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saphirered · 3 years ago

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HIIII! It's me again (Eldritch knight reader) sorry I kinda dipped out but I hope you are having a great day! I was wondering if you could do one last request for that mini series of requests, where Essek finally asks reader on a real date and it's going great (Knight could notice some figures following them *cough* M9+verin *cough*??) there's some flirting/teasing but sadly the date comes to an end and reader walks essek home, they say their goodbyes for the night but not before reader finally kisses Essek and whispers a goodnight!

Hi! Welcome back. Now of course this wouldn't be me if halfway through writing I realised this was turning way too long so it'll be a two-parter again to keep it readable. Hope you don't mind. Any way, here's the first part so I hope you enjoy! 😘

A long day of disasters with the Nein returning just in time to be thrust into more relentless hours of study with Essek wasn’t exactly how you envisioned to spend your day and luckily for you Essek is a merciful soul, when it comes to you that is. Seeing how battered and bruised you were, and mentally exhausted he refused to let you touch his precious tomes or even scribble a single note on paper. He had even gone as far as making said smaller items disappear into the nothingness. Damn wrist pocket spell. Essek was determined. You needed rest. He’d make sure you got it.

So instead of hours upon hours spent at Essek’s home he opted for staying with you retreating to the upstairs of the Xhorhaus and finding the both of you a comfy spot to spend your time in a more relaxed environment. Essek sits, back against the tree while you lay sprawled across the floor next to his outstretched legs eyes closed as the wizard reads to you. He may not have allowed you to read for yourself as to not overwork yourself but the compromise you convinced him to was agreeable. More than agreeable if you’re honest.

It’s no secret you like spending time together as you do so a lot. You may be a little more affectionate with each other than say for example with Caleb or Jester. It doesn’t go unnoticed Essek likes you, if anything the man’s made it pretty clear and vice versa. Neither of you have just ever acted on it. With everything going on in your lives, how could you? You’re a ragtag adventurer with no allegiance to kingdom or country. He’s the bloody spymaster of the Dynasty. It’s not exactly a conventional prospect of a future, nor is it likely to succeed with the kind of lives you live. Could you really afford that kind of struggle? Maybe, if you were willing to take the risk but lately things have been hectic and this moment of relaxation beneath the tree at the top of this tower is the first moment of peace either of you have known in a long time.

You swear, you’re paying attention. You might still have to reread the whole book again as you’re just entranced by the sound of Essek’s voice. The man could make anything sound interesting. Give him those pages from that Iva lady back at the Chastity’s Nook in Zadash and Essek could make even that sound like a master piece. Though in hindsight, maybe best not as you think he might not be able to get past the first few sentences himself. The cringe.

“Are you still listening?” Essek’s reading voice breaks in favour of the question as he watches you drift off with a smile on your face. He’s almost afraid to ask the question but is unsure if that’s because you’ve grown tired or the subject bores you too much.

“Hm?” You perk up turning your head to the side and looking at the wizard. The exhaustion is written over your face but doesn’t diminish the content smile you present.

“Perhaps that is enough for the day?” Essek suggests closing the book and sits up a little straighter. He places the book by his side as you sit up and go to reach for it. Essek’s quicker and places his hand firmly on top of it and prevents you from taking it. He’s very sure you’d have no trouble retrieving the book if you really wanted to and maybe he’d like you to try, just a little, but you’re tired and need rest. Not fill your mind with pages of knowledge attempting to cram in the words. You’re a good study but even the best of studies cannot combat the banes of exhaustion.

“It is getting late anyway.” Essek says as you roll back and find yourself, head leaning against his thigh, looking up at the drow with a pout as he insinuates he’ll have to leave soon. You catch him off guard but he’s not opposed to the sense of affection and comfort you radiate. Physical affection is rare between the two of you especially since he’s very new to it in such contexts. He’s still getting used to it and he’d be lying if he said it’s unwelcome.

“If you say so.” You stay like this for a few more minutes before the ruckus downstairs pulls you out of your moment and you’re reminded Essek needs to head back to his own home. He still has business to attend to, business he’s been procrastinating in favour of spending more time with you. You sit back up, swing your legs beneath yourself and rise to your feet offering Essek a hand to help him to his feet.

“Essek, do you have a moment.” Caleb calls over as he enters the living space. The drow looks at you as if to ask if you know what this might be about or more like your permission to allow himself to be whisked away by the wizard interrupting your goodbye. You shrug.

“I should probably try and prevent this kitchen fire waiting to happen. I take it Cad’s still out getting groceries?” Caleb nods and you sigh shudder preparing for the oncoming disaster rushing into the kitchen like a valiant hero, albeit a little more domestic than your usual adventures, valiant no less.

A conversation between two wizards in one room and a homemade fluffernutter dismantled in another you reunite with Essek. There he is floating in all his glory, cloak back around his shoulders you see him off. Essek seems a little… nervous? Is that the right word? So you give Caleb a look but he acts all innocent. You know better than to trust that. Nevermind, you’ll have an easier time getting it out of Essek than Caleb if you need to. Caleb sends the others off to their own business persuading them to clean up before Caduceus returns and finds his precious kitchen in disarray or any other state he didn’t leave it in before he left. The firbolg is quite protective of his pride and joy. You lead Essek over to the hall but interpose yourself between him and the door crossing your arms and tapping your foot expectedly.

“So is this where you tell me what you and Caleb talked about or am I going to have to work for it?” The look you give Essek makes him want to spill all the beans right then right there but he wants to do this the right way and not be a blabbering incoherent mess. He has to do this the right way. You deserve that much; if not for the way he feels then simply for every effort you’d put in your actions to do with him.

“It’s to do with you.” Oh? Now you’re curious. “I asked Caleb for some advise.” What in the worlds would he need to go to Caleb for to get advise on to do with you? Essek’s not one to admit lacking either skill or knowledge when it’s about people and even less so to confide in another in such a way because by all means, his little side bar with with the redhead was anything but an interrogation to get information about character, motives and possible leverage like he would have navigated a political encounter.

“And what, pray tell could Caleb be lecturing you on?” You grin with he gentle stroke at Essek’s ego. If you know one thing, sweet-talking will get you everywhere with this man. Not that you’d minded. Not that you were lying. You’d never lie about such things. But you’re also not against using your opinions to gently persuade the drow in revealing what he’s hiding.

“Matters of heart. It seems I am at a disadvantage when expressing them to the subject of my affections.” Essek admits and you watch the skin of his cheeks to become a darker shade of purple. Damn, this is not going the way he envisioned it. Like a rock being tossed into the elemental plane of water, sinking into that eternal ocean.

“Oh really, now? It seems to me you’re doing perfectly fine.” Essek laughs awkwardly and looks to the floor to gather his bearings but when he feels your hand rise to his cheek and lift his gaze to look you in the eye, when you step in a little closer to him. He knows you’re teasing, or at least partially teasing. He also knows best to rip the bandaid off quickly and hope you’ll be merciful in your answer.

“I was wondering if you’d join me on an outing, tomorrow if it suits you?” Essek feels the words leave his lips. He doesn’t blurt them out like some lovesick fool and is thankful for that at least.

“Of course, will we be going to the library again? Or another shopping trip? Need me to carry more of those heavy papers again? Please can we do this time without any assassins sent to kill you? I think we could both do with a break for once.” You laugh and it becomes quite clear to Essek his phrasing might have been a little off so he’ll have to correct himself. Great. Just what he needs. Make this more awkward and difficult for himself than it already is. Maybe he would have been better off blurting out the words like a lovesick fool.

“What I had in mind would be more like a planned outing, a break from our usual lives and away from the responsibilities we both carry.” Essek clarifies and the copper drops for you.

“Essek, are you asking me to go on a date with you?” Yes. Yes. For the love of the gods, the Luxon and all that is sacred thank you for speaking the words correctly instead of leaving him to go in circles until he can’t anymore and dies from embarrassment. Why does he always turn into a mess when it comes to you? Because he likes you, a lot, maybe even more than just like. Definitely more than just that.

“That is exactly what I have been attempting and failing to convey, yes.” He admits ashamed. Your laugh makes for a good consolation though, no matter your answer. Up until now the possibility of your answer whichever outcome, had never been a bother to him as he never really gave asking you a thought, for his own sake or this may just have gone much worse with his tendency to overthink. In suspense he awaits. Not even the powers of dunamis at his fingertips could make the passage of time before your answer feel like less when in reality you barely missed a beat.

“Of course. I’d love nothing more.” You caress his cheek. Your smile grows from amusement to joy and Essek couldn’t be happier. He felt himself slipping into a smile of his own. Essek let himself go in that joy and relief you accepted rather than the stress of the actual date tomorrow. He’ll worry about that one later.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #essek thelyss x reader #essek x reader #critical role #mighty nein

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goodlucktai · 4 years ago

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the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter one: the ship sways

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 2549 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

During family dinner, Wei Ying’s phone rings, cutting mother off mid-sentence.

Jiang Cheng cringes inwardly and his brother’s face goes two shades paler. They have guests over, so mother doesn’t do more than glare hatefully in Wei Ying’s direction.

She won’t make a scene in front of Yanli’s husband, or even Wei Ying’s fiancé—Jin Zixuan is everything Yu Ziyuan wants in a match for her daughter, and Lan Zhan’s family is one of the richest on the East Coast.

Lan Zhan is also willing to give as good as he gets. His eyes are already narrowing in mother’s direction, the tentative ceasefire of family dinner wobbling precariously beneath their feet as he perceives the great and unforgivable offense of insult to Wei Ying. A-Li resolutely tries to pick the conversation back up from where it lulled, with all the steely resolve of someone throwing herself into the path of a rampaging bull. Jin Zixuan has graduated from grimacing into his wineglass to gazing hopefully at the clock every three minutes.

Always willing to fall on the grenade, Wei Ying ducks his head meekly.

“Sorry, I thought I silenced it,” he says, the shape of a laugh in his voice even if he can’t manage to drag it all the way out. He’s rummaging his cellphone out of his pocket, presumably to turn it off as a gesture of good faith. “I’ll just��”

But his eyes catch on the screen, and something happens to his expression that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

Wei Ying stands up, so abruptly his chair sails back with an awful screech, and excuses himself. Lan Zhan follows him out of the dining room without a single word or a backwards glance. That’s all it takes for mother to pick up a scathing tirade against Jiang Cheng’s good-for-nothing, ungrateful, waste-of-space brother.

He joins Jin Zixuan in watching the clock. Worry swims in the back of his mind like a school of startled fish.

Wei Ying’s apartment is really actually Lan Zhan’s apartment, but the two of them have been inseparable since they were fourteen, and it naturally followed that where one of them would live, so would the other. The place is ridiculous, modern and minimalist, and it would look like something out of a magazine if not for Wei Ying’s inevitable clutter. But even the stacks of books and magazines, and haphazard easels, and little jars of paints and loose brushes everywhere manage to make the place seem charming and lived-in instead of the horrible disaster tornado it rightly should be.

Jiang Cheng asked him once what the monthly rent was but Wei Ying looked so haunted by the question that Jiang Cheng decided he didn’t actually want to know.

They’re all crammed into the conversation pit, recovering from family dinner in the usual fashion. Jin Zixuan is much more likable when his tie is loose and he’s nursing a lukewarm beer.

A-Li is clinging to Jiang Cheng’s hand so hard he’s beginning to lose circulation but he’d sooner agree to amputate than he would shake her off.

“You’re on speaker, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says with mock-severity. “Keep it PG for the children in the room, please.”

“So Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are there?” Wen Qing asks rhetorically.

Jin Zixuan sighs but doesn’t rise to it. Jiang Cheng snaps, “Listen, assholes,” partly out of half-hearted irritation, and partly to hear Wen Qing sigh the way she does when she doesn’t want to reward someone with a real laugh.

“Yanli and Lan Zhan are here, too,” Wei Ying says cheerfully. His tone doesn’t match how worried his eyes are. “This is a family-only meeting. So tell us what those texts were about.”

Jiang Cheng realizes right away why Wei Ying bailed on dinner.

There was an apartment fire. The Wens lost everything. Wen Ning is in the hospital with smoke inhalation and second-degree burns because he ran in to make sure their neighbors got out safely. All of their savings are wrapped up in putting Wen Qing through medical school. She’s adrift now in a way that Jiang Cheng has never been.

“There’s... we have an old house, somewhere out in the country. It was sold to my grandparents cheap, but they never got around to renovating it. It’s not even livable, just bare bones.”

A-Li starts crying the second Wen Qing does.

“It’s too much,” Wen Qing forces out. “I can’t do this on my own.”

Wei Ying, to his credit, actually does hesitate. A whole five seconds. And then he says, “I thought you were supposed to be my smart friend. Who said you were doing this on your own?”

He says it as easily as if it was an absolute given that he would turn his whole life around and upside down for her. All she had to do was call.

There is a minor disagreement between Jiang Cheng’s siblings.

“A-Li,” Wei Ying says, holding both of her hands in both of his own and looking deeply, imploringly, into her eyes. “You’re way too pregnant to fly.”

Her face crinkles alarmingly, eyes already red and puffy from recent tears. Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan and Lan Zhan tense in exactly the same way, at the same time.

“I won’t have you going all the way to California by yourself,” Yanli says in her most eldest-sibling tone of voice. “I won’t have it, A-Ying.”

“I am a grown-up,” Wei Ying points out gently, with all the wisdom of his twenty-four years. “I pay bills and have a job I hate and everything. And I won’t be by myself, I’ll have A-Qing and A-Ning.”

“And me, obviously,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. Wei Ying whips around to stare at him.

“Oh,” Yanli says, a blanket of relief rolling across her face. “Oh, of course.”

“You can’t,” Wei Ying hisses at him, looking more panicked now than he has all night. “Your mother—”

“Okay, first of all, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jiang Cheng bites back, prickly with worry for the Wens and worry for his idiot brother. “Secondly, you, going by yourself, is not an option. It’s off the table. It was never on the table. Stupid,” he adds, on principle.

Lan Zhan doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at this point but Jiang Cheng learned a long time ago that that doesn’t mean shit. Lan Zhan has more opinions than any three people combined, whether or not he chooses to voice them. There is no fucking way he doesn’t have thoughts about his fiance picking up and moving nearly three thousand miles away.

Maybe there’s some strange alternate timeline out there where he would be content to stay behind and let Wei Ying go off without him, but Jiang Cheng would bet his entire trust fund that that’s simply not happening here.

If ever there was a world where Wei Ying would be backed into a corner and forced to help the Wens alone, this world isn’t it.

There’s a minor disagreement between his siblings, and there’s a whole fucking nuclear fallout at home.

“I forbid it,” mother snaps. She’s livid, but she’s livid so much of the time that it started losing its edge a few years ago. “Absolutely not. I refuse to allow this family to lose face because you want to gallivant across the country for some charity case.”

Jiang Cheng sees it when Wei Ying’s posture changes. The dreamy raincloud gray of Wei Ying’s eyes hardens into heavy steel, and his spine stiffens, and his shoulders go back; the absolute opposite of his downcast self at dinner earlier. He’s willing to fight any impossible battle as long as it’s for someone else.

Jiang Cheng grew up looking up to him. He spent all of his formative years as Wei Ying’s little brother. That’s why he’s willing, too.

“The Wens aren’t a charity case,” he says. Not very loud, but he says it. It’s a lot more than he could have done when he was a kid.

“You don’t even know them! They’re just some random people on the Internet. They’re probably scamming you, and you’re both idiot enough to fall for it!”

That’s so untrue and unfair that Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to argue for a moment. They’ve never met the Wens in person, but Wei Ying has been friends with them since he was ten. They mail each other presents for Christmas and birthdays. Jiang Cheng distinctly remembers calling Wen Qing for help with biochem homework, multiple times. Wen Ning always Skyped with Yanli when he was stuck on a recipe, the two of them cooking together from three time zones apart. They’re all tangled up in each other’s lives, comfortably, irrevocably.

Of course we know them, Jiang Cheng thinks, bewildered.

Out loud, he says, “They’re not scamming us. And we already told them we’re coming.”

Mother screeches and storms around the house and throws things, but she hasn’t actually hit either of them since they grew taller than her. She hasn’t been a source of real fear since Jiang Cheng started looking down at her instead of looking up. It’s mostly just miserable to be around her now.

He remembers that fear, though. It sticks to his body like a half-healed scar. It reminds him to flinch.

It’s early enough in the morning that it might as well still be nighttime when Jiang Cheng and his suitcases finally show up at Wei Ying’s building. He leaves his luggage in the lobby under the watchful gaze of the concierge and takes the private elevator up, keying in the code to his brother’s apartment.

The doors roll open to the living room. Lan Zhan is holding a tiny animal carrier in his hands, gazing at Wei Ying in an extremely gross and smitten way while Wei Ying discusses the upcoming trip with their pets. Pidan and Bao are not being particularly attentive, snuffling at his chin and chewing on a piece of his hair respectively.

“Diedie has decided to be stubborn and not listen to good sense,” Wei Ying is telling the rabbits seriously, “so you’re coming with me and ruining your life instead of being safe and comfortable here at home.”

“Baba is being dramatic,” Lan Zhan informs them in turn. “And also foolish, if he doesn’t realize that our home is wherever he goes.”

“This is the weirdest domestic scene I’ve ever walked into,” Jiang Cheng says loudly, since apparently the telltale ding of the elevator wasn’t enough to announce his presence. He has to interrupt before they do something horrible, like make out in front of him. It’s a constant fucking risk with these two. “Are we leaving or what?”

So the rabbits go into their crate with a frankly absurd amount of fanfare and Jiang Cheng helps wrestle the luggage downstairs. By then, the shuttle that Lan Zhan ordered is waiting for them at the curb.

He knows it isn’t going to be a vacation. Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying has essentially put his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. It’s going to be hard work. It’s probably going to be painful, and a little bit scary.

Jiang Cheng is only involved because he chose to be, but it never occurs to him to choose anything else.

If this is where his brother is going, it’s probably the right place to go. And if it’s not, if the whole thing turns out to be a horrible mistake and he regrets all of it, then at least he’ll be in good company.

Wen Ning is out of the hospital by the time their plane lands, and he’s waiting with Wen Qing at the airport. Wei Ying, who by all accounts should feel as foggy and queasy as Jiang Cheng definitely does, drops his bags and sprints across the terminal towards them.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan follow at a more reasonable human pace, possibly in part to give the friends a few moments together. The busy airport traffic moves around them like a river flowing around a rock.

Wen Ning is sobbing, almost a full head taller than Wei Ying but buried against him like the little brother he is. Wen Qing is leaning quietly against the two of them with her eyes closed, as if filling her reserves and shoring up her strength.

She’s the type of person who would be able to cow his mother with a single glance, Jiang Cheng thinks admiringly, and more efficiently than Lan Zhan ever could. She must have a spine built out of steel to be able to stand there without crumbling under the weight of what she’s lost.

And Wei Ying stands there holding them up, tireless and steady. He’s talking too quietly for Jiang Cheng to hear, saying something that makes Wen Ning nod against his shoulder. He’ll hold them up until the ground falls out from under his feet if he has to. Thankfully it’s more like three minutes.

Introductions aren’t necessary. They all just trade exhausted looks and move as a cohesive unit towards the doors.

Wen Ning starts to help with the bags, bandaged hands and all. Wen Qing and Jiang Cheng both snap at him before he can so much as touch a suitcase, and then he just waffles in place anxiously, like he doesn’t know how to person if he isn’t actively being helpful.

“Hold the kids,” Wei Ying says in the spirit of compromise, taking the pet crate from Lan Zhan and holding it out to Wen Ning instead.

Somehow, they shuffle everything out of the airport and into a rental car. Lan Zhan’s phone starts to blow up as soon as he turns airplane mode off, so he turns airplane mode back on and returns the phone to his pocket.

“My uncle has checked the credit card statement,” Lan Zhan says calmly. “My brother is handling it.”

“Poor Lan Huan,” Wei Ying murmurs.

“We have to call A-Li,” Jiang Cheng remembers with a jolt. He digs his own phone out. “She wanted us to call as soon as we landed.”

Everyone clusters in close for the FaceTime call with Yanli, who is tearful and hormonal and indignant about being left behind. Jiang Cheng begs her not to get into a fight with their mother over this. Yanli raises her chin and says, “We’ll see.”

It’s a very long drive to the estate. Wei Ying’s head sinks against Lan Zhan’s shoulder in an inevitable, unstoppable act of gravity. He falls asleep within minutes.

“You have to help me thank him,” Wen Qing says quietly, tapping anxious fingers against the steering wheel. “Help me figure out how to thank him.”

Jiang Cheng snorts, not unkindly. “What makes you think I know how?”

An entire childhood spent raising each other, protecting each other, annoying the shit out of each other, and there are still some things Jiang Cheng has no idea how to say to his brother in a way that he’ll understand. Like I’m sorry, and thank you.

Lan Zhan turns his head to the side, so that his cheek is pillowed against Wei Ying’s hair. Outside, the sprawling California countryside sprints past the windows, wild and golden under a relentless summer sun.

#mo dao zu shi #the untamed #mdzs #wangxian #yunmeng shuangjie #jiang cheng #wei ying #lan zhan #wen ning #wen qing #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #it was only a matter of time fellas #the ship sways

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alwaysabeautifullife · 4 years ago

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How did you learn so many languages. Do you have any tips?

Yes!!!! Yes I do!!!

Everything I wish I could tell myself before starting my language “journey” lol:

🦩Dont be intimidated

Don’t be intimidated, specifically by doing listening or speaking practice. I know in the US (or for most English speakers), when we hear someone that speaks perfect English but merely has an accent we think “they don’t speak English”, but from experience this mentality is not shared with other languages. When you know even a little bit of a language or can’t speak it very well, natives speakers are really really encouraging. I think since we view not being 100% fluent without so much as an accent, as “not knowing any of a language” we are hard on ourselves and give up pretty easily.

