’ll forgive you for the poster,” Luisa adds.

“Fuck.”

♪

Roderick starts every day by swimming laps in the pool on the first floor of his building. The cool water stimulates his body and mind. He loves to feel the stretch in every muscle from forearm to calf as he crawls and kicks his legs. A musician must stay in shape, but he never liked sports.

When he was 13, his mother (who worried about his social skills and the effect of them of practicing piano alone for so many hours) asked him to join either a sport team or the school choir. He chose music, of course. In no time, he’d surpassed the choir director and was doing the arrangements himself both for the choir and the school band. And thus was born his love of choral music because, for the first time, he was part of a group, of something bigger than himself and free of his father’s shadow. And yet, it’s that feeling of belonging he wanted to run away from today.

He reaches the end of the pool and hangs on to the edge, panting. He hasn’t completed his usual thirty laps yet and he’s already out of breath. The whiskey and late night are affecting his performance. What was he thinking? Fraternizing and drinking with them. The frontier between conductor and choristers must never be crossed. If he gets too close to them, he will lose his objectivity and authority. It will affect his decisions and won’t be good for the choir. Hell, he’d almost given Alison the solo right after she sang for him even if he hadn’t heard the others yet. He had to keep his distance and a cool head.

Of course, keeping his distance would be easier if he hadn’t given her a job at his theatre.

“Hey, Mr Peterson. Here’s your mail,” Alison says, entering his office.

“Thank you.”

No fraternizing. Not crossing the line. He keeps his eyes on the computer and sees a file he saved yesterday, a video that reminded him of her. Bloody hell.

“Wait. There’s something I want to show you, come here.”

She joins him behind the desk, and he plays. It’s woman with bells sewn onto her clothes, each makes a different note, and she plays a medley of Christmas songs by tapping them all over her body.

He watches Alison rather than the video, praying she will think it’s funny. She laughs and he reclines in his chair.

“Oh, this is brilliant.”

“I was thinking we could get you one of those seeing as how you like to draw attention.”

“Oi! Cheeky.” She bumps him with her hip. “I don’t think the others would like that, though.”

Her sharp tone tells him there’s more to her statement, but she changes subject before he can ask.

“Mr Peterson, can I talk to you about something?” She wrings her hands. “Last night, we had an idea.”

“We?”

“Yeah, the whole gang, well, those who were at the pub. We were saying we’d love to sing more popular songs. Maybe do mash-ups? You know, when you take two or three songs and blend them together.”

“Like a quodlibet?”

“Maybe.”

“Darling Alison, the only reason mash-ups work is because there are too many bland, interchangeable songs out there. If a song isn’t interesting enough to perform in its entirety, we should be ignoring it. And if it uses excellent songs, it’s even worse, it completely ruins the integrity of the piece.”

“So you do think pop music has integrity.”

“You missed my point.”

“We could mix them with classical music. Like Steve Hackman did. Coldplay with Beethoven, Drake with Tchaikovski…”

“That little punk.”

“Tchaikovski?”

“Hackman. It’s derivative.”

She crosses her arms and looks at him seriously. He mirrors her pose.

“Alright. If you agree, I’ll do the thing you want me to, you know, be sexy for the judges or whatever.”

“Was refusing ever an option?”

“Well, you can’t force me to be sexy.”

“So far, I haven’t even had to ask you to do it. You charmed the investors of your own accord.”

“I can be ugly.”

“I doubt it,” he replies without thinking.

She smiles and her determination wavers, but not for long. “Flattery won’t work.”

“I doubt that even more.”

“Roderick, please,” she whines.

“We’re not throwing away the songs we’ve already worked hard on. We’re doing a traditional choral concert. That’s it.” He strikes the air with his hand to underline his words.

She sits on the edge of his desk, in front of him. Oh, she’s a stubborn one, but her perseverance doesn’t displease him.

“Can you honestly say the ‘traditional’ way has worked out for you?” she asks.

“Yes! I’m one of the tops in my field.”

“Lately, I mean.”She taps her knee against his. “C’mon, it’d be fun!”

“Alison, this is my livelihood. My life. Fun is not enough.”

Her shoulders slope. He’s getting through to her.

“Okay. I understand. I really do, but—”

“Miss Crosby.”

“No, listen to me.” She leans forward and braces herself on the arms of his chair. “We can do it better than it’s ever been done before. Because of you. Because you’re one of the tops. I trust your judgement and your talent to make the most amazing… quodlibets.”

“If this is another one of your flirting jokes…”

“It’s not.”

It’s hard to think with her so close. Her floral perfume. Her front teeth digging into her lower lip. Her hand so close to his arm, he can feel her warmth. He looks up to the ceiling and sighs.

“Can you come to my home tomorrow?” he asks her.

“Your home?”

“I can hardly carry my whole album collection here. Bring your music, we’ll look through it.”

She squeals and claps her hands, and for a moment he thinks she’s going to hug him again. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

So much for keeping his distance.

#Teninch Fic #mutual pining #slow burn #Roderick Peterson #Alison Crosby #Lostinfic writes stuff #Roderick x Alison #d and h

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nikova-eve · 6 years

Text

Changes: Chapter 1

So I think I’m going to try to keep an update schedule where I post Tuesday or Wednesday, but I’m a mess so who really knows.

Prologue

Summary: Logan Summers: One friend, a 4.0, and a huge secret. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Virgil Mathews: barely surviving high school, let alone possibly being moved away from his one and only friend just so he gets to experience what its like to “Have a family”. Patton Pennington: can’t remember having a friend in real life, hopes that his parents taking in a foster kid can change things for him. Roman Royal: Arguably the most popular boy in school, but when he hears that the high schools are merging next year, will he be able to mend his checkered past?

Pairings: slow-burn pining analogical, slow-burn royality

Warnings: Anxiety, mentions to past bullying, food mention, foster system mention, bad writing

Word count: 2126

Tags for Changed: @zaisling @heir-of-the-founders (Send an ask or comment if you’d like to be added)

***

16-year-old Logan Summers really only enjoyed 3 things in life. Books, a schedule, and his best friend Virgil Matthews. Lucky for him, all three were a part of his daily life. He would wake up, go to his college classes, then his high school classes, and walk with Virgil to the library once school was over. He did this every day, other than the weekends which he spent all day cleaning, studying, or at the library.

