#also used some crappy pencils instead of my nice ones

[scrunglepaws]

Lil doodle of Kit/Tails critters based on @melting-shards's designs for them (x). I like their markings. c:

[mah-gah-lee]

be stuck with you - owen patrick joyner x (reader)

Word Count: 2303

Request: YES, from that sweet @idontcare011​, hope you’ll like it ! 

Summary:  you were late and a random boy comes into the elevator at the last minute. By some incredible force of fate (or pretty crappy weather) you find yourself stuck with the young man in this narrow cabin.

Warnings: panic attack and i think it’s all

disclaimer: I don't know Owen personally or what his life is like. All you will read in this "x reader" is from my imagination. My point is not to invade Owen's privacy. I don't want to offend him or offend anybody else in his life (family, potential girlfriend…I heard maybe he has one, so I don’t know but I don’t want to offend her).  All of this is not the reality

Tagged: @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @standingtalllove​ @lukeys-giggle​ 

---

Thanks God, the quarantine was over and everyone could travel again. However, this stupid virus was not completely gone. Since the health crisis, you have adopted new habits, such as taking the stairs instead of the elevator. But today, you were in a hurry, so you entered the cabin eagerly. The conference you were due to attend was starting in no less than twenty minutes, and your itinerary had said it would take you 15 to get to your planned location. But with the weather conditions creeping in out there, you were sure you would need a lot longer than advertised. The automatic door was closing when a hand stepped in the way. A young blond man appeared and slipped into the elevator. You grumbled at the action, making you fall a few more seconds behind.

 "Sorry" the boy said through his mask.

 But you didn't answer.

 You had almost ten floors to go down together. You looked in your bag for a while to make sure you had your recorder when you felt an uncontrolled jerk. Your body no longer held you in balance but you caught yourself on a side of the elevator as the young man accompanying you tended to stabilize you. The lights flashed for a while and then went out. Your eyes widened as your heart pounded.

 "oh no no no no no no no. Anything except that, please!" you said, frantically pressing a random button.

 “I think we stuck…”

  "Oh yeah, what makes you think that?" The fact that we weren't moving or that the lights went out? "

 The boy threw up his hands in defense, eyes wide with so much animosity.

 "Hey, I'm in the same situation. You don't have to be aggressive."

You groaned before leaning against one of the elevator walls, peering into the face of your elevator failure companion. He had blond hair; his tips reached the base of his neck. But his expressive blue eyes - seeming constantly anxious - reminded you of someone, but you didn't know who. You have pushed the alarm button to warn the staff that there was someone in the lift.

 “Sorry, it’s seems to be a bad day. I’m late and now I’m stuck in an elevator with a perfect stranger”

 “I’m Owen…Not a stranger anymore”

 “I’m y/n, but yes, you still are”

 Owen laughed at your outspokenness and you gave him a polite smile before you were silent for several minutes.

 After what seemed like forever - when it was only ten minutes - you looked at your phone. No networks. For no obvious reason, when everything seemed to be going well, your heart started to beat faster. The thought of being stuck here forever crossed your mind and ached in your chest. The boy in front of you seemed so calm, which made you even more anxious.

 "How the hell can you stay so calm"

 "Oh ... I'm dying inside, just trying to play it cool"

 You can help with giving him an amused smile, he had been so frank. But this little interaction did not bring you back down from your state. You were breathing harder and harder, your chest was heaving quickly, it was nearly out of control. Owen seemed to notice that and give you a concerned look.

 "Panic attack?"

 You nodded briskly and Owen approached you cautiously. You saw his hands move towards you and your gaze expressed fear but you were paralyzed to do anything.

 "I'm going to take that damn mask off you already."

 Gently, he grabbed the fabric mask and pulled a little on it to lower it, he reproduced the gesture with his own mask.

 "Look at me, just me. There's nothing around us. Take a deep breath. I'll count to 3 and then you'll breathe out. Okay?"

 you nodded and when he shook his to urge you to breathe you took a deep breath, like he told you to.

 "1..2..3"

 You sighed, keeping your gaze on him. You started once more and when the blonde asked you if it was better, you were shaking your head negatively.

 "We're starting over but… take my hands and squeeze them as much as you need. Don't worry about grinding them."

 You grabbed his hands and restarted each step over, crushing his hands. But the contact with matter, your breath and Owen's comforting eyes, help you gently. A soothing silence has settled between you. Owen had helped you through this panic attack when you didn't even know each other. But you could feel deep inside that this man was good. Things seemed to calm down for you and you thanked Owen with a genuine smile.

 “You know how to deal with it ... Thanks for that.”

 “I also suffer from anxiety and panic attack. But the elevator is big enough here that it doesn't cause me one. Although I am a little anxious ...”

 “hey, breathe Owen.” You replied with a smirk

 Owen laughed and shook his head as if to say "that's a good one!" You look at the young man again, staring at him intently. It was very rude but you couldn't put a name on his face anymore. You were sure you knew him. Was he a distant cousin? A neighbor? A guy you knew in high school? Or just a guy you saw in an ad? Maybe the ad for these new cereals!

 “Excuse me but ... I've seen you somewhere before, haven't I?”

 “In an elevator, yeah!” he joked

 You laughed he was funny

 “No, I mean ... I feel like I've seen you before but I really can't remember where.”

 he sighed, as if a little tired of the question. You were surprised at his reaction but Owen answers you anyway

 “Yeah, I don't usually talk about that when I first meet a girl, especially when I'm stuck in an elevator with her but ... I'm an actor. I played some stuff on Nickelodeon and now I'm supposed to shoot season two of Julie and the phantoms, it's a Netflix series.”

 You watched him chattering, you nodded then wide your eyes. This is where you saw it! You had been relentlessly browsing the Netflix catalog and seeing the trailer for the series he told you about, but you had avoided it, the show seemed too childish for you. You first reaction was to make fun of him

 "Again, don't forget to breath Owen. But the way, I didn’t want to bother you with that question."

 He laughed lightly then smiled politely at you. You didn't seem to be a hysteric or a weird person. He had a deep feeling that you were a good person, which is why Owen seemed to relax.

 "It's just ... for a while, I thought you were a fan and I didn't want things to be weird all suddenly "

 "Oh don't worry I haven't seen any of your shows.” you said nonchalantly

 Owen burst into laughter. Once again, it was bafflingly sincere and he was really starting to enjoy being stuck in an elevator with you. You smiled, the energy in the cabin was positive that you almost forgot you were stuck with this young man for almost half an hour. You didn't know when you were going to be able to get out of here but you didn't really care anymore for the sole reason that you wanted to get to know this man. You tilted your head back, resting it against the elevator wall before sighing loudly. Seconds later, your gaze turned to Owen again.

 “So tell me about this series that you’re filming. What is it about?”

 "It's a pretty cool show actually. It's directed by Kenny Ortega, I don't know if you see who he is."

 "Hell yeah ... he's the choreographer of Dirty Dancing"

 "Himself ... So what about the storyboard ... It's about ..."

 And then, you listened to him to tell you about the series. Something like a '90s band dying of food poisoning from a bad hotdog and returning twenty-five years later as ghosts to help a super talented young girl to make music after her mom passed away. It made you laugh; it was probably the dumbest death on TV after Marion Cotillard's in Batman. He couldn't even stop anymore so that he sometimes swapped over a few anecdotes from the set. You even got a little exclusive on season two before Owen stopped in the middle of a sentence.

 "Sorry, I got a little carried away. But when you like your job, it's pretty easy to talk about it."

 You smiled at him and Owen started asking you questions, about your work, your life, your passions and you were giving him back. The conversation was fluid, natural You learned that he was German, that his mother tongue was German until he was about four years old, that he had a sister and had lived with his parents until that year when he moved into his own apartment. Getting to know Owen was really nice and you could feel your stomach twist every time he smiled. He was a boy full of humor but also sarcasm.

 You've been stuck with Owen for an hour and a half now. You ended up sitting on the floor of the elevator. Boredom was really starting to take hold of you. You rummaged through your bag for something, anything. An idea crossed your mind when you saw the small block of post-it notes.

 "Owen"

 "hmm?"

 "How would you like to play a game?"

 "What kind of game do you want to play here?"

 "Who am I?"

 "Obviously you are y/n" he tells you with a smirk.

 You laughed before pulling out your notepad and a pencil to show it to the blonde. He claimed to have understood your intention, which made you smile even more. Of course, Owen knew the game you wanted to play. He nodded, and you'd write a celebrity's name on a sticky note before sticking it on your new friend's forehead. He did the same for you. Fortunately, your two post-its are well stuck. Owen spoke

 "I start: am I a man?"

 "Obviously" you say with a smirk, responding to the blonde's previous joke.

 Owen laughed, catching the tone of your voice.

 “But how funny she is! Is my character a man?” He continued.

 You did several parts. You even teased him when he made you guess Julie and the phantoms, because the game didn't stop only with characters, celebrities but also series, movies, musicals. You were laughing when there was another shake, stronger than the first, the lights came back on and you couldn't help but be disappointed. You looked at Owen and he seemed to have the same gaze as yours. The doors barely opened and you found the hotel staff, patiently waiting to ask if you needed medical assistance, while also offering you a bottle of water. You left the elevator car, hurriedly stuffing the many post-its into your bag. You didn't really know how to act with the blond guy next to you. You had formed a little bubble in that enclosed space and now it seemed to have burst. For some strange reason, it made you sad. Now is the time to part ways with your new friend.

 “well, good-goodbye, it was nice to meet you.”

 you rushed into the hotel lobby a little more, but Owen seemed to catch up with you, his long legs only having to take a few strides.

 "wait, y/n!"

 You turned to him, you could see the embarrassment on his cheeks, asking with a frown what was the cause.

 "I think you let that go"

 "No, I don't"

 You looked at the crumpled white paper. It even looked like a piece of chewing gum. And at first glance, Owen's perfectly white teeth were chewing one.

 "I think you did."

 He handed you the paper with a determination that convinces you. You bite your lip as you look at the series of numbers on the packaging: a phone number. His telephone number. Owen swallowed hard as he looked at you. His eyes never leaving your lips.

 "It's pretty spontaneous of me but ... I won't start filming until next week. I hope you're still here the day after tomorrow ... because I would really like to ask you to come have a drink with me ... "

 Your cheeks turned red, did he really just ask you for a date? You did not know what to answer. The urge to say yes was so present but you were afraid to rush. Perhaps humor was your only defense

 "it depends"

 "about what?"

 "Does this appointment include a blocking session in an elevator? This is the only way it works"

 Owen laughed before giving you a genuine smile, showing his perfectly aligned white teeth. God, what a beautiful man.

 "I can try to fix this and find a faulty elevator."

 "So expect a text from me"

 You smiled back at him and gave him a wink before turning on your heels. Owen's heart skipped a beat and he when he arrived several hours late in the hairdressing section of the set, Charlie laughed at him saying that he had never seen him so happy to have a haircut. hair. But in reality, the blond was only waiting for one thing, and that was to receive a message from you, which arrived in a second.

 (y/n) text : "After being stuck in an elevator, here I am stuck in traffic ... Are you sure you want a date with me, you might just end up stuck with me?"

 Owen couldn't help but smile broadly.

 Owen text : "I'm sure. I'd love to even be stuck with you (again).”

(y/n) text : “Fine, ghost boy. See you soon”

[hqbbg]

dense.

pairing: iwaizumi x reader

summary: you’re dense and iwaizumi is stubborn.

genre: fluff

word count: 2.0K

warnings: language

author’s note: idk why but i've been simping for this mans all week (actually nvm i do know why,, like who wouldn’t) but also it’s late at night and idk what this is but pls accept and enjoy it 👉🏼👈🏼👉🏼👈🏼

Your mother had always told you it was rude to stare and throughout your childhood, you did your best to avoid getting scolded at for staring at random people. However, while sitting at a café in an attempt to study, you can’t help but shift your focus from the notes in front of you to the boy sitting a few tables away, chewing on the eraser of his pencil as he leans over his notebook, looking deep in thought. You have your cheek pressed against your left palm, your elbow propped up on the table and your pencil not even in your hand anymore as you shamelessly stare at the stranger.

He’s sitting in your direct line of sight ahead of you and you’re sure that you’re also in his, but he has yet to notice or acknowledge you. He looks smart—or at least is trying to be—as he releases the end of his pencil from his teeth to scribble something down onto his notebook.

His eyes flicker up in your direction and you quickly avert your eyes back down to your notebook but keep your head in the same angle in order to avoid looking suspicious. You pretend to be deep in thought for a moment before your eyes make their way back to look at the handsome stranger in front of you, his own attention devoted to whatever it is he’s studying.

You’re not even sure how much time has passed before you feel someone flick the back of your head, causing you to wince and angrily turn to see the person responsible for the subtle throbbing you feel now.

“Ow, that hurt, Iwaizumi,” you frown as you rub the back of your head.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes as he sits down across from you, effectively blocking the view. He places your coffee down in front of you and takes a sip of his own, raising a brow as he looks at your notes.

“You’ve barely made any progress.”

“I was taking a study break,” you reply as you drop your hand from your head.

“Study break my ass,” he scoffs. “You’ve been staring at that guy since I left to go stand in line for your coffee—you’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you mutter as you lift the cup to your face and inhale the fragrant smell of coffee, taking a sip shortly after. “Also, can you blame me? He’s really cute.”

Iwaizumi looks at you and you swear that you see his eye twitch slightly.

“Your exam score is not going to be cute if you don’t focus now, you know,” he says as he sets his cup down, leaning back in his seat as he crosses his arms across his chest.

“I know,” you sigh as you pick your pencil back up. “I can’t focus, though.”

“We’ve been here for half an hour. Have you even tried?” Iwaizumi raises an unimpressed brow.

“Of course I have,” you huff indignantly. “It only took me ten minutes to get all my stuff out and then five more minutes to use the bathroom. I tried to study for at least five more minutes before I got distracted.”

“Well, now that I’m here, you shouldn’t have any distractions,” says Iwaizumi as his lips quirk up into the slightest smirk. You sigh dramatically but know that there’s nothing you can do.

His method of forcing you to at least try to study is affective for some time, but the content of your notes is utterly dry and quite frankly, you’re bored.

“You didn’t have to come today,” you say casually. You’ve been searching for an excuse to not study for the past few minutes, and this seems to be the only thing you can come up with.

Iwaizumi looks up from his phone for a moment before looking back down, his thumb scrolling through whatever app he’s on.

“Who else is supposed to keep you focused? Plus, it’s not like I had anything better to do today.”

You blink a couple times at him but say nothing.

Iwaizumi has slowly and steadily been spending more time with you lately, keeping you company practically anywhere and everywhere you went. You didn’t mind necessarily, since you two get along aside from the occasional bullying you both inflict upon each other which is all in good fun. Plus, he’s pretty easy on the eyes, so you have no complaints there.

You’d known him for quite some time now but can’t remember when exactly you two had become friends. You remember seeing him when you were both in high school, with you as a faithful supporter of your school’s boys’ volleyball team while he was part of the opposing school’s team, practically glued to his much more popular friend—what was his name? It started with an O…—and was always overshadowed by him. You didn’t see him much again until you came to college and recognized him in one of your classes. Over time, you seemed to naturally gravitate towards each other and have gotten to where you are now a whole year later.

“I really can’t focus,” you huff as you set your pencil down, leaning back into your seat with a slouch. If your mother saw you right now, she would probably scold you for your posture.

“We’ve been here for barely an entire hour,” says Iwaizumi, looking up from his phone again.

“It’s just one of those days, you know? Maybe I can try studying later tonight or something, but bottom line is that I can’t be productive right now.”

“Fine. What do you want to do instead?” Iwaizumi puts his phone down and looks plainly at you.

“I didn’t think I’d get this far,” you say to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear. “Well, I guess for starters, can you scoot over to the side a little?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says without missing a beat.

“Aw, come on,” you whine. You know it’s childish and are very aware that it bothers Iwaizumi when you’re like this, so you do it a little more to egg him on. “If the situation was switched and a pretty girl was behind me, I’d gladly move to the side for you!”

“If you want to look at some guy so bad, just look at me.”

You want to protest but a different idea comes to mind.

“Fine,” you say and lean forward to prop both elbows onto the table in front of you, cupping your own face as you stare at him.

Iwaizumi looks at you questioningly, his eyebrows furrowed but you notice the slightest tint in his face to betray the unimpressed expression on his face.

“You look like a dumbass,” he says, not looking you in the eye as you blink innocently at him.

“You know, after all this time, I think I just realized your eyes are kinda green,” you say, ignoring his statement.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” Iwaizumi also doesn’t seem to have a problem ignoring your statements.

“Keep what up?” You can’t help but smile smugly at him.

Iwaizumi inhales deeply before he also leans forward to mirror your position, his face dangerously close to yours. You never realized how small the table between the two of you was and now it’s your turn to blush.

“I can sit here all day like this if you want,” he teases, a confident smirk plastered on his face. He still can’t meet your eyes for too long before he has to look away, but you don’t mind because suddenly, you are also having trouble maintaining eye contact with him.

“Maybe not all day,” you say, doing your best to not look fazed by any of this. You’re also feeling very aware of how the two of you must look to other onlookers and can’t help but feel the embarrassment heat your face up even more.

“You can always give up first,” he taunts, maintaining his smirk.

You internally curse his stubborn resolve and the fact that you are able to match it, refusing to give up first.

“The more I look at them, the prettier your eyes seem to be,” you decide to use a different approach in getting him to give up first.

“That’s not going to work on me,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

“Wow, do people just tell you that all the time then? Must be nice.”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to notice,” he retorts.