🦩Listening practice is as important as studying vocabulary and grammar

When you listen to native speakers talk, you are training your ear even though you don’t understand it. Listen and listen, eventually your brain stops picking out English words that aren’t even there, but rather, starts to catch patterns in the language (for example, the same words sticks out to you over and over).

🦩Set realistic and doable goals or you’ll get discouraged and quit

If you are a busy person, make small goals to fit language study in. Don’t tell yourself that you need to master _____ within a week. Instead give yourself 15 mins of reading in the evening, and 25 mins of language listening in the morning. It’s also easier to add the language into stuff you do on a daily basis anyway. For example if you are religious, find your prayers you pray daily in the language you are learning.

🦩learn to read the language first (obviously this tip might not be applicable for character based languages like Chinese)

I know everyone says “immersion is the best and most important part of language” but honestly, a lot of our native speaking knowledge comes from our literacy education. When we are taught how to read, it’s through reading we can discover new words through context. It’s also easy to pick up new language reading since it’s available anywhere, where immersion is only available when you are surrounded by native speakers. The first thing I do is learn how to read and write the language, then the entire language becomes accessible to me.

🦩Spend time perfecting the sounds of the language that are most difficult for you

The vocal sounds of a language is the foundation of a language. I know we are all impatient and want to simply learn as many phrases as possible as fast as possible, but if you get down the unfamiliar sounds of a language that don’t exist in English, you’ll have a better foundation of the language and your speaking and listening will be better from the very beginning. So take the time to practice those weird sounds by looking into the position of the tongue and where the sound comes from, from the chest to the lips. Look into how tense the mouth is, how much air comes from the lips, what the sound is like next to other sounds. When you master this speaking becomes more instinctual and it’s easier to pick up the language.

🦩Search YouTube, google, Instagram IN THE LANGUAGE YOU ARE STUDYING.

Don’t search “korean music” or “korean kids tv” or even “korean vegetables” in google. Just translate how to say them in a translator app, then copy and paste them into the search bar. This way native korean information, videos, posts will come up. For example, if you’re in the mood for some horror comics, and want to read/watch them in the language you are learning, go to the translator app, and figure out how to say them, then search it. It works way better, even if the translation isn’t correct or more natural, you’ll still get the information, posts, and videos you want to see.

🦩Find ways to practice speaking the language (I use HiNative) and don’t be discouraged by corrections.

Getting corrected does not mean you’re wrong, corrections are the most useful part of learning a language. If you are the type of person who is sensitive to criticism, you need to remind yourself corrections are NOT criticism. They are NOT a reflection of your progress, they are NOT you failing! You will always be corrected as a language learner and the sooner you are gentle with yourself in learning the sooner you will learn more. Get those first corrections out of the way, allow yourself to butcher pronunciation, get corrected for the first 10 times, let it sting a little and move on. Eventually you will be begging native speakers to tell you every little detail in where you went wrong!

🦩Tv and Books seems to be more useful for immersion and listening practice then music does

So far in my experience music is its very weird and abstract, and the things said in music aren’t really useful in speaking? It’s good for gathering vocab, but if you want music listening practice that’s music based try searching for rap in that language, although obviously you’ll be picking up a lot of informal language in music/rap. Tv shows however are typically how people really do talk, so turn off English subs and just listen! Books are really useful for learning new vocabulary, but sometimes written language is different than spoken (often), although when you speak it the way you’ve learned from a book the worst you’ll sound is “formal and poetic”.

🦩Look up “insert language you are learning phrases and words that aren’t useful or correct”

There so many programs and books that teach you phrases you’ll never use or that are only appropriate in very specific situations. I don’t know why language programs do this, but learning which ones are weird or only in specific settings before you start learning really helps. Chinese Especially does this...like I learned so many phrases and words that natives will never use and have no purpose???

🦩Know the different subjects of learning a language and which apps to use for that

Everyone uses Duolingo, but this app alone won’t make you speak a language. Duolingo and Memrise are great for memorizing vocab, but, is it vocab that in the context of your reading and listening practice? Are you learning words you are hearing and reading all the time? Duolingo is a lot of fun but I feel like the vocab is so broad and it doesn’t go deep enough into the language. Feel free to use it at first to get used to the sounds of the language, but try using flash card apps like quizlet or Anki instead where you can write down and study words you are hearing constantly. Memrise does have actually study sets for many language books and lessons! So you can study words you are hearing in specific programs and books which is pretty useful in regards to vocab.

There obviously is more than just learning vocab. What about grammar, listening practice, speaking practice and reading? If you are wanting to use primarily apps find out which apps are available for your language. Here is an example of the apps I use for each subject. Be aware some languages are not available on them.

Vocab: quizlet, anki

Grammar: books (printed or kindle), YouTube grammar lessons, websites

Reading: books (printed or kindle), beelinguapp, instagram (posts that have text), Netflix/YouTube with both subtitles in the language you are learning and spoken in language you are learning, epic app

Writing: just use paper and pencil/pen

Listening: audio books (beelinguapp/epic/kindle/YouTube), tv and movies (Netflix/YouTube etc with no English subs), conversations on YouTube (search in language you are studying, don’t search “Spanish conversations” or “Japanese conversations”)

Speaking: HiNative (pretty much all I use since it’s all languages, quick, and you get immediately answered and corrected by native speakers), get friends in language you are learning through lots of apps

Translator: it’s really hard to find a good one, most of them are really weird so only use them for words and the most basic or simple phrases and sentences, otherwise use HiNative to ask native speakers directly, or ask people on the apps that connect you to native speakers

🌱I should note that for talking to native speakers I only like HiNative, since it’s built to NOT be a form of social networking at all. It’s not personal in anyway, and there’s no way to private message or speak to other users outside a asking questions publicly. The people on there are only about learning or teaching a language, not usually making friends. I’ve found the sites that are built to make native speaking friends aren’t useful to me personally, as most of the native speakers are either dudes looking for a woman to date or people wanting to only practice English with you, so they wasted a lot of my study time. People who are willing to help you learn are there, but it takes time to filter everything else out. If you would find it helpful to make friends by all means use them but I don’t really use it myself.🌱

You don’t want to really study EVERY SUBJECT every single day (unless you have the time). It can get really overwhelming, and you don’t really absorb information that if you are just cramming. While I would say it’s good to read and listen daily, spread subjects out over the week. Grammar on Monday and Friday, vocab on Tuesday and Thursday. Take one day to review all of what you’ve learned all week. Pick a day you have the largest block of free time. Bi-weekly works fine too.

I have an old post on how I organize my study time for multiple languages: https://alwaysabeautifullife.tumblr.com/post/182817883372/what-do-you-use-to-learn-your-languages-im

🦩Write sentences daily of everything you’ve learned (no THIS I RECOMMEND DAILY)

Write as many as you can. Use all the grammar you’ve learned, the words you’ve learned, everything! Write them in your notes and submit them to be corrected in HiNative. The sentences they correct, put them in flash cards!

🦩It’s ok to abandon languages you aren’t passionate in

So you’ve learned to read the language, and you know basic phrases, and now you just don’t want to do it anymore. If you can’t think of any reason to maintain it and don’t know why you are studying it, learning some of the language is good! Fluency does NOT need to be everyone’s goal. You can hold a conversation, and that’s good enough for you. Feel free to try out various languages, there will be one or some that really are your passion, it’s fine to have the goal of fluency in those and conversational in others.

Don’t abandon languages however because you feel discouraged. Discouragement is just a bump to get over, when you train your brain to maintain study habits through the days you feel discouraged, you make it habitual. Habits are harder to break and abandon! Evaluate your reasonings for wanting to speak a language, and your reasons for abandoning them if you want. Don’t let difficulty, disorganized, discouragement, or poor time management get in your way!!

🦩With all that said it’s ok to take breaks

It’s ok to get overwhelmed and take breaks from language learning. If you can still maintain what you’ve learned by listening to music in your language or staying connected in some way that’s good, but the “you’ll loose a language” isn’t entirely true. I’ve taken year long breaks and refreshing what I learned previously is pretty easy! Your brain really does go “oh yeah I do remember this!” when you’re studying information you studied years ago.

🦩Be gentle with yourself

Be gentle with yourself. People that claim to be fluent in 6 months are selling something or want to be an influencer. Don’t compare yourself to them. Language learning even for natives is a lifetime education. It’s not something you do for 6 months then stop. It’s continual and that looks different for everyone (yes native speakers included). Don’t bother watching YouTube videos on how to learn in 10 mins or 3 months, you’ll only get discouraged about your own amazing progress and all the work you’ve done.

🦩Plan your “can you say something in it” phrase now

This one is just for fun but after hearing you are learning a language the first thing you’ll get asked is “oh cool you speak (insert target language here)? Can you say something in (insert target language here)?” It does not matter what level of fluency you are at, you will absolutely forget the entire language and your own native language when you are asked this because it sends your brain to another dimension. So think of some funny phrases to say to people who ask, master them, then when they ask what they mean you can have a laugh. Other wise you will say something stupid of jumbled words (my go to was ‘we women are fruit’ for some reason thanks brain you’re incredible) you’ve learned that don’t belong in a sentence, or even worse you’ll run a blank and you’ll just look at them like:

🍳👄🍳

So think of inside jokes to tell your friends, funny phrases, even goofy insults! Memorize them and tell them at your friends and family to torture them because they can’t escape sound waves! It’s a good way to memorize the language but also to become confortable speaking it!

Please excuse any errors I don’t wanna go over my mistakes so pretend u can’t see them 🙈

#langblr #learning languages #korean #spanish #italian #portuguese #lang resources #lang apps #lang

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dranza · 4 years ago

Text

Race you

Draco x Reader

Getting a little closer to Draco. Its a slow burn!

Word count: 1804

Warnings: I dont think so, please let me know if you notice any.

“Hey y/n. Y/N?” A deep whisper calls at me from the desk behind.

I had come to the library in my study break to get away from all the noise and actually be able to concentrate on my charms essay. I had a whole week to do this but low and behold I was having to rush it in my final break before its due. Trust me to try and cram 3 pieces of homework into an hour and a half. I had already been distracted when I saw Draco walk into the library a little while ago. As he slowly walked through each aisle, browsing the books, a soft knot in his brows as he read through a few pages. He had me stuck in a daze. I was glad when he passed to sit behind me, out of sight, making me finally able to focus on trying to get this bloody essay finished.

“Y/L/N!” his whisper was more direct now, one sharp order for me to turn to him.

“What?” I shoot back at him, I can get rather irritable when I'm studying, but as my eyes catch him all my frustration leaves me.

Draco sits with three books open in front of him, one hand twirling a quill between his fingers and his head resting in the palm of the other. His grey eyes look up at me and he pouts. “What were the three water-related constellations Professor Sinistra pointed out in the last lesson?”

“Errr…” I give him a sorry look, I haven't even started to think of the astronomy homework yet.

“I’ve got Pisces and Eridanus but I can’t, for the life of me, remember the third.” He flips through the book closest to him in frustration.

“One minute…” I pull out the notes I had borrowed from Hermione and scan through to the constellation names. “Only Hermione is actually able to read her rushed scribbles. Errr, Cetuh? Cetus? ”

Draco sits up with this information and grabs at one of his books. “I swear I read through that. C-E-T-U-S?”

I nod in response.

With his fingers gripped tightly around the quill he hurriedly copies out a sentence from the book and dramatically bounces his hand off the parchment as he adds his final full stop. “Perfect. That's me done then.” He sets his quill into the ink and leans back in his chair. His long arms stretching up over his head for a few seconds and then releasing them with a loud sigh. “How much have you got left?”

“I just need to proofread my charms paper. Then I’ve got arithmancy and then astronomy, so not much!” I reply sarcastically and then throw my hands to my face letting out a frustrated, but quiet, squeal.

“I can help... if you want.”

I slowly let down my hands, eyeing the white haired boy, shocked that he would be willing to waste his break to help me. “Really?”

Draco chews at the inside of his mouth, “I mean, only if you want, it's just that I’ve already done it so.” A smirk begins to form on his lips. “Of course not suggesting that you wouldn’t be able to get it all done in the next 45 minutes. Look at you, you've clearly got it all organised and planned out.” With a nod of his chin he signals towards the messy piles of notes, parchment and books I have on my desk.

“Hey!” I giggle, “It's an organised mess ok.”

“That's exactly what I'm saying.” he stacks the books on his table into a neat pile and drags his chair to seat himself opposite me. Taking the parchment from my hand he slides a pot of ink towards me. “Here, I’ll finish reading this for you and you get started on the Arithmancy Worksheet.”

I smile at him as I accept the ink and flip open my Arithmancy book, scanning over the contents table.

Without taking his eyes away from the piece he is reading, Draco mumbles a quiet “46.”

I drag my finger to number 46 and there it is, the exact topic I need. “I knew that.” I whisper with a cheeky grin.

He lets out a deep, breathy chuckle, tilting his head to the side, “Ofcourse.”

I speed through the question sheet, looking up at the handsome boy in front of me now and again as he tries his best to be discreetly correcting some mistakes on the sheet he is reading.

I sit my parchment to dry and move onto the Astronomy worksheet. This is also something I should be able to speed through. Although the names can tend to escape me, constellations have always been so interesting to me, also I have Hermione’s notes so I can’t really go wrong.

Draco places the finished paper onto the desk and rests his elbows on top of it. “You know, for someone who stays up all night and leaves their work till the last minute, you sure as hell have managed to write a brilliant essay.” Sliding his chin over his fingers until he finds a comfortable spot to rest it, he smiles at me.

I lift a single brow at him. “Oh please… I saw you crossing out and adding stuff to it.”

“I didn’t say you were a good speller. Bloody hell, you were adding and taking away the wrong letters left, right and centre.”

I let out a hearty laugh and exaggerate on his point. “Yeah, I rarely manage to spell anything but my name right.”

“But what you’re actually saying is quite an interesting perspective. Contrary to what I’d heard, I believe you're not just a pretty face are you?”

I try and fail to stop the blood rushing to my face. “Thankyou Dray.”

“Dray?” he tilts his head, frowning but amused. “What, two syllables just too much work for you?”

I click my fingers and point at him jokingly. “Yes… also I think it suits you, it’s cute.” I shrug.

Draco shakes his head taking in a sharp breath, now it was his turn to try and hide a blush. Leaning over me, he reaches a book from his desk. From it he pulls out the book mark (a pressed stem of eucalyptus) and begins to read.

We sit in an easy silence while I finish the last few questions.

The both of us look up as Madam Pince walks up to our desks signaling to the clock. “Do you two not have a class to get to?”

“Shit.” I mutter under my breath as we begin clearing our things. We only had 5 minutes to get to the highest tower on the other side of the castle for astronomy class.

After promptly sliding all his stuff into his bag, Draco waits patiently for me to messily stuff my bag with the scraps of parchment, books and quills I had spread all over the desk. I look up at him as I finish and he holds his arm out, gesturing towards the door. “After you.”

We exit the library and I notice just how long Dracos legs are, his strides are probably double mine. “Ok, I know we're in a rush but my tiny, little legs cannot keep up with you.”

He looks back at me with a cool smirk and begins taking longer strides. “Not my problem y/l/n.”

“Hey!” I jog a few steps to catch up to him and playfully elbow his side.

He stops abruptly, looks me dead in the eyes and then caught in a laugh he shouts “RACE YOU!” He speeds away, catching his bag as it slips from his arm and throwing it over his shoulder.

“WHAT? NO!” It takes me a second to get over my initial shock and I race after him.

I keep my eyes fixed on his snowy hair and as we weave through the other students and I start catching up to him.

We run through the courtyard, me just a few steps behind him. “Come on slow coach!” he calls out to me as he spins to see how far behind I am. “Oh shut up Malfoy!” I retort, laughing as I skip over the legs of some 1st year girl laying on the grass.

As we turn into a hallway Harry and Ron are walking towards us. “What are…?” Harry begins to question but Draco cuts him off.

“Excuse me gents.” he blurts out as he shoots between the two Gryfindors.

“Eee. Sorry boys, see you in potions!” I follow his lead, leaving both of them confused.

We get to the end of the hallway and Draco turns to the left. “Uh-OH! You sure that's the way Dray?” I shout in his direction as I turn right.

He u-turns in the middle of the corridor and sprints after me. “You just got so lucky!”

“You've been in this school for how many years now?” I tease him, approaching the Astronomy Tower stairs.

“You cheeky git.” he cackles as I turn around to stick my tongue out.

Our breathless laughter echoes through the circled staircase, wrapping me in a blanket of joy. This is a moment that’ll get stored, not in my mind, but deep in my heart. I try my best to run through the pain forming in my thighs but Draco soon catches up to me. We get to the top of the stairs and I let my back fall into the wall. “Oh my goodness, I’m never running again in my life.”

Draco places one hand on the wall to steady himself and the other on his face, squeezing at his cheeks. “AAA HA HA!” he shouts, his voice husky from the rush “Stop laughing, my face hurts.” In that moment, he is a vision to behold. His broad chest rising and falling heavily as he catches his breath. His robe hanging off his shoulders, pulling back his shirt and the gaps between the buttons revealing flashes of his bare skin. The afternoon sun, golden over his face.

I snap back into reality as Hermione calls our names sternly from the classroom door.

“Coming.” I answer her and turn back to Draco who gives her a nod. “All that and we’re still late!”

“Still, not bad for your tiny, little legs.” he smiles down at me and shifts a strand of hair from my face.

“Pretty bad for your long legs though.” I let out a silly giggle. “I can’t believe I actually won.”

He frowns. “Pfft, you got lucky and it’s a draw.”

“Nope, I win!” I wink. He tries to protest but I press my finger to his lips, “Shhh.” as I step backwards into the classroom.

Hope you liked this, I loved writing it.

If you want more here is the masterlist!

#mine #draco malfoy #draco x reader #library love #slow burn #Harry potter #Tom felton #hes so handsome #i love him #secretly a soft boy #draco fanfic #draco imagine #the malfoys

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inkandpen22 · 4 years ago

Text

Time is Irrelevant (1/?): The Mystery of Psychology

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k

Part Summary: Y/N is an undergraduate student double majoring in history and English. While she’s cramming away at her research paper she’s approached by a rather peculiar man.

Masterlist

“History, like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness.”

- James Fenimore Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans

I’ve never imagined myself as one of the greats. They’ve lived before my time and their legacies will outlive me long after I’m gone. The greatest task I can accomplish is do them justice by telling their stories. I must immerse myself in their lives and hope to influence others with their work. I’m merely the surface that the puzzle of history rests upon. Over time, I’ve collected facts from as many historical periods as possible and have memorized them.

I’ve always found history easy to retain. I believe it to be a blessing. Once I’ve heard, read, or watched any kind of information about history I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. My gift made the subject easy for me in school. I also excelled in English. Words resonate with people for generations, they’re needed to retell history. A simple sentence or everyday speech may end up in every history book across the country. Words are equally as influential to our history as our actions. Hence why I’m a history and English double-major. With history comes life lessons, valuable lessons that can only be learned from past experiences. English, words, can impact an entire generation or many, thus influencing history. By telling the stories of the past, I hope to better the future.

___________________________________________________

As I review the archives on the Crusades in front of me, my fingers tap against the table to the beat of the music coming from my earbuds in the otherwise silent archives. Many of my friends have never understood how I’m able to read and listen to music at the same time. What can I say? I’m talented. Disregard the fact that I’ve read this book fifty times over so I could practically recite it from memory. I’m kinda mixing wars here by listening to Hamilton while reading about the French and Indian War. Oh well, there are no rules against the action.

Suddenly, there is a tap on my shoulder. I assume someone must be able to hear my music and is asking for me to turn it down. I close my book as I remove one of my earbuds and peer over my shoulder. I lift my eyes and meet the gaze of a rather handsome individual.

“I’m sorry is it too loud?” I apologize.

“Not at all,” he assures me with a gentle smile and I take note of his accent. “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of information on the French Revolution?”

The gentleman is lucky, an average person wouldn’t know the archives by heart. I’ve spent nearly every day up here since the early days of freshman year.

“You’re on the right floor so good job.” I joke and point my finger towards the proper section in the middle of the room near me. “Most of the books on the French Revolution that I’ve been able to find are over there but there are more throughout the library upstairs. Nonetheless, those should be a good start.”

He grins, pausing for a moment as he stares me in the eye. “Thank you.” His focus travels to my book sitting on the table. “The Last of The Mohicans, good choice.”

He leaves, as quickly as he appeared, towards the section I suggested. That man is something else entirely. He’s likely a professor considering he’s down here and his considerably formal attire. Only a professor would wear a bow tie. Then again, he appears awfully young. A TA perhaps? That wouldn’t explain his accent though. He could be a visiting professor. Plus, oddly enough, he knows of my book, not many people I know do.

I pop my earbud back in and dive back into reading. The whole interaction was short but interesting nonetheless. I’m not sure what it was about him but he was different than most. It could be that he had this awkward charm and I’m not used to people being so polite. For a young man, he seemed old fashioned. His wording was more articulate, could be because he’s British. Normally a guy would say ‘uh hey so like, could you…. um… show me where the books are for the French Revolution or whatever it’s called? If they have an audiobook or DVD that’s cool too!’

Okay, that’s it, I can’t focus after that guy talked to me. I’ve read the same sentence five times over. It’s best just head home, it’s getting late anyway.

The sun is setting as I make my way back to the apartment. I take the more scenic route by the original brick buildings from the colonial era. Mainly because I like the brick path, especially now that it’s fall and the leaves coat the ground. I’m not surprised to see some boys playing football on the lawn in the center of campus. My first thought is how American they appear, with the crisp leaves scattering the ground, everyone in their duck boots, and playing football. I feel as if I’m in a Lands End catalog.