“Earth to Logan.” A deep voice snapped Logan from his thoughts. His head jerked up and away from the book he wasn’t actually reading. There was a pale this face looking at him, observing him. It's dark russet eyebrows furrowed, contrasting against the pale skin. “What’re you thinking about?”

“I have a test next week, I'm trying to find out what amount of studying would give me the best grade. Then I also need to find out how to adjust my schedule to accommodate.” Logan responded with a shrug, his voice higher but not as soft as the others.

“Oh, lit.” His friend leaned back in his chair and looked around at the school libraries bookcases surrounding them. In doing so he almost missed the way Logan's brows furrowed in confusion, “Don't tell me you don't know what that means.”

“I-I do not-”

“It's been around for months. It means like cool or whatever, but like its just ironic to say it now since it's so old.”

“Virgil, you are aware that keeping up with slang is incredibly difficult for me.” Logan mumbled, a blush slightly on his cheeks. Virgil raised an eyebrow,

“But memorizing 40 words for an English class in one night is easy?” Virgil asked,

“Yes, it is.” He sighed. Before he could add anything else the sound of a bell cut their conversation short. Logan sat up straight and started to move the things from the table to his bookbag.

“I don’t want to go to 4th hour… Mr. Jones is gonna yell at us all hour.” Virgil groaned sinking down in his chair. Logan rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to remark on Virgil’s statement but is interrupted by an announcement.

“Will all teachers please excuse their students to the auditorium at this time.” The voice from the speaker said

“It appears you will not have to deal with Mr. Jones’ annoying voice today.” Logan slings his bag over his shoulder and glances at his now even paler seeming friend.

“Yeah, I just have to deal with the crowded auditorium, full of other people all cramped together, what if we have to sit in the front? Or they want volunteers and they choose me and everyone looks at me and-” Logan places a hand on his friends head to stop them.

“You don’t even know what we’re going to. I’ll make sure we sit in the back, and I’ll volunteer for you if needed.” He reassures, Virgil nods his head and takes a couple deep breaths. “We should head down before it starts to get too crowded. Are you okay now?”

“Umm, sorta.”

“Would holding my hand make you feel more comfortable?” Logan suggested, Virgil's face reddened but he nodded. Logan slowly took Virgil's left hand into his right and helped his taller friend up.

Logan had been the tallest of the two for a majority of their friendship. Though in the summer before 9th grade Virgil had a major growth spurt that rocketed him to 6’½”, leaving his best friend below at 5’5. Logan didn't appreciate this development. Though, neither did Virgil. Most of their childhood Virgil had spent hiding behind Logan when the anxiety became too much to handle. Because of his height, he wasn't able to do that anymore.

So, after some experimentation, Logan came to the conclusion that Virgil's anxiety seemed to reduce when they shared physical contact. He assumes it's because they have been friends for so long, and physical contact is a stress reliever for some.

Once they were ready, they made their way to the front of the library, keeping their entwined hands hidden between them. After Logan shared a wave with the librarian, they left.

The hall smelled of body odor and various smelling perfumes as they blended into the mass. The students were all heading to the right side of the hallway, which leads to the stairs near the auditorium. Logan lead their way through the crowd, nevermind the fact that he couldn't really see over the other students like Virgil could. All that really mattered was Virgil's tight grip on Logan's hand, like he was afraid of getting lost if he didn't hold on.

The tiled floor was an off-white color, Logan wondered if this was because of their age or if they were produced like that. He knew the white and bright lights of the building is part of what made Virgil so uncomfortable, and they often attributed to his migraines. Also the fact that the stairs were so steep everyone always felt like they were going to trip and fall. The group seemed to thin into small lines as they reached the different doors to the auditorium.

“Would you prefer to sit in the back?” Logan asked quietly, Virgil only squeezes his hand in response. Logan nods and chooses the shortest line to stand in.

Once everyone was sitting down, the principal climbed up the stairs up to the stage. Logan noticed that the green of his tie was lighter than the green on the rest of his suit. Principal Hepburn ran his hands through his short hair before walking up to the microphone. It took a couple minutes for the room to quiet, when it did he cleared his throat.

“I'm afraid I have some bad news,” he began, a murmur of concern swept across the crowd. “due to some, well I really shouldn't be saying this. But, due to some not superb financial planning, the school district doesn't have the funds to keep this building open next year.” The concerned murmurs quickly turned into concerned conversations.

Logan felt the grip on his hand tightened and he looked over at the taller boy. Virgil was now bouncing his leg and biting his nails on his other hand.

“Virgil, everything's going to be ok I'm sure they already have a plan.” Logan reassured, gently rubbing his thumb across Virgil's knuckles. The principal stood on the stage and waited for the room to quiet, he continued when it did.

“This summer they will be renovating our sister high school, Sanders Sides, and you should all be moved there next fall. Transportation will be provided for the whole district.” Hepburn finished.

“See, we’ll still go to school together, and that school is only a little further from the library than this one.” Logan whispered, giving Virgil's hand a comforting squeeze before they got up to exit the auditorium.

***

Patton's hands dug into the pockets of his jeans as he walked out of the school. He had been in a good mood all day, until the assembly ruined it. He had done his best to convince his parents to send him to Sanders Sides High so he wouldn't be in the same school as him. He walked down the sidewalk outside of the brick building to the parking lot furthest from the school, where he had asked his dad to pick him up.

The silver car was easy to spot in the near-empty parking lot. Especially because of the stuffed animals kept on the front and back dashes. He could hear the early 2000’s music from a couple feet away as he slipped his backpack off of his shoulders, leaving it hanging on one arm as he opened the door.

“Hey, kiddo!” His dad smiled, chocolate eyes identical to Patton's own seemed to sparkle. His dad was always in a chipper mood, his mom said that Patton had gotten that from him. Along with his curly hair.