“Clearly, I’m not the most observant person in the world,” you push your lower lip out just the slightest bit to form a small pout. The flicker of his eyes to your lips does not escape you.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he says. “Something can be painfully obvious and in front of you and you still wouldn’t notice because you’re just that dense.”

“Pfft, notice something like what?” You frown, furrowing your eyebrows. Sure, sometimes you were a little clueless, but you didn’t go as far as to consider yourself dense.

“Like a test or quiz answer—”

“Lame. Everyone misses things like that from time to time,” you scoff.

“—or if someone likes you.”

“Well, someone has to like me in order for me to notice that kind of stuff,” you retort back.

“You’re literally not seeing it right now and it’s right in front of you,” Iwaizumi frowns, unable to look you in the eye.

You feel like you’re catching onto what he’s saying now but decide once more to give him a hard time just to confirm your thoughts.

“Wait, do you think the guy behind you is into me then?”

You see the irritation on Iwaizumi’s face and do your best to not laugh.

“Forget I even said anything,” he scowls as his eyes fix onto something behind you.

“If I’m dense, then maybe you can just enlighten me,” you say, your eyes searching his face for any signs that he might be upset with you, just in case. He just seems a little dejected.

“There’s no point,” Iwaizumi sighs. “Maybe the guy behind me can tell you for me.”

“Wait, I was just teasing you,” you pout your lips slightly again leaning to the side to get into his view. You hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings or anything. “Just tell me.”

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he grumbles as he looks away from you again.

“You can tell me anything, Iwaizumi,” you say, removing one hand from your face to reach over and poke his arm. Sometimes you forget how toned and solid his arms are.

“You’re just giving me a hard time now, aren’t you?” Iwaizumi looks at you skeptically and you can’t resist the small grin on your face. “You’re a crappy person, you know that?”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you whine, your grin leaving your lips as quickly as it came. “You still haven’t told me.”

“Should I spell it out for you?”

“If that’s the method you choose, I won’t stop you,” you shrug as you bring your hand back to cup your face. Iwaizumi gives you a look, unamused.

“I like you.”

Your hunch is confirmed but hearing it out loud from him makes you feel different.

“Can you say that again?”

“No,” Iwaizumi frowns as he relents, dropping his arms and leaning back, looking away from you. You can see his cheeks and ears are reddening by the second and can’t resist the smile on your face.

“I guess I am pretty dense when it comes to that stuff,” you say as you also drop your arms and sit up straight. “On a serious note, can I have some time to process that?”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi nods as he grabs his coffee cup, getting ready to stand. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?” You look at him with curious eyes.

“Do you not want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” you shake your head. “If anything, can you just tell me again? I want to make sure I heard you right the first time.”

“You really are a crappy person,” Iwaizumi says, but you can see the small smile on his lips. “You would’ve gotten along well with my friend Oikawa.”

“Ah! That’s his name!”

[punkpoemprose]

Go Figure- A Kristanna Oneshot

Universe: Art Student/ College AU Length: 2600 Rating: T (I mean there’s nudity and... descriptions... y’all can handle it I’m sure)

Notes: Happy Unbirthday Emma @epbaker! I finally finished that art student/ figure model AU for you. I know I’ve been promising it forever, so here it is! I hope you like it!

Anna yawned as she walked across campus. The art building was mere steps from her dorm, but she’d met a friend for lunch in the science building’s café, had ended up spending a bit too long chatting and subsequently was running late, too late at least to catch the bus across campus. It was not, however, so late that she couldn’t make it across campus on foot, and she was making a valiant effort at it.

The weather was pleasant, the sun was warm on her face and someone was sitting on a low wall outside campus center with a guitar, strumming “somewhere over the rainbow” while being kind enough not to sing it.

All was well in the world, until, that was, a rather strong gust of wind rolled off the Fjord, struck her portfolio and sent her sailing straight into the largest man she’d ever seen. Well, not the largest she’d ever seen really, but the largest she’d ever run directly into, which was saying something as, despite her best intentions, Anna had a bad habit of running directly into people fairly often. The apology she always had prepared slipped from her lips.

“I’m so sorry!” she said as she tried to steer herself and her oversized portfolio away from the man at her side. “I’m so clumsy, I didn’t mean to…”

She paused when she felt his hand wrap around her portfolio handle, two fingers were just on the other side of her four as he turned the whole thing long so as to not catch the wind again. When she looked up to thank him, her mouth went dry. He was not a particularly “pretty” man like many of the guys she had classes with, but he was handsome and looking mildly annoyed.

“I’s fine,” he responded gruffly, releasing the handle and continuing ahead of her, his long legs carrying him along a lot more expediently than her own could manage.

She knew her cheeks were flushed, and she stood, for a moment, to collect herself and watch him get lost in the crush of bodies heading towards the art building.

She made a sound of annoyance under her breath, deciding that she didn’t like people who didn’t take her clumsiness in stride. It wasn’t really her fault this time anyhow, and while he has said that it was fine, his face and his quick walk off hardly said the same.

“Probably a Grad Student,” she decided, mumbling under her breath, “they’re always crabby. Maybe a music major, they’re the worst.”

She sent a mental apology to the “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” guy but decided that as he wasn’t singing, he probably wasn’t a music major anyhow. Music majors always sang, whether they were any good or not. It didn’t matter to them, and their favorite captive audience tended to be anyone on campus who wasn’t in the library and who couldn’t run. Music theory master’s student, the truest breed of asshole in the building, was what she ultimately decided on before regripping her portfolio and heading up into the building.

She found her seat in the studio with a grateful sigh. She’d managed at least, not to bump into anyone else. She did secretly like the idea of bumping into Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome again. Despite his crabbiness, or what she’d perceived as crabbiness, he was nice to look at, and Anna nefariously thought that if nothing else it might be fun to mildly inconvenience him again.

She let the thought fade into the back of her mind with other daydreams like getting Chinese for dinner instead of dining hall food and talking Residence Life and Housing into letting her bring her cat Olaf to campus as her “therapy animal”. God knew she needed one with all the stress she’d been under between classes and trying to live up to her family’s expectations of her meanwhile.

“Good afternoon class,” he professor called as she started pulling her supplies out of her bag. “I think I told you last week we’d be starting life drawing from models this week, so I want you all to turn your attention to the center of the room where our model will be joining us in just a moment. His name is Kristoff and I expect you all to be professional and work at your most efficient speed. We don’t want him holding a pose too long, you wouldn’t think it, but it can get quite uncomfortable.”

Anna had been looking forward to this unit. She still wasn’t exactly certain of what she wanted to do with her art degree, but she was leaning towards being a medical illustrator, so finally getting to draw actual bodies instead of working from photographs was an exciting prospect.

She pulled her sketchbook out as well as the conte crayons that were already her worst enemy. It seemed like every time she went to use them she snapped them under her fingers. She was going to ask her professor after class if he would mind her switching to charcoal pencil for next class. She knew that it was her fault for pressing too hard, but her hands just always seemed to work better with a pencil or marker than with small waxy fragile things. Chalk and vine charcoal likewise hated her.

“Okay, you all set Kristoff?” her professor said, “Alright, whatever is most comfortable for you. Perfect! Okay, we’re just going to do some quick gestures first so we’re going to do five minutes…”

A groan came from the assembled students, and Anna almost chuckled, finishing getting herself together as her professor quieted the dissention with reminders that they’d been warned they wouldn’t have long and that they were going to do some longer poses towards the end of class. He was saying something about warm ups and how he was starting the clock now.

Anna pulled out one of the lighter crayons to start with and looked up to the model.

The crayon snapped and fell to the floor, crunched in her grip when she realized that the man standing before her was very familiar. Not only that but that he was very familiar and very naked.

Her heart raced, her eyes went wide, and she wished more than anything that she had taken another seat. Oh to be one of her classmates that wasn’t facing Mr. Tall-Dark-In-A-Gloomy-Way-And-Handsome’s face… and perhaps worse than that, his manhood.

The brief thought she’d had while climbing the stairs to the studio that he was rude because he was compensating for “something” was whisked from her thoughts as she was faced with that particular part of his figure. She knew her face was growing hot, and that he caught her eye made her feel like deflating completely into her chair. Recognition sparked in his eye, and then she saw the slightest shift in his own expression towards embarrassment.

She could hear minutes ticking down in the back of her head, forcing herself to keep looking at him, but not to think about anything other than taking what she saw and put it to paper. She scrambled to pick up the broken bits of crayon and press the nub she managed to collect into the paper. This, she decided, was going to be the longest class of her life.

***

When they had taken a break, Anna had excused herself from the room before she could catch their model, Kristoff’s eyes again. He was slipping a robe on when she made her escape. She felt his eyes on her as she left the room, and when she’d returned, he’d met her eyes as she reentered the room. She thought that maybe he’d wanted to say something to her, but she didn’t give him the opportunity to say it.

Now though, as class was ending and he was redressing, she didn’t have much of a say in whether or not he’d be able to say something to her. Her professor had seen her conte crayon incident and was discussing the importance of pressure and tool use to her. He was, also suggesting, much to Anna’s relief, that she start using a toned charcoal pencil set instead of the crayons in order to increase her productivity.

She had only a few sketches, and all of them were as much a mess as she felt. Her professor was kindly, telling her how the first figure drawing class with nude models was always stressful and that she’d do better next time, when she saw Kristoff, the model, staring at her, fully clothed.

She nodded to her professor appreciatively and told him that she’d look into the pencil set and that she appreciated his feedback and that she’d see him next week, when she saw him slipping from the room and into the hall. It was a small mercy, she supposed, that he, Kristoff, didn’t want to talk to her after all. She supposed that there was plenty he could say to her “you shouldn’t be so clumsy with your portfolio you could have hurt someone”, “your crayon falling on the floor ruined my focus”, “you probably would have gotten more work done if you weren’t constantly in a battle to look at and to not look at my dick”. She flushed at the thought as her professor released her and she was able to walk out with her things. She didn’t have another class for the day, so she fully planned to collapse on her crappy college dorm mattress and bemoan her inability to be a normal person.

He was in the hall when she walked out, looking sheepish, and totally un-asshole-ish, which made her wish that he was the jerk that she’d made him out to be before class. It would be easier to draw him next class if she just didn’t like him and was hate drawing him. She’d even take any points off her professor wanted to take if she drew him the with tiniest dick on the planet, a clear and evident incorrect detail.

“Hey… uh… Anna?”

She had thought about walking straight past him, making those muscled legs chase after her if he really wanted to talk, but the expression on his face was nervous and shy and she found herself unable to do any such thing. She realized that he must have heard her professor call her over, or maybe he’d asked a classmate for her name during the break. She certainly hadn’t given it to him.

“Yes?” she said, trying her best not to scowl or smile, both of which felt like logical expressions in reaction to him. Her brain was battling between how to treat “jerk who didn’t have the time to deal with her in the quad” and “attractive and shy guy standing in front of her in a tight fitting shirt that barely hid the strong muscled form she knew to be underneath” in a way that felt logical and satisfying.

He looked down at his shoes, pushing off from the wall he’d been half leaned against, waiting for her to walk out. It struck her as a sort of nervous motion, like he hadn’t really thought this far ahead and like he was much less smooth than he’d like to be. It was enough to make a smile ghost on her lips.

“I… I’m sorry about earlier… in the quad. I was late… I commute and my truck had problems and… you probably don’t care about that… I just, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for acting so annoyed with you. I’m just… not really good with people, even when I’m not upset. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you though. I should have said that it was okay.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was a small one, and she did her best to cover it.

“No, don’t… Look I’m really clumsy, I shouldn’t have expected for you to say it was fine. I’m sorry too.”

He was standing close, he towered her, but she wasn’t intimidated. She could tell now that she was seeing him as he was, as he usually was at least. He seemed a little shy, a little nervous, but kind, and it made her wish she hadn’t been so mean earlier, even if it was mostly just in her thoughts.

“Can you answer a question for me though?” she asked, unwilling to help herself.

“I.. yes. Sure.”

She smiled at him, trying to give him the warmth she probably should have given him from the start.

“What’s your major?”

He seemed surprised by the question, but quickly answered, “Pre-vet.”

Oh, she liked that. Not pretentious… at least not nearly as much as she thought music majors were. He looked a little bit older than her, so she wondered if he was a senior or just had gotten a late start to still be “pre-vet” instead of on the vet track. It didn’t really matter she decided. He already liked him.

“Can I ask you something too?” he said, seeming nervous again, even when she assented with a nod.

“Can I get you a coffee or something… you know… because I want to apologize. Not because I…”

He trailed off and she watched him brush a hand through his mussed blonde hair. A part of her had wanted to comb her hand through it while he’d been standing there, naked in the classroom when she’d been trying to decide whether she didn’t like him or whether she found him insanely attractive.

“Not because you…?”

She saw the flush on his cheeks and she felt like she was missing something that she should have caught.

He seemed confused for a moment, and then he flushed harder, avoiding her eye as she looked up at him.

“Oh… I didn’t think… I figured you’d noticed and that was why you’d left during the break?”

She shook her head, trying to think what he thought her motivations could have been other than her annoyance about their interaction outside.

“I… well… I was staring and… you’re very beautiful… and…”

She snorted, “I spent a whole class drawing you naked, why would I be annoyed that you were looking at me when I was trying not to stare at your… Oh.”

She put two and two together in that moment. She had done a lot of staring and trying not to stare at a certain part of his anatomy, and she supposed that she might have just not noticed a certain… change in him while she was drawing.

She thought that she might combust. He was standing a bit uncomfortably, she supposed it made sense, she’d just not connected the signs until he said something.

“Coffee… coffee would be nice,” she said, face hot and voice squeaking out of her throat. “But I think I should buy… sorry about that.”

He gave a little half shrug, red as a tomato himself. “It’s not something you should be sorry about I should have…”

She giggled then, unable to help herself, “No, no. I’m flattered, really! And I mean… I guess if I knew that all it took to get someone this nice and this attractive interested was to smack them with my portfolio…”

He laughed then, a warm sound that made her feel like she was melting on the spot.

“I guess I’m lucky you didn’t. Because now we get to have coffee, and maybe talk a little?”

She smiled and kicked out her portfolio with her toe, bumping it into his side again, before walking down the hall, knowing he’d follow.

[ad-dictionary]

Sincerely Us Gift Exchange

Due to the amazing gift exchange set up by @sincerely-us​, I had to give a gift to @djbead123​.

Prompt 4:”Mayphaps some sincerely three? Idk a streaming au where the boys are gamers and they're just playing minecraft while broadcasting and genuinely have a good time while doing so! “

Oh lord this is bad. 

In terms of not-as-crappy stuff, I also wrote something for you’re first prompt too!

Prompt 1:”Ok uh! Connor and Alana going on their first date, things go well until rains then they have to go in a building for shelter. Connor feels bad about the date being ruined but Alana reassures him that things are good!”

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25509256

---

Alana stares at the mirror, her reflection. It proves a formidable opponent. 

But that doesn't mean it isn’t the first look away.

Ha.

She adjusts her blazer. The movement is swift and purposeful. She isn’t one to unnecessarily fidget with her outfit.

She looks nice. Her braids are freshly done, and her blouse is ironed and washed. Jared convinced her to wear a looser, paneled skirt instead of her usual pencil. Alana thought she would look like a school-girl. Jared had proved her wrong once again. He’s smart like that.

Hopefully he was about to do it again. 

It was Jared’s idea at first. He said the boy, this Connor, was a perfect fit for her. They were smart, liked similar books, and were both a (lovable) pain in his ass, in the words of Jared himself.

Alana couldn’t help but bring up the fact that dates set up by mutual friends only have a seventeen percent success rate. And Jared couldn’t help but tell her to shut the fuck up. Evan, after scolding his boyfriend, assured her she would have fun. 

She wasn’t so sure.

So she goes.

***

Connor’s not... unattractive. He’s tall, and his hair comes down to his shoulders. It’s not gelled back, and it's dark and flings across his face without any precision or care. He looks so ruffled, everything from his light grey button-up with it’s rolled up sleeves to his bright red tie. She’s almost positive he tied it Prince Albert style, instead of the usual Kelvin. She then decides she doesn’t like him. He’s too wild, too out of her comfort zone. She does admit they would look good together. They would balance each other out, she thinks. But that would never happen.

Jared would lose this one. 

But as she looks, her breath hitches, and he seems so perfect, so in place, yet so obviously unconstrained and unbending. She wonders for a moment what those long fingers would look wrapped around her own. She tries to stop looking, but she can’t. He stares right back. 

She wonders a bit more, and goes.

***

Dinner’s nice. They make polite conversation, bordering on everything they want to say but won’t. When she asks about his favorite books, he lights up, and Alana falls a little more. 

“Have you ever read The Little Prince?” 

“Yes.” Of course she had. It’s considered a cult classic. Who would she be, not reading when she considers herself a thorough reader?

“Important question. Do you think the prince died, or returned home?”

Well shit. 

“I’m not sure.”

“I think he died. The pilot couldn’t find the body because he was an adult, one of the grown-ups who ride the trains of the conductor maybe. Think about it, the book is partially about the narrator learning to be a kid again. The fact that he couldn’t find the body shows that he didn’t really learn anything. Assuming the prince is the symbolic personification of the perspective of a child.”

“That’s…. dark…”

“What, the fact he didn’t learn anything or the fact he died?”

“Both”

“Maybe”

The food comes, and they don’t say anything until after they leave the restaurant, when Connor points to the carnival a few blocks away and challenges her to a round of ring toss, winner buys the other funnel cake.

“Alright.”

They go, and Connor wins, (Barely, Alana would argue), but he gives her the stuffed bear he wins. She does buy him funnel cake, though.

They’re walking past brightly colored stalls offering everything from sweets to face paint when Alana speaks.  

“Maybe the prince didn’t die.”