On the way home, I stop by the student union to fetch a late dinner to take home. I shuffle through the music on my phone, trying to find the perfect playlist for the walk back. I approach the door to the building and the person ahead of me holds it for me as I stare down at my phone.

“Thank you” I mumble absentmindedly.

“Oh well hello again!”

I look up and believe it or not it’s the same man from before. I take notice of his exquisite eyes, their long lashes, and his multicolored uniqueness. I’ve never seen anything like them before. They’re like marbles. A warm chestnut shade toward the cornea but then fades into a ring of emerald that transitions into a deep ocean blue. He has every possibility in one.

“Oh hey!” I respond politely, “did you find the book you were looking for?”

He shows me the hardcover book in his hand. “Yeah, thank you so much for your help earlier!” He holds out his hand for me to shake, “it’s nice to meet you...”

“Y/N,” I answer, accepting his hand. “It’s nice to meet you too!”

I’m not the kind for such formal introductions. In this day and age, there are rarely introductions just frequent run-ins until everyone becomes acquainted.

The gentleman stares at me for a second, visibly deep in thought. He continues to hold my hand, but I’m too awkward to remove it. Then, snaps himself out of it, parting from my hand. “Beautiful name,” he compliments, charmingly.

Normally, I would imagine girls swoon over a compliment from a man with his foreign accent. American girls love a pretty English accent. Yet, his attention makes me feel on display. I’ve never been fond of physical compliments. I never know how to respond to them.

“Are you meeting someone?” I ask.

He looks confused but realizes I’m referring to the building. “Oh! No, no I’m here to get something to eat.”

This was nice, but now I’m over being polite because I’m starving. Plus, I’ve been in the archives practically all day working on my research paper for Medieval History for I’m beyond tired.

“Oh okay…” I stumble over my words, “well, it was nice to you!” I nod, preparing to walk away.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks abruptly before I’m able to escape.

It’s ironic, I’m a mess and he’s wanting my company. The image of me schlepping around this ten-pound backpack wasn’t off-putting to him, really?

“Awesome!” He declares, not giving me the chance to decline his offer before he ushers me inside. “I’ll meet you over there after you get your food!” He adds, pointing over to a specific table.

I was really looking forward to eating in my bed at home, but I can’t decline anyone and risk hurting their feelings. Sticking to my word, I head over to where he instructed after I grab my usual sushi order. Sure enough, he’s already seated at the table. I notice the fact we’re in the far back corner separated from the workers or the other few eaters this time of night. I place my bag next to me on the floor as I get situated.

“You like sushi?” He inquires.

I sway my head from side to side, “Americanized sushi. The traditional raw fish I’ve never tried.”

He chuckles lightly, “one day you’ll have to try it. It’s surprisingly not as bad as one might assume.”He speaks so smoothly. Does it come naturally or does he have to work at it?

“One day,” I sigh with a smile. I would love to see the world and experience everything it has to offer. Yet, I’m a poor college student with responsibilities.

“What’s your major?” He asks, creating casual conversation.

“I’m a double major, English, and history,” I nod.

He raises his eyebrows, appearing amazed. “Impressive!”

“What about you? What do you do?” I’m purposefully vague enough with my questions because I still don’t know whether he’s a student or a professor. He could pass as a graduate student and that’s what has me stumped.

“Oh uh...” he stammers, rubbing his hands together in his lap. “I’m a doctor.”

He’s a professor then. I’m having a social dinner with a professor... is this allowed? “Oh okay,” I try to remain unfazed. “What is it that you teach?”

I’m assuming he must teach history considering the search for the French Revolution book. Then again, I don’t know of any English professors in the department. The topic isn’t really one for some light reading. He could be required to take a history course, though I doubt it.

“Psychology,” he rushes out an answer.

Do I ask or is that too bold? Then again, I’ve never really cared about superficial social standards.

I lean forward in my chair, resting my arms on the table as curiosity appears on my face. “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you looking for books on the French Revolution earlier?”

He hesitates as if he’s evaluating my question. His features go blank then shift to sternness. Did I say something wrong? Was I not being polite when I asked that?

“I was picking it up for a friend,” he answers plainly, questionably.

I don’t believe him, not for a second. I’m no expert in psychology but his eyes glanced to his right while his voice went up a little at the end of his sentence. He’s lying. My heart quickens and I do everything in my power to remain calm. I’m going to play along and act oblivious. Perhaps, he has a good reason for lying.

“I was just wondering because you said you were in Psychology,” I say light-heartedly, waving my hand to dismiss the matter.

He sighs deeply, placing his napkin on the table. “They said you’d be hard to fool.” His eyes meet mine with a smirk as he leans back in his chair. “You don’t miss a thing do you?” He snickers.

His words are so ominous they make my breathing hitch as I drop my chopsticks.

“What?” I calmly question, reaching for my back slowly.

In a swift movement, he grabs my hand on the table and points a metal shiny thing at my face. I attempt to yank myself free, but he just squeezes tighter. I look into the light radiating from the buzzing object. Then, suddenly, my sight goes dark. This can’t be good.

_____________________________

Masterlist

#doctor who #eleventh doctor #matt smith #time travel #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x you #doctor x reader #doctor who imagine #imagine #fanfic #doctor who fanfic

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enamoured-x · 4 years ago

Note

If it’s okay with u I would like to request #57 and #90 from the Smut list, if I can, I was wondering if it can be around like the reader is at college and Rio stops by to bring her lunch??

Damn, I wish I had Rio to get me through my finals week. At least it’s over! Anyways, this was fun to write! (gif not mine)

Warnings: NSFW

Finals week. Those two cursed words that you dreaded at the end of every semester. Just like every other college student, you were running on coffee and just a few hours of sleep, most of your time spent cramming in as much information as you could retain. You were exhausted, jittery, nervous, and so damn stressed.

You were currently occupying a corner in the upper floor of the library, away from everyone and anything that could potentially distract you. You had been at it for three hours now, your eyes were burning from constantly going over your textbook and highlighting key things to remember, which was basically every damn sentence. You had two more finals this week and then you’d be home free, ready for winter break. Well, free until next semester at least. Fuck, you were going to cry, again.

You leaned your head against your fist, flipping through your notes.

“You know it wouldn’t kill you to take a break.” You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the voice. You turned your head to see Rio leaning against one of the book shelves, a brown paper bag in his hand.

“Rio? What are you doing here? How did you find me?” You set your highlighter down and faced him. You had told him you would be at the library again today but never specified where.

He shrugged and placed the bag on the table in front of you.

“You mentioned you come up here because it’s quieter than the main floor.” Perhaps you did. You couldn’t remember much of anything besides your notes this past week.

“So I brought you dinner.” He said, further explaining why he was here when you couldn’t help but glance back at your notes, reading what was written there. You were just trying to read the last couple of sentences when Rio closed both your notebook and your textbook.

“Hey! Rio!” You grumbled and went to try and open them again but he pushed them to the other side of the table.

“You’ve been at it for hours and I know for a fact that’s your third one today.” He nodded to the now empty venti coffee cup. It was true, it was your third.

“I need to study.” You explained. He shook his head and plopped down into the seat next to you. Taking out the food from the paper bag. Pad thai, from your favorite place.

“You need to eat, mamas. This ain’t healthy. I know you’re studying and I love that you’re so driven but you won’t be able to pass those tests or even remember those notes if you don’t keep up your energy.” You refrained from saying the coffee was giving you energy but you knew he meant actual substance. And the coffee was draining you now. You knew it was bad, not eating all day and running on caffeine, but half the time you didn’t even realize you were doing it. You sighed and grabbed Rio’s hand. He always knew what was good for you. He was always taking care of you.

“I know, you’re right. I just get so distracted and then I forget to eat.” He brought your hand up to his lips and placed a kiss to your knuckles.

“Which is why I’m here to remind you.” He pulled away to start taking things out of the bag. Handing you small containers. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took in the spicy sweet smell of the food and your stomach growled. You quickly started to eat. You sat there with Rio, eating dinner while talking about his day, his way of making sure your brain took a little break from your work.

Once you were finished, Rio collected all the scraps and threw them in a nearby trash can.

“Thank you, babe. I needed that.” You told him and you stood up. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he leaned down to place a kiss to your lips. You hummed into it as he easily took control and slid his tongue in your mouth. You pulled away when you felt the familiar throb in your core. Rio barely had to do anything to get you started.

“Okay, okay. Stop.” You pushed him away, groaning. But there was still a smile on your lips and he laughed as he kept going in for more even as you playfully kept dodging him. He finally took hold of your face and brought your lips to his again. You let him. You had missed him this past week, you spent most of your time here and even when you were at home, you were still studying. You melted into the kiss as your tongue met his again. Your brain turned foggy as his tongue gently played with yours, dragging out the kiss, slow and sweet.

“Rio…” You groaned.

“Something wrong, mamas?” He moved his lips down to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin just below your ear. You gasped and clutched on to his waist with one hand, the other resting on his neck. You didn’t know if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

“We’re in the library.” You reminded him but made no move to stop his ministrations on your neck. You knew you’d have to cover up once he was through with you but you didn’t seem to care.

“Then we’ll have to be quiet.” You pulled away at that.

“Rio, we can’t…” you flushed and looked around, “we can’t have sex in the library.” You were convinced no one was even on this floor anymore, you couldn’t hear anything and it was already really late. Half the time you were the last one on this floor.

“No? You don’t want me to take you against these shelves right here? Hmm?” He licked a strip up your neck. You shuddered.

“Someone might see us.” There was nothing stopping someone from walking up to this floor and along the aisles. You would be right out in the open, even between the filled bookshelves. You felt yourself get wetter at that fact.

Rio and you were no strangers to having sex in some semi public places but in the library? Where anyone could walk by? Where you could get in serious trouble? Rio smirked at you, like he knew you were thinking about getting caught. Like he knew you were just as turned on as he was at the idea of it.

“Makes it more fun.” You huffed out a laugh at his words but there was no humor in his voice. Just solid and unfiltered need. He slid his hands down your sides, grabbing onto your waist and pulling you closer into his chest. Your heart was beating like crazy against your chest, were you really going to do this?

He then grabbed your ass in his hands, messaging then squeezing. You gasped and bit your lip, not wanting any other sounds to slip out.

“Just wanna help you relax.” He whispered his words against your lips and then tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth. You gave in, pulling him in closer.

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.” You disconnected your lips from his to get your words out. That’s all he needed to push you toward the aisle and then against the shelf. Your adrenaline spiked at the thought of someone walking by.

“Gotta be quick, corazón.” He whispered as you started to tug on his pants, his hands already unbuttoning your own pants. He tugged them down just enough to slide a finger inside you, you bit your lip and grabbed onto his shoulder as you bucked against his hand for friction. You pulled down his briefs and wrapped your hand around his now hard and leaking length. He moaned lowly and then swatted your hand away and pulled his fingers from your core. He quickly turned you around, you grabbed onto the shelf to steady yourself as he wasted no time sliding into you and bottoming out. You leaned your head against the shelf and tried to contain the moan that was threatening to come out.

He dipped his chin into your neck and put his lips against your ear.

“Gonna fuck the stress away.” He said and then he was driving into you. Your nails scratched at the shelf as you tried to focus on not crying out with every roll of his hips. He grounded into you, keeping his thrusts as quiet as he could be. It was near impossible and the low slap of skin on skin was still present. You didn’t care as he kept hitting the spot that had you near dizzy.

“Rio…” You whined under your breath. You let out a few whimpers at a few harder thrusts.

“Feel so good for me. So wet, so fucking tight. Should make you take a break on my dick more often.” You moaned at his words but he didn’t stop. Instead he reached down past your stomach to rub his thumb over your clit.

“Fuck, baby! I’m gonna come.” You were so close to the edge. So close to falling.

“Want you to come. Wanna make you feel good.” He grunted, his thrusts now sporadic. You knew he was at his end too.

“Can’t make a mess…” You knew you weren’t exactly making sense. But you knew if Rio was close, he needed to choose where he was going to come because pulling out was not an option. Not that he never came inside you because it was most definitely a frequent occurrence, but you let him choose usually.

“I’ll just have to come inside you then.” He said and then rubbed your clit faster. And that was it. You were falling, taking all the stress and worries down with you till all that was left was mind shattering pleasure. You pressed your hand to your lips, still whining but keeping the noise at the back of your throat. He thrusted into you a few more times before he stilled and growled, spilling inside you. You felt the tension slowly leave your body as you settled into your post orgasm high. He caught his breath as you did the same, then he finally pulled out. You quickly pulled up your panties and jeans, not wanting to have him dripping down your thigh and also not wanting to get caught after getting away with the main event. He pulled up his pants and buttoned them.

“Feel better?” Rio cupped your face gently in his hands when he turned you around to face him again. You sighed and nodded.

“So much better. Thank you.” You flushed at the fact that you just had sex with him in your campus library.

“Let’s go home, mamas. Let me run you a bath, get you relaxed again.” That sounded like bliss, so you nodded and let him help you pack up your stuff. He took your hand in his and let him lead the way out. You bit your lip, you were sure every time you came to this little nook to study, all you were going to be thinking about was Rio taking you against the shelves. But damn, what a good distraction it would be.

#rio x you #rio good girls #good girls rio #rio x reader

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ladyfawkes · 3 years ago

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Eugene Appreciation Week - Day 1 - Childhood | The Trial and Tribulations of Fitzherbert and Schnitz

The Trial and Tribulations of Fitzherbert and Schnitz

Current word count: 3178

Current Rating: T for upcoming chapters

This is my version of that now-infamous RTA lost episode, "The Trial of Fitzherbert and Schnitz". Most of you are aware how I took issue with Disney having used both adoption AND Eugene's having adopted his lifelong persona as Flynn as a 20-minute throwaway plot. I'm gonna try to beef up that premise.

I suppose this is ALSO my way of refuting some of the (very limited) spoilery stuff I've read that's included in the upcoming traditionally published Flynn Rider novel.

My own plot line will be significantly darker than your average Disney plot, though.

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

Chapter 1: Sister Eunice

Several years into the past....

Arnie was skipping down the corridor just past the chapel, minding his own business, when suddenly a loud CRASH!!! sounded from just behind him. He whipped around to see an enormous new hole in a large ornate stained-glass window behind him that was intact just seconds ago.

Thinking one of the rowdier orphans to be at fault, Arnie ran to have a looksee outside. He was shocked to discover nobody except Sister Eunice opposite him next to the stone wall. Surely she couldn’t have been the one to shatter the window??

The young nun noticed him from outside the chapel though and hissed, “Arnie!! Arnie, don’t tell anybody you saw me here! Please. I’m trying to save Eugene!! I’m trying to save you all!! If anybody asks, especially Father Francis, tell them you saw Eugene throw a rock at the window. I can’t explain why, but it’ll help out. A LOT. Can you do that for me, please, Arnie? Would you do this to save your best friend, Eugene?” She was looking at him with frightened eyes, taking surreptitious furtive glances behind her.

Ten-year-old Arnie had stared back, wide-eyed, and had only barely begun to nod when Sis Eunice turned back, ran around the corner of the chapel toward Arnie’s right, and disappeared. Young Arnie was left standing there, mouth agape, wondering why on earth a nun - a nun!!! - would throw a heavy rock through a church-owned stained glass window. And especially a window that the children were told was hundreds of years old!

Not long after that, to his left, Arnie saw someone else outside out of the corner of his eye. The young boy instinctively hid behind the full partition of the wall where the stained glass window ended. It was Fr Francis, the priest for the local parish, walking at a brisk pace. And Arnie could’ve sworn the scary priest might be tracking Sis Eunice. Arnie and Eugene hadn’t ever been particularly fond of Francis. In fact, they went out of their way to avoid the older dour-faced man.

Although Fr. Francis was currently looking at the hole in the window from a ways off, he couldn’t see where Arnie was from his vantage point. Arnie slinked away to go find Eugene.

Turned out he bumped into Eugene almost immediately since Eugene had been in the chapel, waiting to meet up with Lord and Lady Boskin. Arnie stopped in his tracks at the sight of his friend, all freshly bathed, his hair combed, and so unexpectedly dressed in a new blue velvet skeleton suit, white stockings, silk shirt, and leather shoes. It was the latest modern fashion that all the rich boys were wearing in Vardaros. He knew that because Eugene told him every time they were fortunate enough to go to town with one of the sisters. Arnie would have to pry Eugene away from the shop window where Eugene’s face would sometimes get so close to the display that his nose print would remain on the glass. Arnie didn’t understand why Eugene cared about stuff like that. Fashion and velvet and lace. Orphans weren’t supposed to care. Food was more important anyway.

“I heard a terrible crash and came to investigate!” Eugene said breathlessly.

All thought of the broken window had flown from Arnie’s mind at the sight of his transformed best friend and he demanded, “What’re you wearing alla that for??”

Suddenly self-conscious, Eugene crammed his hands in his new pockets, stared at the floor, scuffed the sole of his new shoe against the mosaic tile and mumbled, “Fr Francis took me aside after breakfast to the rectory and said that Lord and Lady Boskin have chosen to adopt…..me.” He said it with the same amount of awe he felt when he first saw the suit in its parcel.

“....and….and you didn’t think to tell me any sooner? You were just gonna leave without saying goodbye?” accused Arnie, his eyes filling with tears. Eugene could see his pouting lips tremble from several yards away. “But...but I didn’t know either…!” protested Eugene, now fighting tears himself, before he was abruptly cut off.

As Arnie stood there simultaneously hating and envying Eugene, a whole crowd of people had arrived from both sides of the corridor, to all of the ensuing hullabaloo of the shattered window. Unfortunately, it was just in time to see these two boys standing by themselves right near the new gaping hole in the priceless stained glass window.

Fr Francis had reappeared inside followed by the Mthr Superior, Sis Eunice, several dozen children, and a few other nuns. Everyone was chattering and buzzing and arguing about which of the two boys had broken the window -- Arnie or Eugene. Perhaps both? Immediately they both protested their innocence and the bored aggressive older boys used the moment as an excuse to break out into a fight…

Two brawny red-headed boys quickly left the mob only to have one boy each bowl right into Eugene and Arnie. All four boys toppled over to the floor.

All of the other children started shouting, “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!” and just before the redheads could land their first actual punches, Fr Francis easily intervened by grabbing both of their pulled-back fists, squeezing them, and ordering the boys to get up off their intended victims and up off the floor. They reluctantly complied. Then Francis ordered Arnie and Eugene off the floor and to follow him to his office.

As Eugene looked down in dismay at the visible dirt on his beautiful new suit, Sis Eunice surreptitiously put a comforting hand on his shoulder and said, in a voice so softly only he could hear, “Don’t worry -- these are play clothes. More than capable of taking a few layers of dirt from rambunctious young boys.” She always had a way to help him feel better….but this time, since he was effectively being frog-marched to the priest’s office over something he didn’t do, the good feeling didn’t last nearly long enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~((0))((0))((0))~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Hours Earlier…..

Eugene had been called to the rectory by Fr. Francis immediately following breakfast. Without any prior notice whatsoever, he informed Eugene that Lord and Lady Boskin had actually chosen to adopt him!!!

Young Eugene couldn’t believe his luck! He wondered why he’d been chosen. What had the wealthy young couple seen in him? Even though he’d only been formally introduced once or twice, and had spoken only a few sentences to them, they chose him. And he supposed they seemed nice enough.

Eugene and most of the orphans had already seen the younger couple several times. He learned from the nuns over the past couple of years that the pair were evidently unable to have children of their own and as such, had been growing their own family a different way. Twice per year for the past two years, they had chosen a new child from amongst the orphans at this orphanage. Prior to their more formal choosing-times for each child, they would come to the orphanage for several trips and take turns meeting and chatting with the children. Yet this time, they had actually chosen Eugene.

Sis. Eunice had entered the rectory right behind Fr Francis and his announcement; the latter then vacated the building. Sis Eunice had taken Eugene by the hand and led him to the home’s water closet. And already waiting for him was a fresh bath -- mid-week, even! He was accustomed to every Saturday at most. For the first time in his life, Eugene was treated to his very own bath where the water was actually extra warm and didn’t contain the sloughed-off post-bathing scoodge from a zillion other children lurking in the bottom.

Eugene had seen the nuns sniffle and get misty-eyed plenty of times when other children had been adopted. But their crying was always rather delicate and they always tried to smile through it. However, as Sis Eunice helped him to properly wash his fingers, toes, and ears during what Eugene thought of as his luxurious bath, Sis Eunice also kept repeatedly bursting into tears. And apologizing for it. She seemed genuinely….worried.

The nuns weren’t supposed to have favorites but Eugene knew Sis Eunice was easily the most fond of him. She had arrived at the orphanage during the height of a disease outbreak which had very nearly claimed little Eugene’s life. And it would have done so too, if it weren’t for Sis Eunice’s dogged persistence. They had originally bonded over their funny-sounding first names. She’d turned her own name into a joke to try and give him a reason to smile….and it worked. Most if not all of the other nuns were quite hands-off but Sis Eunice believed in healing touch. As Eugene’s stricken body fought the virulent infection, the Sister held him, rocked him, and sang to him. After that, she promised to come back to the room that housed the most ill children and read aloud a story once she finished her rounds. She had sat closest to little Eugene as she read aloud “Flynnigan Rider and the Pirates of Penzance” for the very first time. It was the first time Eugene had become familiar with the novels.

And though Eugene hadn’t really noticed before (nun’s habits often made it difficult to tell who was older than whom) right now, after he learned he would soon be leaving the orphanage forever that day, it was almost as if Eugene were seeing Sis Eunice for the first time. And for the first time, he noticed how young she truly was. She had a spray of freckles across her face and a little space between her front teeth. A halo of strawberry blonde curls framed her face and perpetually worked their way out of her wimpole. It’s possible Sis Eunice was even younger than Lady Boskin.