“Hey dad, is mom home?” he asked flopping into the seat and setting his backpack on his lap.

“Yep.”

“What about Pa?”

“He won't be home till later. Had to stay back and tutor a student.” His dad explained, Patton nodded and looked out of the window as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“So, umm… Can we have a movie night tonight?” Patton asked quietly, his eyes locked on his fidgeting hands.

“Alright, what happened today kiddo?” His dad gave him a sympathetic glance. Patton hesitated before answering,

“You know the boy, the one I finally told you guys about last year?” His dad nodded but Patton noticed the color drain from his already pale face. “Well, I guess next year all the students from that school are moving to this one. So..”

“Do you want us to switch your schools?” his dad interrupted, looking at him with concerned eyes as they waited at a stop light.

“What!? No! I-I like my school, I'll be ok!” Patton reassured, trying to give his dad a bright smile.

“Pat, you know it's not a problem for us. We just want you to be safe and happy.” His dad sighed, the traffic moving forward once more.

“Really, it’s okay. I like my school, I’ve made friends,” that was a lie, “and he probably won’t even recognize me.”

“Alright, but we are going to discuss it with Pa and Mom later okay?” Patton just nodded and went back to looking out of the window. In truth, he hadn’t really made any friends. Sure, he had lots of acquaintances, but none of them were close enough to be called a friend.

Still, Patton found lots of reasons to be happy. He had an amazing and loving family, cats and dogs existed, he did pretty well at school, and he had some online friends. One was named Talyn, they were cool and liked dying their hair. The other was Valerie, she liked singing. lastly, there was Terrance. Talyn had added him to the group chat only a week ago, so Patton didn’t know much about him yet.

>>>

Dinner was quiet as Patton pushed his food around with no intention of eating it. He had hoped that his mood would have gotten better as time passed, but it hadn’t. His eyes wandered up to his parents, how they each sat on a different side of the table, smiles on each of their faces. They all loved each other. Sure, it was strange at first, when he was first introduced to his Pa, Ryan. He was only in 3rd grade then, but he and Ryan grew close very fast. His mom and Ryan had met when his mom decided to go back to college, he was in almost all her classes. Now his dad and his mom had been together since they were in middle school and got married a couple years before they brought Patton into the world.

“Patton, honey are you ok?” His mom's voice broke him out of his trance.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.” He lied pulling a smile on his face. He noticed how his moms face faltered and her slight glance towards his male parents.

“Well, we have something we need to discuss with you. But, if today isn’t a good day we can always just talk about it tomorrow.” She suggested, she ran a hand through her red hair that was a little blonder than Patton’s.

“No, today’s a good day. I guess I’m just a little tired is all.” He shrugged,

“Alright, well you know how we’ve been trying to get matched with a kid to foster for a while, right?” Pa asked. Patton turned his head to the tallest in the room.

“Yeah, did we get matched?!” He asked excitedly, the clouds in his head seemed to lift.

“Yes, all we know for now is that its a boy around your age.” His dad said, but Patton couldn’t stop smiling. What would having a brother be like? They could become best friends, and maybe he could get him to try his food…

“We don’t want to say a definite yes to anything if you aren’t completely comfortable with the idea.” His mom pushed her plate away to fold her hands together in its place.

“We don’t want you to say yes because you feel like you should. Your happiness is our priority, alright bud?” Pa smiled, Patton just nodded and sat back. In all honesty, Patton often felt lonely even with all of his parents. Maybe it was because he had no friends, and maybe this foster sibling could be a new start for him. This time Patton would face his fears and try to make a friend.

“I… I would like to have a sibling.”

***

A/N: Ooooh, weak ending. I’m sorry. I promise that Roman is going to be in the next chapter. Maybe we’ll get an explaination on why he acted the way he did as a child, maybe not.

#analogical #royality #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #tw: bullying #tw: food #nesa writes

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newstfionline · 6 years

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Forget the Germans. The Protestant Reformation debates are happening here

By Sarah Pulliam Bailey, Washington Post, October 30, 2017

SAO PAULO--Speaking from a stage encircled by 12 large wooden crosses, Gabriel Carmargo held up wads of fake Brazilian money, showing his flock what could be theirs.

“God will bless you if you give a lot more to the church,” said Camargo, a pastor with the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God.

Then he extended an arm and pointed a large black pouch toward his parishioners in the working-class neighborhood of Osasco.

Pick up your wallets and purses, he said, instructing his flock to look for Brazilian reais. About a dozen people hurried forward, dumping bills and change into the bag.

Those without cash didn’t have to worry: An usher held out a credit card machine. “You’ll have so much money,” by giving generously to the church, the pastor boomed, that “smoke is going to come out of the machine.”

In a country struggling with the worst economic crisis in its history, with long queues at unemployment offices and public health clinics, perhaps it’s not surprising that Brazilians are increasingly drawn to the promises of personal wealth.

The belief that faith can lead to riches--known as the prosperity gospel--is a form of Pentecostalism, a Protestant faith group which in a modern-day version of the Protestant Reformation 500 years ago, is challenging the dominance of the Catholic Church in Latin America’s most populous country.

Brazil, which has the most Catholics per capita of any country in the world, is undergoing religious debates similar to those sparked in 1517 by a fiery German preacher named Martin Luther--over church riches and corruption, political power and the proper way to read the Bible. By 2030, Catholics, now the religious majority in Brazil, are projected to become a religious minority.

Pentecostalism, which is sweeping across Latin America and Africa, is also challenging Catholicism worldwide. The Catholic Church has 1.1 billion members worldwide, about half of all Christians, but much of the global growth in Christianity is found in Pentecostalism, with about 300 million followers, according to the Pew Research Center.

Known for charismatic practices such as the laying on of hands for healing, exorcism and speaking in tongues, and its emphasis on cultivating a personal relationship with Jesus, Pentecostalism has done a particularly good job of adapting itself to Brazilian culture, with pastors who tend to look and talk more like their flocks than Catholic priests do.