Connor looks at her.

“Maybe the prince made it home, back to his rose, and the man knew it. Maybe that's why he asked for immediate contact if someone found a boy with gold curls. Although you could argue he put out the notice because he didn’t really learn anything. He’s always trying to recreate moments, instead of just enjoying the ones that happened. Or maybe the notice was really for the body, because he said the boy wouldn’t answer any questions. Because, you know, he would be a corpse. You could also say he put it out because, no matter how much he loved the rose, he was still a child, and his curiosity would eventually get the better of him. But, of course, you have to take into account the fox, who said the rose was special and unique, because the prince had ‘tamed’ her, so maybe he would have been satisfied.”

Connor just stares, the faint outline of a smile on his lips.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You’re like a Dr. Seuss book, constantly contradicting yourself yet somehow always having a deeper meaning.”

“Oh.” She smiles.

“‘Alana-I-am’, or what about “Alana Montana’?”

Alana tries to quiet the butterflies in her chest, but to no avail.

“I can picture it now ‘Alana Beck, you are a very queer quandary.’”

And she can’t help it, but she laughs. She laughs until she has no more laughs in her. And he laughs right with her. 

The rest of the night is spent laughing and talking. Before it started raining.

By now they’re on the Ferris Wheel. They were just reaching the top when a voice came over the carnival speakers.

“We are currently experiencing light showers this evening. Until they end, all rides will be temporarily stopped. We thank you for your cooperation.”

Connor snorts.

“They make it sound like we’ll be up here a while.”

“We will.” Alana says.

She makes a mistake you’re never supposed to make while at the top of a Ferris Wheel with a boy you just met. She looks in his eyes. 

It wouldn’t have been her first kiss. Her first was with a boy named Thomas behind the slides in fourth grade. Her classmates teased them about liking each other, so one day they just did it. They went behind the green dinosaur slide on the playground, and mashed their faces together. He tasted like cheeto puffs and apple juice. It wasn’t fun. 

But she kisses Connor anyway. 

There is no boom, her heart doesn’t throb and beat against her ribs like it’s in a cage. Instead she feels safe, secure, and completely in control.

Until he kisses back. 

The boom bounces off her chest and pounds at her head. Her heart beats and throbs in all the places it shouldn’t, and she can’t seem to let go. Her hands are in his hair. And his own are on her waist. She kisses him like she needs it, and she does. He kisses her like he doesn’t know why he can’t seem to stop. She doesn’t let their lips part until their both gasping for air, foreheads pressed against each other. 

“You, Alana Beck, are a very queer quandary.”

“You’re killing the moment.”

“My bad” And he closes the gap again. 

[ask-marcus-cally-and-ari]

Only Human

Chapter 7: Crappy Room, Crappy Day

Marcus was surprised to find that he was the first one to wake up. He liked sleeping in late. But no, he had to be up early. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes and blinked before looking down at his companions. 

Ari was on their side, sleeping peacefully. Cally had somehow ended up with her body in a weird position and an embarrassing bedhead. Marcus snickered a little as he got dressed, then looked out the window at the small town he and his friends had stopped at. 

It was small, simple. He could see the town hall from his window. It also seemed quiet; usually, there would be, like, 30 cars on the road out any hotel window he happened to look out. Instead, there were two. Only two. Marcus smiled at the sight. This town was clearly in the middle of nowhere; they were safe here. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to practice using his powers (which he still wasn’t sure he liked having; his Glock was much more reliable) just in case. So he sat on the bed and started focusing. His hands lit up with red and green energy, and a matching orb flickered into existence above Cally and Ari. 

It was so weird seeing an energy construct obey his mental commands as he made it move and twist, taking different forms. It also felt weird, and Marcus found himself almost dizzy within two minutes. He clenched his fists, causing the object to shatter, waking Ari up at the sound. 

“What the... huh... oh. Morning, Marcus,” He said groggily, sitting up. “Sleep well?” 

“Yeah,” came the reply. “Just up in here trying to figure out how to use these… superpowers. Holy sh*t, I still can’t believe I have to say that. Some fool attacks me and I get saddled with this.” 

Ari frowned. “Yeah. Who was he, anyway?” 

“Doesn’t matter. I shot him. Twice. Can’t nobody come after us again after that.” 

Ari nodded. “Good.” 

“So what do ya want to do? I mean, there can’t be much to do around here.” 

“We could go out. I know those girls wanted autographs. And we can listen to them sing.” 

Marcus sighed. “A bunch of girls saw us be attacked. How does this get us fame?” 

“I don’t know. Hopefully, they didn’t, like, post about us on Fakebook or something.” 

“I hope not,” Marcus smiled, ruffling Ari’s hair. “They didn’t get our good sides.” 

The two shared a laugh as Ari got dressed. 

The girls were singing "Circle of Life" when Marcus and Ari got down to them. "Hey," smiled Marcus. "Mind if we watch?" 

The girls squealed and crowded around the pair. 

Cally woke up and her friends were gone, only leaving her a note. 

Hey Cal, 

Went to go see if the choir girls are practicing. Not much else to do. Come join us when you finally get your a** out of bed. 

Marcus and Ari.

Cally sighed. “I should, shouldn’t I? But…” The place was dark, and it was far from their car. There needed to be an escape plan. So, grabbing a notebook and pencil, the intelligent teen got to work mapping out the place. 

There were three routes out Cally could see. One was out the window. The least favorable route, but the quickest. It was just one floor down. The second was out the door. If there was some way she could distract an attacker, her friends could move past whoever it was and run. The third was through the trapdoor in the corner, which Cally thought was a laundry chute. Man, she hated this place's layout, but it was a viable escape option. Easy. All she needed were supplies. So, grabbing her purse and getting dressed, she headed out. 

Marcus and Ari spent the day singing with the choir girls and even giving a couple pointers, and when they left that room, Marcus decided to go to a nearby restaurant and get himself, Ari, and Cally some food. “You go back to the hotel room, eh?” 

Ari nodded and headed back. On her way back, he happened to notice a weird guy with a brown hat, a red shirt, and a probably leather vest having trouble with a vending machine. Against their better judgement, Ari decided that it would be wrong to not help him out and came over. “Trouble?” she asked, hands in his pockets. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah. This d@mn machine won’t work,” the man grumbled, gesturing to the glass. A bag of Doritos was lodged awkwardly in the springs, keeping it from dropping down. 

Ari shrugged. “I could go for Doritos. I can just get another one and yours will drop.” As they entered the number in, she asked, “So your accent is funny- uh, interesting. Are you from, like, Australia or England?” 

“Australia,” the man replied. He crouched down and got the two bags out as they dropped, handing Ari one. “Where’re you from? Never seen you around town.” 

“I’m a runaway,” Ari sighed. “From Smallville. Where that video of One Punch Marksman was filmed.” 

“Oh, you’re that kid? Hardly recognized ya. Granted, that video doesn’t exactly have the best quality.” 

“No, I’m not. That’s a friend of mine. We had to run away because of it,” Ari sighed as she opened the bag. “I don’t even know why they don’t like us. I think it’s, like, the mafia or something and my friend said they were after our other friend. And he got a magic tattoo.” 

“Magic tattoos? Now there’s something you don’t hear everyday,” the Aussie said, peering at Ari. 

“Yeah. It’s of a red fist and it says ‘body’ in big, red letters. And he has superpowers now.” Ari sat on a bench in the hotel. “He doesn’t like them, though. He says his gun is good enough. And given that he got rid of the bad guy trying to kill him with it, I don’t blame him.” 

“Change can be scary for a lot of people,” the man shrugged. 

“Yeah. And he thinks that bad guy cursed him or something. If he was still alive, I’d ask what the big deal was that made him and his friends want us dead,” Ari sighed. “But it’s not like you can come back from the dead.” 

“Who knows. We live in strange times,” the man replied dryly. 

“True. I just want this to end,” whined the teen. “But it’s not fair to you for me to just dump all this on you; I should go. Thanks for listening, mister…?” 

“...Brutus.” 

“That’s funny,” Ari giggled. “I’m Ari. Nice to meet you.” 

“Likewise,” the man grinned, and Ari went back upstairs where they found Cally drawing out a layout of the motel.

“Hey Ari,” Cally greeted, not looking up from the sketch.

“What’re you doing?”

“Making a map. We need a way out if anything decides to blow up while we’re here.”

“Isn’t that a little much?” 

“Nothing is too much. We’re watching for superhuman people who want to kill us.” Cally finished the map and started writing out escape plans. “Where’s Marcus?” 

“Getting dinner. He was thinking of McDonnie's.” 

“Sounds good.” 

When Marcus returned, he happened to see a man in a suit carrying a tank around the side of the building. “People are idiots,” he mumbled under his breath as he headed back into the hotel with the food. 

When he came into the hotel room, he found Cally setting up what looked like a makeshift bear trap at the door.

“Oh, hey Marcus. Watch where you’re stepping, this thing can take off your leg in an instant.”

“Why are you putting a bear trap at the door!?” Marcus exclaimed, bewildered.

“Safety precaution. What if those weirdos come after us again?”

"HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THAT?!" 

"I traded for it." 

Marcus stared. "I don't even want to know. Anything happen while I was out?" 

"I met a guy with a weird accent. Had trouble with the machine, so I helped him out," beamed Ari. 

"Of course," Marcus chuckled. 

"Okay, I have three viable escape options here. I wrote them out for you. If someone attacks us, we use whichever one is closest." 

Marcus nodded. "Sure thing, Cal," he replied, boredly taking a note. 

About five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. 

Marcus blanched. "Wh-who is it?" 

Ari headed over to the door, watching their feet so they didn't touch the bear trap. She peered through the peephole in the door. "Huh? Oh, it's Funny Accent Guy! He looks different." 

"Different how?" Marcus asked, hand already going for his gun. 

"Well, I- wait. He just disappeared,” Ari frowned and opened the door, revealing that there was no one on the other side.

"WHAT?! WHERE DID HE GO?!" Cally shrieked. 

Marcus looked up, turned white, and pointed his gun at the ceiling. 

"HOW ARE YOU HERE?! I SHOT YOU!" 

Cally and Ari looked up, and Cally grabbed Ari's hand, pulling him behind her. 

“‘Ello there!” Brutal laughed, dropping down from the ceiling. “Did ya miss me?”

“Like I’d miss cancer! WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK?! I SHOT YOU! TWICE!” Marcus shrieked the question, pointing his gun at the Freak. 

"Maybe you should have emptied the clip on him," Cally said dryly before remembering that she was in danger. 

“Still wouldn’t have done anything to me,” Brutal chuckled, brandishing his shiv. 

Ari whimpered, and Cally held them. "Relax, Ar, everything's fine." 

Marcus, gun still trained on the Freak, glared. "The hell do you mean?!" 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Respawn before,” Brutal glowered, stepping closer to the trio. 

"Like a video game?" Cally asked. "How can you- Gah!" 

Ari held their arm, and Cally held her cheek as searing agony rushed through them and the sound of flesh burning got Marcus and Brutal's attention. 

Marcus turned. "Are you two alright? What happened?" 

Ari moved her hand, revealing a tattoo on his forearm. A beautiful swirly heart, along with the word HEART in lovely cursive. 

Cally moved her hand, revealing a rather computer like depiction of a brain, along with the word BRAIN in digital lettering. 

Marcus glanced at his own tattoo, and the three stared at each other, confused. 

“So I was right,” Brutal huffed, glaring at the symbols. 

"Right about what?" Ari whined, moving so he was behind Marcus and Cally. 

“Right about going after you three. You may not know it yet, but you’re real important to Freaks like me right now. Important enough for me to personally come after you.” 

Marcus glared, racking the slide on his gun. "What could three teenagers possibly have what you need?" He growled. Cally was busy looking for which exit would be safest.

“You three are the biggest roadblocks standing in the way of me and people like me turning everyone in the world into Freaks like us.” 

"You mean, like, they get superpowers?" Ari asked innocently. 

“They do. If they don’t mind going insane, that is,” Brutal replied coldly, palming the blade of his shiv in one hand. 

Ari whimpered, shuddering. "Why do you want to do that?" 

“Why not? Freaks like me shouldn’t be the only ones who get to enjoy this existence.” Brutal began to advance on the trio. “And you three are the biggest obstacles standing in my way of doing just that.” 

Marcus hissed. "Look, pal, I'm fine with you hurting me, but you stay the hell away from Cal and Ari. They didn't do a d@mn thing to you." 

“But they will soon. And so will you. And that’s why I need all three of you out of the d@mn picture.”

Marcus scowled. "I'm pointing a gun at you. And I already got you once. Back. Up." 

Ari whined, almost curling up. "What could we possibly do? We're kids!" 

Cally, as calmly as she could, reached into her pocket, pulled out a remote, and hit the button, and bright lights went off, blinding Brutal and Marcus. "Say cheese." 

“GAH! Why you little-!” Brutal swore, and then randomly lunged at the teens, hoping to catch one with his shiv.

He barely missed Ari, who looked behind her. "We have to tell the choir to get out of here. They could get hurt!" 

"Ar, we barely have enough time to get our @$&es out of here!" Marcus shouted. 

"But we can't just let this guy hurt them! That would be wrong!" 

Cally sighed. "Ari is right. Your gun is loaded, so hopefully you should be able to get anyone else here to back off." 

Marcus nodded. "Fine. Let's make it quick." 

The three pushd past a still blinded Brutal and bolted down the hall towards the ramshackle room that the choir used as a meeting room, where the lights were still on. Which meant the choir was still there. 

Ari went to open the door- and it was locked. "Oh no…" 

“You’ve got to be kidding me-!” Marcus grunted, shoving the door. “Hey! Hey! Open up! You guys are in danger!” He shouted, banging his fist on the door.

Cally grabbed a plastic card. "Look, maybe I can pick the lock and- WHAT IS THAT?!" 

A black cloud was slowly creeping into the room with the girls. They didn't seem to notice- yet. Which meant Cally had time. She hoped. As Marcus beat on the door, she worked the lock, hoping that she could get that door open before it was too late. 

“Come on - Open d@mmit! Open!” Marcus shouted. “Ari, give me your hair pin. I’m gonna try and pick the lock.” 

"WHAT DO YOU THINK I'M DOING?!" Cally screamed, furiously working. Ari handed Marcus the hairpin anyway, and he joined his nerdy friend at the lock, both of them working on it. 

There was coughing, and then Ari's eyes widened at the door. "Fear," he whispered, putting her hands to their mouth as he fell to her knees, eyes and tattoo glowing. "I can feel it. In there. They're scared… So scared…" 

“Ari?” Marcus looked away from the lock. “A-Ari, are you ok?”

"So scared… So scared," Ari repeated, the blue beginning to spread through their veins. "They're scared… Help them! Please! HELP THEM!!!" 

Cally winced. "We're trying, Ari! We'll get them out!" 

Cally and Marcus froze in terror as a chorus of screams rang from the door. The sound of chairs and tables being tossed aside erupted from the room, and the choir began banging on the door, screaming and begging to be let out. 

Ari screamed in what seemed to be agony, and Cally, now a sickening pale, went right back to work on the door. Marcus happened to see Brutal storming towards the Trio and roared, "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO THEM?!" 

“Exactly what I’m gonna do to the rest of this d@mn planet!” 

Ari, eyes a bright blue, shrieked again, and Cally looked at her. "Marcus, we have to get out of here." 

"After what he just did?!" Marcus scowled, gun pointed at Brutal. 

"Look at Ari. This is hurting her. If we really are supposed to stop this and this guy isn't a raving lunatic, which I haven't ruled out, then we can't risk anything. And if the screams are anything to go by, it's too late for these girls." 

Marcus glared hatefully at Brutal, then shot out the lights. "Let's go!" he shouted, picking up the agonized Ari. 

The three made their way to Marcus's van, where they were quick to get inside- and quicker to panic when they heard gunshots and popping. Which meant that someone had just shot out their tires. 

"HOLY SH@T! WHAT WAS THAT?!" Marcus shouted, pulling his gun and sticking his head outside. 

“You’re not going anywhere!” A voice called out, carrying a noticeable French accent, which meant that Brutal wasn’t alone. 

Ari, who was no longer in pain, albeit weakened, managed, "Wh-who are you?" 

Marcus, just to be sure, moved to shield Ari from the new arrival before raising his Glock back up. "Rude to just ignore a question, punk." 

The newcomer aimed his own revolver at Marcus. “Name’s Gentlespy. I’m a friend of Brutal,” He answered, leering at Marcus. 

"Any friend of his is an enemy of mine," Marcus snapped. 

Cally looked around the van for anything that could be used to help them escape. 

Ari looked weakly at Gentlespy. "You're a bad guy, too, huh? What a bad day," he whined, holding her head. 

Marcus grumbled something under his breath before asking, “So I can assume you’re here to kill us, too?” 

“What gave that away?” Cally asked dryly. “The gun he’s pointing at us or the fact that he shot out our tires?” 

"I'm sorry for being a little off when two lunatics are trying to kill us!" Marcus shot back. 

Ari made a squeaky noise of protest, and Marcus turned cold, remembering where they were. "Okay… so. Your boyfriend didn't give us a straight answer. What's the angle to… what happened in there?" 

“Didn’t he tell you? We’re turning people into Freaks like us,” Gentle sneered, stepping closer to Marcus.

"The angle means why, stupid," Marcus scowled, hands alight with red power. 

“Why? Because if we do, there’ll no longer be any consequences for us. Freaks will be able to run around and do whatever they please, as we did before organizations like HECU came around. Brutal calls them ‘partycrashers.’”

“I’ve got a couple things to call him,” Marcus snarled. 

“Too bad you’ll never get the chance,” Gentle glowered. He cocked his revolver and aimed right at Marcus’ head. “Any last words?” 