He couldn’t help but notice as she had him put on a clean slick-feeling shirt -- a brand-new one, just for him!! -- yet that was only the beginning. Apparently with each chosen child, the adoptive couple provided a freshly purchased outfit from the shops in town. Even Sis Eunice couldn’t help but smile this time as she presented Eugene’s new clothes to him. She asked him to tug open the string holding the paper parcel together. He stared at the parcel, eyes darting between the string and the Sister’s face. “Another present?” he whispered in awe. “For me?” Inside lay a brand new velvet suit. “It’s my favorite color!” he squeaked in delight. “Cornflower blue!” And Sis. Eunice nodded with the same huge smile on her face as him. “Shall I?” she asked softly, reaching into the parcel so he could see the whole suit. Eugene was utterly thunderstruck now. He stared wide-eyed at this beautiful boughten suit which was already quite familiar to him.

“But this is the same…..” he trailed off as Sis Eunice finished for him, “It’s the same suit you’ve had your eye on all year in that shop window?” Mouth agape, Eugene nodded slowly, clearly still in shock.

Eugene recalled how Sis Eunice had begun reading the Flynnigan Rider story with a splash, quite literally, and encompassed the first three chapters. The very first words of the book started with Flynnigan Rider on the mains’l full on the mast of a tall ship, shouting, “As long as I possess air in my lungs, I shall never surrender!!” And right before an enemy bullet could pierce him, Rider had sprinted and dove off the end of the mains’l to plunge down into the sea below. Sis Eunice had taken a fresh mildly damp cloth and spun it above her head, so everyone could feel the ‘splash’. That’s all it took for her to hook every single one of her charges. Sis Eunice had read aloud in every voice. Acted out each scene. She had as many props as feasible. And at the end of chapter 3 that first night, she closed the book amidst many “awwws”, protests, and left the children clamoring for more and some even wanting to help star in the show. Six-year-old Eugene had finally found the strength to speak for the first time in days and tugged Sis Eunice’s robes. “Tomorrow? Please?” he whispered breathlessly. The Sister knelt down close by his ear and pushed his hair away from his fevered brow. “I’ll tell you what,” she said softly. “If you think you can stick around for me by this time tomorrow morning, I promise to come back and read for you. Deal?”

And she turned to the rest of the room, “Tonight’s life lesson from Flynnigan is to hold air in those lungs -- by breathing deeply -- so that you can keep fighting.” Eager to prove to Sis Eunice that he could be brave like Flynnigan Rider, he concentrated on breathing as deeply as he could. Though it was by far the most difficult and painful thing he’d ever done in his young life, he followed through with it nonetheless. And Sis Eunice had returned each morning and night, as promised, to divulge more of Flynnigan’s adventures and life lessons. By the time he was well enough about a week later, she’d ask for Eugene to actually promise to wait for her the next night and bit by bit, little Eugene had found the strength to come back from the brink. And it was all because of one (or was it two?) very special people -- Sis Eunice and Flynnigan Rider.

“Shall we dress you smartly then? It’s not proper for a young man of your new status to be prancing around, half-dressed, you know,” Sis Eunice teased, bringing Eugene back to the present. Usually he’d act silly in return but right now….as soon as he had the new trousers on….Eugene was overcome and couldn’t help but throw his arms around the Sister’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, “so much.” It was the nicest clothing -- the nicest anything -- that anyone had ever given him. And Sis Eunice thought he was misinterpreting who’d provided for him this suit but he wasn’t. “I know it wasn’t your money,” as Eugene was well aware that the nuns scarcely had more than the orphans due in large part to their vows of charity and poverty. And yet he replied, still embracing her, “But I just know that you had something to do with it somehow, Sis Eunice.”

She briefly taught him the tricks with helping Eugene learn how to dress himself up in the fancy new suit. It had a lot of buttons. Big shiny brass ones. She was insistent that none of her charges was going to be reliant on servants to dress them, even after they left the orphanage. Once Eugene was fully dressed in his new comfortably-tailored playsuit, Sis Eunice also presented to him new stockings and new mahogany leather shoes.

Sis Eunice looked adoringly...and then somberly at Eugene as the thunderstruck little boy could not stop studying his own reflection in a full-length mirror.

Though most boys hated baths, he actually liked them (especially when they were warm with fresh water) almost as much as he liked playing in the dirt. He wondered if he’d have his own bed at his new home. He wondered if he’d get to have a mattress, bedclothes, and a pillow every night.

“Well, I suppose it’s time,” said Sis Eunice with a watery smile. The pair of them began to head over to the parish chapel just off the orphanage and across the compound from the rectory. Halfway through the walk, Sis Eunice asked him to continue onto the chapel and said that she’d meet up with him again in a very short few moments. And that was apparently where he was supposed to meet up with Lord and Lady Boskin to sign the final papers and officially become their latest son for real. His heart skipped a beat at the thought.

After his arrival in the chapel, and within 3 minutes, he heard a very loud crash outside in the corridor to the right of his vantage point near the front of the chapel. He thought maybe he should stay put just in case, but his curiosity got the best of him and he went to investigate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~((0))~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Office of the Clergy….

Arnie had been called into the clergy office with Fr Francis, Mthr Superior, and Sis Eunice. Eugene had been left outside to stew and fret by himself.

“So you witnessed Eugene Fitzherbert throw a rock at the stained glass?” said Fr Francis imperiously. Arnie’s wide frightened eyes kept darting back and forth between Fr Francis’s unpleasant features and Sis Eunice’s equally terrified eyes. She nodded imperceptibly to encourage Arnie to say yes. Arnie didn’t want to lie but he didn’t want to be the one who got in trouble either. Not to mention….it utterly broke his heart that Eugene was getting adopted and that he wasn’t even gonna say goodbye to Arnie. Thus Arnie looked to the floor and nodded downward at it half-heartedly.

Eugene was brought into the office and not even given a chance to defend nor explain himself.

“Naughty misbehaving boys who destroy priceless works of church art don’t deserve to get adopted,” Fr Francis began imperiously. “Remove that clothing at once. It’s no longer yours and you are no longer fit to wear it.” Poor Eugene recoiled in shock and horror and Sis Eunice stepped in to try and intervene. She shared scared looks with Arnie, even more frightened than before. “There’s no need for that, he hasn’t physically harmed anybody,” Sis Eunice reasoned, “there’s no reason to treat him like he’s a criminal. He just had an accident, that's all.”

Eugene kept backing further and further away, “Not adopted??” was all he could manage to say. “That’s precisely it,” Fr Francis replied coldly. “I’ll tell Lord and Lady Boskin not to follow through with the paperwork because misbehaving children are evil children, and they shan’t have evil brought into their perfect home. Now give back that clothing or I shall turn you in for theft of property.” Sis Eunice’s hands flew to her mouth in open dismay. Arnie had correctly deduced that this was definitely not a development she had anticipated. Now the Mthr Superior and other church lackeys outside the door had begun to put their hands on Eugene in effort to take back his new boughten clothes.

Clearly, not knowing what else to do, Sis Eunice pressed her advantage, knelt down by Eugene's ear, and said, “You must run, Eugene!! Stay as far away from here as you can! Make certain they can’t ever catch you. I’ll take care of the rest.” His eyes bugged out and still he hesitated before Sis Eunice hissed, “GO! NOW!”

Eugene spun on the heel of his new shoe, managed to just barely pull away from the sea of grabbing hands, and sprinted out into the great beyond. P.S. Yes, I have every intention of continuing this. And hopefully even seeing it to completion, like a real "episode", even though the timelapse will be more like a full hour as opposed to 22 minutes? In fact, I've already written a bit more beyond it. I just have to write other things for the time being.....

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

#EAW #Eugene Appreciation Week #Day 1 Childhood #fanfiction #ao3 fanfiction #my fanfiction #eugene fitzherbert #Flynn Rider #Arnwaldo Schnitz #lance strongbow

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soulwillower · 4 years ago

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buttercup • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: Would you mind writing a Richie Tozier X reader soulmate AU where Richie is VERY self conscious and he finds out that the reader is his soulmate and the reader is well known and very pretty, so he’s just like djjdjfgjjcbvnfnf but once they actually meet she really likes him? :0 thanks if you consider!

warning: swearing, angst, richie being edgy and also a bit unstable (king shit), neuroatypical richie!!!, fluff, soulmate au!! <33 also sorry this may be rough, i havent edited it at all

[reader + losers are in college]

lmk what u guys think of this one,... idk LOL

4.1k words

♡

richie was about to be sick. yes, he really, really was going to vomit in approximately ten seconds and he didn’t know what he was going to do. the room, full of barely-adults chugging jungle juice was sweaty and bustling and the walls were closing in on him quick. those people who weren't in the main rooms were doing sniff in the bathrooms and blocking his pathway to heaven (the toilet) so he quickly stumbles towards the sliding-glass door.

he passes a guy who claps his shoulder and says in a deep voice, "you good, bro?"

no, no. he's not good, bro. thanks for asking, though.

as he finally breaks free of the plastic, out of the crusty balloon that was holding his body hostage, he takes a deep breath and sprawls himself on the back deck, staring up at the clouds in the nighttime sky. maybe he should go home and mull this over, before he crams it down his own throat and chokes to death, alone and broken on the back deck of a 22 year old business major's rental house.

he laughs to himself - an image which he's sure would be a full on maniacal scene to an onlooker - as he lights a cigarette with very shaky fingers. even if he chooses to give this situation some thought, he will end up being forced regardless because this is, quite literally, richard tozier's destiny.

y/n y/l/n is richie's destiny, and it makes him feel like complete shit.

you see - his whole life, richie knew about the fucking soulmate tattoos. of course he did, everybody did - it was, like, one of the first things you learn, ever. he knows that there's basically a soulmate for every person and often times the soulmate marks were different, the ways of finding your soulmate were wide and far.

for most of richie's life - actually, almost all of it up until the last month - he'd had a big, fat 0 tattooed on his arm and below it a humiliating phrase that was quite the epitome of richie himself.

yet it never changed, which led him, his friends, and his parents to determine that he'd gotten a time-counter soulmate mark, which he likes to pride himself on believing he did not give a single fuck about.

the number is supposed to count the amount of time that you've spent with your soulmate, and there's usually a sentence or phrase that's associated with your soulmate's first thoughts of you below it. and yeah, of course the first thing the lucky guy or gal thought of richie is 'wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.' pretty fucking on-brand, if richie says so himself.

so yeah, he never really paid attention to his soulmate mark - partly because the thought of emotionally opening up to someone enough for them to know his whole and true self was repulsive and terrifying enough to make him physically ill, enough for him to develop a crazy sense of humor as a less-than proficient coping mechanism for the insecurity and fear that lives in his mind rent-free, 24/7 365. but mostly he didn't pay attention to the mark because, you know, he thought it was lame.

that is, until it changed from the 0.

it happened on the first day of classes fall semester of this, his freshman year of college.

which, honestly, was a huge fucking bummer, because he literally came into contact with almost 800 new people that first day through classes, dorms, walking around campus, and the dining hall. and yet, as he got back to his dorm and smoked a bowl with bill, he'd noticed that his arm had said 00:51:26.

bill had been so excited he'd almost lifted richie through the roof, because 'holy sh-shit, rich, y-you did it!'

it was hard to believe someone was out there for him, though. and yeah, he didn't give a fuck about it, but he also kind of did.

richie, now thinking back on that day, groans a bit. if he'd just known, if he had just fucking looked at the thigh of the girl in front of him with the soft-looking grin and the alluring scent of orange creamsicle shampoo, who'd smiled a bit when he borrowed a pen - if he'd just known then that y/n was meant to spend the rest of her life with him, he could've... well, he's not really sure what he could have done.

he thinks to that moment in time, as he was blowing smoke out the dorm window with bill and giggling as he ate an entire bag of cheez-its, and how much he wanted to know who it was back then.

but tonight, it had become a nightmare when the information practically fell into his lap. he's at this house party in late september, and about five minutes ago it was just boring enough to warrant sitting on the rug in the living room and just fun enough to actually stay.

“-yeah, she said the first time you guys met was in microeconomics, right?” ben says, and richie huffs in agreement as he picks at the skin on his nails. ben was talking about her again, and richie's heart was beating stupidly hard. y/n, one of his closest friends that he'd made outside of the losers, never failed to make his heart run a goddamn marathon.

“-she told me the first thing she noticed was that you were wearing socks with sandals. and she thought that your socks were really ugly.” he finishes with a laugh and richie’s head snaps up at that. he feels chills spill over back as if he’d been doused with ice water and he gapes at ben. “wait, what?” richie shudders, the words escaping his lips quietly enough that his friends mistake it for a forceful exhale brought on by offense at the word 'ugly.'

“well she was right to think that.” stan says from behind his solo cup, carefree, as if richie’s life wasn’t crashing to an alarming and unbelievable halt. eddie giggles faintly somewhere from the floor where the losers are sitting, but richie’s mind is reeling too much for him to react to or even comprehend anything.

“rich, i th-thought i got you to st-stop wearing socks and sandals so long ago.” bill adds, laughing into his hand. but richie’s barely registering any other fucking information because he’s staring at ben, who is finally noticing his friend’s perplexed face. “you good, rich?” ben asks carefully.

“wh-er, wait. what exactly did she say?” richie asks, really not wanting to know the answer and yet wanting to know more than life itself. it can't be her. he’s getting odd looks from everyone now, but he's starting to breathe quickly and he thinks he might vomit. he kind of regrets never showing anybody but big bill his soulmate mark, because he's suffocating right now in embarrassment and bill is a little too drunk to assume what richie's assuming right now.

“wait, y/n y/l/n, right? from my dorm. she’s here tonight, she told me- oh, y/n!” stan calls, looking directly over richie’s shoulder. it happens so fast. y/n, in the flesh, walks past at just that moment, breaking out into a breath-taking, world-halting smile. richie's chest hurts worse than it ever has before as she waves and bustles over to plop herself next to richie. and holy shit, she's wearing shorts because even though it's cold out, the house is warm and richie can see dark ink on her thigh. a soulmate tattoo. he can't draw his eyes away even though his brain is screaming to knock it off because there's going to be something there he doesn't want to accept, but he then does it anyways.

he almost hyperventilates as he reads the words emblazoned on her thigh,

27:36:08 and right below it: "holy hell her hair smells like orange creamsicle"

he almost sobs right then and there as she greets him with a soft hand on his shoulder, completely unaware of their fate and richie has to stand up abruptly because he can literally feel the numbers changing on his arm as the seconds go by with y/n at his side.

and now, mere minutes later he's out here, laying in self pity as anxiety claws at every inch of his body and fear tingles on him like the slight presence of snowflakes falling on his skin - briefly he wonders if, as an older man, he'll wonder how he never got cold wearing nothing, vulnerable as he welcomes in that falling snow.

he would be totally daft not to wonder how he ended up with a soulmate like her, someone not only so fucking attractive but so kind and undeserving of a monstrosity of a human like him. she is, in every place he isn't, a complete and utter success of a person; he's a hurricane where she's whitecaps in the sea, he's loud and abrupt while she is kind and outgoing. maybe they do work well together, hell - they spend enough time on study dates outside of class for him to know that he does really like her. but richie also knows his standoffish, happy-go-lucky and untamed personality paired with his unwillingness to make himself appear vulnerable to most people will probably have a very large impact on... whatever it is that happens with y/n.

because that's really the point, isn't it?

she is stuck with him. bucky beaver, the trashmouth, mr. i-can't-keep-my-trap-shut-for-three-seconds. y/n, the most incredible person in this world, is the kind of person that was designed for richie to admire from afar, as he is so willing to suffer through. because as much as it hurts to watch her and to love her without loving her, it is a thousand times safer for both of them than the inevitable look of disappointment that will befall y/n’s angelic features when she discovers who her burden of a soulmate is.

the thought makes richie choke out a weak sob, sitting up and digging the heel of his palms into his sockets, trying to scrub out the image of himself from his brain. awful, awful, bad.

he takes a long drag from his cigarette and for a brief moment he wonders if, just maybe, she’ll love him back eventually. the thought makes him feel like crying all over again.

huge nose, big teeth, awkwardly skinny and too tall. maybe he's got nice hair, but he sometimes wakes up too late and can only brush his teeth and swipe on deodorant before he's sprinting out his dorm with his pickle socks and stan's old sandals, trudging to class and getting in the way of y/n's future.

but he is her future, after all - how can that be right?

he doesn't have enough time to take another drag from his cig as he hears the glass door open, the noise from the party bursting through the gap in the foundation of the house and sending him back to five minutes, ago, inside. he cranes his neck and can't bring himself to be surprised when he sees her, backlit from the party inside and figure in his mind standing like the only being in the world.

she thinks he looks devastatingly beautiful tonight. she loves the awkwardness in his bones, the way he carries himself with confidence although she's not sure he always really has it. he's wearing some dumb socks again as usual, though they're mostly covered by his black pants and red high-tops this time. it makes her smile softly.

she wants to know him, really know him, as more than just a classmate, a crush, a boy who's friends with stan uris from the floor above her own room. she wants to feel his large hands on her in more than just fleeting greetings, knucks to the shoulder or jaw. she wants the sharp taste of nicotine and mint from those life savers he was always sucking on in her own mouth as he holds her tightly against him, she wants to know everything about him and be with him, even if they aren't somehow destined to be forever. which, she thinks with an array of wild animals tumbling around her chest, they might be.

after all, someone at this party is her soulmate, and she's almost 99.8% sure it's richie. it gives her the most beautiful butterflies she's ever had, even when he stares at her from the deck with glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"what’s up, buttercup?” is all she says, in her mind because he's stunned her to near-silence once again by just existing, and in his mind because she is the most perfect being.

he doesn't respond despite being completely charmed by her, because he's breathing in the nicotine and its making his fingers twitch and even though he's sober by now, he thinks he may be tweaking a bit, mostly from the overwhelming set of information that just smacked into his face when y/n walked over into that room.

he watches as suddenly she's dropping herself so she's sat next to him, her legs swinging off the edge of the deck. she eyes his cigarette. "that's so unhealthy, rich." she says softly, teasing but with a lacing of truth behind it that really makes richie itch to never smoke ever again in his life. but he's a stubborn ass, so he instead takes a deeper drag, maintaining eye contact. he can feel one tear slip from his eye and he feels so fucking melodramatic as he does so, but he's at the lowest he's been in a while, so he gives himself a bit of credit.

she reaches out and pulls the cigarette directly from between his lips, sending him a pointed look as she presses it out on the finished wood of the deck. he wipes the tear away when she's not looking. and as she turns back he smirks, unsure what else to do, as he blows the smoke out of his mouth towards her face.

"hi, toots." he says in what he hopes is a normal tone, despite his blotchy and tear-trailed face. she blinks her eyes owlishly at him but just shrugs, "you left a little prematurely back there. what, do i smell that bad?" she jokes. no, he thinks, you smell like orange creamsicles.

it's bittersweet, the irony in her statement. because he knows that she probably knows what she smells like every day, as it's literally tattooed right on the meat of her leg, on display for her and whoever else lucky enough to find themselves being acquainted with the skin of her upper thigh. the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

maybe if he were feeling a little less in-the-dumps, a little less like a complete and utter disappointment and failure that ruined this sweet girl's life, he would have ribbed her back a bit. you know, grind her gears in typical tozier fashion.

but he's exhausted and so distraught that he can't bring himself to even look at her. "i'm not in the mood" he grumbles, his heart pounding. she frowns, tilting her head.

"okay, what's wrong, richie?" she asks, and it's in that caring voice that she uses that isn't pitying but simply solicitous in nature. her calming force on him is obvious and immediate and his teeth stop rattling around in his head

he wants to scream because she's burning warm and perfect while he's frigid cold inside his body; a wasteland full of broken slinkies and half-formulated 'your mom' jokes that are melded to the crust of him with the tar that's been sucked straight from those damn ciggies. for crying out loud, if he were to so much as touch her, she'd get corrupted.

she notices as he scoots a bit away from her, and her heart hurts. he's so upset, clearly, and yet it hurts her that he can't trust himself or her enough to open up; no fault of his own surely, but heartbreaking all the same. "i care about you, and i really want to be here for you." she says it like there's going to be more, but the words kind of die in her throat as she realizes the extend of her words.

holy shit, she thinks, i'd go to the ends of the earth for him. if richie asked me to, i think i'd probably kill the queen.

"i stubbed my toe, and it really hurts." he says then, and the absurdity of his excuse makes her laugh out loud, head tilting back towards the moon as the bubbly giggles tumble from her lips. she looks at him after and his face is a twisted mix of affection and utter pain, a combination that hurts her to her core but lights a fuel in her that makes her want to help him.

"it's true." he mutters, motioning to his shoe limply, and she looks at his foot, the tip of his converse scribbled in sharpie with the word 'half-brain' and then a bunch of hearts.

"i like your socks." she says absentmindedly, grinning at him as she says it, voice teasing. but the reaction she was hoping for was nowhere to be seen as richie suddenly heaves a hiccup-sob, one so upsetting and quiet that she thinks she misheard it.

but he's keeling over and clutching his face with his hands, shaking his head, and her heart breaks. "richie, honey please tell me what's going on. or i can just sit here, if you'd rather-"

her sentence is cut off with richies own rushed words, expelled from his mouth so quickly that it's almost as if they were trying to escape while his lips tried to hold them in.

"-you're going to have to spend the rest of your life trying to force yourself to love me, and that terrifies me.”

as he says it, his stomach twists itself inwards at his admission and he thinks he's going to be sick. he doesn't deserve you, you're going to resent him for it. she's silent for a few moments, and he doesn't dare look anywhere near her as tears trail down his solemn cheekbones and drop onto the black corduroy that wraps around his jittering legs.