The prosperity gospel has spread quickly in poorer neighborhoods, as the unemployment rate has climbed to a record 13 percent. The movement’s promises of a better material life through actions such as giving and prayer, as well as its strict social rules in Brazil banning urban ills like drinking and smoking, give followers a sense of structure and agency over their lives, said Paul Freston, a sociologist and an expert in Pentecostalism in Latin America.

“You learn to see yourself as an agent who has possibilities, who has the ability with God’s help to achieve things, to get control of yourself,” Freston said. “It doesn’t mean you become rich, but it often means you rise from absolute destitution to dignified poverty.”

Much as they do in the United States, prosperity gospel pastors also serve as role models for wealth attainment. Yet standing by the pool outside his $1.5 million house, Silas Malafaia, one of Brazil’s most famous prosperity preachers, insists he doesn’t live extravagantly.

Malafaia is one of the country’s most prominent and controversial preachers, wielding enormous political clout on behalf of the nation’s evangelical population. In Brazil, the term evangelical is used synonymously with Protestant, about 70 percent of whom are Pentecostal.

Many Brazilian pastors like Malafaia take their cues from prominent American prosperity gospel preachers, who have grown in influence as advisers to President Trump, even though only 3.6 percent of Americans are Pentecostal compared to about a quarter of Brazilians.

Wearing a purple shirt, his hair slicked back, the 59-year-old Malafaia compared himself to evangelist Billy Graham, who was a friend of several U.S. presidents. There’s nothing wrong with ministers having wealth if they get their money through side projects, as he said he does through his spiritual bestsellers.

Pastors should also be compensated for the size of their ministries, Malafia said.

“God wants me to be mediocre? The devil would give riches to everyone else,” he said.

Malafaia said he is like Martin Luther because he, too, wants the Bible in the hands of average parishioners instead of interpreted for them primarily by a religious elite.

“Have you ever seen the pope with a Bible in his hand?” Malafaia said. “The Catholic church doesn’t incentivize you to have the Bible in your hands. Catholics believe in leaders and the pope. Evangelicals believe in the Bible.”

Pope Francis took his first overseas trip to Brazil right before it hosted the World Cup and the Olympics, when the country was riding a global commodities boom to prosperity. Many people here at the time felt the papal visit confirmed Brazil’s position at the top of the world.

Manuel Jose da Penho, and his wife Maria, remember the exhilaration they felt when the pope showed up at their home. A framed photo of the visit hangs above a couch in their living room to remind them of that day.

The couple recalled how different things were before Francis’s 2013 visit. Their parish held Mass just once on Sunday. Its 100 seats were never filled up. Now the parish offers two Masses on Sunday and five more during the week.

“I have never seen the church as full as it has been since Pope Francis. After he came it was like a spiritual revival,” said da Penho, an electrician, who recently listed his two-bedroom house in a Rio de Janeiro slum for a premium price with the pitch “Pope Francis was here.”

Enthusiasm for the first Latin American pope prompted predictions of a Catholic revival in Brazil, but experts think it’s still too soon to tell whether the “Francis effect” can counteract the rise in Pentecostalism, which had been well underway before the pope’s visit.

The 2014 recession in Brazil attracted more Catholics to the prosperity gospel, complicating the Church’s challenge.

Now even with a popular pope, the church is desperately trying to keep young people like 28-year-old Marina Silva, who is unemployed, from leaving the faith. The prosperity gospel’s promises of riches, however, is just one front in the competition.

Sipping orange juice in a cafe before her next job interview, Silva explained that Brazilians are known for picking and choosing from different cultures and traditions in everything from food, art and music.

“We don’t have strict characteristics,” she said. “We mix things together to make them good. We are not like good little lambs.”

To win over Brazilians, the Catholic Church is attempting to appeal to people like Silva by mixing in charismatic components of Pentecostalism that have more emotional elements, including catchier music.

Catholic priests like Marcelo Rossi, who has sold millions of his own CDs, have become increasingly popular. Rossi’s Masses attract people from all over the city to his outdoor sanctuary with a sloping roof where white plastic chairs replace traditional pews and paintings on concrete walls replace stained-glass windows.

At a recent service Silva attended, teenagers took selfies, livestreamed the service on their Instagram accounts and swayed along with their hands waving back and forth as if they were at a rock concert.

“Glory, glory hallelujah.” Rossi sang as he stuck his mic into the crowd.

The competition for souls is so fierce in Brazil, that every church must try mightily to stand out from the rest, said Odilo Scherer, Archbishop of Sao Paulo.

“Today, people go by their personal subjective tastes and experiences,” said Scherer, who was appointed by Pope Benedict XVI. “In our Brazilian context, religion is presented as a product in a marketplace which seeks to please the customer and present a product that is appetizing.”

To stand out in this marketplace and demonstrate their wealth and power, Pentecostal congregations have built enormous churches across the Brazilian landscape. Amid Sao Paulo’s landscape of high rises sprawls one compound that is perhaps the most lavish of all: a replica of the biblical Solomon’s Temple.

Inside, an auditorium that seats 12,000 is flanked on both sides by menorahs, a nod to the church leaders’ love for Jewish symbolism. Security guards in black suits buzz about as female ushers in white tunics and gold sashes hold large golden baskets in preparation for the offering. After services, members flock to a water fountain to fill up empty bottles with water that has been blessed.

Edir Macedo, pastor of the temple and founder of the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God denomination, has fought accusations of corruption, including allegations that his church siphoned billions of dollars set aside for charity. In 1992, Macedo spent 11 days in jail on charges of charlatanism, for being a faith healer and a fraud.

Still, Macedo maintains enormous reach through TV and social media and his political endorsements are hugely influential. A 2015 Datafolha poll shows that his church was considered the fifth most influential institution in Brazil, above the presidency. The mayor of Rio de Janeiro, Macedo’s nephew, is a bishop in the denomination, which has affiliated churches in the United States.