Marcus opened his mouth to reply, and the red energy suddenly formed a ball around him, Cally, and Ari. “WHAT THE-” 

Cally stared. “WHAT IS THAT?!” 

“DO YOU THINK I KNOW?!” 

The ball suddenly started rolling by itself, and Gentle had to move so he was out of the way. 

“Hey - HEY! GET BACK HERE!” He shouted, sprinting after the ball. 

Marcus, recovering from his shock, started running, piloting the ball through the parking lot with a lot of panicked swearing. 

Cally and Ari ran, too, and together, they managed to get the ball away from the hotel and onto the road. 

Cars swerved and honked, and people started filming as the giant ball barreled down the road on its way out of town. Marcus looked behind him to make sure nobody was there, then panicked. “CRAP! SPEED UP!” 

A rusty truck with a few people Marcus and Cally didn't recognize was behind them, catching up fast. The three ran like they had never run before, out of the city and into a forest. Marcus turned back forward once they got there to see where to turn- and winced. 

"Sh@t." 

In front of the bubble was a very, very long drop. "Wh- do we stop?!" Cally asked. 

"I don't wanna be up here with them!" Ari whined, pointing behind them. 

Marcus clenched his teeth. "Same. Here's hoping there's a soft landing." Closing his eyes, he piloted the ball over the cliff. 

Cally, on the other hand, kept her eyes open. So she saw the long drop, saw the ball hit the ground, and saw the very large rock about to hit her head. 

And then saw nothing.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Seven

Masterlist

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 7: Bi Association

Chapter Summary: An accidental assumption leads to an emotional conversation. Being disasters is both a good and terrible thing to have in common.

Chapter Warnings: Talk of coming out, mentions of homophobia, mentions of past Steve/Bucky and past Steve/Peggy

Chapter Word Count: 3669

A/N: So at the beginning of the story I warned Reader/OFC is very definitely bisexual and that really comes into play here. I think this chapter was one of the ones that pushed me to keep OFC as an option for this story because coming out (or not) is a really personal thing. ‘Not all bi folk’ and whatnot. Otherwise, please enjoy these two doofs being terrible with real actual Emotions.

    Job hunting was annoying, but surprisingly fruitful.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. Why?” I asked and looked at him.

“Your playlists are a little…” He gave the next word a lot of thought. “…Heavy. Lately.”

Poor sweet summer child, I thought. Apparently Lamb of God had taught him nothing. “You said you like Rise Against.”

“I do.”

“So we’re branching out,” I said and went back to my doodling. “Slowly but surely, we’ll get you to branch out even more.”

���I guess– wait. ‘Slowly?’”

“How about you?” I asked, focused on my crummy little tree. “You’ve been a little out of it this week.”

I thought he’d brush me off. Instead I got silence. I lifted my head again and did a double-take at the way he stared at…well, nothing that I could see. After a few seconds he shook it off– literally. “It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t you have to go soon?”

I frowned at him. “If you don’t want to talk about it it’s okay; you don’t have to–” I caught sight of my phone and the clock numbers thereon. I jumped up. “Fuck!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he said calmly, and he held onto the rickety table while I threw my shit together. “It seems like you’re more reluctant to go back to work these days.”

Of course he noticed. But then, it was hard to be subtle when I dreaded ever seeing my boss in fear of him asking about how ‘It’ was going. I sighed, slung my bag on my shoulder, and faced Steve. “Work is…work. It gets like this sometimes.” I shrugged like it was nothing. “So if you’re ever looking for someone willing to be chucked at an evil alien or something…”

“I have your number,” he said, smiling at me, and I saluted and ran out.

~

There wasn’t much smiling over the next few days. For either of us. On at least two of those days I was setting up follow-ups and moping about being rejected from the perfect job. And on a day after that I went through most of my lunch break before I noticed that I had hardly spoken to Steve at all.

I then noticed that he was abnormally silent. He sat with his back even closer to the wall and had his sketchbook tilted up so that he was ensconced in his own little world. I watched him for a while. He ignored me and showed an unnerving lack of emotion. No concentrated frown or unhappy scowl, just…nothing.

“Hey,” I said gently. His hand slowed to a stop and after a deep breath he looked at me. Under such a dead stare I almost floundered– was it really my business?– but I managed to spit out, “Are you…okay?”

I should have asked him how he was but that was a mistake I realized too late. “Yes. I’m fine,” he said and went back to his dead-faced drawing.

I didn’t know how to follow up and it was very blatant that he didn’t want me to, so I went to put my second earbud in.

“But…thanks for asking.”

I hesitated but Steve showed no physical sign of having said anything. But just the words, even flat as they were, made me breathe a sigh of relief as I put my headphones in. Something was better than nothing.

~

We went through the same routine for the next several days. The next time I came in after that, though, he was sitting with a book, his sketchpad shut and sitting next to him, and at least an inch between his back and the wall.

Still, I was wary. “Hey,” I said as I sat down.

“Hi.”

He sounded…not normal, but not bad. Not exactly. Distant, sort of, in a way that I didn’t know if talking to him would be bothering him. But then his eyes flicked up and I tried to think of something to say. An apology for staring would have been nice, but a coherent string of non-creepy words didn’t make it from my brain to my mouth.

“I, um…” I held back a sigh and tried to think, damn it. It took me a bit but Steve waited patiently for me to spit it out. “I know I keep asking how you’re doing, and I-I don’t want to be annoying, so I’m– I’m fine to keep asking, if that’s okay with you, but…but it’s okay if you don’t want me to keep asking. I won’t be offended.”

He gave that some thought. “Is it selfish that I like being asked even though I don’t really want to answer?” he said at last.

“Personally I don’t think so,” I said. “But I also don’t think it’s bad to be a little selfish sometimes.” If he did, I didn’t know why in the world he ever associated with me.

His smile was small and sad. “I’m more selfish than most people want to believe.”

“Everyone is,” I said. “I know it might not be comforting, but…at least you're not alone?”

“In some ways,” he said, staring at his sketchbook. He rested his hand on it, slightly curved and gentle fingertips moving over it with short, light, absent strokes.

I was curious but I didn’t want to ask. Well, not directly. “Are you working on a project?”

He glanced at me and then looked back down at it. And kept looking.

“If you want to tell me to butt out–”

“I don’t.”

I shut up. Steve looked around the shop like he was checking for lurkers and eavesdroppers, but there was no one even close that I could see. He beckoned me to come closer so I hopped over to the chair next to him and scooted in.

He opened up his book to a portrait that was downright breathtaking. A man’s face was lovingly rendered in a mix of pencil and ink, and while the style was similar to Steve’s other drawings, it was so incredibly different just in the obvious amount of time and care spent on it.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve murmured, moving his hand to rest right next to the sly smile and fondly shining eyes. “Bucky. He was…my best friend; he was…”

The thing was– I was not completely ignorant of Steve’s past. He had been a very important figure in history: medical miracle, war hero, and walking tragedy. He had never caught my attention because the textbooks always made him sound so noble and red-blooded American male and boring. But I’d had a classmate-kind-of-friend who had been obsessed with him for a period of time and so I knew some things just by osmosis.

I had thought that, at least, but I really should have considered the source that information had come from. Anything school had fed me had gone in one ear and out the other but my sorta-friend had, at one point, gotten my attention with an aside about Steve likely being involved with his ‘best friend’ Bucky. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time beyond ‘good for him’ but years of being (lurking) in certain communities on the internet had really made it seem like a true-but-generally-unspoken thing. That, and the fact that he had said nothing because he was too busy stroking the drawing, made it pretty damn clear to me.

So I thought nothing of it when I tried to fill in the blank with, “Your boyfriend?”

It was…the absolute wrong thing to say.

Steve’s head snapped up and his face changed through expressions almost too fast to name– shock was one, anger was another, then–

“What did you say?”

His voice was not stern, or scolding, or panicked. It was…chilling. I didn’t know what the hell to make of it, but it scared me. I couldn’t even swallow, my mouth was so dry. “I–I’m sorry; I didn’t–”

He leaned in close. I leaned back, but I could only go so far. “Where did you hear that?” he said low and glanced around the room.

I became vaguely aware of the world around us and, thankfully, we were completely unnoticed. I breathed a sigh of relief but I still felt shaky. The guy could give a death stare like no one’s business. “It’s okay, no one heard–”

“Where?!”

I didn’t know how to answer that, though I scrambled to try, only to be cut off by the buzzing alarm on my phone. I cringed and tried to shut it up. I’d rather be late for my crappy job than leave things like this. “I– S-so I–”

“Go.”

Steve’s voice was dispassionate and calm and he sat back in his seat. He kept his eyes on the table and his hand lay flat on the sketchbook’s cover. I was frozen, stunned by his coldness, but he ignored me. I packed up, feeling sick and miserable, but before I left I stopped and tried to apologize. He glared at me with eyes that looked full of hurt, so I tucked my tail between my legs and ran.

~

It was evening and I was just settling in to be sad and pathetic and rue the day I ever spoke to anyone ever when my phone alerted me to a message. Only one person texted me without calling first, and after going through my work day in a state of constant near-tears while I replayed that moment over and over in my head, I was too fucking tired to deal with him just yet.

My phone buzzed again though. And again. On the way off-chance that it was my boss with a work emergency, I reached out from the Blanket Pit of Misery to grab my phone from the coffee table. I almost wished it was my boss when I saw Steve’s name.

However.

Steve: This is going to sound forward Steve: But can I come over? Steve: Or can you come to my place

I raised both eyebrows. Thankfully, the next parts came quick.

Steve: I’m sorry for today Steve: And this conversation shouldn’t happen in text Steve: Or public

I sat up and stared at the screen. On one hand: ‘I’m sorry’. On the other hand: an in-person conversation. Ugh.

Me: I don’t want to fight

His response was immediate and came in a flood.

Steve: We won’t Steve: I promise Steve: I didn’t mean it; I panicked Steve: And I’m sure you already figured out why Steve: But I need to explain it Steve: Please

I was really tired. But I knew that panic.

Me: How the hell do you text so fast

I sent him my address and spent his travel time trying not to freak out. When he knocked, I started to freak out about the mess. I shoved the blankets to the corner of the couch and grabbed empty cups to dump in the kitchen sink on my way to the door. I then stood there for a second to give myself a once-over– lounging clothes, but clean, and I was mostly decent, so I opened the door before I could chicken out. Steve’s eyes were cast down and he was hunched over into his usual brown leather jacket. He lifted his head in my general direction but didn’t really look at me but for occasional glances. He looked about how I felt.

“I guess misery doesn’t love company,” he said lightly.

I rolled my eyes and stepped back so he could step in. “You're not nearly sadistic enough to know,” I said and shut the door behind him. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No thanks. I think I’m going to throw up.”

I had been going to the fridge but at that I stopped and turned to face him. Steve was still hunched and seemed to be shrinking more with every second. I took a step forward and stopped when he flinched. “Hey,” I said gently. “It’s not the 40’s anymore; I’m not going to turn you in.”

“Don’t joke about that,” he muttered.

“I’m not!”

I hadn’t meant to be so loud– even Steve looked surprised enough to have a spark of life again. But he was standing up and I had his attention, so I ran with it. “I wasn’t making a joke of it before and I’m not making a joke of it now,” I said, because I had to make him understand. Somehow.

“I know you weren't joking before.” He fell back onto the couch, which creaked. “It made it…worse.”

I opened my mouth but he held up his hand. I waited, but when he took longer to compose himself I slowly walked over and perched on the edge of the other end of the couch. I felt so stiff I probably would have been more comfortable if I had remained standing, but the silence was so absolute that getting up would be too disruptive.

“Some people knew,” he said, so softly that I leaned in closer on instinct. He raised his voice a little. “Nobody talked about it. Ever. We were…as careful as you possibly could be when you love someone that much.”

He didn’t look at me. I didn’t move. I wanted to…reach out, put an arm around him, do something, but I didn’t know if we were quite there yet. Or if he was okay with being touched at all.

“Peggy definitely knew,” Steve said, staring at the floor but obviously not staring at the floor. “And after Bucky…fell…she–”

Steve turned his face away and wiped it. I scooted closer and put my hand on his arm. He didn’t pull away, so I stayed, but I was stock-still, afraid that if I moved an inch in either direction he’d push or pull or run.

He faced forward again with a dry face and his throat pulsed with his swallow. “I loved her too,” Steve said. “I could have– if I had made it out, we could have been happy, you know?” His smile was sad and wistful and his eyes shone just a little too bright. “I like to think so, anyway. Peggy was never disturbed by it. Sometimes even made some comments that, I think, if we had all made it out…”

He shook his head and got to his feet. “Bisexual,” he blurted out. He kept his back to me and barely glanced back. “I like that; it– it suits me. I think.” He turned to face me. “But I’m not…out. Obviously.”

I nodded. My heart was racing and the more he stared at me the harder it hit my chest, the harder it was to say something. But he took a slow step back, said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have–” and then he stared to leave and I couldn’t, I couldn’t leave that there. No matter what it meant for me.

“I’m not out either!”

He stopped right at the door. I was almost not breathing when he looked at me sharply, but apparently having very obvious heart failure attested to my earnestness, because his eyes widened and his hand slipped from the knob. I swallowed and sympathized with how he’d had such a hard time with it. I felt like I was swallowing an egg-sized rock. But then he was utterly silent, so I asked, “Well? Does misery love company now?”

He flinched. “That’s not something to be miserable about.”

I shrugged, because that was easy to say, wasn’t it? He shifted from one foot to the other and looked extremely uncomfortable. It took me a moment to realize why that might be. “Yes,” I said and he nearly jumped. “We can be closeted bi besties.”

“I didn’t…mean to make you come out. I just–” He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess right now.”

“Just right now?” I asked. He actually made a sound that was kind of like a laugh. I sighed. I felt almost completely drained, but at least the hard part was done and over. “Take off your jacket and sit down,” I said and went to the fridge. “I don’t want you to break down in a cab or something.”

“I drove.” But Steve shrugged off his jacket and threw it on the coffee table as he sat back on the couch. “Motorcycle.”

“Even worse.” I brought back two water bottles and set one in front of him before I dropped onto the cushion right next to him. “I’m not gonna be the last person to see you before you wrap yourself around a pole.”

“I’d survive it.”

That was way too flippant and I couldn’t be trusted to touch it without also getting darker than I felt comfortable with. “Well, I’m sure you have a nice bike that doesn’t deserve that.”

We both sat in awkward silence. He picked at the paper wrapping and I chewed on the bottle rim, occasionally consuming some water by accident just because the damn thing was so full. “I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly. “That could have gone better.”

I put the bottle down. “Coming out is always awkward.”

“Even for you?” he asked and lowered his voice for, “Even now?”

“There’s always going to be someone, always,” I said. “And some that do it because, uh…they care, and they think it’s safer if you just… But– the times I’ve come out, I don’t regret it. Even when it blew up in my face. I never– I just don’t trust people, and sometimes I’m scared of what that makes me, of how detached I get, in the interest of keeping myself safe. I’m glad that, sometimes, even I can still trust people. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

I didn’t really expect anything, but of everything, I really didn’t expect Steve to turn his body and hug me so suddenly I went “oof!” He didn’t hold tight though, so I crossed my arm over to my shoulder to pat his hands awkwardly. And then, because he was hugging from my side and I couldn’t really return the gesture, I slipped my other arm around his back.

“Me too,” he said and let me go. “I’m…glad you can trust me with that.”

“Same,” I said. “Even if it was unintentional. I’m sorry; even if I was right I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know how that heart attack feels, so– I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” he said. He still sounded utterly miserable though.

I nudged him. “I promise I won’t say anything. It’s no one’s fucking business, right?”

He breathed. “In theory,” he said. He lifted his head and stared at nothing. “I’m going to have to make it be, though.”

Considering the guy couldn’t come out to defenseless old ‘tries not to talk to anyone else ever’ me without freaking the fuck out, coming out to the world seemed like a leap. “Why?”

He didn’t answer at first; he just sat there clenching his jaw so hard I was afraid he’d break his teeth. Then he stood up and paced, but from the marching motions it didn’t look like it helped much. Granted, my apartment was only so big and he couldn’t get a good stomp going, but still.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said and stopped. “I thought I could get around it, brush off interview questions and just act stupid. But then…” The muscles in his neck rippled with his swallow. “I was talking to this kid one week. They were so sweet, and they had a– a rainbow flag pin on their bag. I wanted to compliment it, but they saw me looking and covered it up. Then they made some excuse and left.”

He just stood there, but when I tugged at his shirt he plopped right down next to me. “They didn’t want to know,” I said softly, because as much as it sucked for him, I could really sympathize with that kid.

“And I hate it,” Steve spat like he was full of bile. “I hate trying to skirt those questions, I hate that the people who would have beaten me to death before the war look at me like they think I’m on their side; I hate that anybody like me is afraid to ask anything other than ‘are you okay that I exist.’” He sighed. “Most of all, I hate that I’m such a fucking coward I haven’t just said it yet. I need to, for my own sanity, but it’s…terrifying.”

I wished there was something I could say, something smart, or comforting, or even just kind. However I had a big load of nothing, so I just kept my arm around him and hoped it was enough that I was there. I hoped that he knew I understood.

He sat there, silent, but he didn’t leave, and eventually I got an idea. “Hey,” I said and got up. “Since you’re here, come on; I’m gonna show you how to play a video game.”

He didn’t protest, and even let me tug and shove him around until he was sitting on the edge of my bed and holding the controller in his ridiculous bear paws. “Fuck, your hands are big,” I said and eyed them. Maybe this was a bad idea. “You’ve got a gentle touch, right?”