"richie, please, what are you trying to say?" she says quietly, sounding scared, nervous, upset... richie did that. it's his fault. he tilts his head back, his brain buzzing in guilt. "fuck," he says, and it comes out broken, "you... i- you're my soulmate." he says, looking down to where his chest rises and falls almost unnaturally, a consequence of muscle memory being tampered with by the lethally college combination of nicotine, alcohol and marijuana on an empty stomach.

earlier he was afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide he would lose control of his tongue and then the words would come out without him wanting them to, but he knows he's basically sober by now, as sober as y/n is next to him - he's just neurotic, but he doesn't want her to know that, because oh god, what if she hated him for it?

she wouldn't, right? isn't she supposed to find a way to love him?

this was a really stupid idea, but in his mind it was one that had to be done. shutting his eyes, he tugs the sleeve of his left arm upwards, taking a shaky breath. again, it's silent as she reads the words written there. wow, those are the ugliest socks ever.

she stares at the words, and the number above it, then she looks at her own thigh, where the exact same number counts on in time with his.

he wastes no time, though: "-don't worry, doll. i've got it figured out, we can just- maybe we can get yours covered and you don't have to think about it anymore. fi-find someone better, like, oh, bill - he'd treat you nice i think. just- we don't have to think about it, i'm sorry." he says in one breath, not looking at her at all.

"richie, how can i be yours if you're not mine?" she says thickly because she's fighting off tears wondering how someone so incredible and full of life could feel so undeserving.

"you can't want me, you can't." he insists, not looking at her as she gapes at him because if he were to look at her expression he may lose it. it's quiet again in their own little world here, the air silent and numbing as y/n takes a breath.

"oh my god, wait richie how are we this stupid?" she asks, perking up and lightly slapping his arm. he looks at her in shock as she begins to laugh, "we've been alone together so many times. how did we not notice?" she asks, and he chuckles a bit, shrugging.

"maybe we're not the sharpest crayons in the drawer, toots. all i'm sayin' is that i figured it out first." he says cheekily, and secretly both of them are shocked to see how quickly they fell together, as if the knowledge that they were made for each other made all their insecurities fall away.

her face softens again. "you know, i saw my timer counting tonight and i was hoping more than anything that you'd be here. that we'd be-" she adds softly, a hand landing lightly on richie's thigh, sending licks of flames up his body. she takes a breath and restarts. "do you know how fucking bad i wanted it to be you?"

and just like that, y/n unintentionally provides a luscious mix of words and tricks that fill him with barely enough confidence to let him bet when he knows he should fold.

what's life without a little risk?

he meets her eyes for the first time in a few minutes and hers are large and hopeful as they wait patiently for him to give her something. but he still can't speak without running his mouth, so instead he cups her cheeks. her lips part slowly and he stares in awe at her raw beauty, unable to hold it in longer.

he presses his lips to her quickly and to her it feels like he is trying to prove something. it makes her heart soar as he comes alive against her, pressing as enthusiastically as she is into him. he tastes, as she'd guessed, like nicotine but mostly like a mint and it makes her grin as he pulls back.

"is this okay?" he's asking then, his thumb soothing over her cheek sweetly and giving her the same butterflies she gets when he smiles; the very same butterflies that release when he says anything to her, when he comes to her dorm for a study date with two red bulls in his hand, and when she realized their tattoos beat the same.

"yeah, of course." she whispers against his lips, the feeling of his teasing lightly making her sniffle. she presses their lips together again, this time warmer, more comfortably and his hands move to her hips and tug her closer, her hands winding to his neck as his own hands explore her body, caressing her sides gently. he pulls back and holds her softly.

"your hair smells nice." he says sheepishly, and she grins so widely she thinks she may split in two. her heart flutters as she looks into his eyes, finding nothing but love. "orange creamsicle, huh?" she asks with pink cheeks, and he laughs lightly, nodding his head. "best smell ever, babe."

"you make me happy." she says it onto his lips again, and the shiver that runs down his spine is a feeling he wouldn't mind feeling forever. his heart soars because he believes her, he trusts her. she wouldn't lie to him.

"we're so dramatic, aren't we?" richie jokes, his walls sliding back up a bit, but as y/n cuddles into his chest, head against his beating heart as she presses kisses to his neck, he realizes she accepts him.

"yeah, well. we're made for each other, aren't we rich?" she asks gently as his hand falls to brush over her thigh, right over the words. "that's right, toots." he says softly, looking down at her hairline softly, still in disbelief that it worked out for him. she turns to look at him, cheeks dusted a bit as she leans up to press a kiss on his lips.

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#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier has adhd #losers x reader #bill denbrough x reader #stanley uris x reader #mike hanlon x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #ben hanscom x reader #beverly marsh x reader #losers club x reader

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jay-m3 · 5 years ago

Text

Death Note x Male Reader

Warning: read at your own risk. Will contain smut, manipulation, homophobia and so much more.

The class is so boring! I already know English, ugh… You sighed, watching as the teacher goes on and on about God. You look at the book in front of you and trace over the letters to keep you busy. “Listen to the voice of God then follow it and know that in time you will find your salvation.” The teacher reads the line that you're tracing. If God was real...will people change their behavior? You thought, shrugging your shoulders. You’ll find out once you're dead. “Yagami, are you still with us?” You look over your shoulder to see your best friend being called out. “Can you please translate the following sentence into English.” You cover your mouth to hide your snort and quickly look back to the book, not wanting to be called out. Light is smart, no question asked but sometimes you always see him in la-la land these past couple of months. He might be going through the stage like every teen has where they are stressed and anxious about what to do next with their lives since this is their last year here in this dump. Like you! Your anxiety has risen since you don’t know what can come next and if you can make it in this cruel twisted world but thankfully, Light has got your back and has been helping you sort out your life.

You want to do that too with Light but...he never lets you in. Even if you were best friends since kids, it’s hard to get the boy to talk about his feelings. You know that it isn’t the ‘what’s next in life’ since you know that he wants to be like his dad in joining the police. If it’s not that then what’s bothering him? Is it about his sexuality? He came out to you three months ago that he’s bisexual. It’s hard to accept your true self and sometimes figuring out what you like and are is very difficult. Nothing is easy. Hell, when you came out to Light a year ago, you thought that you were Pan or bi. It’s been rough but you finally know that you’re gay. It’s hard when you came out to Light but you put your trust in him and now you're glad you did since he was accepting and he also came out to you!

___

“What is that big brain of yours thinking about?” You gave your toothy smile at the tall brown-haired boy. “Huh? Oh nothing, just hungry.” Light smiles at you, his hand rubs his stomach. You nod your head and point at him. “You got it! I’ll buy us something in the cafeteria then, be right back.” You take out your wallet and start to make your way to the cafeteria. You will do anything in your power to make him happy as much as he makes you happy. Quickly getting the food you run to Light who puts something in his bag. “Hey, whatcha got there?” “That was fast, (Y/N).” He says grabbing the chips and water bottle that you got for him. “Hey, don’t distract me. I see you be sneaky and I want in! Is it money?” You both make your way out of the school gates. “Oh, I just found a notebook. Nothing special.” “Bet. Must be someone’s dairy...is it mine?” Light laughs at your joke and shakes his head. “I’ll show you when we get to my house.”

___

“You should start learning how to drive Light. I can’t be your taxi all the time.” You lock your car once Light and yourself get out. “Not my fault you turned 18 first.” ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t sweat it. It’s probably the one thing that I can beat you with, Mr. smartass.” You both walk into the Yagami household. “I’m home!” Light calls out. Both of you head to Light’s room and you shut the door and look over to Light to see him take out a notebook with ‘Death Note’ written across it. “Okay, that’s something else.” You say sitting down on his neat clean bed. “Yeah, wait till you know what it says inside of it.”

“...if someone does write a name in that book, does that make them a murderer?” You ask rereading the text carefully, flipping the pages. “No way. Either way, it’s probably a dumb prank.” You nod, giving back the cool looking notebook and grab your bag. “Welp, I gotta go home. I have to be there before my mom chews me out for not taking out the trash this morning.” You say, giving Light a hug.

___

“Tell your family I said hi.” You called out to Light who nods and closes your car’s door. You watch him get inside and start making your way to your work. It’s nothing special but you love it since it's self employed and you love the outdoors. You get out of your car and park it and make your way to a customer’s front door. Knocking, you can hear a dog barking inside and the owner trying to shush it. You smooth down your shirt when the door opens and you see a female with a German Shepherd on a leash. “Hi, here is Lady and I’ll pay you once you return her like always.” She smiles and gives you the leash. “Like always.” You repeat and start making your way to the next house. Being a dog walker has it’s up and down like any other job. But being around the animals gives you peace and watching people go up to you to ask if they can pet them always brings a smile to your face. It’s nice having human interactions other than your family and the Yagami family. Having six dogs always overwhelms you but it gets you paid well. Stopping in front of a shop that has TV's stacked on each other with sound. You unzip your bag and pull out two water bottles and four plastic water bowls, once you get the dogs settled down, you look at the TV's to see that it was the news.

"The same assailant who attacked 6 people at a busy shopping district in Shinjuku yesterday has struck again, taking 8 people hostage at this daycare center. His captives include both children and teachers. The police have now identified the suspect as 42-years-old Kuro Otoharada, currently unemployed. We expect negotiations to begin immediately."

Wow, I wonder how this is going to turn out. You tune in more.

"At the present time, that’s all the police are telling us." Newscaster 1 informs.

"You can’t help but feel concerned for the safety of those hostages." Newscaster 2

"You’re absolutely right. We’ll continue to monitor the situation from here." Newscaster 1

"Thank you for that report. What do you make of this, Mr. Hashimoto?" Newscaster 2

"Well, one can only hope for a quick resolution to this situation." Mr. Hashimoto

I hope everyone turns out okay…

"Wait, we’re seeing something here! Looks like there’s movement at the front entrance!" Newscaster 2

"The hostages are coming out, and they all look to be unharmed! The Special Forces are taking action; they're moving in! We don't know if the suspect's been arrested. Huh?... Yes?... Ok, we now have confirmation. The suspect has been found dead inside! I repeat the suspect is now dead!" Newscaster 1 informs.

“Oh, shit…” You mumbled out, watching on. The whole thing intrigued you but you snap out of it when the dogs start pulling you away. All you could think about how karma bit him back. What a coincidence, really.

___

You quickly dodge other students from left to right. You’re sure you're not late for cram school because you set the timer on your radio earlier so you can meet up with Light but like always, you’re a little behind in time. Light wanted to talk to you, and said it’s important. ‘ASAP’ his text read which he only uses with you since your ass knows English. Finally seeing the door to your classroom, you sigh in relief and quickly get in, which was a bad idea since you bumped into one of the schools bully, Sudou. You instantly recoil in fear but kept your head held high. “Sorry.” You mumble out, not even looking at him, even if he cursed at your stupidity. One of the advantages of being best friends with the top student that’s also popular with everyone is that no one really messes with you and acts all buddy with you to get a chance to speak with Light. It’s a curse and a blessing.

You make your way to Light’s desk since the class hasn’t started. You stood in front of it with a sheepish smile when you noticed that he watched the whole commotion. “If he dies, will anyone miss him?” Light mumbles to you which has you scrunching your face in confusion. That was a weird quest-OH! The notebook. Snorting you play along. Leaning close to his face, you whispered, “You shouldn’t kill people you know. You’ll get busted for sure.” Light doesn’t say anything. You don’t say anything. A second goes by and you both start to chuckle. Your (e/c) eyes catch his brown eyes and there’s a glint of life in them. Oh, how you missed that special look. It’s been a while. Your face is close to his… You could feel the warmth rising on your cheeks. Your breath falters and the speed of your heart increases. You knew that you have a crush on Light. You don’t know when it started, you just embraced it. It’s stupid really, you know that Light will never see you like that so you never opened your heart to him. The crush was big but now you can easily ignore it since you trained yourself to quickly exterminate feelings for one. It’s just part of being gay. Falling for people that you shouldn’t. Finding someone else gay is an accomplishment, finding someone that’s gay and have feelings for them is amazing and rare. Especially here in Japan but hopefully it will get better. You only had one relationship with a guy and that was the hardest to maintain since your both were closeted. You’re still in the closet sadly, you want to tell your mother who you really are.

Light Yagami, the boy that befriended you when you moved here. The boy that found you heartbroken when your ex-boyfriend dumped you. The boy that excepted you when you came out and also told you he’s bisexual. The boy that was there for you when your father and brother got murdered. The boy...Why is he getting closer? Light leans close to your ear. His hot breath tickling your exposed skin which sends a shiver down your spine. “It worked.” His voice low and raspy, which gets your blood pumping when he tries to whisper-wait. “What worked?” You stood straight, tilting your head in confusion. “Kurou Otocharada.” He says which has you reeling back in memories of today and finally connected the dots from the man that died to the conversation you two have been talking about. Your mouth instantly dropped and you look at Light wide-eyed. His eyes bore into your soul like he’s expecting something, your reaction of course. You know that he knows he reads others well by what he knows. He knew you for years and he knows how you react from stuff that he imprinted in his head. This is no different. “How...I want to see.” You slowly say. He was about to say something until the teacher walked in. “Everyone, sit down in your seats.”

You tapped twice on Light's desk with your forefinger. A sign that you both came up with as a secret code for; later, yes, be quiet and your favorite, I’m so gay. The last one, of course, is from you. Light only agreed because it amused him when you both go somewhere and get served by a hot dude when you both decide to eat out. You went to your assigned seat and glanced at Light to see him tap his own forefinger twice. You guess it's either later as conformation or to be quiet. Quickly, you turn your attention back to the front. Light already knows you, you know what Light expects from you. Of course, you will be quiet.

___

“I’m still in a space in my mind where I can’t believe it.” You say, walking next to Light to a convenience store. “To be honest with you, I’m the same. I need to know if yesterday was a coincidence or not.” Light sighs out, slowing down his pace since your short legs can’t keep up. You can’t help but swallow a lump in your throat that just formed. Is he really thinking to use that thing to actually see if it’s real? If it is then, what’s next? You look at Light from the corner of your eyes and breathe in a shaky breath. Light trusted you by letting you know what he thinks happened yesterday. He trusts you, you should trust him also. “Same.”

“Hey, baby where are you going?” You and Light both glance at a man on his motorcycle with his peers bothering a woman. Light nudges you to the door and you quickly walk in. You split from Light to go to the chip aisle and guiltily pick out your chips. You wish you can help that lady out but the guy has his gang around him. Even if one person steps up, no one will follow. That’s how bad the world is. “Takuo look out!” You quickly look up and see a truck hitting the guy that was molesting the girl at full speed. You gasp and drop the chips and make your way to Light that was standing in front of the magazine aisle. You look over at Light to see his surprise and shocked face. His hands gripping the Death note. Your heart dropped and your breathing came out labored.

___

“What a nice surprise! I wasn't expecting you home so early.” Light’s mom greeted her son once he stepped into their house. Light smiles at his mom, the memory of (Y/N) having his family car for the night instead of his mother came to mind. “Yeah. Hi mom, it’s because…huh?” When his mother extended her hands, Light knew what she wanted. “Oh, the results of the nationwide exams.” Light pulls his bag in front of him to fish it out. “I’ve been waiting all day.” She says, excited to see what her brilliant son brought to the household. “Here. (Y/N) says hi by the way.” Light gives his exam scores to his mother and starts making his way to his room. “Goodness! Number one again! These are the highest scores you’ve had. Is it because you started to study with (Y/N) so much?” His mom asks, even though she knows the answer. The last couple of days (Y/N) spent so much time with Light to study and she would hear them, more like (Y/N), laugh. “Yeah. I'm going to study in my room so please don't interrupt me, ok?” Light says, heading up the stairs. “Where is (Y/N)?” Light turns to his mother and tells her, “He took the car to cram school and his mother called she was needed in the hospital for a shift so she needed the car fast.” And with that, he went inside his room and locked the door.

He immediately grabs the Death Note, grabs a pen and starts writing names down. For a while, he stops and starts to examine the names he has written and starts to laugh. He can’t believe he holds something so surreal. “You’ve taken quite a liking to it.” Light looks behind him and instantly yells and falls down when his eyes meet with a monster. “No reason to act surprised. I am Shinigami, Ryuk. That used to be my notebook. Judging by your laughter, you've already figured out that what you have is no ordinary notebook.” Ryuk, the Shinigami says, watching the human in front of him stand to his full height. “Shinigami, God of death, huh? Well, I’m not surprised. In fact...Ryuk, I’ve been waiting for you.” Light gets up from the floor. “Oh?” Ryuk gave a surprised face, watching the human with interest. “I've already figured out that this Death Note that I've found is real. It didn't take me long. And now that I've witnessed the proof of its power, I only feel more confident in what I'm gonna do.” Light says, taking in the Shinigami in. He never has seen a God of Death. “That's interesting. I certainly wasn't expecting this. Several Death Notes have made their way into the human world in the past, but you're the first to have written this many names. Look at how many people you’ve killed in only five days. Most are reluctant to write this much.” As Ryuk says this, Light is thinking of a male that has pointed out many things about the Death Note. ”I've already prepared myself, Ryuk. I used the notebook even though I knew it belonged to a Shinigami, and now that Shinigami has come. So what will happen to me? You're here to take my soul, right?”

“Hmm, what do you mean? Is that some fantasy you humans came up with? I'm not gonna do anything to you. The notebook becomes part of the human realm from the very moment it touches the earth. In other words, the notebook is now yours.” Ryuk explains, looking at Light Yagami's lifespan. “This...is mine?” Light asks, surprised that the Death Note is starting to get his life more interesting. “If you don't want it, just give it to someone else. But if you give it away, I'd have no choice but to erase your memories of the notebook.” Light scoffs in his head, who will give up a Death Note? Even if he did, Light knows no one to carry out his plans. (Y/N) might be a choice if Light was there to push him. He knows the other male will follow his lead. “So, then, you're saying I can use the Death Note all I want and I won't be punished?”

“Let's just say this, you will feel the fear and pain known only to humans who have used the notebook. And when it's your time to die, it will fall on me to write your name in my Death Note. Be warned, any human who's used a Death Note can neither go to heaven nor hell for eternity. That's all. Now you have something to look forward to after you die.” Ryuk laughs at the end, knowing well how humans have died. A knock sounded behind the door to his bedroom and Light let out a confirmation that he heard the other person. “Light?” His mother calls him. Light looks at Ryuk to try and figure out how to hide the 8 foot Shinigami. Apparently, Ryuk saw the annoyed look that the human had on his face. “It’ll be alright. Answer it.” Ryuk eggs on, watching as Light slowly makes it to the door. “What is it?” Light asks, making sure that the door isn’t open enough to see the death god in his room.

“I thought you'd like some apples the neighbors brought them over for us. Why on earth is it so dark in your room? You'll ruin your eyesight.” Light looks over his shoulder in surprise. What’s going on? Mom can’t see him? He didn’t say anything, just grabbed the basket of apples from his mother and shut the door. He places the apples down and sits down on his chair by the computer while watching the shinigami examining the apples. “That notebook you found originally belonged to me, and since you're now using it, you are the only one able to see me, and of course, my voice can only be heard by you. In other words, the Death Note is the bond between Light, the human and Ryuk, the Shinigami.” Ryuk takes a big bite out of the delicious smelling fruit. “Yum.” He says, tasting the juices exploding in his mouth. Light looks at the notebook that was on his desk.

“I just have one more question I wanna ask you. Why was I chosen for this?” Light looks back at the tall figure only to see Ryuk shoving down more apples down his throat. “Hey, are you even listening?” Light’s jaw clenches. “Apples in the human world are worth the trip. What's the best way to describe these? Juicy?” Ryuk mumbles out, more to himself. “Just answer my question.” Light asks, well more like demands. Scoffing, Ryuk looks at the human, “I didn't choose you. Don't you see? This is all just an accident. You actually thought you were chosen because you're so smart or something? Don't be so vain. It just happened to fall around here, and you just happened to pick it up. And that's all there is to it. That's why I wrote the instructions in English, the most popular language in the human world.” “Then why did you drop it in the first place? You even wrote down specific instructions, so don't try telling me this was an accident!”

“You're asking me why? I did it 'cause I was bored.” Ryuk answers, not bothered by the human’s anger, more like amused. “You were bored?” Light deadpans, bothered by the shinigami's truth. The mind of the human racks for an answer but all in all, boredom leads to two different things. Happiness or depression. “The truth is Shinigami haven't got much to do these days. Most of the time we're either taking naps or gambling. If you take the time to write names in your Death Note, the others just laugh at you for working so hard. Even if you wrote the name of another Shinigami, it'd be pointless because they wouldn't die. And since we live in the Shinigami Realm, it brings us no amusement to kill those in the human world either. So I figured I'd have more fun if I came down here myself. Anyway, I'm surprised at how many names you've written, but I wanna know why you only wrote the cause of death for that guy who was hit by the truck.”

“If you don't write down the cause of death, the victim dies of a heart attack, and that's probably the best thing about the Death Note, Ryuk. You see, I've already exhausted the list of the world's major criminals, and eventually, I'm going to get rid of them all.” Light answers the Shinigami, not only for the guy that was hit by the truck but for all the names that he written down in the Death Note. “What's the point of doing that?” Ryuk questions, eating all this information up in his mind. “It's only a matter of time before people figure out that these criminals are being eliminated by someone. I want the world to know of my existence. That there's someone passing righteous judgement on the wicked!” Light can feel excitement pass through his body once more. The adrenaline kicking in. “Why even bother? What are you trying to achieve by passing judgement on them? I mean, why do you care?” Ryuk questions further, who knew watching a human do something passionate be so entertaining? “Because… I've been bored too. I wasn't ready to believe it at first, but it's obvious now. There's something about the Death Note itself that makes humans want to try it out at least once.” Light starts to have memories of all the times he just watched people do horrible things. How a boy by the name of (Y/n) got bullied because of his race.