Other prominent Pentecostals have been involved in scandals splashed across Brazil’s front pages. Megachurch pastors Estevam and Sônia Hernandes were arrested in 2007 in Miami for illegally smuggling money into the United States. A prominent Pentecostal, Eduardo Cunha, was the first major politician sentenced to prison this year in a huge corruption scandal called Operation Car Wash that has ensnared many high profile politicians.

“What makes this scandalous of course is that the evangelicals set themselves apart rhetorically as a force for moral goodness and order,” said Eric Miller, a professor at Geneva College who grew up in Brazil and studies religion in the country.

Even so, many Brazilians are already jaded by kickbacks and bribes in the country in general, so it’s difficult to say if scandals are enough to turn people away from Pentecostalism, Miller said.

But the Catholic Church has at least one advantage over its Pentecostal counterparts in Brazil. While it doesn’t promise riches, it tends to do a better job of providing social services like food and shelter, said Celso Rudeck, a pastor in a small Catholic parish across the street from the Solomon’s Temple replica.

#Brazil #prosperity gospel #Brazilian Catholics #Brazilian Protestants #Pentecostals in Brazil

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wordsmittenmedia · 7 years

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THE LION, THE WRITER, AND THE SANDHILL

By Amy Edwards WordSmitten Media Editorial Assistant

Though the air was still and warm, the sun shone brightly over the St. Leo University campus on the morning of the Fifth Annual Sandhill Writers Retreat. This was my first experience with the retreat. From the large turnout of writers from different walks of life, I would guess that the past four years of retreats have been quite successful. I was one of the younger members of the crowd, but regardless I looked forward to the gathering of imagination and creativity that was the Sandhill Writers Retreat.

At 8:30 AM, St. Leo’s lion reared its mighty head and roared for writers to check in for the event in Kirk Hall. I found the event organizers quite pleasant despite the earliness of the morning. They gladly escorted me to a station where coffee was free to attendees, something my night owl-self greatly appreciated. We received our schedules, as well as a thick, plastic bag provided (by St. Leo University) for us to keep any papers and projects in.

I was somewhat confused about how the event was going to pan out, but as I looked through my schedule, I realized that this retreat was quite unrestricted in regards to how to spend one’s time. Guests were able to choose classes as they pleased so long as there was an open desk inviting them in, something I found to be quite convenient. Though each class had a particular focus (fiction, non-fiction, poetry and slam-poetry), I didn’t feel that I was supposed to follow a certain path.

I don’t consider myself a poet, but I think that it is important for a writer to be not only familiar with but also open to the many forms of writing. The first class I attended was “Triggering Poetry” taught by Jesse Millner. Featured in River Styx, Pearl, The Prose Poem Project, Gravel, Pithead Chapel, Wraparound South, The Best American Poetry 2013, and also has published seven chapbooks of work, I realized Millner was an exceptional choice as a teacher for the retreat.

Although the connotation of poetry is abstract and Shakespearean, Millner kept his lesson quite simple. He emphasized something I like to call “snapshotting,” where writers focus on such small moments or objects and emphasize them into great, beautiful things. He described how he felt so fascinated by Richard Hugo’s ability to make a moment in a hammock sound like some form of great enlightenment, and his own enthrallment of “Lying in a Hammock at William Daffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota” alone made the poem seem magical.

The wonderful thing about writing is that no matter what the form, the techniques that we discuss can be universally applied. I know that I intend on using his intense interest in the smallest moments in my fiction work. He spoke a lot about using sensory details in writing poetry; imagery is one of the most enchanting things about writing in general.

Then he stopped pacing at the front of the room, the excitement fizzing in his eyes quieting down to a warm hum as he looked on all of us hopeful writers and breathed, “Write because. And then write.”

Write because.

The phrase is two words, but the meaning is so much more, like how a poem can be translated into thousands of other thoughts when analyzed through different eyes. Even though this was advice taught by a poetry teacher from a world so different from that of fiction, I couldn’t help but chew on those two words for the rest of the day. To write for the sake of writing is something that I feel is so ingrained in many of us writers, but I feel like leaving the thought at just “because” allows for the individual to fill in what comes after.

The next class I participated in was “Killer First Sentences,” taught by Spencer Wise. Wise is a professor from Florida State University who works with poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. He has been published in Narrative Magazine, Hayden’s Ferry Review, The Florida Review, Salt Hill, New Ohio Review, Evansville Review, and Hobar. His short story, “Work” has also won Narrative Magazine’s top “Stories of the Week” in 2012.

As a Gators fan, I initially held some bias against the Florida State professor, but I was easily won over by his energy. I’ve often heard the same question when writers are trying to figure out where to begin their story, “Why today?”, but Wise was relentless as going deeper into that why. The first of his main topics was that on character: that all characters are yearning for something. They might not particularly know what they want, but he was persistent about the thought that all characters on the most macro level have desire to answer the question, “Where do I fit into the world?”

All characters have wants that motivate them and drive them to move the story forward, but I don’t feel as though I had ever zoomed out that far. It made me wonder if any of my characters had ever thought about that before, since I am one to frequently sit and think about that question.

Wise offered another piece of knowledge that I know will fit right into my writer’s tool belt as far as writing beginnings goes. In regards to the reason why today is the day that all things change for the character, Wise advised us to write as close to the change as possible. There are many ways in which a writer can write that change, either before with exposition, in media res, and so on, but I had never heard it phrased that way.

Thinking back on it now, writing as close to that change as possible is really the only place where I feel a story begins. No one wants to hear about the ten weeks before where Superman’s parents were going about their usual way on the farm or a few weeks after when they have this super baby with no previous context. In one hour and some session, Wise had been able to condense one of the biggest struggles I have when writing into something simple.

I was excited to listen in on Wise’s next class, but lunchtime had come around, allowing writers to take a break. During this time, the staff provided premade lunch boxes for attendees who paid in advance for them, as there are no restaurants on the St. Leo campus. I immediately felt a little regretful for not buying a lunch box. The people around me enjoyed fruit cups and sandwiches while I munched on a Rice Krispies treat from the one vending machine around (the fault was completely on me for not bringing a lunch).