He looked at me and made his lips a flat line. “You’ve seen me use tablets and phones.”

“Okay, point,” I said and settled in as the system loaded.

“I mean, I broke a half dozen of each before I got the hang of it, but I’m sure it won’t take me that many this time.”

I glared at him and he smirked, the little shit. As the starting screen came up I sat back. “Well,” I said. “At least if you break my controller you won’t have to worry about that pesky ‘coming out��� bullshit.”

He laughed.

It was probably good that he thought I was joking.

<<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>>

[prorevenge]

Firing an Emotially Abusive First Grade Teacher

I decided to remember some juicy childhood stories of mine, and this one popped out to my head, and oh boy does it fit here.

So, I'll start off with the fact that I was the designated "pick-on" kid back in elementary school. You know that one slightly not normal kid everyone decided would be the one to pick on? Well that was me. I did get my fair share of petty revenge, as I will describe, but there was a case of pro revenge which merits its placement here.

I'll call myself Sion and the teacher Dr. Ehen.

Anyways, Dr. Ehen was a Grand Canyon doctor; that probably says enough of how unqualified she was. She fell deep into the realm of PTA politics, so she gave the kids who had the typical PTA parents a break, while letting all hell break loose on all the kids who were unfortunate to not have PTA moms. Also, she was one of those crappy traffic light teachers, you know, the type that were so bad they had to use a lakeshore cutout of a traffic light to publicly humiliate kids by displaying even slight insubordination.

Dr. Ehen was always particularly mean to me for some reason, but efore I get into the real meat of the story, I'd like to preface some of the things she did to me leading up to the grand pro revenge tale:

-Denying the existence of red pears and gave me a traffic light penalty for claiming they were real. I got petty revenge by bringing one in the next day, which got me a penalty the next day, just because she was upset I proved her wrong.

-Giving me a traffic penalty for snitching on a child who flooded the school urinal. I'd like to add that multiple people have snitched on me before and I got in trouble for their good deeds because they "saw something and said something". I got petty punishment on the kids who snitched on me by claiming they pissed in the trash can, which she didn't dispute it as one of the PTA children confirmed my claims before she could give me the "Sion exclusive snitching penalty." Those kids got a phone call home, nothing after that.

-Traffic penalty for using an erasable black colored pencil since I ran out of pencils to write with. Mind you I would get a penalty for asking my classmates because I would be talking in class without raising my hand.

-Rolling her eyes at me, knowing I wouldn't understand. Had my parents explain to me what it meant after leaving school that day.

-Ripping my assignment to shreds because she knew I was trying to get a perfect fold on my paper. I cried and got a traffic penalty for being disruptive in class.

Okay. I got through all the other mean shit she has done to me, let's get to the part of the story you have all been waiting for: actual pro revenge.

This requires a little backstory. There was this kid we will call Caesar. Caesar was a nice kid in general, but he used to throw these extreme temper tantrums every time he got a light. This would involve ripping the room to shreds, emptying desks, rubbing spit on the floors, breaking down the flagpole for the tenth time, and even going as far to throw desks and chairs across the classroom.

So, one time he threw a chair in music class, and Dr. Ehen was called down. Of course, she asked what was going on, and fingers began to point, all of them were pointing to Caesar, except for one kid (who I may add got beat up in high school for being a Bigshot) pointed his finger at me. Apparently, Dr. Ehen was blind to all the other kids pointing their fingers at Caesar and decided to look at Bigshot pointing at me. I had gotten my first and only red light. This is important.

Of course I always aimed to be a good kid, so getting a red light was like recieving a gut punch with a middle finger instead of a fist. My parents were called in as I was crying on the floor as Dr. Ehen had a poor time trying to explain that I was the one who threw the chair. I'd like to add that my fellow classmates decided to come to my aid and prove her wrong. She was highly frustrated she was being proven wrong over and over again, so, she reduced my red light down to a yellow one.

At this point I was frustrated myself at her attempts to defile me and just wanted to move on to second grade seamlessly.

Was all well and good? NOPE!

Dr. Ehen was throwing a party for kids who received no red lights throughout the school year. By party, I mean have kids who got red lights be forced to watch -in a military-style line- the Low profile and PTA kids eat cupcakes. Assuming my red light was redacted, and even hearing Dr. Ehen say it to my parents, I go to sit down ready for a cupcake.

Instead, Dr. Ehen forgets that little Sion's red light was redacted and she told me to stand with the red light kids while I watched these kids (including the garbage can pissers) eat cupcakes.

I. Was. Furious.

At this point, I knew my parents already hated her and were waiting for the perfect time to get her fired. I gave them exactly what they needed and came home bawling that my red light was still being enforced and how I had to stand ( Did I forget to mention I had balance issues as a child?) while all the other kids ate cupcakes. I cried and was given a yellow light. My parents were in kill mode. Their son had to stand with a redacted red light for being falsely accused by a PTA student.

You may not want to call this revenge, but I actually didn't like her myself, and I knew exactly what I was doing when I got home wailing like a banshee that I didn't get a cupcake. My redacted red light was still being enforced. I also know my parents were waiting for the right time to strike since Dr. Ehen made my first grade experience a living hell, so I knew a juicy story of this caliber with an actual justification that wasn't "entitled 50 times over red kid didn't get his salted caramel cupcake with truffle shavings" (which, I may add, my parents wouldn't fight for me if I were an entitled spoiled brat) while abusing my motor disability while neglecting the repeal of a false punishment was the perfect storm to get justice.

So, one day in mid-late may, my grandmother comes into the room. and pulls Dr. Ehen out. I gave her a bright cheeky smile, but knowing she was gonna get screwed.

She comes back into the classroom an hour later looking as if she were told she was going to be fired. I asked her "how do you like my grandma?" being all innocent. Dr. Ehen has no choice but to say she was a good person.

Next week later she gets me toy cars, hoping I would forget what she did to me in the past. I took the toy cars and stayed silent. Shame, they were nice ones too.

Next school year, she was out of work, and was only allowed to visit my school once. She looked at me with a face of "I fucked up please forgive me," and now actually forgetting what she did to me kind-of, I gave her a dorky smile as if I met her for the first time. My mom let the administrators know of all the shit she has done to me in first grade, and oh I can assure you she was unable to find any form of employment in my school district whatsoever, due to pressure from other schools in the district from hearing my mom's testimonial of how cruel she was to me. According to a family friend from within my district's board of education, she resigned from the pressure and will be unable to get a job anywhere from within my district, and I know because of some connections and the "friends knowing friends" phenomenon, she would be highly unable to get employment in the smaller surrounding districts as well.

If I'm to find any moral to my own story, it will be this: be kind to young elementary students. They are young and don't understand many things, but that doesn't mean you have any right to exploit them. Otherwise, it might come around to bite you in the ass later.

Tl;Dr- Mean teacher gets what's coming for her after picking on the wrong child.

(source) story by (/u/SionCuber)

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 7 - Memories Remain

Part 1

Under the mesmerizing whirr of the ceiling fan, he rolled his eyes and groaned, the constant ringing on the other side of the phone driving him crazy. “Baby, come on! Pick up,” he breathed.

Again it went to voice mail. In anger, he spun around and threw the phone onto the bed and watched it bounce into the pillows and onto the floor before picking it up to call her back. “Beka…baby.” Now he was getting frustrated. A talk about picking up his phone calls would need to happen. He shouldn’t have to keep calling like this just to get his girlfriend to answer.

Just as he was about to disconnect the call again, he heard the unmistakable lightness in her voice. Why did she sound so calm? He’d been calling for 20 minutes.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” She sighed, frustration lacing her tone. 

“I’ve been calling you for 20 minutes. Why haven’t you picked up?” He felt anger roiling through his body with each word. “What if it had been an emergency?”

“But it’s not,” she replied. “ It never is. I have a big chem test tomorrow, remember? I’m studying.”

Pushing up with his free hand, he got up and kicked his dresser. His Beka was the smartest girl he’d ever known; she’d be fine. “Baby, you’ll be fine. The Velgard party’s tonight. You said you’d go with me.” All he had to do was sound a little pouty and she’d cave. She always gave in.

In her own home, she curled into her desk, desperate to get him to let it go so she could study and not fail this test. Her fucking professor was making it 35 percent of her grade, so if she failed this she was screwed. “I can’t. I need to study.”

“No you don’t,” he snapped, pacing his dorm as he spoke. “You study constantly. You’re going to pass and you know it. Is it me? You’ve been wanting to go to this party for ages and now you don’t wanna go.”

The two of them went around and around, the pencil breaking in Rebekah’s hand before she gave him what he wanted. She had studied. Not a lot, but some. So she’d probably be fine. “Okay, okay. Let me get changed and I’ll be over in 30 minutes.”

“Finally, yes, I gotta have my girl on my arm.”

When she hung up the phone, he pulled his packet of cigarettes out and lit the tip, embers flaring up red before the smoke hit his lungs. He wasn’t exactly a member of the in-crowd, but Beka was a school-wide beauty. Everyone wanted her. But he had her. He’d look like an idiot if he didn’t show up with her after talking up how they’d just celebrated their three-month anniversary.

After chain-smoking three cigarettes in a row, he pulled on the bracelet Beka had given him for their anniversary, a gift her mother had given to her father more than a decade ago, and checked in the closet for something to wear. Although he’d prefer going in his boxers (the freedom was really something else) it probably wouldn’t be appropriate, so jeans and a t-shirt it was. The first one that caught his eye was the one that Beka hated; she said it was “douchey.” But why should he care? He liked it and that should be all that mattered right?

As he dipped his head into the closet to pick up the shirt that had fallen on the floor, he felt a breeze flash by his foot, sending his hair on edge. He spun around and saw nothing before something else ran behind him again, sending him spinning and falling into the closet door.

“What the fu-?”

Eyes wide and frozen in fear, he stared up to see someone he thought he’d never see again. “You can’t be here,” he breathed, his heart racing faster than it ever had before. “The last time I saw you, you-“

Cutting him off, the middle-aged woman with the stringy brown hair clasped the glass in her hand and shoved it forward, the sound of squelching blood and gargled breaths somehow eerily loud in the midst of the empty dorm room. He reached for his throat, desperate to stop the blood flow, but it slipped through his fingertips - skin growing cold as the smile on her face grew wide.

                                                         --------

Tossing and turning on the couch hadn’t been doing her any good, so instead of thrashing about in futility, Bobbie got up and went for a run to clear her head. She should’ve fought harder to get their father to come with them. No matter what he said, no matter how scared he was of putting his children in harm’s way, it didn’t matter. He didn’t wanna watch them get hurt? Well, fuck it, she didn’t want to watch him get hurt either, or worse, have him get hurt and knowing there wasn’t anything she could’ve done about it because he’d pushed her away.

After sweating her ass off despite the chill in the air, she snuck back into the motel room, which really wasn’t necessary because she was pretty sure a bomb could go off and her brothers wouldn’t wake up. A fifteen-minute shower was all it took to make her feel like a whole new woman. Dean and Sam wouldn’t be as easy to get up and running. Breakfast sandwiches and coffee might work though.

“Oh you really do love me,” Dean said as the unmistakable, thick and mapley scent of bacon wafted into the room. “Bacon, egg and cheese?”

“With double bacon, and ketchup, salt and pepper.”

“Best big sister ever.”

He took an enormous bite and grinned as a piece of bacon fell out of his mouth and onto the crappy comforter. Although Sam was grateful for the sandwich, the coffee was what made a sleepy smile crawl across his face. “How long you been up?”

“Few hours. Went for a run. Took a shower. Then I figured food would get you two up and running. I think we might have a case.”

Sam took a swig of his coffee and hissed at the heat. “You never get up early. Nightmares?”

“Mmmm.” It was about all her brothers were gonna get, at least for now, and they knew it. “Wanna know what I found?”

Dean shot up from the bed, renewed by the rejuvenating power of bacon and came up to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. Now gimme something to do.”

She ran her hand through his hair and pushed him and his bacon-y face out of the way. “Scott O’Reilly. 20 year old student at Kent State University died in his dorm room two nights ago from a stab wound to the neck. Thing is there is absolutely zero evidence that anyone was in the room other than him and his girlfriend and the she has a solid alibi for the time of death. Also, the stab wound is jagged, but the murder weapon can’t be found or even identified.”

“You think this could be our kind of thing?” Sam asked. It just seemed like a severe lack of evidence, not necessarily anything supernatural.

In her cursory look through the local papers to see if there was anything here to look into, she’d stumbled upon this story. She’d gotten used to passing judgment on the dead, for better or for worse, and something about Scott O’Reilly rubbed her the wrong way. “Nothing in particular. I just have a bad feeling and figured we’re passing through and have nowhere to be just yet so why not, you know?”

“Sounds good to me,” Dean replied, bacon crunching loudly in his mouth. “But since we have nowhere to go, how about we enjoy our bacon – at least let me enjoy mine because my God, do I love bacon.”

“Is it safe to say it’s your favorite thing in the world?” Sam asked, laughing after he finally took a bite of his own sandwich.

“Top three.”

“And the other two?” He could guess.

Bobbie cut in because Dean had his mouth full. “Whiskey and women. The three change depending on mood.”

With his mouth full, he gave them a thumbs up. “God, this is good.”

Chuckling, Bobbie took a sip of her coffee and fell back on the mattress. “Do you need a moment alone with the bacon?”

                                                        --------

Rain clouds followed them the entire time they drove to the station. All of them felt the threatening storm, but no one wanted to say it out loud. Just because their father was gone yet again didn’t mean that they weren’t thinking about him and the bigger picture that was looming even closer than the car in the side mirror.

They pulled up to the station with just enough time to get inside before the downpour came. “Can I please be the senior officer?” Dean whispered.

“So you want me to be your crony?” Bobbie whispered as they rounded the corner. Whenever they met with police, one of them claimed they were training the other two, considering it was rare that officers were partnered up in teams of more than two.

Bacon had put him in a really good mood this morning and she didn’t have the heart to pull the big sister card on him today. “Okay, fine. Just try not to milk it too much.”

“No guarantees.”

She bit back a retort when an officer asked what they needed help with. “Hi, my name’s Agent Jones, these are my subordinates, trainee agents Flynn and Lennon. We decided to pop in to see what you could tell us about the O’Reilly case.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” the officer replied, shaking hands with Dean, his eyes quickly scanning the badges Sam and Bobbie held out for him. “I’m Officer Bales. Honestly though, I don’t know what I’m going to be able to tell you that you couldn’t already find out from the papers. O’Reilly died of a stab to the throat. We’ve got no murder weapon, no motive, nothing.”

“Do you think we could get any information you have on him?” Sam asked.

“I don’t see why not.” The officer walked them all toward a file room in the back of the station.

“What about his girlfriend?” Bobbie asked not realizing Dean had been about to ask the same question. “Her alibi checks out?”

“Yeah, she was in her dorm room studying for hours before he called her. Her two roommates vouched for her.”

They needed to check her out anyway. Just because she didn’t do it didn’t mean someone connected with her couldn’t have been involved. “We should go interview her anyway. She might be able to point us in the right direction,” Dean added.

“She has an alibi.”

“I know,” Dean replied. “But she may know if he had any enemies.”

“Scott was a good kid.”

“Look officer, as much as I can appreciate that that’s what you saw, it’s more likely that someone very close to him, like a girlfriend, would know things about him that you wouldn’t.”

Shrugging, the local townie handed over the files on Scott and gave them directions to his dorm and his girlfriend’s home. “We’ll keep you in the loop if we find anything,” Dean said, saluting Officer Bales with the files in hand.

“Alright, what do we have…Agent,” Bobbie said, smirking as she leaned over to take a glance at the files. “Your subordinates are dying to take part in the case.”

“I had to. I just had to and you know it.”

“Yea, yea,” Sam laughed, smacking Dean’s arm with the back of his hand. “Anything in there that might point us in the right direction?”

Dean shook his head disappointingly before Sam ripped the files from his grasp. “What the hell, man?”

“There is something.”

“Where?”

“There.” Bobbie glanced near Sam’s finger. There was nothing there. A blank space.

“Yes, it’s a blank space,” he said, reading their collective minds. “But there shouldn’t be. These types of papers are formatted. If there was nothing there, then there shouldn’t be a blank space. That means-“

Bobbie slipped into the car as she interrupted Sam’s train of thought. “There was something there and it’s been kept off the record.”

“Exactly,” he replied. “And it’s something the police are aware of.”

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark  @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @original-criminal-fanfics @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13 @demonlover87 @kennybud @shittyafblogwnopoint @pleasantlyfadingpeace @bulldozed88 @a-gir1-has-n0-name 

[jhessail]

Me attempting to make 90s esque story and failing:

“He’s gone! He’s gone!” The messenger yells through the long drawn halls, his voice reverberating with panic. Doors all along the hall the messenger ran threw open in synchronicity, all demanding the same thing.

“He’s gone!?”

“He’s gone! He’s gone!” The messenger repeats endlessly, more doors ahead opening with repeating the process until the messenger finally exited the castle, shouting for the entire kingdom to hear. Soon the kingdom was full of open houses and people trying out the same set of words the messenger refused to change. Only when the messenger bumped into someone did the words stop.

This someone was young man with green hair and a sinister smile plastered across his face, and by him a man in full plate. The messenger gasped in terror, falling on the ground as the young man bent forward to sneer delightfully at the messenger.

“Who is gone?” The messenger paled and he compulsively yelled,

“The king!” The messenger’s hands threw his hands up to cover his mouth as a delighted evil grin spread across the young man’s face.

“I suppose this means,” he dramatically stood straight, flipping over the white coat that draped across his shoulders, “the battle for the throne can begin!” His companion cheered and screams echoed throughout the kingdom with a maniacal cackle of the young man.