-Flash back after Taruo’s death-

He remembers how (Y/n) pulls him out of the store and into an alleyway. His mind whirling with thoughts. His body was in a state of shock of not only just the guy that was harassing the lady but also the guy that was holding hostages. “I killed them both. I really… I killed two men.” He mumbles out, leaning on (Y/n) for support. “I...it worked.” (Y/n) mumbles out, disbelief written on his face. “Those were human lives, Light! You can go to jail!” (Y/n) gasps out, letting Light lean onto the wall behind him so he can ground himself. It won't be overlooked. Besides, who am I to pass judgement on others? Uhh… no, no wait. Maybe I'm wrong. This is exactly what I've been thinking about lately. Light thinks, looking over at a shaking 18 year old. “This world is rotting, and those who are making it rot deserve to die.” Light says, getting the attention of the smaller male. “What are you talking about Light?” “Someone has to do it, so why not me?” Light straightens out, catching his breath from the adrenaline coursing through his body. “Light, this is…” He can see the other thinking it over. Can see the fear in his eyes. He doesn’t want to see that. “You're sacrificing your mind and soul!” (Y/n) whisper yells, looking at the alley's exit, in case someone hears. “It’s worth it.” Light spits out, watching the fear of the older decrease. “Because the world can't go on like this.” Light ends the conversation, watching the fear clear from his friends eyes and something new awakens Light when the fear gets replaced by amazement.

-Flash back in the classroom-

I've wondered… what if someone else picked up this notebook. Light scans the room, watching teens his age talking to each other. Is there anyone out there, other than me, who would be willing to eliminate the vermin from the world? If I don't do it, then who will? His eyes land on his childhood friend who gets up from his seat and makes his way over to Light. The (e/c) eyed male slips a piece of paper on his desk, leaning close to Light so no one can see them. He turns over the paper to show letters that form words. Toki Kark… Realization crosses Light’s eyes and he looks over at the short male in front of him. This person is the one that killed (Y/n)’s father and younger brother.

-Flash back in Light’s room-

Both Light and (Y/n) look at the notebook. Both came in here without any conversation. Slowly, Light picks up a pen and writes down, ‘Toki Kark’. He lays down the pen and both pairs of eyes tune on to Light's watch that you gave him for his birthday. That's just it; there's no one, but I can do it. After a minute passes by, Light looks at (Y/n) who has tears running down his cheeks. The older boy gets up from Light’s bed and gets on his knees in front of Light. Hands gripping Light’s thigh, (Y/n)’s eyes met with Light’s. “Thank you, Light… I owe you my life.” The boy whispers out, bowing at the taller man’s feet. I'm the only one who can. I'll do it, using the Death Note, I'll change the world.

-Flash back ends-

“At first, I wrote the names of the worst criminals I could think of. Like I was cleaning up the world, one name at a time, so that eventually no one will ever do anything evil again. And while the truly guilty ones who deserve to be punished for their crimes die of heart attacks, the people who are less guilty but who still make trouble for others will slowly be erased through disease and accidental death. Then and only then the world will start moving in the right direction. It'll be a new world, free of injustice, and populated by people who I've judged to be honest, kind, and hardworking.” Light explains, closing the Death Note. A shiver runs down his back, remembering how good it felt to see (Y/n) on his knees, hope in his eyes looking at him. No one else, but him. “But if you did that, it would make you the only bad person left.” Ryuk counters, watching a gleam cross over the human’s face. “Huh? I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm a hard working honor student considered to be one of Japan's best and brightest. And I… I will become the God of this New World.”

It's just as I thought, humans are so interesting. Ryuk chuckles to himself.

#deathnote #deathnotexmalereader #malereader #reader #lightyagami #llawliet #misa misa #kira #L #ryuk death note #gay nswf #gay smut #anime #light x male reader #L x male reader

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uni-life-tips · 4 years ago

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Resume Tips

I've been handed quite a few resumes at work by people looking for a job. I always give them a quick read-through and show interest because I've been in that position. Job hunting sucks, even more so when the people you're handing your resume to aren't even going to pretend to be interested. I know that my workplace is not hiring and that my boss basically throws out the pile of resumes we leave for him in the bin at the end of the month--without really looking at them.

I've noticed quite a few things about the resumes we get handed at work and I decided to include some tips that I've picked up on. I have a few friends that have made it to manager or supervisor positions in their jobs, and some of them are also in charge of recruitment at their workplaces--basically, they're the ones that get to decide who to hire and when. They helped me workshop my resume time after time for different sorts of jobs and it's only after I got their help that I started getting calls back and interviews. Some of the tips that they gave me seem like common sense and at first I thought I was the only one that didn't know those things...but pretty much every resume I've seen at work has these 'simple' flaws in them.

1) Tailor your resume for the specific job you're going for. You don't need to have the company name in your cover letter, but having different resumes geared at fast-food and at desk-work (reception, secretary, desk-clerk, etc.) would definitely increase your chances of being taken seriously. Typing speed and/or what computer software you know how to use is not going to impress the fast-food manager. Get rid of that to make space for relevant information--customer service or experience serving food, for example. At a fast-food restaurant that I worked at the employees and even the manager would share comments on the resumes we'd see in the back. Whenever we saw "wpm" (words per minute) or "proficient in Microsoft Word, Excel" etc. we'd all have the same kind of reaction. "They must have been in the area, handing out resumes to the dental offices, clinics, and registries in the area and stopped by to throw one at us for good measure." None of the people who handed us those sorts of resumes were even considered for a call back.

2) Pen-marks look bad. If you have to scribble out your old phone number and write a new one in by hand as well as scribble over a typo, you're better off re-typing the entire resume and printing it off without the errors. Pen-marks don't look professional and the pen-edits tell the manager a lot about you. It tells them that you don't have as much attention-to-detail as your resume claims because you failed to spot the typos or whatever before going to print. It shows that you're unmotivated--especially if there are known ways to print stuff for free in the area, look into public libraries in your area and chances are that they provide some quota of free printing every month. A finalized, error-free resume is seen as the absolute least you could do if you want to be considered for a job. Overall, pen-marks and crumpled resumes look unprofessional. You're not just being judged by what you say about yourself in the resume, 'cuz that's your word about yourself--how you carry yourself and how the resume looks really says a lot about you.

3) One page, single-sided--maximum. The person hiring goes through dozens of resumes at the same time as yours. They're not going to want to flip through 3+ pages of stuff. If you have a lot of experience at different places that may be good, but see number 1 and only write down what's relevant to the position you're applying for. Example: if you're applying for fast-food positions include any experience you have working with food and don't waste page-space on your time as an AV person. Also, if you have had multiple employers, only include the latest ones--either within the last 5 years or only your latest two or three. You're 28 years old applying for a fast-food position because nowhere else is taking you seriously. Your high school volunteering experience isn't going to make you look good. It was over a decade ago and if you have to include it to pad your resume up to one page then that says a lot about you--you've had 10 years to get other experience, what were your contributions to society in those 10 years and why should the employer expect you to be motivated to work if you have not worked/volunteered in the last decade?

4) Purpose/intent/goal--again, tailor this to the specific job you're handing the resume into or nix it all together. "To use my skills in a professional setting", "Full-time job", "To earn experience that will get me closer to [insert dream job here]". They don't need to know your purpose in your resume. That's a "where do you see yourself in 10 years" question best left for the actual interview. When someone hiring for minimum-wage entry-level positions sees your aspirations they aren't thinking that they want to hire you--they're thinking, "this person clearly has aspirations for a different job. They are not a safe training investment because nothing guarantees that they'll stick around long enough to make the training investment worth it for me." Your dream job or your ideal position or whatever is something best left for the interview or for after you get hired--leave it off of your resume. You don't have to be all fake and talk like that minimum wage position is your dream job, but you have to present yourself as a safe training investment. It takes a while for anyone to learn the ropes in their new job. Official training may only take a week or two, but it'll probably take 3-6 months for anyone to get the hang of the position and start performing well. Any mistakes made in that time may cost the company money. If you piss off a customer because you're not familiar with the menu and can't answer their question, that's a lost customer. If you haven't gotten the hang of serving customers quickly then you're costing the company money because they could have served two customers in the time it took you to serve two. Above all, a lot of employers just want to know that they can earn back their training investment. Suppose it'll take you three months to get the hang of stuff and to stop making frequent mistakes--double the training investment for a ballpark of how long you'll have to be prepared to commit to the job for them to take you seriously. If it takes three months to develop the proper habits for the job, then you need to show the manager--starting with your resume--that you're willing to be there for at least six months. If your resume is clearly geared toward a different kind of job and you outright state your dream job to be something else then you're not a safe investment for them because you're clearly looking elsewhere.

5) Point form. Under each work-experience entry write up to 5 points that are relevant to the specific job you are applying for. Worked retail in a clothing store before and now you're applying to fast-food? Include time-management skills, organization of a workspace, task delegation, customer service, and any other transferable skills like training others in your area or key-holder status. This'll help you cram a lot of info onto one side of a page. The manager isn't looking to read anything in-depth--they're just going to skim your resume and if it looks like you're going to give them a return on the training investment and that you're a responsible person then their next step is probably locating your contact information to schedule an interview. Save the full sentences and elaboration (i.e. one specific time where your customer service skills stood out) for the cover letter. The first page of your resume should read like a table of contents of yourself--it's a sales ad. If they're interested in what customer service experience you have, they'll ask you more later. Don't shove it at them on the resume 'cuz that resume is just the table-of-contents. Include your contact information and if they're interested they know how to reach you.

Good luck! If you're looking for a job, I know it sucks. I've been in that position a lot and felt helpless a lot. Lots of summers went by with me unemployed between years in post-secondary because I went to university in a different city from my home city. Nobody wanted to hire someone for four months out of the year because the training investment alone wasn't being met. It sucks and it's depressing. Hang in there. Revising my resume after every rejection was my way of trying to keep hope. Each resume revision got better and better and I got more and more calls back the more I revised my resumes and tailored them for the specific positions I was applying for. I had a different resume for reception, a different one for service/wait-staff, and a different one for fast-food and I labeled them as such on my computer.

#university tips #uni life #work tips #entry level job #resume tips #life tips #resume

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roc-thoughtblog · 4 years ago

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Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 19

Chapter 22, Pages 111-119

Hubris is defined as not taking your medication for the week and assuming you'd still have a productive time. It's only 5pm Wednesday so it's not too late to humble myself.

Previously, the Miss Steeles were introduced. The older is very much into beaux, and the younger is very often socially mortified by the former. Elinor is disapproves, but, they mysteriously know Eddie Ferrars, so perhaps she will have to put up with them until they give up the goods.

Not that her opinion matters too greatly when Sir Middleton never runs out of social plans. :'D

Also, thank you for telling me beaux is plural of beau!

Commenting from after having read the chapter: Oh, Elinor...

Readthrough below.

Chapter 22

MARIANNE, WHO never had much tolerance for anything like [...]

And this first sentence goes the whole first paragraph for a whopping 11 lines! It's not exclusively about Marianne's intolerances but there's still quite a lot of that. The second half is about how the Steele sisters prefer Elinor because Marianne is just that standoffish with them but I wonder if there's a literary purpose to cramming all that information into one sentence? It's certainly taxing to get my mind around, though I'm not really sure that's reflective of the Steeles when it's partially about Marianne. Perhaps all parties are exhausting?

In Lucy Steele, the younger sister, Elinor finds a companion of natural wit and intelligence, but lacking in any formal education; though I assume by "illiterate" Austen means that Lucy is simply not versed in literature, as opposed to outright illiterate.

She still doesn't like her.

Seems she also finds Lucy to be flippant and lacking any consistency of opinion, and maybe also attention-seeky. Also that they can't really talk about anything interesting to Elinor as she's not educated enough to share any tastes. That's... a shame that Elinor takes this stance. She reads Lucy's constant flattery of everything as insincerety but I don't have any reason not to think Lucy is just a genuinely positive person about everything. Personally, I would call nearabouts everyone I meet really nice, but that doesn't mean I don't think it's true! As you can see as I try to defy the interpretations of almost every character that has been described unflatteringly by the Dashwood sisters. :'D

Except Mr. Palmer, I have no good interpretations of Mr. Palmer.

Also, just because she's not formally educated doesn't mean she can't be fun to talk to! Engage people on their interests Elinor, not just your personal tastes! Well, I say all this but it's not as though I always live up to my ideal of open sociability.

Lucy asks Elinor if she knows Mrs. Ferrars, Eddie's mother. Elinor is reticent to reveal that she thinks his mother is uh, controlling, but does I think truthfully respond that she's never met the lady in person.

Elinor replies without explicit dialogue a lot, which in the Dashwood sisters I've started to take as signifying instances where not merely do they have nothing interesting to say for the reader to read, but also that they are not invested enough in their conversation partner enough to give a proper reply. Elinor does this a little bit here to Lucy, until, that is, Lucy really catches her interest. Now it's ALL DIALOGUE.

See, Lucy really genuinely wants to know about Mrs. Ferrars, surprising Elinor indeed, who's still hung up on the question of how the Steeles are connected to the Ferrars.

"But if I dared not tell you all, you would not be so much surprised. Mrs. Ferrars is certainly nothing to me at present - but the time may come - how soon it will come must depend upon herself - when we may be very intimately connected."

Oh. Oooooohhhh no. Oooooooh boy. Hmm. Yes. Well. I remember Eddie has a more successful (younger?) brother, but I feel like this isn't a fake-out just to give Elinor a heart attack and then move on. Somebody familiar with Austen and queer readings correct me on this, but I also don't see the remote possibility that this is implying Miss Steele is hooking up with Eddie's mother. So.........

I'm sitting here having not turned to the next page yet. Good heavens! indeed, Elinor.

"No," replied Lucy, "not to Mr. Robert Ferrars - I never saw him in my life; but," fixing her eyes upon Elinor, "to his eldest brother."

T-there it is. And Eddie has the hair ring too, doesn't sound one-sided... could still be parental setup, but Lucy apparently doesn't know nearly enough about Mrs. Ferrars...

What Elinor felt at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of assertion attended it.

Oh no. As painful as it is strong? Poor Elinor, that's going to hurt when the shock wears off...

A moment of silence for Elinor before I continue, which I'm going to take a short walk on.

So Elinor's... outwardly taking it well. Lucy continues her explanation.

FOUR YEARS.

LUCY AND EDDIE HAVE BEEN ENGAGED FOUR YEARS.

EDWARD AND LUCY HAVE KEPT THEIR ENGAGEMENT A SECRET FOR FOUR YEARS.

"May I ask if your engagement is long standing?" "We have been engaged these four years."

FOUR YEARS.

ELINOR NEVER HAD A CHANCE.

"I know he has the highest opinion in the world of all your family, and looks upon yourself and the other Miss Dashwoods quite as his own sisters -"

SHE WAS JUST A FRIEND. SHE WAS JUST A F R I E N D.

S H E W A S L I K E A S I S T E R T O H I M.

Alright. Well I needed to process that a bit too.

See, it's one thing for me to expect that Eddie was already engaged to somebody else. I would've been ready for that. Maybe he just moved on after Elinor was gone or something. I would've been like "yep, yeah that was expected." But FOUR YEARS. HE WAS ALREADY ENGAGED FOUR YEARS AGO.

How does this recontextualise the earlier parts of the novel? It was a hundred pages ago I don't even remember! Was this all the Dashwoods' imaginations? Am I going to go back and find out the narrative very specifically refused to state anything except that the Dashwoods thought this to be the case? Was Edward leading Elinor along the whole time? Did he know?? He seemed to be feeling guilt or shame or something so he must know about Elinor's feelings right??? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ANyway.

So it's been a secret the whole time. Of Lucy's family only Anne Steele knows, and considering Edward I imagine literally nobody knows in general. Lucy and Edward have known each other for many years, ever since Edward stayed with her uncle Mr. Pratt, whom I don't recall coming up at all before but I wouldn't be surprised if he was name-dropped once in the beginning. Edward is so reticent about himself that Elinor barely knows/remembers anything about Mr. Pratt's existence.

I'm taking these quotes thoroughly out of order because I have been knocked out of order, but I want to highlight this;

Her astonishment at what she heard was at first too great for words; but at length forcing herself to speak, and to speak cautiously, she said, with calmness of manner, which tolerably well concealed her surprise and solicitude:

The forced calm, trying to suppress the adrenaline early, trying to keep up the mask of the disaffected. It was obvious enough that Lucy noticed and stopped mid-sentence to wait for her. Oh Elinor. How fast is her heart beating? Where has her breath gone? And "tolerably well concealed" is not "concealed." She's speaking slowly and carefully, before she's even calmed down. How much shakiness is still audible in her words? How taut has each syllable been stretched, to maintain control? Where was the misplaced pause, a necessity to find the next word?

"May- may I ask if your engagement has been long standing?" "May I ask if your engagement has been long- long standing?" "May I ask if your engagement has been longstanding?"

Anyway.

Elinor's in either the denial stage or the bargaining stage. Well it's a lot to spring on her, we can't all have omniescent narrative security from beyond the fourth wall.

"Though you do not know him so well as me, Miss Dashwood, you must have seen enough of him to be sensible he is very capable of making a woman sincerely attached to him." “Certainly," answered Elinor, without knowing what she said;

PFFHAHA. Well, Elinor's composure is well and truly gone. If there's one positive thing that might come out of love triangles (positive negotiation sort, not toxic rivalry) it would be the sincere solidarity over the best qualities of the subject of their competitive affections. Though it doesn't seem like Elinor is disposed to be friends with Lucy, sadly...

I think Lucy just wants to be friends, but, uh, well. On the one hand I don't know how sensitive she's being right now really but on the other hand, I dunno how you can sensitively break it to someone that their crush has actually been your fiance for FOUR YEARS. Like, if Eddie knew, this is something he shoulda nipped in the bud long ago.

I think I've already spent an hour trying to process everything here.

The secrecy of the engagement makes sense too. I don't think Eddie's mother would ever have approved of any engagement without thorough vetting of the suitor's prospects. A secret youthful engagement must therefore remain very secret. No wonder Lucy's so concerned about Mrs. Ferrars now, too. And Eddie's only known the Dashwoods with the context of his sister hovering nearby, just ready to be generally Fanny. If information about Lucy had gotten out to Marianne that would already be a risk, but there was MARGARET too, and that sure worked out for Elinor. No wonder the Dashwoods heard nothing.

...

Elinor could tank this if she leaked the engagement. Please don't do that Elinor, it- oh no. Elinor won't do that. What if Marianne does it on Elinor's behalf? Oh no oh no. I hope that doesn't happen. Lucy's a nice girl. :(

Come to think of it, as far as underhanded deals go, there is a possibility that Lucy is actually faking this information, knowing that Elinor is interested in Edward, in order to drive her away. That... wouldn't be the case would it...? But he does have the hair ring... It's not like she pressed her into an engagement right...? AM I BARGAINING ON ELINOR'S BEHALF?

Lucy demonstrably proves she's talking about Edward Ferrars and nobody else by showing Elinor a picture of her beau. A thought, considering how much Edward has spoken to Lucy of the Dashwoods, no wonder she was so keen to meet them.

And Lucy is so happy to be able to confide in Elinor because she has noone else besides Anne, who is understandably a liablity in terms of secrecy, and gives poor advice in general. How fortunate to have somebody so level-headed as Elinor! Edward's name coming up at all from Sir Middleton did mortify her at the possibility of beans being spilled. Lucy is so stressed that the secrecy is such that she barely gets to see Edward at all, and never knows what will be of her future. Please Lucy, you know the context of Edward's being mentioned at all, spare a thought for Elinor. :(

Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very compassionate.

... Yeah.

"Sometimes," continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, "I think whether it would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely. [...] What would you advise me to do in such a case, Miss Dashwood?"

Uh. Wrong person to ask. Elinor sure thinks so too. Ah but Lucy even explains why he's been despirited. So it's not as much any guilt or shame so much as stress about his future with Lucy. It does also explain him leaving in a hurry with no explanation, anything related to Lucy would have no explanation given.

And Lucy shows Elinor a letter sent to her by Edward; now all doubts are cleared. She also explains that the hair-set ring is hers, asking her if she had seen it;

"I did," said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was concealed an emotion and distress beyond anything she had ever felt before."

After sitting with them a few minutes, the Miss Steeles returned to the Park, and Elinor was at liberty to think and be wretched.

Poor Elinor. "at liberty to think and be wretched" is also a very nice line to end a chapter on. I've definitely felt that before too.

Well.

This chapter. A lot happened here. What's Marianne going to find out next about Willoughby when the Palmers return?? We still don't know about Brandon's daughter!!

I understand now too why the chapter with the Palmers got sandwiched between the preceding chapters and the introduction of the Steeles, and why the transition seemed strangely long. The lack of information lulls a false sense of security, and also it's a small buffer in the pacing to not immediately just, roll reveals onto the reader.

I can think of Lucy as nothing but earnest at least, though, quite insensitive to Elinor's feelings in a way that should have been obvious. Umm. I don't know what to say or think about Edward right now. He's barely appeared really, I can't get a read on him. Floating the idea at the end that Lucy is not secure in her engagement, and also that it could be easily broken by the secret getting out, does... leave the whole consequences of this reveal up in the air really. It's thoroughly within Elinor's power to break them up, but...

Ah, my minds a bit overloaded now and I've gone way overtime so I'll leave the rest to consider next time after I've digested it a bit.

Poor Elinor.