During the lunch break, the staff had set up a presenting area where writers who had signed up could read their work. The writers who had presented were quite talented, and I was especially moved by some of the slam poetry and short stories read to the group. The only thing I wished for was a few more chairs, as I hovered around the area to watch the presentations.

I returned again for Wise’s second class, “Fiction: Plot.” I had run into a colleague of mine while I was there and thankfully we had found our seats early, but the amount of people wanting to sit in on this class was astounding. The room was packed with writers, and although the classroom was a decent size, I still thought we were all huddled together like anchovies in a can. I didn’t blame them either. I was quite impressed with Wise and his bright way of teaching.

This class was more focused on the writing exercise than the content itself, which I thought was appropriate. Plot is what encompasses the whole story, and so I wished that there was another part of the class in order to dive deeper into what truly makes up the plot in a story. For the sake of the hour and so window that we had for the class, Wise struck again with his ways of condensing content. “Plot,” he said, “is what challenges are in the way for our characters. What the characters have to do in order to overcome those challenges is what makes up the plot.”

He then moved on to explain how people often make a huge, expansive world before writing the actual story. As a fan of world building, I know painfully well how time consuming it can be, and how half of the time, when I finish writing my story, I don’t even use half of that world that I’ve created because it has little to do with the character. Wise said, “Make the focus on the character before the plot. The characters are the drivers in the story, not the plot points.”

The last class that I went to for the day was “Back to the Future of Story” taught by Patrick Crerand. Crerand is a literature professor from St. Leo University as well as the co-founder of the literary magazine, Lightning Key Review. At first, I was lead to believe that this was going to be a class on trends on storytelling was. However, the second half of the title of the class was revealed as “Becoming Unstuck in Narrative Time.”

As a pleasant surprise, Crerand’s class was a breakdown of how writers manipulate time in their writing and how it can be used to our advantage and disadvantage. I’ve read in countless book reviews that the narrative was “fast” and “slow,” but I felt that these words were only descriptors of how interesting a story is. However, Crerand revealed to me that writers purposefully manipulate time with every sentence to create a pace for the story, slowing down and speeding up the story when needed.

The controls of time were broken down into three parts:

Time is paused when there is exposition.

Time is slowed down when there is narrative summary.

Time is on play in the present during the extraordinary moments.

This is something that I realize now is present in any form of work. Not only do writers create worlds of their own, but also time. They have the power to bend time as they need for their story to continue forward, like how filmmakers can use slow motion, montage sequences, and present moments to create different effects and pace the story. I’ve done it in my writing too, I’m just glad now that I am conscious of the fact that time manipulation is such a key aspect in storytelling.

The last main event for the day was a faculty reading in the TECO Auditorium. The teachers of the retreat were able to present excerpts and presentations of their work. The attendance was smaller by this time, as I noticed attendees starting to go home since the auditorium was not the most easy to find. Most of the event had been in the same space, but the TECO Auditorium was in another building with no signs directing us, and it wasn’t marked on the map either. After teaming up with a pair of other writers, we eventually found that the building was right next to the one that we were in, and were able to slip inside and catch presentations by Jesse Millner, Lyn Millner, Spencer Wise, and Ernest Hooper.

This was an experience that was something new to me. As a new writer, the Sandhill Writers Retreat was my first of –hopefully- many retreats. Everyone that I spoke to was kind, and although I was intimidated by the age difference between the rest of the guests and myself, I was gladly accepted among the sphere of writers. I even received a few compliments for my work, so I certainly left St. Leo with a swelled heart and bright grin.

I may have graduated with a degree in writing, but if I had to take away anything from this experience, it’s that there is so much more to learn about writing than I realized. There is no wrong way to go about writing, but it’s amazing how many different theories on writing are out there. If that is what it means to retreat, to discover and figure out new facets of writing, then I will gladly fly with the Sandhill writers next year.

#writing #writing conferences #writing conference #st. leo #st. leo university #sandhill writers retreat #writers retreat #article #non-fiction #media #wordsmitten #wordsmittenmedia #long post #long read #reading #fiction #poetry

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btsgroupchat · 7 years

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Away From Home Pt. 7

Summary: New life, new friends, and new home. You never realized how hard it would be to start over on your own. Just when you think you are getting the hang of it and moving on, life decides to keep you on your toes.

Word Count: 2978

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

“Have you ever been in love before?”

The cheerful woman’s question lingers in the air as she steadies her microphone and eagerly awaits the answer of the seven boys seated before her.

A pale faced boy with a gummy smile picks up his mic and begins to recount his middle school days, reliving the time he was too afraid to confess his feelings for one of his classmates. The woman fondly smiles in response as another boy pipes up to tease the first one.

“What about you?” The woman turns her attention to another boy as he fumbles with his mic in hand.

“There was this girl I met at a high school dance through a mutual friend. I wouldn’t call it love, but there was definitely something there.”

The familiar husky voice piques your interest and you turn from your bed to squint at the small screen on your roommate’s laptop. Laughter fills the room as the boys tease and joke about his response, and you slightly scoff before turning back around and drawing your sheets over your head.

“Ah, I’m sorry Em. I should have been using my headphones, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Why do you keep watching those?” You scoff again at your roommate before sitting up in bed to stretch. “And I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

She smiles cutely in response and pauses the stream on her laptop. “Em is short for –“

“Muffin. I know.” You sigh in annoyance but choose not to push it any further with her as you slink out of bed and gather your things for a shower.

“I can’t believe you went to school with Kim Taehyung. You have to get me his autograph or something one of these days.”

You choose not to respond but instead give her a wry smile as you excuse yourself for the bathroom.

Soojan was assigned as your roommate for the first year and the two of you clicked instantly. It wasn’t hard to break through her shy exterior, and you were quick to fall in love with her quirky, sarcastic and honest self. It was early in the semester that you two had already decided to room together again for your second year.

The first year of college went by relatively smoothly with the help of Soojan. You were pleased to learn that Kayla had also been admitted into the same college when you ran into her on move in day. Having a familiar face around quelled a few of your fears of being alone in a new environment, but there was really only one face you wanted to see.