~*~*~*~*~

Morgana Savenouski stares straight at the whiteboard of the classroom with dull eyes. There were equations that had yet to be erased from the previous class, and one huge word that she knew applied to her and her alone.

“Witch”. Someone must have written it on the board before she got here. Luckily for Morgana, she had long ago become used to words like that. Ever since she was little, she had been bullied ruthlessly by society. She learned late to stop fighting back so the name calling persisted even after reaching late into middle school. Now the words didn’t hurt as much.

As much being the key word.

“Oh look at the little rat,” Morgana heard a girl say, far away from where she sat of course. “She’s as dreadful looking as ever.” The girl’s volume was louder to try to get Morgana’s attention, but instead the girl continued to stare straight at the whiteboard.

“She’s probably more like a zombie rat with her ugly clothes and crappy hair.” Some of the equations looked like they might be hard, so the girl took out a piece of paper and pencil to write them down. She was supposed to be here to learn, not be continuously mocked by her supposed peers.

“Oooo scary, a zombie rat. Do you think she needs to be shot in the head like a normal zombie?” A boy joined in the overly loud mocking and Morgana just continues to copy the equations. She never reacts to them much anymore, so she was used to being called several different things now. They wanted her to get angry and try to beat them up again. Because it was funny when the small short girl with tiny fists tried to hit a giant.

“Good thing she’s so small, one shot with a shotgun will get her whole body.” Finished, Morgana focuses on the numbers to try to see what she could correlate from yesterday’s lesson. Her pencil glides across the paper to try to formulate a pattern between the equations.

“Must have been easy for her mom to give birth to a rat.”

Her pencil snaps.

“I bet her mom is as much as a zombie rat as her.”

Her vision goes red.

“You know I’ve heard from my dad that her mom’s actually a-” it didn’t matter what the girl was going to say, because Morgana stands up and approaches the group venomously, her fists bunched together and ready to swing. The group of teenagers laugh gleefully and scatter, letting the girl chase them around the room until she could catch one. A boy. Probably let her catch him, but that didn’t matter. She grits her teeth and was about to hit his face, hopefully break his nose,

“That’s enough!” The classroom quiets down, everyone looking over to the teacher. “You two, go to the principal’s office now!” He obviously addresses Morgana and the boy, “and the rest of you, clean this mess up immediately!” Chairs and desks had been moved during the scuffle. The teacher gave them a few seconds to glare at them, then yells, “Now!” The boy she had caught sulks to the hall and she slowly follows after him.

Frustration plasters across her face, especially when the boy, she thinks his name is Tyler, bolts and flees the school building. Idiot.

But she was a bigger one for letting them get to her again.

She reaches the principal’s offices, the office aids behind the desk were not surprised to see her. One of them, a nice older woman that went by Missus Darrow, gives her a hard candy to suck on as she waits to be yelled at by the principal. She was proud of herself for only having to come in once a month instead of every single day like when she was in elementary school. It wasn’t long when Mr. Aramai, a gentlemen with slicked black hair, square glasses, and blue eyes exits his room to see her outside of his office.

He sighs quite heavily and took a practiced step to the side to let her in. He closes the door when she enters and when he sat in his chair, she was already bunched up with shame and her legs on her chair with the rest of her body. Mr. Aramai looks at the picture on his desk then stares at her.

“How many times are we going to do this Ms. Morgana?” Her neutral expression morphs slightly to match the rest of her body’s stature. “Is the other person in the nurse’s office?” He asks seriously. She shakes her head. “Ms. Morgana.” His voice took on the cross tone she only hears from her mom.

“Tyler left the school.”

“In an ambulance!?” Mr. Aramai shouts in a panic,

“No, no! He just...left.” Mr. Aramai groans and quickly exits the room, Morgana assumes to get someone to either find Tyler or get his parents alerted. Morgana rather likes Mr. Aramai’s room, it was filled with the normal principal office assortments of certificates and other dumb things for adults, but unlike her elementary school principal, his room also held a bunch of pictures of smiling people. Parents, families, and children, all of them doing something fun. Mr. Aramai wasn’t even in most of the pictures, so it must be because he liked the same thing she likes.

The genuine smiles of the people features in the pictures.

“Now that, that’s been taken care of-” Mr. Aramai came back into the room and returns to his seat. “Ms. Morgana, I will ask again, how many times are we going to go through with this?” Morgana found her gaze glaring down at the ground. “I know that the elementary principal didn’t put you through any punishments for these kind of outbursts, and I have been as understanding and patient as I can be.” She knows.

She hates talking to most adults. Mr. Aramai has been one of the few she tolerated talking to, and that was because of his understanding and patience. “I’m sorry Ms. Morgana.” She looks up at him, a little fearful of his next words, “I’m going to have to call your mother,”

“No!”

“And we’re going to have to schedule a conference to see if we can help you through other methods.” He continues effortlessly.

“No don’t drag my mom into this!” Morgana shouts again, pushing her chair away with irritation. “Mom has nothing to do with this!” Morgana finds her voice higher than she ever remembers it ever being able to get. Mr. Aramai sits on his chair, unimpressed. He simply stands up and Morgana, small and irritated as she is, follows after him as he makes his way out of the room. She tugs on his pants angrily, like the child she feels like now. “Don’t tell my mom! Please!” She pleas, her knees giving up on her and falling down to the ground. She still gripped his pants and tears flowed freely from her eyes. “Please, please, I’ll be good, I promise!”

The office aides and Mr. Aramai look down at the pitiful girl. The adults share a look and Mr. Aramai sighs once again once all the women focus a defensive glare at him.

“Okay. This is the last time Ms. Morgana, next time you’re in my office for anything, and I mean anything I’m doing what I said.” He helps the girl up, “You got that?” The girl sniffs the snot pouring from her nose up, wiping the remnants of her tears off her face. “Ms. Morgana?” The girl nods, her mouth choked up with her turmoil. “Okay.” He rubs the top of her head, messing her ragged hair even more. “Now head to class, I’m sure your teacher is eager to continue teaching you things.”

“Her schedule says she has Mr. Bellevue.” Mr. Aramai makes a face.

“Ooh, um. Right.” He pats Morgana’s head again, “Actually go clean yourself up and we’ll just,” he coughs with his cheeks flushing slightly, “just give you a free block.” Morgana internally giggles in her head. Mr. Aramai and Mr. Bellevue had a strange relationship with one another, it was pretty famous that they butted heads with each other often. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Mr. Aramai insisted, patting her shoulder awkwardly, coughing lightly.

~*~*~*~*~

Morgana walks slowly to her home after the long day at school. Now that the other kids finally found another thing that could trigger her anger, they continued to say cruel things about her mother. It took every ounce of her being to not ruin the very earth the bullies stood on. The ground she stared at slowly passed her as she continues to drag her feet home.

Why was it so easy for people to hurt other people? Her mother didn’t deserve to be called such mean, rude, and untruthful things. Morgana did for existing, but her mother definitely didn’t deserve it. Morgana found her steps stopping as she came across a dead cat. It looked like it had been mauled by another animal. The girl crouched close to the animal.

It must have been painful.

It must have been the worst experience in its life.

But at least it wasn’t alive anymore.

Jealousy coursed in her heart.

Morgana found herself shaking, she was so sick and tired of everything. She had to make sure she didn’t have anymore outbursts, she had to make sure she didn’t trouble her mother, she had to make sure to continue getting good grades and-

She started sobbing. It didn’t matter she was on a public street crying over a dead cat. She just wanted everything to stop, to end.

“Excuse me Miss? Could you help me?” Morgana shoulders shudder, her chest shook with her emotions as she looks up to the voice that asked her the question. She was taken aback to see a young man in a suit of armor. She couldn’t help herself, her brain was stunned into shock. “Miss?” She spotted the young man had a spiky tuft of orange hair peeking out from his helmet. This young man was a little older than her from how tall he towered over her, but he wasn’t a complete adult.

“H-help you?” Morgana answers his question with her own. The stranger sees her face and his hands go up, panic lighting up his face.

“Oh-oh dear. I’m so sorry, may I help you first?” He offers one of his hands and then he must have seen the dead cat because his next reaction is heartbroken, “Oh no. I am so sorry.” He kneels to the ground and Morgana watches as he presses the front of his plate. Part of the plate pops out like a robot and he reached into the new hole in his plate, bringing out a symbol Morgana had never seen before connected to a long golden chain.

She watches as he spoke a prayer, sounding more holy than any priest Morgana had ever heard in her life. He touched the symbol to the dead cat and tucked the necklace back in and he put the full plate back into place. “Sorry Miss.” He offered the hand that had not touched the cat, “I do not know if it will comfort you in any way, but know that this creature is in a place of peace.”

Morgana felt annoyance course through her entire body. Who the heck was this guy to just say something like that? She grabs his offered hand and pushes it away with rage, getting up and wiping her face with her long sleeve. The young man did not seem offended and stood there quietly.

“I don’t need your help and I’m not going to help you. You can find some other jerk to get sucked in your religion.” Morgana finally spits out, getting into the street to get past the man.

“Miss be careful!” The young man grabs her arm and before Morgana could yell venom at him, the loud blaring noise of a truck screeched past the two. That...that had came out of nowhere, and the stranger had just saved her.

“Why did you do that?” She demands, the sudden realization that she had been that close to everything stopping was gone. It would have been the best accident of her life. She hit the full plate and found herself cursing underneath her breathe from the pain.

“Because you were going to get hurt by that monster Miss.” So matter of fact. So honest. SO FRUSTRATING!

“I WANTED TO GET HURT BY THAT MONSTER!” Morgana shrieks at the stranger. “NO ONE TOLD YOU TO SAVE ME!” The young man just stares at her with shock. “I WANTED TO DIE YOU MORON!” Her whole body leaned in with her scream, the truth she had hidden from everyone else in the world. She shook angrily, staring at the ground with the dead cat between the two again. She was so close to being like that stupid cat. Her tears litter the street, coloring the grey a little as she continues with her frustrated emotions from finding the dead cat.

“If you wish to die...then you can definitely help me.” Morgana looks up at the young man, shock blatantly pasted across her face.

“What?”

“Miss this may be a little hard to believe, but I am from another world.” It would be harder to believe if he weren’t covered head to toe with armor. “I am here to try to find someone willing to help me find our king.” This was getting to be a bit too much. Morgana holds out her hand to stop the young man from talking any further.

“Doesn’t matter, I already told you I’m not going to help you.” She turns to try to continue escaping the conversation.

“I am glad to hear that you were not serious about dying.” The strange man remarks loudly when she got ten feet away. Morgana found herself stopping. Not serious? She turns to glare at the man who had continued to stare after her. Morgana held her teeth close together, waiting to see if the stranger would continue talking. His eyes, weirdly colored, seemed genuine and happy. Happy like the pictures in Mr. Aramai’s office.

“You don’t think I’m serious?” Morgana challenges. His eyes shifted and he held up his hands, like he was going to talk her down but she wasn’t going to let him. “I am! I want to die so much!” She hisses at him and to both hers and his shock, Morgana found herself stepping out into the street again. She was about to die and all it had taken to finally push her over the edge was a stranger from another world thinking she wouldn’t.

This was just great.

Morgana spreads her arms and legs out, waiting for a car to finally wipe her from his world. Her prayers were going to be answered as a car rushed from a previous stop light, breaking the speed limit, and Morgana stares at the panicked face of her killer. She wouldn’t have to get hurt by people anymore. She wouldn’t be a burden on her mother anymore.

“Go Servant of Bonds, bind her temple and become my sword!” Morgana gasped as something pushes her to the other side of the street, hitting the grass of the park that was on the other side. Morgana stares up at the sky, her breath taken away and her eyes unable to focus. Soon she manages to focus on something other than the sky as a snake stares down at her.

Oh good, maybe it’ll poison her.

But it was a bit too cute looking for her to think of it as a ferocious carrier of death. Golden colored with giant eyes that could compete with a puppy.

“Hello snakey.” She remarks lazily.

“Miss, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

“No.” She simply replies. The serpent staring at her disappears from her vision and instead the stranger’s hand comes close. She hits it, and he offers it again. This happens a few times until he just grabs her by her entire arm and pulls her up. The serpent is wrapped around the young man’s neck like a funny looking scarf. “You saved me again.” Morgana hisses at the stranger. “You’re a real jerk!”

“Yes…” The stranger’s gaze shifts with discomfort. “Miss, please just hear me out-”

“No!” She knows she was childish sounding but screw this guy! She had finally got the guts (spite) to kill herself and she had been stopped. “I’m going home now!” She yells at him, “Now go find someone else to bother!” She starts to march off but a loud sound of clanking follows after her. She must have cried too loudly earlier to hear him but now when she was just seething in her head and walking only to the sound of cars and walking the full plate was obnoxiously obvious.

She turns to yell at him. “I told you to go find someone else to bother!” The young man still looks incredibly uncomfortable. “Don’t follow me you creep!”

“Miss-”

“My name is Morgana!” The young man stopped speaking for a moment and nods in response.

“My name is Rian, Miss Morgana.” His strange colored eyes seems to light up at finally introducing themselves to one another. “Heh, we make a team of a king and queen.” Morgana shot him a very confused stare. “Our names mean king and queen in different languages.” Oh. Weird. Wait. She turns around and continues to walk to her home.

“If you’re from another world how come you can speak English?”

“I come from an English-speaking world.” Rian took on a happy charming tone to his words. He must have been glad she was going to stop trying to kill herself or crying in front of him. “Our languages are not any different from here. In fact we have had the Tower of Babel in our world as well, it is a very interesting-”

“Stop being boring and keep your answers short.” Rian made a noise of surprise. The two walked, Rian in a sulking mode apparently as he didn’t speak another word. Perhaps he was just waiting on another question from her.

“Why are you following me? I’ve told you several times I’m not going to help you.” Rian made an uncomfortable noise. “Well?” Morgana snaps at him.

“Yes. Sorry Miss Morgana. I was just trying to figure how to say the predicament we are in shortly.” She stops.

“We?” She turns to the orange-head. He nods to this. “Why we?” Rian seems to pale under her gaze. If Morgana wasn’t so unhappy and irritated she might have mustered a giggle in her mind at the thought of her, a tiny thirteen-year-old intimidating a young man who towers over her.

“Well...you see…”

“You can take your time with this.” Morgana spat at him, sensing he would probably have more pauses then she would have cared for.

“Right then. Miss Morgana, can you see Chai here?” He pointed to the serpent wrapped around his head, its head resting on his head adorably. Chai sounded weird to Morgana for a snake name but then again, she didn’t own any snakes.

“Yes?”

“And you were only able to see Chai after your...attempted suicide, correct?” Morgana frowns.

“Yes?” It was a good thing Rian’s eyes were expressive because Morgana could easily read the distress off of them.

“I was afraid of that.” She stares at him dully waiting for him to continue, her irritation growing on her face. “Miss Morgana because you can see Chai now, it means our bond is accepted by Fate.” She waits, her face growing more angry with every second going by. “You see in my world I’m of a race of creatures that gain power from a Sire.” Rian visibly squirms under Morgana’s gaze. “Chai is my family’s Servant of Bonds that determines our Sire.”

Morgana got a bad feeling from his words as he continued. “We can use Chai for some magic until we find a Sire but when Chai determines a bond we are no longer allowed to perform such feats without our Sire’s permission.”

“Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

“Because you can see Chai now...you are my Sire Miss Morgana.” She jumps as he kneels down. “Please, I pled of you, let me be your Knight.” For the first time in her life she thought of doing something she had never done. Never thought she would have to do.

Morgana ran away. Despite all of her faults in both the intelligence, looks, and height department, Morgana had pride in her speed, and with Rian in heavy armor, there would be no way he would catch up with her, especially if she took a shortcut. Morgana dives through someone’s yard, flinching but not stopping when she hears the rapid barks of whatever dog the person kept in the backyard. She continued to run, darting through many people’s backyards, her lungs trying to punch themselves out of her chest. She needed to get home, and she just needed to forget about today entirely.

“Spear the earth and consume the flaws of humanity!” Morgana screams as something wraps around her ankles and drags her to hit the ground. She slams into the earth and screams again as her body starts dragging against the harsh grass of someone’s backyard, the blood leaking from her nose giving an eery trail. She turns around and gasps to see a chain wrapped around her, and connected to the chain was a man in black full plate.

Standing behind the man with full plate was a wizard looking fellow. This must have been two people from whatever world Rian came from. Why were they attacking her? She tries to grip the chain around her ankle as the man kept pulling her to him, her butt on fire as her dress started bunching up uncomfortably against the grass.

“Leave me alone!” Morgana yells as she can’t get the thing unwrapped around her.

“Sorry miss,” the wizard looking fellow cackled out, “Bruno here feels that troublesome Knight around you.” Must be Rian, stupid magical world. The dark-haired girl screamed as the wizard spoke again, “Crush the flesh of rock and render the soul useless.” The chain wrapped around her ankle started to sink into her ankle, it was the most easily the most physically painful thing she had ever felt in her life.

The chain continued to sink into her flesh, she could actually feel her bones shrieking in vibration. “Bruno don’t be so tasteless, wrap more around her body to get her quick.” The wizard man laughed and Bruno gives him a laugh in return.

“Sorry Sire, I just like to make them feel useless first.” The two share a laugh and Morgana continued screaming in pain. These stupid sick jerks!

“Stop it!” She begs, screaming even louder as sees her foot bend at a strange angle. Her screams must have become a siren by now, so high-pitched that no one normal could hear them.

“Give me a command Miss Morgana!” She was sure the only reason she could hear his voice because she wanted anything to interrupt the pain. A command? What, like how that wizard looking guy was saying those long sentences? She can’t think of something like that now, she was in pain!