#2400 words #dear lord I went long #and i'm exhausted #poor Elinor #Jane Austen #Sense and Sensibility #readthrough #novels

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bumblebeetlejuice · 5 years ago

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IDK HOW TO USE THE READ MORE BREAK ON MOBILE SORRY

Beetlelands human/college au

slight nsfw

“Don’t say shit!” The unholy screech echoed through the library, disturbing the other students there.

Adam was standing over his partners, hands raised in a nonthreatening gesture. Barbra couldn’t help snickering, but she didn’t turn away from the monitor. Beetlejuice, on the other hand was full on glaring. The open word document on his computer was still impressively blank.

“If you say a single goddamn told you so, I’m going to crush your sexy twink throat with my thighs!”

“Alright! Alright! I came to support you not to antagonize you!” Adam reminded as lovingly as he could. Quickly he pressed a kiss to Beetlejuice’s forehead before he could be swatted at.

“Shut the fuck up.” He dramatically spun back to the screen.

Even though Beetlejuice put on an expression of indifference, it was true. He had practically begged Adam and Barbra to spend the night in the library with him. Out of his five classes there was only one he wasn’t failing and that was World History. Beetlejuice had somehow maintained a solid seventy all semester which meant this last essay was the only thing between him failing or passing.

It didn’t matter that much to Beetlejuice. Since third grade there wasn’t a single class he hadn’t had to repeat or at least take summer classes for.

But Adam and Barbra were taking American History next semester. If he passed, that meant they could all sign up for the same course.

They’d be forced to spend an entire hour with him!

And he could copy their homework!

Finally the tapping on his shoulder broke through his thoughts. Beetlejuice spun to face Barbra.

“It’s almost 7, BJ. Start on your rough draft.” Even though it was a command, Barbra made it sound like the gentlest of suggestions.

“Fiiiiine.” His eyes moved back to the screen. He could see Adam’s reflection. The brunette had settled in a chair behind them, typing something on his tablet.

Beetlejuice scrubbed a hand through his crunchy hair. Green flakes rained down in front of his vision.

What the fuck was he supposed to be writing about anyways? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to that stupid class. October had been a blur of frat parties and drug experimentation. November had been a blur of seasonal depression and long cocaine binges.

God he could really go for a hit of something right now.

Beetlejuice looked over at Barbra. She probably had some weed in her bag somewhere. Then again, she actually knew how to balance her school and party life. She was the type to get high then come to the library, not bring a joint inside.

“Beetlejuice.”

“What? I’m thinking!”

Barbra tilted her head, “Looks like you’re not thinking about the right thing.”

“I didn’t give you consent to read my mind, babe. You guys are always riding my ass about this kind of stuff so what’s with the double standard, huh?”

“Here.” Adam had stood up. He leaned over BJ to get to the mouse and keyboard.

Beetlejuice ended up with his neck sandwiched between Adam’s arms. The top of his head was brushing against Adam’s chin.

“Let’s start with the heading.”

“Mm actually Adam, while you’re at it, why don’t you type the essay and I’ll proofread it.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, love. I’m here to help, not to do it for you.”

“But you’d be helping by doing it for me-” BJ whined, “Don't put that! My name’s Beetlejuice!”

Adam corrected what he had typed, without arguing, “Okay now what’s this essay about? I can help you with the outline.”

“Good question.” Beetlejuice casually rubbed a hand over Adam's, interlacing their fingers.

“Do you have notes or anything?”

“I’ve got a few notes. I can’t hit the high ones too well anymore on account of my balls dropping.”

Adam took that as a no. He clicked open a different tab, scrolling through BJ's folio account. Eventually he found a link for the essay requirements. It was pretty tame as far as college essays went. Three hundred words over any of the topics listed below. AP format. The works cited page even counted toward the three hundred.

“Alright, so which of these topics do you know the most about?” Adam asked highlighting the list.

Beetlejuice chewed the red nail polish off his ring finger as he forced his eyes to focus on the words.

Blah, blah, blah, empire, blah, blah, blah, crusade, blah, blah, blah, civilization.

Using the hand not in his mouth, Beetlejuice poked a random topic on the screen.

“The Byzantine Empire?”

“Yup.”

“Alrighty! That was an interesting period of time, especially architecturally.”

Of course Adam knew a lot about boring history stuff. That sexy nerd was majoring in the most boring major there was: architecture.

“During thi-"

“You guys hungry? I’m starving!”

He could see Barbra raise a brow out of the corner of his eye. The two of them had already stopped to get food before they got here. Barbra had insisted, since she knew how hard it was to get things done on an empty stomach.

“Don’t give me that look, babe. You know I’m a fucking fatass.”

Her expression shifted, “You’re beautiful, sweetie.”

She pulled a dollar from her pocket, “Here. Go get something from the vending machine.”

Adam moved back as Beetlejuice snatched up the dollar.

“Hold up!” BJ grabbed his backpack and dug out a roll of masking tape.

The couple watched as he carefully taped one side of the dollar then carefully taped the other side. He’d seen it in a video once and was eager to try it.

Beetlejuice jumped up, zooming to the vending machines on the other side of the room.

If this worked he was going to clean out every vending machine on campus.

The dollar disappeared into the slot easily enough. Beetlejuice held on to the tape, waiting for the pulling to stop before he yanked the dollar back out.

B3.

A bag of m&ms edged forward before dropping into the slot.

“Fuck yeah!” Beetlejuice yelled.

At least thirteen people glared at him. That didn’t stop him from cramming the dollar back in.

Beetlejuice managed to snag two bags of m&ms and a honey bun. He was waiting for a bag of doritos to fall, when the bag stopped.

“What the fuck? Hello?” He banged on the machine once.

The chips were stuck.

Beetlejuice let his other snacks fall to the carpet. He shoved the dollar in his coat pocket before winding up and kicking the machine. The resulting sound was loud but the chips didn’t budge.

Fine. He could do this the hard way.

He took a small running start, then slammed his shoulder into the machine.

Nothing.

He backed up and did it again.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Someone might have been saying his name, but they’d have to wait.

He slammed into it again.

Suddenly Adam and Barbra were standing in front of him, looking equally concerned.

“Beetlejuice!” Barbra snapped.

“Huh? What!”

“What the heck are you doing?” Adam joined in.

“Chips got stuck. Now move.”

“BJ, sweetie, don’t worry about the chips. We can get someone to open it later.”

“Yeah, look at the snacks you’ve already got.” He hadn’t seen Adam pick up them up, but there they were in his hands.

Barbra wrapped an arm around Beetlejuice’s back, steering him back to the computers, “Come on. If you break another vending machine I don’t think they’ll let you off with another warning.”

“It’s bullshit anyway. We already pay to go here! Why do we also have to pay for food and parking and stupid books we don’t even use!” He was accidentally yelling.

Barbra pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her and Adam managed to wedge him into a chair between their chairs, with a hand on each of his arms.

“We know, BB,” Adam practically purred, “You can’t keep picking fights with vending machines though. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m…” It was hard to argue when they ganged up on him with their special brand of gentle affection. Beetlejuice practically melted, “…Fine. Whatever.”

They stayed like that for a little while until Beetlejuice’s attention shifted back to the food. He dug into the honey bun while Barbra asked for critique on her own paper. It was for some literature class and wasn’t due until the next night.

From what Beetlejuice heard as she read aloud, it sounded pretty good. Adam gave suggestions on some sentence structures. Beetlejuice suggested she add stuff about reverse cowgirls.

She put on the final touches, submitted it then turned back around expectantly.

“So, BJ.”

He spit the bit of m&m wrapper he’d been chewing onto the floor, “So Barbra.”

“What time is your paper due?”

“…7AM. I got an extension because I’m stupid.”

“You are not stupid.” The couple spoke in perfect unison.

Beetlejuice waved them off dismissively. It was already 8:57… somehow.

Whatever. He still had like twenty hours.

“Now that I’m finished, we can all focus on getting your paper done!” Barbra chirped.

“Yeah!” Adam pulled BJ and himself back over to the computer, “I was going to suggest writing about the architectural aspects of course, since I could really help you there, but you’re probably not interested in that.”

Beetlejuice bit off another piece of wrapper, chewing on it thoughtfully.

“What about the fall of the empire?” Barbra suggested, “You love dissecting weak societal structures.”

That was true.

Beetlejuice nodded.

“Okay this is good.” Adam excitedly began typing, “You’ll have an intro, three paragraphs then a conclusion. Your intro can explain the inner workings of the empire…”

Beetlejuice looked back over at the vending machine. His poor chips were still in there, just waiting for someone to free them. Someone, meaning Beetlejuice. If anyone else tried to take those doritos he was going to break their fucking shins. That was a promise.

“Beetlejuice, we pulled up a few links that talk about the fall of the Byzantine empire. All you have to do is sort through the information and use it to support your topic.” Adam explained.

Beetlejuice blinked, “That doesn’t sound difficult to do at all.”

“Of course not. It’ll be fun!” Barbra smiled.

BJ moved the mouse around the screen, clicking through the links they had pulled up. So many words. So much reading. He was getting tired just thinking about reading.

One of the links was a video. Beetlejuice immediately went for that one.

“This is one of my favorite educational channels,” Barbra informed, “It’s certified as academic content and they really get right to the point.”

Beetlejuice checked the video length, “Fifteen minutes! How the fuck do you get right to the point in fifteen minutes?”

“I’m sure it’s possible.” Adam pushed a notebook and pen into BJ's hands, “I want you to write down anything interesting you hear in the video.”

Beetlejuice groaned loudly, “Can we take a break?”

He expected them to say no and call him lazy since he literally hadn’t done anything yet.

“Yup. We can take a break after the video.” Barbra said instead.

That was… fine. A fifteen minute video then a fifteen minute break. Beetlejuice gnawed on the end of his pen as the video began. Vaguely, he realized he had swallowed the wrapper piece.

Adam and Barbra took turns hitting pause whenever they noticed the scratching of pen on paper. They even made the video interesting by making jokes about people in ancient Rome.

By the time it was over, Beetlejuice had accumulated an entire page and a half of semi usable notes. His handwriting was barely legible, but if he stared long enough he’d probably figure it out.

“Break time!” The notebook and pen landed messily on the floor as he jumped to his feet, “You guys wanna make out on the staircase?”

Barbra smirked sideways at a blushing Adam, “We'd get in a lot of trouble if we got caught.”

“Who gives a shit!”

Obviously Barbra and Adam did. The goody two shoes. Even though they hadn’t admitted it, Beetlejuice knew they’d chosen to meet at the library because every time they did a dorm study night, no one could keep their hands to themselves.

Clearly they had underestimated his love for exhibitionism.

Beetlejuice pulled them both closer as he aggressively smushed a sloppy kiss to Adam’s lips. Adam only resisted a little, shoulders slumping.

“B-"

He cut Barbra off by immediately turning and connecting his lips to hers'. It always caught her off guard when he was gentle. She gasped lovely and perfectly into his mouth.

“Beetlejuice Shoggoth.” Adam snapped, pulling him from Barbra.

Apparently he had underestimated Adam’s goody two shoe-ness.

“Getting in trouble for public… inappropriateness does not look good on a permanent record!” He hissed.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes, plucking himself down onto Barbra’s lap, “God Adam calm down. Why you gotta be so sexy.”

Barbra stroked his back while she giggled. She was still a bit dazed from the kiss, “We can have all the fun we want when we get back home.”

“Can we go now?”

Adam shook his head, “I’m setting the break time for ten minutes. That’s not really enough time to walk there and back.”

“We don’t even need to go back to someone’s room! There’s a unisex bathroom right there!”

“Absolutely not!” Adam’s face was a delicious shade of cherry red.

“Beetlejuice, darling, Adam said no.” Barbra stepped in, pressing her face into Beetlejuice’s shoulder.

“Baaaaaabs!” He whined, leaning into her.

“Don't babs me! How about you and I go for a little walk, clear your head, then we can knock out this essay?”

Beetlejuice had already forgotten about the essay. The reminder almost completely extinguished his mood.

“Yeah… okay. Adam, make sure no one steals our shit.”

Adam nodded, face still very red.

Beetlejuice stood up, clutching Barbra’s hand.

He didn’t spend a lot of time in the library. The last time he’d been there, he’d been stoned to the point that his roommate had had to give him a piggyback ride home. The time before that him and Barbra had taken a nap on the floor of the satanic cult book section. They’d been pretty hungover that day.

“Did you know there’s four floors?” Barbra asked as she led him to the staircase.

“Me and the library don’t really hang.” He mumbled back.

Barbra went on as if she hadn't heard.

“My lab partner told me that the fourth floor is haunted! Apparently there was some sort of smoke problem and a few people didn’t make it out. She said that’s why no one uses the fourth floor.”

“You know what?”

“Hm?”

“That sounds like the perfect place to make out.”

Barbra gave him an absolutely filthy grin, “Six minutes. I don’t want Adam to worry.”

Beetlejuice hurried his ascent of the stairs, eagerly pulling Barbra with him, “Six minutes is all I need!”

It was weirdly empty on the fourth floor, not that either of them was really paying attention.

They bee lined for one of the walls not lined with windows and Barbra was immediately on top of him.

They may have gotten a little carried away.

Beetlejuice blamed Barbra. She was fucking hot when she dropped the polite exterior and took what she wanted.

So fucking hot.

Really fucking hot.

Maybe too hot.

Beetlejuice stuffed his underwear in the bathroom trashcan.

He rarely went commando in a suit. The general sweatiness and chaffing made it a little uncomfortable, but today he would take it instead of the other option.

Beetlejuice rejoined Barbra at the top of the stairs. She looked a little embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly as they descended.

“Babe. Baby girl. Babs. I would do it again in a heart beat.” He gripped her hand.

It was a lot easier to think now, he had to give her that.

Adam looked surprised to see them, when they got back to their corner. “Wow. You guys were almost on time. Ready to get back into it, Beetlejuice?” Coming from anyone else it would’ve sounded sarcastic and patronizing, but from Adam it was genuine.

“No, but let’s do it anyway!” BJ snapped with fake enthusiasm, “Byzantine empire and how it fell, huh.”

Fell.

Like the way vending machines sometimes fell and crushed people. That was one of the many Die-o-ramas from that old Crash Bandicoot game. What was the name of it? Whumpa racing? The villain was that ugly whumpa guy, but there was also that green guy with a German accent that was probably an offensive German stereotype. What was the name of that game? Beetlejuice used to play it at his cousin’s house all the time. Lydia only played it sometimes. Her skills mostly lay in backseat gaming. Was it a one player game? He definitely remembered playing it with her, but he also remembered Crash being the only playable character. That was probably in adventure mode. God that game was great. Next time he was back in his home town he’d have to play it again. What was the name of that game though?

“Nitro…? Nitro racing?”

Beetlejuice realized he’d been muttering bits of his thought process out loud. Barbra and Adam were staring at him blankly.

Fuck it.

He pulled up a search engine and attempted to spell Bandicoot.

“Should we…?”

“Let’s let him find it, or else it’ll bother him for the rest of the night.”

Adam knew him very well.

Beetlejuice spent the next few minutes typing and scrolling and retyping while Adam and Barbra did their own things on their phones.

“TAG TEAM RACING!”

There was a reason the seats around them were empty.

“What a stupid fucking name! How’d they go from Twin-sanity to Tag Team Racing?”

“The 2000’s were a simpler time.” Barbra shrugged.

“The only reason Crash died is because he jumped on top of that shit. RIP to Crash, but I’m different.”

“What?” Adam closed the tab, “Wait, no, never mind. BJ, you need to get back to your essay.”

Beetlejuice huffed. It was only…

He looked at the clock. It was already past ten.

“Holy shit! It’s almost midnight! I thought you guys were gonna fucking help me!”

“W-“

“Wait, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. Sometimes I lash out at others when I’m really just disappointed in myself… and by sometimes I mean always.”

“It’s okay, Bee.” Barbra rubbed his back comfortingly.

Adam picked up the abandoned notebook, “Yeah we know school's tough, but you did come to us for help. Acknowledging your problem and accepting help is the first step to improving.”

“Didn’t know this was an AA meeting.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile, “Okay. How about you type up these notes then we can start incorporating the rest of the sources into the body.”

Beetlejuice nodded. Typing in Microsoft word was baby work.

It didn’t take him long to do at all.

All he had to do now was read a bunch of stuff and type three hundred words.

“You finished the notes?” Barbra asked.

“Yeah.” Beetlejuice picked up the pen, clicking it idly.

“Alright so, what I would do is read through some articles and find parts that explain your topic. You can copy and paste them into the word document then we’ll go back in and rewrite a lot of it.” Barbra stared into his eyes as she spoke, ensuring he was listening.

“Find parts, copy and paste. Got it.”

Beetlejuice returned to the internet tabs. All of the articles had looked boring when he first flipped through them so, he picked one randomly. It was a lot of words in tiny font. He sighed, settling his chin in his non occupied hand as he began mentally scanning the page. Every time he began reading a sentence, his eyes would bounce to the bottom of the page and he’d lose his place.

“Would it be easier to read aloud?” Barbra more suggested than asked.

Beetlejuice glanced around at the steadily emptying library. If he spoke at the volume of an average person, only Adam and Barbra would hear him.

He pulled his eyes back to the screen.

“In three-thirty A.D the Byzantine empire was it’s title- dubbed it’s title by empire Con… Con- Constant? Constant. I?” He squinted at the words, “What the fuck.”

“Emperor Constatine the first.” Barbra supplied.

“Yeah. That…. He it- wait, fuck. He declared it New Rome on an Ancient…” Beetlejuice lost his place for a moment.

Refusing to submit to dragging his finger across the screen and forgetting the highlight feature of the mouse, he took a good minute to find his place.

“Ancient Greek colony.” Beetlejuice hated fucking reading. It took him so long to read that one sentence.

He blinked and scrubbed at his tired eyes.

“You’re doing great, bug!” Adam chirped, rubbing his back.

Beetlejuice wanted to call out Adam for lying, but he couldn’t. The compliment and acknowledgement of how hard he was trying, felt good.

He gave his eyes one last hard rub, before resettling in his seat.

This was going to be a long ass night, but at least he knew Barbra and Adam would be there to help him through it.

#beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #barbra maitland #adam maitland #beetlelands #fic #BUZZFIC

37 notes · View notes

fight-surrender · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 4: Emotional Support Wolf

Word count: 1056

Summary: “Wait,” Simon straightens and lowers his brows at me. “Did you just admit you’re a vampire?”

“Well spotted, Snow, what do you plan to do with that information?” I tilt my head at him, raising my brow, “I suggest we form a club, we can call it “Monsters of Mummers.”

Baz is a vampire, Simon's a newly minted werewolf. Now they have something in common.

Read Howlin’ Forever here on AO3

Thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the beta read & utter grammar rescue (any remaining mistakes are all my fault), and to @penpanoply, @vkelleyart & @nunzibelle for all the moral support that keeps me from falling into the abyss.

@krisrix, @vkelleyart, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @thehoneyedhufflepuff & @carryonvisinata, y’all were so kind to tag me on 6 sentence Sunday. I was out of town all week & don’t have six new sentences to post, so I just wanted to thank y’all for the tags with all my heart. I’ve got some ideas, so hopefully I’ll have something new for ya next week. <3 <3

____________________________________________

Baz:

“You can’t just bring dogs into the dining hall, mate. This has to violate multiple food codes. Not to mention it’s fucking huge.” Dev nervously eyes the beast sitting at the end of the table inhaling a pile of bangers.

“He’s fine. I "clean as a whistled" him before he came in.” I retort.

“I still don’t understand why your aunt insists on you watching him.” Dev says.

“We share a special bond.” I reply, “Only Fiona and I can control him, otherwise, he will dismember anyone who approaches.”

As if on cue, Snow raises his head, eyes Dev, and emits a low growl before resuming his attack on the sausage.

Dev swallows and clears his throat. “Sounds like the perfect dog to bring to school. Why doesn’t she just take it with her on her enchanted marijuana field trip?”

“Soluna Sativa can only be harvested by the light of the full moon in the farthest reaches of the Scottish Moors and Rusty gets carsick. Furthermore, he doesn’t fit in the MG and shrinking spells don’t last the whole trip.” I drawl, passing Simon a scone.

“Why doesn’t she just smoke local pot?” Niall asks, pouring himself more tea.

“Apparently this stuff prevents wrinkles.” I reply. “She’s a trained herbalist, you know.”

“Herbalist. Right. Fancy word for purveyor of mind-altering substances.” Dev quips.

“Alright lads,” I gather my things, “I’ve got to get this beast settled in Greek before the Minotaur gets in, no telling how Rusty will react to cattle.”

“How do they even let you bring that dog to class?” Niall asks.

“I tell them he’s my emotional support pet.” I reply, tossing Simon the crusts from my toast.

“What problems have you got then?” Dev grumbles. “You’re bloody perfect at everything.”

“Yes, and that makes me anxious,” I drawl.

“He’s off his knob,” Dev mumbles to Niall under his breath.

“I heard that.” Don’t think I won’t set Rusty on you just because you’re family.

I try not to look like I’m stomping away from them – I wait until I leave the dining hall, then stomp through the courtyard. I tried to stash the beast in our room, but the moment I closed the door to leave, he started to howl. It’s a miracle no one heard. He won’t let me out of his sight, even cramming his great hulking self into the loo with me. He curls up on the bath mat when I shower, he's seen me naked. It’s awful, and if he remembers any of this, I will combust.

The rest of the day is fairly uneventful. Well, minus an interlude where Simon chased Ebb’s goats across campus, but I managed to wrest him away before the goatherd intervened. Crowley, he's a menace.

***

It’s Monday night and Snow is restless. I imagine he’s going to transform soon; the moon is scheduled to rise at around 9:40. I settle in bed and try to read while Simon pants and paces the room. Eventually, he hops into bed with me and lays his great head in my lap. “There, there giant stupid puff,” I croon, massaging the spot he loves under his jaw. “Everything will be alright.” Snow huffs a sigh.