You finish your shower and head back into your room to see Soojan lounging on her bed and scrolling on her phone.

“It’s only week one and you’re already skipping class?” You give her an incredulous look of disbelief as she rolls onto her side and continues scrolling. “I thought we agreed we weren’t gonna skip any classes this year.”

She shoots you a dangerous look before attending back to her screen. “I never said anything about skipping.”

You laugh at her choice of clothes and apologize – a baggy white t shirt and faded black leggings. “I guess now that we aren’t freshmen anymore we don’t have to care what we look like?”

“Keep the snarky remarks to yourself.”

“Min Yoongi would not be impressed,” you test her further.

She shoots you another dangerous look before rolling off her bed to grab her jacket and bag. The two of you continue to banter until you have to part ways for your classes.

Kayla greets you outside of your first class, her wispy silver locks are pulled back into a loose ponytail and her thick framed glasses square on her face. You give her a warm smile as the two of you make your way inside the large lecture hall to find seats off to the side.

“Chemistry in high school and here we are again in college. Not much has changed, huh?” she jokes. You chuckle as you half-heartedly agree. You know that’s not entirely true. The lecture drones on but you are lost in your thoughts.

It’s been almost a year since you’ve spoken with Taehyung. Your first year of college was spent trying to coordinate video chats and phone calls with your best friend, figuring out the best times and days to talk to each other to provide updates on each other’s lives.

The first few months started out promising. Taehyung would call you every Sunday night and the two of you would talk for hours about everything and anything. Despite his busy training schedule, you were grateful he was making time for you, even though you could hear the exhaustion in his voice or see the dark circles under his eyes the few times you would video chat.

Taehyung would talk about his debut date, ecstatic and excited about his chance to share his music with the world. You listened in contentment, happy that your best friend was finally achieving what he worked so hard for. He would talk fondly of his members and you did well to remember each of their names, along with the group’s name – Bangtan Sonyeondan.

The debut rolled around along with endless promotions, variety shows and interviews. As their popularity grew, Taehyung’s calls and messages became sparse until they ceased all together. You didn’t want to blame him, but you couldn’t help but feel betrayed and abandoned as you religiously watched every promotional video, interview or show, hoping for some kind of sign or signal from your best friend that he was still thinking about you. But you never found one.

The bustling of students gathering their things and filing out of the classroom snaps you back to reality and you’re quick to pack your things and follow suit. You nod off to Kayla as you make your way to the student center to meet Soojan for lunch. As you approach the open courtyard, you immediately regret your choice for food as you weave through the mob of students to find your roommate perched on a bench by the ATMs.

“What the hell are all these people lining up for?” You greet her as she continues to comb the crowd in astonishment.

“It’s welcome week for the freshmen, remember? All of the clubs and organizations on campus are here to recruit new people.” She clicks her tongue in disapproval as she watches a freshman girl get trampled by a group of bigger girls who push her aside to get to the front of the line.

“Let’s go somewhere else to eat,” you offer. “It’s too crowded and loud here for my taste.”

The two of you are just about to leave the student center as a flock of girls come running and screaming in the direction of the auditorium. Knowing your roommate all too well, you turn to grab her before she can follow in curiosity but already see her heading in the same direction, laughing and beckoning you to follow.

You roll yours eyes but oblige, jogging after her before she gets swallowed up in the crowd.

You can already feel the bass of the music filtering from the auditorium from the outside. A group of overly excited students block the entrance to the propped doorway, but you can generally make out a small group dancing on stage.

“Ahh, should have known,” Soojan sighs as she turns to leave. “It’s just the stupid dance team ICON promoting their club.”

You raise an eyebrow to question her before a shrill voice interrupts your inquisition. “Thank you to everyone who came by to check us out! If you come to our very first workshop next Wednesday, we’ll promise to have a very nice treat in store for you!”

Soojan urges you to follow her back to the student center but you are glued to your spot. Your heart drops down to your stomach yet you can hear its beating pounding in your eardrums. “Holy shit…”

The words leave your lips before you can catch them. “What?” Soojan asks in annoyance. She didn’t like crowds any more than you did.

“I know that girl…” you can’t even bring yourself to explain why it was such a big deal. The beating of your heart in your ears fogs your thoughts before you realize that Soojan is dragging you away from the auditorium.

“Whoa, you okay, Em? You better not pass out on me,” she warns you as she pulls her notebook from her bag and begins to fan your face.

“I-I’m fine…just shocked. Come on, I’ll explain over lunch.”

The two of you opt for the dining commons, choosing a table that’s tucked away by the window after grabbing platefuls of food. You begin pouring over every detail, reliving your former years along with your former tormentor.

“May Lee?” Soojan echoes. “She sounds like a bi-“

You cut her off with a harsh cough. “Let’s not.” You shake your head despite your silent agreement with her choice of words. “It’s bad enough we’re attending the same college. There are thousands of students here on campus, the chances of me ever running in to her are slim. Let’s just pretend we didn’t see her.”

Soojan is about to interject before she is cut off by a group of squealing girls taking a seat at the table next to yours.

“Is it true? Is he really coming to campus next Wednesday?!”

“I heard May Lee telling some of the new recruits that she knew him personally! That must have been how they got him to come!”

“It’d be good publicity for them too! Everyone will see how great of a dancer he is!”

“Everyone will see how hot he is too!”

The girls erupt into another fit of squeals before Soojan rolls her eyes and leans over. “Hey, what are you girls talking about?”

The group doesn’t seem too bothered with Soojan’s eavesdropping, and excitedly exclaim the good news. “BTS’s Park Jimin will be leading ICON’s workshop next Wednesday at the auditorium!”

Soojan almost falls out of her chair and you choke on your food. She is quick to compose herself, but eyes you over as you struggle to down your half-chewed chicken. Any mention of BTS gets her going, and she’s already trying to convince you to check out the workshop with her despite your extreme distaste for May Lee. But it doesn’t matter. None of her words reach you.