“Rocket punch the asshole!” The chains sinking into her broken ankle even paused at her words. The grip on the chains grew slack and Morgana managed to glare beyond her tears to see Rian’s gauntlets had flown through the air and had punched Bruno with what she imagined was the force of a rocket.

“T-that wasn’t a spell!” The wizard complains as Rian approaches him with a demonic aura around him. “Hart, this is-” the wizard’s voice high and panicky while his face was filled with sweat.

“I don’t care.” Rian simply spoke, and Morgana watches as he grips the wizard by his shoulders and she sees Chai coil around Rian’s arm and meet the wizard’s face.

“No please don’t, Bruno will-”

“Goodbye.” Chai bared sinister fangs that Morgana never thought she would see from the sweet looking snake and pales when Chai bit the wizard’s eye. The man screeches, he tries to move and grasp Chai who looked like it was swallowing something. Morgana sees from her peripheral vision that Bruno got up from his spot and he starts to head to the trio. Each step he took however looked more and more like he was becoming smaller, what little Morgana could see of his face seemed to be shrinking.

When Rian finally let go of the wizard looking man, Bruno reached the trio but sank to the ground, his armor falling apart as if he had never existed. The wizard man cries, the eye that Chai had bit into was gone, left with a hollow black hole. He sinks down and he picks at the sand all around the full plate, dripping all over the empty plate with pathetic whimpering. Rian only gives the man a cold glare then made his way to Morgana. The girl looks at him with shame.

He kneels down to her and sighs, “I am sorry my Sire.” That cursed sincerity was there, he really was sorry. It wasn’t even his fault. Morgana burst into tears again,

“My mom’s going to kill me.” She sobs. Rian couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped his control.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“She has a superpower, she always knows when I’ve cursed, I’m going to get my mouth washed out with soaaaaap.” The young woman continues to sob, pain and anxiety mixing her face into a wonderful mess with mucus and redness. Rian laughs at her a little, his bare hands patting her head with a gentleness.

“Ah, I can see why you wanted to die now.” A hiccup of a chuckle managed to escape her aching crying. Ah this was just a confusing chaotic mess, she still wanted to die but now she knew at least she didn’t want to die this painfully.

The world was cruel, people like to bully her to get a rise from her to watch the small little rat fight against giants. People like to hurt her through her mom because it was easy to make fun of someone who wasn’t there. Now there was another world that looked like it wanted to hurt her as well, for reasons she didn’t know yet.  

At least Rian was nice to her.

[rebellious-chi]

/French Mistake, Reversed\

My POV

I was sitting in my room writing another Supernatural fanfiction when I got a video call from my friend group. “Hey guys!” I greet them. “Rachel! You answered!” Karly said, excitedly.

So before I get started with my messed up story, let me introduce the new characters from my everyday reality. So first we have Kyler: the gay boy of the group. He’s about 5’9 with short dark brown hair and blue-green eyes.

Next up we have Jaxon: The creative one of the group. Jax is about 5’8 with short aqua blue hair and wears glasses.

Leo Gibbs: nicknamed Gibbs or Gibbie. He’s about 5’1 with short brown hair.

Andrew: the black bi boy. He’s around 5’6 with short black hair.

Then we have Karly: the pansexual pancake. She’s about 5’1 with shoulder length red hair and glasses.

And finally, we have me. The rebellious bisexual. I’m around 5’7 with a light brown, fluffy pixie cut and glasses. Now back to the story.

After the call, I went to bed and went to school for seven terrible hours. The bell rang, signaling that school was ending. I grabbed my stuff and headed towards my locker. I pack my notebooks and grab my phone before my friends run up and start talking to me.

“So it turns out it was my brother the whole time!” Karly states as I slam my locker and play Highway to Hell on my phone. “Alright guys, I gotta go. See ya tomorrow!” I yell as I start for my house. When I get there, I make dinner and then go to my bedroom and attempt to write crappy fanfictions. When my parents get home, they force me to go to sleep but instead, being the rebellious child I am, write more fanfiction. Later that night, I hear my mom scream and my dad yell. I shot out of bed and ran downstairs.

“Mom! Dad! Are you-?” I freeze when I see a vamp turning my mom. I immediately ran back upstairs but was greeted by another vampire, who had snatched me from where I stood and dragged me outside. My eyes widened when I saw a black 1967 Chevy Impala pull into my driveway. What the-? Before I could finish that thought, TFW stepped out. Sam and Dean both had a machete swinging while Cas was heading my way.

He separated the Vamp from me and stabbed him in the chest. “We need to go, Rachel. I’ll explain everything when we get back to our universe.” He tells me. “Wait, Cas! Can we take my friends?” I ask as I see Sam kill a different Vampire. “Cas, there’s more coming!” Dean yells. He turns back to me. “That was intended. Now please, get to the Impala.” He says, touching my shoulder. I follow his instructions and run to Dean’s car. “Let’s get outta here before this gets out of hand!” Sam yells.

If it weren’t for the fact that it was so early in the morning and all of our families were murdered, I’m pretty sure none of my friends would’ve gone with the Winchester’s and Cas. The boys hijacked a van somewhere along the line to pick all of us up in one trip. I must be dreaming. This is impossible. I thought as we arrived at the bunker. I don’t remember entering their universe but I was pretty tired so you can’t exactly blame me. All of my friends rode in the van Sam was driving but I stayed with Dean and Cas in the Impala. I pass out from sleep deprivation and what I assume to be shock.

I wake up in a bed at the bunker. I could tell I was at the bunker because I’ve seen it in pictures many times before. The bed was more comfortable than I thought it would be. I sit up and look around. “Hello.” I look up to find Cas staring at me, holding a plate with pancakes and a cup of coffee. He walked over and sat down. I cross my legs as he hands me the food. “Did you sleep well?” He asks me. I nod and take a bite of pancake. “I don’t remember coming into the bunker.” I point out. “I carried you in.” He said matter-of-factly and I blushed. “Oh. You could’ve woken me up.” I said, looking away in embarrassment. “You looked peaceful and I’m aware you don’t get much sleep.” He defended. When I took a sip of coffee, I realized that it was the perfect balance of hazelnut creamer and coffee. “Wow, someone knows their proportions!” I say excitedly. “Thank you.” He grins and I giggle.

Jax’s POV

I wake up and the first thing I notice is that I’m not in my room. Then, my memory comes flooding back and I remember the blood and gore of my family. The Winchester’s and Castiel. My friends.

For some reason, I simply push it aside and get up. I walk into the main room where everyone is and see everyone staring at me. “Y’all didn’t find the bodies, right?” I ask, joking obviously. “Um?” Cas was confused. I saw Rachel nudge him and giggle “He’s just joking.” And he nodded in realization.

“So do we need to find a case?” Karly suggested. “Not exactly, but if you want to do research I guess we can do that.” Sam said. “Why can’t we just go hunt monsters?” Andrew asked. “Dude, we would need to know what we’re fighting.” I pointed out. “Oh, right.” He shrugs. “Let’s just research.” Gibbie decided. “Fine.” Andrew groaned.

After about half an hour, Kyler fell asleep and started snoring like a freakin pig. Rachel shut her book and stood up. “I’m bored. I need to move.” She complained. “Rachel, of course you’re bored, you’re reading.” I tell the restless bisexual. “Hush.” She smiles. “I could take her down to the dungeon and teach her how to fight.” Dean suggested. “Dude, yes!” She exclaims. Alrighty, follow me.” He said and she did.

Gibbs’ POV

After Rachel and Dean went to the dungeon, I kicked Kyler in the knee to make him stop snoring. “Ouch! That hurt!” He said, almost shouting. “No offense, but you were getting on my nerves.” I told him. “That doesn’t give you the right to kick me!” He defended. “I’m on Gibbs’ side, it was getting annoying.” Karly laughed. “Yeah.” Jax agreed, not looking up from his book.

“So, are we just going to ignore the fact the we’re all older than 14?” Jax asked. We all looked at each other like idiots. “I’ve been trying to avoid that...” Kyler said. Sam just watched us as we tried to figure out how old we are now. “Well Jax looks about 27, Reegan looks about 24, Karly looks about 25, Kyler looks about 31, and Andrew looks about 29.” I say. “And you look 26.” Kyler points out. “I think Rachel looks 26 as well.” Cas suggests. “Why are we all different ages?” Karly asks him. “It’s a different universe. You could be any age.” He says. “So is there like, two of each of us running around?” Kyler asked. “No. Every universe is different. Our universe was missing all of you.” He says, looking back at his book. “Oh.” I said, a little surprised. “So like, the supernatural is real?” Jax asks. “It’s not suppose to be in your universe.” Sam says. “Then what happened?” Kyler asks. “They must’ve come through the universe divider.” Cas suggests. “Universe divider?” I question. “On the set of Supernatural, there’s a rip in your universe that leads to ours.” Sam explains. “Like the one in season 13?” Andrew suggests. “Season 13?” Sam asks, confused. “He means the one that was created by Jack when he was born.” Kyler explains. “Oh, yeah. Exactly like that one.” Sam confirms.

Kyler’s POV

After a few hours, Dean and Rachel came back from the dungeon. “So what’s for dinner?” Dean asks almost immediately, smacking Sam across the back of his head, screwing up his notes when Sam’s hand drew a line along the length of the paper, and Sam threw his pencil at him. “Burgers, Dean. We’re having burgers” Sam said, angrily. “Great! I’m starving.” Dean said. Sam and Dean went to the kitchen and Rachel came into the library and sat next to Gibbs. “So what’d you guys find out?” She asked. “We aren’t supposed to exist in this universe.” Jax told her. “Oh yeah, and there’s a universe divider on the set of Supernatural in our universe!” Karly said, excitedly. “And the supernatural isn’t supposed to be real there, either.” I add. “Also, the reason we’re older than 14 is because we traveled through universes.” Gibbs pointed out. “I meant what’d you find out about the monsters you were researching but that’s cool, too.” Rachel stated.

When Sam and Dean came in and it was time to eat, Dean acted as if he hadn’t eaten in days. “You get enough of that in your mouth?” Sam joked. Jax looked at the rest of us with the look. “Don’t.” Rachel said, but that didn’t stop him. “That’s what he said.” He smirked. “Oh lord.” Gibbs smiled. “I knew it was gonna happen.” I sigh and Rachel facepalmed. “That could also be what she said.” Andrew wiggles his eyebrows and we all giggled. “Yeah, but I was aiming for Destiel.” Jax said. “Yes!” Rachel said, standing up. “No! I’m not gay!” Dean shouted, also standing up. “I think we all know that you’re bisexual, Dean.” Karly giggles. “Finally, someone agrees with me.” Sam says. “I knew you were a Destiel shipper!” Jax, Rachel, and I shout. “What is Destiel?” Cas asks. “Gay.” Karly says. “Closeted bisexual meets confused rainbow.” Jax says. “I say rainbow in the meaning of like...he’s nice to look at.” He adds. “I 100% agree with that description.” Rachel says. “Um,” Cas was obviously confused but left it alone.

Karly’s POV

After dinner, Sam and Jax stayed in the library to find a case. Rachel, Dean, and Kyler went to ‘The Dean Cave’ to watch classic movies while Kyler passed out in the war room doing something with Cas. I, on the other hand, took the dishes to the kitchen to wash them. Gibbie followed me and helped wash the cups. “Who do you think will fall asleep first, besides Kyler, obviously.” I ask, finishing the last plate. “10 bucks, it’s gonna be Andrew.” Gibbs bet. “I don’t have 10 bucks but I can give you a hug.” I offer. “Okay.” Gibbs chuckles.

10 minutes later, we walk into ‘The Dean Cave’ and see Andrew fast asleep of the couch. “I think I owe you a hug.” I state as I hug Gibbie. Rachel looks back from the couch. “You wanna join? We’re watching Batman.” She asks. “Cool, which one?” Gibbs asks, walking over and flipping down next to Andrew, waking him up. “The original!” Dean exclaims as I sit on the floor, in front of the TV. “There’s room on the couch, ya know.” Dean says. “I’m gay, I don’t sit on couches.” I say and hear Gibbs and Rachel laugh.

I started to fall asleep after ‘Batman Forever’ and eventually collapse on the floor, but before I fall completely asleep, I hear Gibbs say “there she goes.” And laugh.

Andrew’s POV

I couldn’t go to sleep after Leo woke me up so I stayed awake throughout the entire ‘Batman’ binge. It was slightly amusing to watch Karly slowly fall over when in the process of slowly falling asleep. It was 1:30 in the morning when the movies were finished so I stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna go find a room to sleep in.” I say, walking out of the room. “Don’t get lost!” I hear Dean shout.

When I walk past the library, I see Sam and Jax with books in their laps and when I walk past the war room, I see Kyler sleeping and Cas leaving the bunker. I’m too tired to care so I simply keep walking until I find a bedroom and fall face first into the bed.

Dean’s POV

Rachel, Gibbs, and I watched another movie before I turned off my TV and told them I was going to bed. “Alright, I’m going to get some coffee.” Rachel said. “At 3 I’m the morning?” Gibbs asked. “I don’t exactly plan on sleeping.” She said. “If you need a room, Gibbs, there’s one next to mine.” I say, leaving the room. “That’ll work.” He says and follows me out.

On my way to my room, I told Sam and everyone else awake goodnight and shut my door. I grab one of my ‘Busty Asian Beauties’ magazines and look at that for a few hours before finally falling asleep.

Sam’s POV

After Dean and Gibbs went to their rooms, Rachel walked in and took a seat across from me. “So, what’re you doing?” She asks. “We’re researching shapeshifters.” Jax replied. “Cool, I’m gonna go make coffee, you want any?” She asks us. “I’ll have some.” I say. “Me too.” Jax agrees. “Okie dokie!” She smiles and walks to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she walks in with 3 cups of coffee. “Thank you.” I tell her, graciously. “No problem.” She responds and sits down. The next few hours were researching different monsters and many cups of coffee. Jax fell asleep around 6:23 and I went to bed at 7:01. I’m not really sure if Rachel went to sleep or not but either way, tomorrow we were going to find a case.

[kitsmits]

Pardon the crappy quality. I’ll scan it properly later :P

Sketch Dump of Kaiya with some different hairstyles!

I’ve really been feeling the urge to get back to my artistic roots lately, so I treated myself to a trip to my local art supply store. So here are some Kaiya’s with different hair! Also tried some different head poses. Photo references used. Pinterest is magic. -I forgot how shaky my hand can be...omg... -LOVING sketching with the blue pencil! -So after outlining the bottom-right one, I went to erase the sketch underneath and the eraser smudged the outline around her mouth! GAHHHHH. I like how it turned out otherwise (for the most part) so I’ll probably touch it up digitally and play with it a bit in Clip Studio later. -Also going to try outlining with black pencil instead of an outlining pen/marker. I find I have a natural tendency toward short, sketchy strokes, so using a nice, sharp pencil might help me be more precise and get the sort of detail I want. Also might just get myself a thinner outlining pen to play with.

[teacherkmd]

Struggles of teaching in China

If you’re in a TESOL prep program, you’ve likely run across articles that talk about the challenges of teaching in China. Well, at the special request of a previous professor of mine, here’s my version.

There are some very good things about teaching in China. For example, it is literally culturally ingrained in the fabric of society that teachers will be and are respected. It means my word will not be questioned (even though sometimes maybe it should be?). What I say goes. Classroom management issues (at least at the collegiate level) do not exist. My students are highly motivated and disciplined. I do not have to worry about attendance; they will not skip. This being said, here are 10 very real struggles I’ve had to face in the classrooms here.

1. The classrooms do not belong to the teacher.

One of the biggest differences between China (and Taiwan) and the United States is that the classrooms do not belong to the teacher. In the US, we often think of the teacher as getting to design their own classrooms and buying materials and decorating it and being the perfect “pinterest” teacher. The students tend to rotate and switch classrooms when the bell rings. Here, that is literally impossible (which might actually be good since I’m poor, not artistic, and don’t have much free time). Teachers are the ones who rotate and the students stay in their classrooms. This set-up means I would have to buy or create duplicates of anything I wanted to hang on the walls. It is good in some ways (gives students ownership of their space, they have a space to study after school hours, they’re responsible for cleaning and maintaining it, etc) but it is also bad because I can’t take up all the wall space. I am sharing with all the other teachers in the department. If I want a vocabulary word wall, or want to put giant “I am thankful for...” turkey’s on the wall or display student work... I’d need to make sure it didn’t bother the other teachers first. If my vocabulary word list would be seen as cheating or distracting for another English class... well it can’t be there. It also means that if teacher’s aren’t cleaning up after themselves a lot of crap ends up laying around the podium. I remember walking in and being annoyed at all the random textbooks, pens, pencils, paper clips, scraps of paper, tea, and other junk in my teaching space. Oh, and don’t think about rearranging the desks... that doesn’t go over well. Not ideal at all. I’ve never taught in a place where I have gotten my own classroom to decorate and create the environment I want, so I guess I don’t really know what I’m missing. I can imagine all the cool things I could do if I did though. 

2. Poor study skills for Western educational expectations

Another issue I’ve come across is what I consider “lack of common sense” when it comes to studying and taking notes. I have to be VERY explicit about literally everything. Do my students need to bring paper to class? Then I better tell them ahead of time. Do I think they should have a place to take notes? Then I better tell them to buy a journal for my class. Do I think they should have a place to put handout? Then I better tell them to buy a folder. Do I think something is important and they should write it down? Better tell them to write it down. I’ve had to give pop quizzes on things I’ve said in class multiple times to prove to the students that they should be taking notes in class. I’ve had to tell them that maybe that random page in their textbook isn’t a good place to put notes. I’ve had to say so many things where I know in America students would be like “duh”. But, that's now how teaching and learning work here. They take notes by taking pictures of my PPT and that is about it.