I rub his velvet ear with my finger. “You really are beautiful, you know? You insolent mongrel,” I murmur. “What would you do if you knew that I loved you I mean. Human you. I'm pretty sure this is worse than a crush. This feeling.” Crowley. I'm pouring my heart out to a dog.

A slim icicle of fear slivers trough my chest as I utter these words aloud. Were-Simon is asleep, but I have no idea what he understands in this form. What does he think and feel? Will he remember anything? Mostly he just seems like an irritable, ravenous, clingy dog. Am I his friend or his master? Does he stay with me out of love or obligation? I’d like to think it’s love. I’d like to stop thinking altogether. There’s nothing to be gained from this rabbit hole; he’s just a big goofy dog and I’m the person who feeds him. “But that’s all right,” I whisper. “I'll take what I can get.” I bury my face and arms in the soft bronze ruff of Snow’s neck, close my eyes and inhale his wild, familiar scent.

At 9:38, dog-Simon cries out and leaps off the bed, biting at his flank. I have no idea what is about to happen, so I cast a quick soundproofing spell on the room. I attempt to go to him, but Snow is all eyes and teeth as he collapses and howls like his heart is breaking. I try to block out the wet crunch of bones and flesh, as arms and legs elongate, a skull shrinks and tawny skin replaces fur. It’s over so fast.

Simon bloody Snow is heaving on the floor, trying to catch his breath. Starkers.

“Er—here, Snow. “I toss a blanket at him and turn around to face the wall. Crowley, how did I not think of the nakedness thing? For snake’s sake, I can’t unsee this. Why does he have to have moles everywhere.

Focus, Basilton.

Snow doesn’t say anything. He raises himself from the floor and slowly makes his way to his bed, collapsing onto the mattress. He burrows into a pile of blankets (Including mine.) and promptly falls asleep.

“You’re welcome for the blanket,” I mumble, but not loud enough for him to actually hear. “And the pet sitting.” I climb into my bed, wrap myself in the painfully thin, but cotton soft Watford sheet and try not to pout.

Snow doesn’t wake up for class. Or breakfast for that matter. I close our door softly when I leave, so I don’t disturb him.

After class, I pick up a mug of tea, a few bacon rolls and cherry scones to bring back to the room. Simon is sitting up in his bed, dressed (thankfully) with his head in his hands. He glances up when I walk in. He looks—haunted.

“Here.” I place the tea and food on the night stand.

“Thanks.” He says, eyeing me. He looks more defeated than wary. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Why not?” I reply. I know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.

Snow rakes his hands through his hair. “Poetic justice,” he replies. “Sweet revenge. All this time I’ve been trying to prove to everyone that you’re a monster, and now I am one.” He is staring at his hands, jaw thrust forward, holding on to his tears through sheer force of will.

“It’s a dream come true,” I agree, softly.

Simon shifts, curling his knees up near his chest, and wraps his arms around them. Head down, he casts his red-rimmed blue eyes my way.

“But also,” I sit on the edge of his bed, facing him. My eyes meet his. “Because we match.”

“Wait,” Simon straightens and lowers his brows at me. “Did you just admit that you’re a vampire?”

“Well spotted, Snow. What do you plan to do with that information?” I tilt my head at him, raising my brow, “I suggest we form a club. I propose we name it “Monsters of Mummers.”

Snow looks back down at his knees. Shoulders slumped in defeat. “What a fucking disaster.”

I carefully place a hand on his shoulder, like he’s made of butterfly wings. Comfort is not my thing. “We’ll figure this out, Snow.”

Simon closes his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. He doesn’t wipe them. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and haltingly says, “thank you Baz, for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” I respond, holding my right hand out to him. “Truce?”

A small smile quirks at the corner of Snow’s mouth. He turns and takes my hand to shake it. His hand is big and warm and calloused and perfect.

“Truce.”

#carry on #fanfiction #snowbaz fanfiction #howlin forever #My fic #simon snow #baz pitch #dev #niall kelly #werewolf simon

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years ago

Text

Here’s another “outtake” from my novel What Hindered Love. I wrote the book from Chloe’s point of view, but I also wrote all of these stories from Micah’s, and I just have to share them!

Summary: A "deleted" scene taking place during the "missing" years between the two timelines in What Hindered Love. Chloe and Luke both have the flu, and Micah agrees to watch the two year old so Chloe can rest. But as a result, he learns some painful news about Chloe.

Rating: T

**Also Spoilers for What Hindered Love!**

Words: About 3k and some change

Tagging: @snowbellewells @teamhook @xhookswenchx @ekr032-blog-blog @sherlockianwhovian @superchocovian @thislassishooked @ohmakemeahercules @kday426 @onceuponaprincessworld @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @tiganasummertree @captainswanapproved

Micah wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as he shut the doors of the catering van. He’d barely had time to take a breath when Hannah came running up to him in a panic.

“Micah, thank God!” she panted as she skidded to a stop in front of him. “All the part time help has already taken off for the night, and I’ve got boxes of decorations piled in a heap. Where Josiah finds such crappy help I’ll never know.”

“The college, Hannah,” Micah chuckled, “they’re the only ones who will work so cheap.”

“Oh right,” Hannah laughed breathlessly, gesturing wildly with her hands like she always did, “makes sense. I mean, at least they broke down the tents and hauled all the heaters away. Anyhow, I can’t lift all this stuff! Please, come to my rescue like you used to back in high school.”

By this point, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet and pouting as she clutched his arm. He shook his head thinking how she used the same tactics in elementary school to weasel him out of his snack in Sunday school.

“That pout works a whole lot better on Beau,” he quipped, but then couldn’t help laughing when her face fell. He slung his arm over her shoulder, “but I’ll help you anyway.”

Micah followed Hannah across the backyard of the historic mansion where today’s wedding had been held. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she had called it a “heap.” Micah grabbed a box of vases filled with multi-colored pebbles and grunted.

“I didn’t expect decorations to be so heavy. Where to?”

“My car,” Hannah said as she grabbed a lighter box of tulle and ribbon. Micah followed her to her beat up hatchback.

“Seriously? You transport everything in this?” Micah set the heavy box down carefully, but the glasses still tinkled loudly as they were jostled around.

Hannah didn’t seem concerned by the sound. “Yup. We have to have a catering van, and the other van gets filled up with the tents and the sound equipment. Maybe one day . . .”

Micah nodded as she trailed off, “Yeah, maybe someday we can have a full time staff, too.”

“Maybe our own event center!” Hannah went on excitedly, “I hate putting up and tearing down these tents.”

“Tents!” Micah protested, “I’d love to have my own kitchen. Keeping the food warm is a monumental challenge.”

“But the food was warm tonight. That wasn’t always the case when Josiah was on his own. You coming on has been huge, Micah. And the cake tonight? All the guests were talking about it. It’s hard to believe it was your first one.”

Micah took the praise silently, though he was relieved to hear that the wedding cake had been a success. He just didn’t feel right accepting Hannah’s statements as truth. Josiah had been incredibly generous letting him in on this business endeavor. He and Kate had put in so much blood, sweat, and tears to start up Barrett Events. People probably thought he was insane for bringing in his little brother, fresh out of rehab, only one year into it. They probably thought him more insane when a year after that he made Micah partner and changed the name of the company to Barrett Brothers Events. Josiah swore it wasn’t a handout; Micah was a better cook, could also bake, and revenue had gone up in the year since Micah took over the catering. Never mind he had no college degree or formal training. Never mind he was only one year removed from rehab, Micah had earned it. It’s what Josiah said, but Micah had a hard time believing it.

You’ll be a self-taught success story. I have no doubt.

Chloe Wren had said that – what? – three years ago. He rubbed his temple wearily after he set another box down in the back of Hannah’s car. Would he ever stop thinking about Chloe? It had been two years ago this month that she proclaimed to an entire room full of people that she never wanted to see him again. Not that he blamed her.

Micah slid the last of Hannah’s boxes into the back of her crammed hatchback. She thanked him as she shivered in her light coat.

“Who gets married outside in October?” she grumbled through chattering teeth, “In Massachusetts?”

Micah rubbed his own chilled hands together, “People who want a reduced price. It’s the same reason they got married on a Sunday afternoon. Which I’m thankful for, by the way. Can you imagine how cold it would be right now if this had been an evening wedding?”

“No kidding. Speaking of which, what did your dad say about you and Josiah working on a Sunday?”

Micah spread his feet, crossed his arms, and looked down his nose at Hannah in a perfect imitation of his father, “What can I say, boys? You’re grown men. But don’t make a habit of it.”

Hannah giggled behind her hand, “In Josiah’s defense, I don’t think he anticipated how early we would have to start preparing.”

“Well, he should have. We put in a full day for an evening wedding. He thought three o’clock in the afternoon would be any different?”

The phone in Micah’s coat pocket vibrated, and he pulled it out. He frowned when he read the text message that had just come through.

“Everything okay?” Hannah asked with genuine concern.

“Well, no, not really,” he answered honestly, “Luke and Chloe both have the flu. She wants to know if I can watch him so she can get some rest.”

Of course I will, Wren. I’m just about to leave here. I’ll be by in about fifteen minutes to pick him up.

No need to do that. Your mom is coming. Already talked to her.

Micah rolled his eyes and groaned at Chloe’s stubbornness.

“What’s wrong?” Hannah asked.

“She’s being typically Chloe,” Micah said, shaking his head as he typed a response back. “She wants my mom to pick him up, but I’m perfectly capable – “

“Micah,” Hannah cut him off with a hand to his arm. He ignored her and finished typing.

It’s not a problem. It’s on my way.

“Micah!” Hannah repeated, louder this time.

“What?” Micah snapped, a response that Hannah pretty much ignored. They’d been like brother and sister since they were about five years old, so no amount of squabbling could hurt either one's feelings.

“If you’re going to pick up Luke, there’s something you should know . . .” Hannah trailed off, then glanced away, biting her lower lip.

Micah shook his head at Hannah’s cryptic behavior, then focused back on his phone where Chloe’s response had popped up on the screen.

Your mom is picking him up Micah. We’ve been over this. I’m sick and not in the mood.

He sighed wearily. He knew there was no point in arguing with her.

Fine – and get well, Wren.

Micah slid his phone back into his pocket and faced Hannah again. “Well, I’m not picking him up, so if you were trying to warn me about a new boyfriend you can save it. Or has she taken Scott back? Again?”

He tried not to let bitterness into his voice, but who was he kidding? Least of all Hannah. Or anyone else in his family. Okay, pretty much all of Lightport probably knew he hadn’t gotten over Chloe Wren.

“It’s not that . . .” Hannah continued to hedge.

Micah swallowed hard, trying not to jump to conclusions. Hannah could be a bit theatrical at times, after all. “Okay, Hannah, you’re freaking me out. What is it?”

Hannah took a deep breath, then grasped Micah’s hands, looking into his eyes as if she were about to deliver a death sentence, “Chloe is . . . pregnant.”

Micah literally felt his legs go weak beneath him, and he staggered a bit under the weight of those three little words. “What? No . . . there must be some mistake. Are you sure?”

Hannah nodded sadly, “Your mom’s been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Micah shook his head, not sure how to process this new information. His mom had known? And she didn’t warn him? Micah had a custody hearing two weeks ago. Chloe had declined attending, choosing to sign off on the judge’s decision. Micah had thought little of it, honestly. Chloe hadn’t shown for last year’s hearing either. But how could his mom have let him walk in there blind?

“Your mom suspected for a while, but Chloe’s just started to show,” Hannah continued softly, “she’s due in March.”

“March!”

Hannah nodded sadly, watching Micah’s reaction carefully. He paced back and forth, trying to dredge up the bits of gossip Ally was always trying to feed him at the diner. Normally, he only half listened, then tossed aside the brunette’s words. For one, he had been the topic of enough gossip to despise the spreading of it. And second, when the gossip was about Chloe and her love life, well, why torture himself? Hannah filled in the information he was trying to sort through in his mind.

“Scott is the father, Micah.”

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

Luke’s here. Just wanted to let you know.

Micah hit send then glanced over at the flush-faced two year old cocooned in blankets on Micah’s bed. He brushed Luke’s hair back from his forehead to find it wet with sweat.

Good. Did you get my instructions? Does he still have a fever?

Yes. I just gave him some more Tylenol.

Thank you for doing this.

I’m his father. It’s part of the job. Micah bit his lip and hesitated before typing further. I hear congratulations are in order. March, right?

Luke wiggled closer to Micah’s side, regarding his father with identical bright blue eyes. Well, they were normally bright. Right now they were dulled with fever.

Thanks. Yes, March. It’s a boy.

Luke scooted onto Micah’s lap and curled against his chest. Micah took a deep breath before deciding to go all in.

A boy? Scott must be thrilled!

It felt like it took forever for Chloe to respond, and Micah’s heart was about to beat out of his chest as a thousand different questions flitted through his mind. Had Scott moved in? Were they getting married? Did he know that Chloe craved ice cream with pretzels when she was pregnant?

There is no Scott. For good this time.

Micah sat there, frozen, staring at the phone in his hand. To say an emotional war was raging inside of him in this moment was an understatement. On the one hand, he was relieved. But didn’t that make him not only horribly selfish but also a huge hypocrite? He had made the choices he had to give Chloe and Luke their best chance at happiness. Chloe pregnant and alone wasn’t what he had in mind. But then again, Micah certainly didn’t think Scott could make her happy, either. From what Micah could see, the jerk had brought Chloe nothing but heartbreak. The immediate question was, how did he respond to this text?

Luke gave him an easy out when he whimpered and put a tiny, shaking hand against Micah’s chest. Micah’s white tee shirt was soaked with Luke’s sweat, and he could feel the shivers course through the little lad’s body.

I’m so sorry, Chloe. I’m also sorry I have to go. Luke’s asking for me.

Micah groaned at his own lame excuse as he hit send. It was true, but he knew full well he never should have started the conversation in the first place. He was still a bit shocked Chloe had let it go on as long as she had. He typed another quick text before hers could come through.

And you need to rest, Wren Go to bed!

Micah stood with Luke in the crook of one arm as he set the phone on his nightstand. He paced a bit, rocking Luke in his arms and whispering in his ear. He wrapped the black fleece blanket covered in tiny guitars tighter around his son’s feverish body.

“It will take time for the Tylenol to kick in, ‘kay buddy?”

Luke looked up at Micah and managed to choke out, “Sing me? Pway ‘tar?”

Micah smiled down at the two year old in his arms and brushed a kiss across his forehead. “Sure buddy, Daddy can sing you a song with his guitar.”

Micah laid Luke gently on the bed, fluffing the pillows and tucking the blankets exaggeratedly until Luke giggled. Then he slid his guitar out from under the bed and took it gently from its case. He tuned it, then strummed a few chords. He thought over songs he knew then settled on a new one that he and Kate were learning for church. It was one he could relate to as a former addict who was celebrating over two years of staying clean, about Jesus breaking the chains of sin and setting us free.

As Micah strummed the last chord, he looked over at his son. At some point, as Micah had gotten lost in the song, Luke had fallen asleep. Micah himself was exhausted after such a busy day and slid under the covers on the other side of the bed. He turned and leaned over to brush a kiss against Luke’s fevered cheek. As his son shivered under the covers, Micah thought of Chloe. Sick with the flu, and alone, with no one to take care of her.

Micah rolled over with his back to his son, suddenly intensely worried about her. Lord, take care of her. She’s all alone. Almost immediately, deep inside of his soul, a voice whispered.

No, my son, she isn’t alone.

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

Micah awakened with a start, unsure what had startled him. He glanced blearily at the clock on his nightstand. 4:26. A whimpering sounded from the other side of the bed, and Micah bolted up, heart pounding.

“Luke,” Micah gasped, leaning over his son’s form. Luke was thrashing in the sheets which were now damp. Micah flipped on the lamp to find the two year old drenched with sweat, two bright red spots coloring his cheeks. Micah felt the boy to find that he was practically on fire. In a panic, Micah scooped him up and carried him into the bathroom where he kept the thermometer. He held it under the boy’s arm, and Luke started to weep.

“Shhh,” Micah soothed, “it’s gonna be okay.”

But Micah wasn’t sure he believed that when he saw the number on the screen: 105.3. His heart almost stopped beating. Only half aware of what he was doing, Micah somehow slipped a pair of sweatpants on and a coat. He hurriedly shoved his feet into some clogs simply because it was faster, then scooped Luke up into his arms once again, wrapping him up in the blanket as best he could against the cold. Still with a haze of disbelief surrounding him, Micah was in his truck driving to the emergency room at 4:40 am. Getting checked in was a blur, and his panic and frustration started to mount as he talked to three different nurses. None of them seemed to care that Luke’s temperature was sky high, and could no one give his son some damn medicine? He was about to march through those swinging doors and hunt down a doctor all by himself when finally – finally! – they called Luke’s name.

Once they were in the examining room, the nurses seemed to finally take things seriously. They took Luke’s temperature again, which was now 105.5. Micah was now in almost full-blown panic mode. Another nurse took Luke’s blood pressure and found it extremely low. Before Micah even knew what was happening, they had his tiny little boy hooked up to an IV to administer fluids. The nurses flurried around the room, and Micah couldn’t get anyone to tell him what was going on. Finally, he was alone with Luke, holding his tiny hand as he lay on the huge hospital bed. Luke had never looked so small.

“Mr. Barrett?”

Micah hastily brushed a tear from his cheek and cleared his throat in order to pull himself together. “Yes?”

“I’m Dr. Melissa Carter. I’m the pediatrician on call, but I also happen to be Luke’s regular pediatrician, too.”

The petite woman with thick dark hair stepped forward and confidently shook Micah’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Carter. You’re also Chloe’s boss, right?”

“That’s right,” she nodded as she removed the stethoscope from around her neck. “And as for you, little Jedi, you’re not feeling so hot, are you?”

Luke managed a tiny giggle at being called a Jedi, but then promptly frowned and shook his head. Micah could tell how comfortable his son was with Dr. Carter as she examined him. She had a firm yet comforting voice that Micah could tell put both children and parents at ease. When she finished, she gave some instructions to a nurse, made a few notes in Luke’s chart, then turned to Micah.

“The fever is coming down,” she explained, “still high, but steadily decreasing. Once we get it back to normal, we’ll release him. He got dehydrated, which caused the drop in his blood pressure, but the fluids we’re giving him have already made a huge difference.”

“So he’s fine?”

Dr. Carter smiled gently, “Yes. Children can stand much higher fevers than you would expect. 105 is by far not the highest fever I’ve ever seen in my practice. Not that you were wrong to bring him in, there can definitely be complications. But going forward, alternate Tylenol and ibuprofen every four hours, and if the temperature gets above 101, try a cool sponge bath. Just make sure you wrap him up warm afterwards so he doesn’t get a chill.”

Micah nodded and took a deep breath of relief. He leaned over and gave Luke an awkward hug and kiss, reaching carefully around the IV. When he straightened, he looked back at the doctor. “Thank you.”

Dr. Carter nodded, “It’s my pleasure.”

Micah hesitated for a moment before asking, “Have you talked to Chloe?”

If the doctor thought it was odd for Micah to be asking, she didn’t show it. “She called in sick for today, said she has the flu. I was fine with that of course, she’s always been a hard worker, and the last thing a pediatrician’s office needs is a receptionist spreading the flu.”

That wasn’t what Micah had been getting at. He scratched behind his ear. “I figured that. It’s just . . . well, do you know if anyone is checking in on her? I mean, she lives alone, and her cousins tried to call, but Chloe is so stubborn she won’t pick up. And if Luke’s this sick, and Chloe’s – “ Micah broke off abruptly. He couldn’t tell Chloe’s boss about the pregnancy. What if Chloe hadn’t told her yet? He knew what opportunities this job could open up for Chloe once she finished school.

“I know about her pregnancy,” Dr. Carter said abruptly, “and you’re right to be worried. Which is exactly why I told Chloe there was nothing she could do to stop me from going over there as soon as my shift is over in the ER. My PA takes all my cases in the office on Mondays anyway, so I’m free to veg out on Chloe’s couch while also taking her chicken soup and plenty of fluids.”

Micah sighed, his body sagging in relief. The doctor smiled at him before continuing.

“No matter how hard Chloe tries to do it alone, there are too many of us who love her and just won’t let her.” Dr. Carter then gave Luke a good-bye fist pump and turned to leave. At the door, she turned and gave Micah a teasing smile, “And I’ll also be sure to ask Chloe how in the world she ever let you get away.” Then she was gone.

Micah would have begged her to do no such thing – if he hadn’t been rendered speechless. Surely she was joking, right? He shook his head as the only other alternative dawned on him. Had his two year old’s pediatrician just flirted with him?

“Daddy,” Luke called weakly from the hospital bed. Micah was at his side in an instant.

“Yes, little man, what is it?”

“I’m bored.”

Micah laughed, exulting in the feel of his son’s cooler cheeks against his fingers. “Hospitals are boring, aren’t they? But look, they have TV. Would you like me to find a cartoon for you?”

“Disney Junior?”

“We’ll see.”

Micah found an episode of Little Einsteins and, at his son’s request, squeezed onto the hospital bed. He eased Luke onto his chest, careful of the IV. Soon, on the TV screen Rocket was soaring into the sky with his four precocious passengers, and Luke feebly “pat, pat, patted” along. Micah ran his hand through his son’s thick black hair, whispering prayers of thanks that he was okay. He also said a prayer of thanks that Chloe Wren, no matter what, would never be alone. The words to the song he sang to Luke only a few hours before drifted through his mind as he felt himself doze off. He knew if God had broken his chains of addiction, he could break Chloe’s chains of fear too.

#what hindered love #my book #my writing #shameless self promotion

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