Park Jimin is coming to your campus.

The next few days are spent actively trying to avoid Soojan as she tries to take every opportunity she can to convince you to attend the dance workshop with her. You purposely stay late each night at the library, knowing that she sleeps by 11pm every night and are sure to be up and out of the room by 9am the next morning before she wakes. Despite your attempts, she tracks you down on Tuesday afternoon while you are walking out of your chemistry lecture with Kayla. You try to duck behind Kayla but it’s too late.

“You sneaky bastard! I know you’ve been avoiding me!” Soojan gives a brief wave to Kayla before yanking your arm and drilling her fingers into your sides.

“St-stop it!” You manage to huff between large gasps for air. “You’re making a scene!”

“Then I’ll continue to make a scene until you agree to go to the workshop with me tomorrow!” You crumble in response beneath her but she doesn’t seem to let up.

“Are you talking about the dance workshop tomorrow?” Kayla interrupts as Soojan immediately beams and lets up on your punishment.

“Yeah! There’s talk that Park Jimin of BTS will be leading the workshop and I wouldn’t miss that for the world! But party pooper over here is making me go alone.” Soojan is sure to dramatically roll her eyes in your direction as you straighten yourself out and smooth down your ruffled sweater.

“Don’t you want to see Jimin again?” Kayla asks you curiously. “You two seemed pretty close back in high school.”

Soojan shoots you her infamous look, the threat of danger evident in her eyes and her eye brows furrow. “You mean to tell me…that you know Park Jimin too?” Her voice is dangerously low. You prepare your sides, expecting her to drill you again.

Kayla senses the danger of the situation and offers a means of escape. “Hey, if you don’t want to go alone a couple of my friends and I are gonna check it out. We can meet up before hand and all go together.”

You shoot Kayla a grateful look and she responds with an understanding smile. But Soojan hasn’t forgotten the new piece of information. She exchanges numbers with Kayla before dragging you back to the dorms for her interrogation.

“We met like two times and then hardly spoke to each other after that!” You’re not entirely sure why you are raising your voice as Soojan paces the floor in front of your bed. You sit along the edge and tuck your feet underneath you as she continues to stride in thought. Sighing, you plop down to grab her by the shoulders and sit her down at her desk. “It’s really not that big a deal. He was May Lee’s date to our senior prom and then we hung once before he left for training.”

“Knowing Park Jimin isn’t big deal? Do you know how many girls would kill to spend a day with him? Or even just get the chance to meet him?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. It almost scares you how fervent she becomes when it involves BTS. You simply want to forget everything, the abandonment and betrayal you feel from Taehyung’s silence as well as the empty promises Jimin made to you during your first year of college. But you couldn’t help feeling that something was stopping you from moving on.

Jimin had tried his best to keep in touch with you after he left town, but just like Taehyung his texts became sparse overtime. He had never told you his plans after high school, but you were hoping he would be someone you could hang out with once Taehyung left for training. The two of you had been texting nonstop for a week before things just rapidly changed without warning.

At first you didn’t pay it much attention, but the more you tried to text Jimin, the shorter and vaguer his texts became. It wasn’t until you were video chatting with Taehyung one Sunday evening that you realized where Jimin had disappeared to.

Taehyung had been lying on the floor of the dance practice room when two boys noisily came in and joined him. One of the boys playfully snatched his phone, teasing him about having a girlfriend as Taehyung was quickly trying to end the call. The second boy grabs the phone in curiosity before almost dropping it in disbelief. You had almost dropped your phone that night as well, remembering how shocked you were to see Park Jimin on the other end of the line. After that night, Jimin had stopped texting you all together.

“Shit, this is personal territory I’m treading into, isn’t it?” your roommate’s apologetic voice rips you from your memories and she sighs heavily in retreat.

“No, it’s fine…I just haven’t had the chance to sort out how I feel about everything that happened between us.” You weren’t completely lying, although forgetting seemed much more appealing than having to sort out feelings.

“I never noticed the sadness in your eyes whenever I talk about BTS. But interrogating you about Jimin and asking about Taehyung all the time…I’m really sorry, Em. I just, you know…I can get caught up in the excitement sometimes.”

You shake your head and give her a small pat on the shoulder before grabbing your coat. “Don’t worry about it, I’m all right. I’m gonna step out for some air, I’ll catch you later.” She returns with a small smile and you slip out of the room unable to take anymore of her sympathy.

Ten minutes later, you find yourself at the park in the middle of your campus. You pick a green patch of grass where you discard your coat and lie down for a few minutes of silence. Park Jimin. Even if you went to the workshop, would he even bother to speak to you? It never occurred to you to reach out to him after seeing him through Taehyung’s phone. Why hadn’t he just told you he was becoming a trainee to pursue music?

And was Taehyung really so busy that he didn’t have the time to even send a small text to let you know that he still thought about you every now and then? You finger the metallic T hanging on the silver chain hung around your neck, turning it over to inspect the engraving that Taehyung had made just for you the last time you were together. You close your eyes, unsure of how you’re feeling. A mixture of anger, sadness, and confusion washes over you as you slowly try to calm yourself down. You tell yourself that the least you deserve are some answers. You don’t like to be short changed.

An hour and a half passes by the time you get up to head back to your room. You know Soojan is in class, but you pull out your phone to text her a quick message.

Hey, I changed my mind. I’ll come with you to the workshop tomorrow.

You hit send, sliding your phone back in to your pocket without waiting for her reply. You’re not sure what to expect tomorrow, but you do know that you want your answers.

A/N: Happy New Year to all of my followers! Thank you all for being so patient with me for the series, I know a few of you had asked me whether I was gonna continue it and tbh I was pretty unmotivated for a while but I finally got around to updating ^-^ This is a new chapter, meant to portray the “new chapter” in the OC’s life (lmao so corny) but it’s still a continuation of the original series :) I’m not sure how often I’ll be updating though, so please continue to be patient as I figure it out. Hope you all enjoy!

#bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts text #taehyung #jimin #bts #away from home #btsgroupchat

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