3. Poor communication styles for Western educational systems

China kind of skipped over e-mail. They went straight from fax to WeChat (a social media platform this is kind of like What’s app and instagram all rolled into one). Therefore, when I tell my students they need to turn in their homework via email, a whole truck full of problems crash into my inbox. No subject line. No names. No attachments. No message. I have had to show them exactly what I want them to write in the email so I know who they are, what class they’re in, and how to formally address a teacher. I haven’t let them vary their emails yet, but if any of them plan to study abroad in America or to teach students who wish to go to the US for schooling, they really need to learn how to write emails. I just wish I had time to cover everything. 

4. Fear of speaking up

“My students are smart. They understand what I am saying. It isn’t my fault they aren’t answering.” -- I constantly have to remind myself of this. I can put them in groups and have them discuss a topic. If I walk around and listen, I hear them all on task, on topic, and answering and sharing opinions correctly in English. Then if I bring them back together as a whole class and ask what they talked about or for examples of what they discussed: dead silence, heads bowed, avoiding eye-contact. It is the most frustrating thing. I know they know the answers, I heard them talking about it, and I literally went around the room telling them good job while I was listening. The cultural expectation that the group is more important than the individual causes a standstill. Almost no students will volunteer an answer freely. They don’t want to be seen as immodest or like a know-it-all. They would lose face if they did so. But, if I call on them, it isn’t them choosing to answer, they will answer correctly and accurately. They’d lose face if they didn't answer a direct question. They can’t be the peg that needs to be struck back down. My classes are slowly getting better.. they know I will hold them over the end of class time if they aren’t responding to me. I’ve reminded them that there are no right or wrong answers. I’ve told them if they don’t know the answer then I need to know they don’t know. I can get group responses quite easily, but class discussions that include the teacher just aren’t happening. I’ve gotten them to speak up by asking them things and saying “I don’t know the answer, so I can’t tell you if you’re wrong. I just want to know what you think”. We had a pretty good discussion on cultural appropriation and halloween costumes. 

5. No concept of plagiarism 

“The right answer is the only answer” and “Imitation is the best way to learn” are common beliefs of my students. If you don’t know how to write or say something, say or write the exact same thing as someone else. Shared knowledge is better than individual knowledge. Nevertheless, 0s have been given out already this semester along with in-depth discussions about how I don’t want perfect work turned into me. If it is all perfect, I could go back home. 

6. Fear of failure to the point of not following instructions

The all important grade. It doesn’t matter if they feel more confident, or if I tell them I see significant improvement. They are only focused on one thing: their grade. They focus on it so much, that if I give them instructions like “don’t write down your conversation and read it for your homework recording”, they will completely ignore the instructions if they think their grade will be better. They were shocked when the recording that was perfect with good intonation, proper grammar, native like pronunciation, etc got a 0. When they asked why, I said they didn’t follow instructions. They wrote down their conversation. How could I tell? Not once did they hesitate, not once did they act interested or surprised by what their fellow classmates had said. It was all scripted. And they can’t understand me if I ask a question, so how would they understand their classmate without having to pause and think about it? hmm? I will say this issue has been very quickly solved. They’ve come to realize in my class that I want them at the level they’re at not at some superficial level they want me to think they’re at. 

7. Highly stressed students

My students have absolutely no free time. They take 18 hours of class a week. Some of them are in military training still. Some have other clubs. Every weekend there are at least 6 or 7 competitions for them to compete in. I assigned a speaking homework and all the responses were about how tired they are and how they can't sleep because they’re so stressed. It broke my heart. The following week, I asked them to take 30 minutes to draw minions in halloween costumes for homework to make relaxation mandatory. I sat outside with a group of them after an English Corner event for 3 hours and talked with them about their lives. They feel so much pressure to conform and meet expectations. Their other teachers yell at them and shame them for being wrong. The foreign teachers are the only ones who encourage them or try to get to know them. I recently boycotted the crappy computer labs they had me teaching in on the 6th floor. I taught in their classrooms on the third floor instead.  The other foreign teacher came in during break and said how nice it was to have me teaching across the hall from her because she could hear them laughing and sounding like they enjoyed learning. I hope my small amounts of encouragement help them. 

8. Poor teaching materials and environment

I know no textbook is perfect... but these are exceptionally bad. All the foreign teachers are from the United States, but the textbooks all teach British English which means there are lots of things in there that I disagree with. The topics aren’t interesting. They’re the same thing they’ve been learning since 3rd grade but with more complex, technical vocabulary that native speakers wouldn’t casually drop into a normal conversation anyway. It just bad. Trust me. The building is also falling apart. The computers don’t work half the time. The software isn’t up to date. The chalk boards are so old you can’t see what you write on them anymore. Just not good for learning. 

9. Poor teaching pedagogy

Another reason my students are stressed is because my teaching style is completely unknown to them. They’ve never been asked to analyze or explain how they know something. The other professors mainly expect them to memorize a passage and spit it out verbatim. They don’t have to understand what they’re reading or saying. They just have to be able to do it. There is an old quad on campus and in the courtyard, we call it the hive. Every student is out there whispering and reciting passages to themselves. The drone of their voices sounds exactly like bees. In my class, they can’t get by on memorization. I make it almost impossible to prepare for class. They have to be ready to use what they’ve learned and apply it in practical situations and discussions. This is naturally very stressful for them. They would do much better if I taught in an audio lingual style or grammar translation style like the other teachers. But, if the school wanted that they would have hired a Chinese national and asked for a foreign teacher. 

10. Class schedules that focus on quantity not quality  

I see my students once a week for 2 hours for 14 weeks. Think back to college.. you had class three times a week for 50 minutes, or twice a week for 75 minutes. Or grad school, I had class twice a week for 2 hours each time. The contact hours I have with my students are very limited. They want to get as many students in there taking as many classes as they can. They all get exposed to the foreign teachers and they cycle them in and out. There is no buy-in, no investment, and no way for me to get to know all of my students. I feel a lot of pressure to cram in as much as I can in the 28 hours of class time they get with me. It is hard to remember that they have 16 other hours of class a week, and that I’m not solely responsible for them learning English. It is just hard for me to imagine that they’re taking away anything from my class. If I didn't have these textbooks dictating the topics we could cover, I would cover much less and slow down and make sure each lesson was in-depth. Instead, I have to make judgement calls about how much time we can spend on each thing before  moving on. 

I don’t want you to see this list and think I am complaining. I am not. I enjoy my work greatly, and I feel very lucky to be working here at QuFu Normal University. My students are brilliant, and I appreciate them daily. However, these are the things I have to keep in mind when I am making lesson plans, working on curriculum, and deciding what to include in teacher training workshops. A lot of these difficulties stem from cultural differences and require me to adapt and change just as much as I am pushing my students to bend. I am becoming a more flexible, more capable, and more opinionated educator. I just hope my students are learning as much from me as I am learning from them and this teaching context. 

[crustysoapbubbles]

Chapter Two, Classes and Thoughts

Math class started off like any other math class. Going in, taking a seat, then turning in homework. But then, instead of getting out our notes, she ordered us to get out pencils. My eyes widened. I forgot that we had a test today! 

Sweat poured down my forehead as the teacher passed out the test papers. When she gave me mine, I looked at the first question and instantly gave up. We were learning pre-algebra, in my opinion, the worst next to geometry obviously. 

I racked my head for how to do the problem. I didn't remember going over ANY of this stuff! So I wrote down a random answer and continued onto the next question. It was the same, along with all of the others. Standing up, I walked over to my teachers desk and turned in my test. 

'Well, that's a nice F.' I thought to myself bitterly, sitting down. 

I looked over my class, and noticed that I was the first person to turn in my test. Lucky me. They all were looking down intensely, jotting things down on their papers. I seemed to be the only one who didn't know how to do the difficult problems. 

Around twenty minutes later, the bell rang me out of my tired state. I rubbed my tired face with the palm of my hand, picked up my stuff, and continued onto the next class, which was Spanish. I swear they purposely put the two most stress inducing classes together to make us mentally die.  

But luckily for me, Spanish went by fast. Mostly because I slept through it. All I really remember was the teacher talking about a test for next week on something I couldn't really put my finger on. 

Then was my second favorite, writing! One of my only talents. 

Sitting down at my desk, I got out my Chromebook and started up Google Classroom. Ms. Stormy was also our writing teacher, which I was deeply grateful for since she was also coincidentally my reading teacher. 

The first thing that came up was a adjective analysts. I got that done quickly, and when the rest had finished, we went to the next worksheet. Then the next, and so on. I was a little confused, since normally we write short fictional narratives or something. But no. I think school is just getting more and more uninteresting by the second. 

"What did you get on the test?" Someone asked from the desk across from me. 

I didn't know they were talking to me for a second until they said my name. 

"Beau?" 

I looked to the voice and grimaced. It was Raven. The smartest girl in the entire class. Every time I thought I was doing good, she would show off her grade, which was never below an A. 

I had to think a second before saying something. "Uh..I don't know..." I mumbled. 

She grinned. "You probably did good, it was SO easy. I mean, what does she think we are? Kinder gardeners?" She laughed. 

I forced a smile and nodded. 

Next was lunch, and I hated it. For one, I didn't like, or want, to eat. And second, I had to sit with Raven. We had an argument almost every day, in which ended with Raven gas lighting me. 

Sitting down, I took out my lunch and started to unpack. I took out a single carrot and started to nibble on it a little. Raven started to talk, but I couldn't hear her over the loud cafeteria. 

"BEAU!" Raven yelled. 

I blinked and looked up. 

"yeah?"

"Will you stop ignoring me? Its kinda offending." She said, looking me straight in the eyes. 

I mumbled and apology and looked to the side. I really wasn't in the mood for fighting again.

The rest of the day was a crappy blur of tiredness. The worst part? We had homework over the weekend. And when I say we, I mean me, because I fell asleep during Social Studies and didn't get the work done. 

Also, my mom was really late for pickup.

"How was your day?" My mom asked on my way home when she finally arrived. Apparently traffic had been really bad. 

"Fine." I grumbled, leaning my head on my window. 

She said some other things, but I wasn't really paying attention. Today had been pretty crappy, and I was just happy to get home. 

As we pulled into the driveway, my mom stopped, letting me to get out. I immediately rushed into the house and up the stairs to my getaway space. My beautiful room. It wasn't really anything special, a bed, desk, and gecko named Lizawa. 

I flopped onto my bed and let out a long sigh, letting my body sink into my comfortable bed. 

I grabbed a pillow and put my face into it. I had been really tired and uninterested lately, my therapist said it was due to my lack of sleep, having insomnia, and diagnosed depression. 

'Why can't I just be..happy?' I thought angrily. But I knew why. 

I've had very bad trust issues since all of my friendships ended up in a dumpster fire, my emotions being chucked across the room and stomped on every time I let them show. But I guess that's normal. I'm probably just over reacting. 

"I wish that I just had a damn friend that wouldn't hurt me..." I thought out loud.

"Ha, imagine. Couldn't be me."  

[hairringtonsteve]

biology notes (1).

Welcome to the Four Horsemen collab fic! Each of us will be writing and posting parts of this story, but you never know who is going to post the next part, so keep your eyes peeled on all of our blogs!

Dot: @stevesdacre

Emma: @hairringtonsteve

Lidi: @letmeletmetrashyourlove

Rachael: @dacrethehalls

PART ONE (this one!)

PART TWO (tba)

PART THREE (tba)

PART FOUR (tba)

billy hargrove x reader & steve harrington x reader 

fic summary: the reader is the new girl at hawkins, and let’s just say that she ends up catching the eye of a few boys in school. 

word count: 1, 773

a/n: so, surprise! this is going to be an interesting fic, because we’ve all agreed that no one actually knows what’s going to happen. the only person that’s read this is @stevesdacre because she edited it. lidi and rachael have no idea what’s going to happen, and only the person writing it controls what happens next. so i’ve got no idea what’s going to happen from here on out! be sure to follow everyone else because it’s a surprise as to who’s going to post next - and honestly i’m the worst at remembering this stuff. rachael and lidi have harassed me like 20 times bc i keep asking questions.

“There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be the exact same.”

Mom kept saying that over and over again as we packed up the car and drove from Antioch, California to our new home in Hawkins. It had been three days of reassurances that everything would be fine, that Christmas would be the same, and that nothing would change. Which was fine and dandy, except for the fact that I was stuck with explaining to Matty that yes, Santa would find us despite us moving so close to Christmas, and no, he wouldn’t get coal for whispering fuck as we pulled away from the only home we’d ever known.

I was also stuck with the honor of getting Matty ready for school, which meant waking up a half hour early and rooting through the closet for something that would suffice for the freezing temperatures of Hawkins.

I ended up having to feed the kid breakfast too, which had been an issue all on its own. The worst, though, was getting this kid ready for the bus.

“Do you think Dad will be here soon?” Matty asked me, looking up at me with his big, brown eyes. I held out his coat and motioned for him to shove his arms through. Neither of our coats were very thick, but they did the trick for the most part.

“Mom said he just needed to finish up at work, remember?” My stomach twisted at the sidestepping, but Matty didn’t know about the heated, whispered conversations at two in the morning, or how Dad hadn’t actually slept in the house for two weeks. “Everything’s going to the same, trust me.”

I was going to throw up.

“You’re sure that Santa will find us, right? Did you send him the new address?” 

“Of course I did. I’m not stupid. One of the elves called last night and said we didn’t even have to do that. They keep tabs on all the first graders.”

“That makes sense,” he said with a shrug. I bit back my grin as I nodded towards the front door.

“Let’s go, little man. We’ve got school.” The rumble of the school bus could be heard as it approached, coughing and gurgling as the driver eased on the brakes. Matty practically launched himself away from me, backpack hanging off of one shoulder as he jumped down the steps. “Have a good day!” I yelled, laughing as he waved haphazardly over his shoulder. The little shit didn’t even look at me.

“Matty get off to school?” Mom’s voice was rough. It was hard to tell if was due to lack of sleep, or the soft sobs I’d heard early into the morning. Odds are, it was both.

“Yeah, he did.” I slid my jacket on, reaching down for my backpack, careful not to look at her. I could handle a lot of things on my first day of school, but I couldn’t handle Mom breaking. Not then. “I’ll see you after school, okay? 

“Okay,” she said. Her voice was softer that time. I gave in, and my chest squeezed. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hands shaking a little as she stood there in her robe. I felt frozen, like I was facing down my future in that entryway.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, baby.” She wasn’t looking me in the eye, instead focusing on the fascinating vomit-colored shag carpeting. For a brief moment of insanity, I wondered if it was some weird omen.

It was awkward, the two of us just standing there. Neither one of us moved, but after a handful of seconds, I gave her a half wave and bolted out the door. The wind has a sharp chill to it, and I tugged my jacket closer to my body. It wasn’t a long walk to the high school, but snot was practically dripping out of my nose the entire way there, which made it feel like hours.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that the rest of the morning continued to suck. But small town school were supposed to be filled with nice people, right? Hawkins had apparently missed that memo. Every teacher seemed to be scowling, and the students were clustered together, occasionally offering me curious looks.

By the time biology rolled around, I felt like I was ten seconds away from crying. Lunch had been horrendous. I’d somehow managed to forget my money, and the guy with the nice hair behind me had ended up paying for it. Probably because I’d started stuttering and was holding up the line. 

Biology felt like my breaking point, though. I stepped into the classroom, and twenty-four pairs of eyes turned to focus on me.

“Class, this is Y/N. She’s from - where is it?”

“California. Antioch,” I clarified, ignoring how my voice shook. The last thing I wanted was for a bunch of hormonal teenagers to gawk as I burst into tears. The teacher - her name was Mrs. Dowd, or something - was staring at me, like she expected me to elaborate. Two painstakingly long moments passed before she sighed.

“Take a seat, then. Next to…  Mr. Hargrove.” She nodded her head towards a boy in the back, clad in an unbuttoned red shirt and a rather unsightly mullet. “Mr. Hargrove,” she snapped, his head snapping up from whatever he’d been engrossed with. His gaze flickered over me, slow and confident, taking his time. Something in my chest twisted, but it wasn’t like earlier. It wasn’t that sick-to-my-stomach, going to vomit feeling. This was different, an improvement.

It felt like walking down death row, in a way. The students still stared, but now girls were whispering as I stepped passed them. Mullet-Boy was still watching me. I gripped my notebook and pencil a little tighter in my arms as I made my way to the back of the room. Sliding onto the stool, I set my stuff down and leaned my elbows against the top.

“You’re from California?” Mullet-Boy asked, his voice quiet as Mrs. Dowd started to drone about mitochondria. Antioch High had covered that in the beginning of the school year.

“That’s what I said.” He chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers down my spine.

“Me too.” I glanced over to him, cocking a brow. “San Diego,” he continued, pointing to himself 

“Cool for you.” It wasn't that I hated being talk to during class, but Mrs. Dowd kept glancing our way, a disapproving frown gracing her features.

“I'm Billy,” he said, leaning a little towards me. He had an elbow on the table, almost touching the crappy microscope that looked to be about a hundred years old. He didn't seem to get the message. His eyes were nice, though, and his little smirk wasn't the worst thing to look at.

“Y/N,” I responded, giving in. His smirk widened 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he drawled. I let out a soft hum in response, averting my eyes to the chalkboard. It didn't help, though. I could feel his gaze burning into me, begging me to look at him.

I managed to keep my eyes off of him for a whole three minutes. I would have managed longer, but the second Mrs. Dowd turned her back to the class, he was leaning too far into my personal space.

“Can you back off, man? Jesus.” i turned my head to him, noting the wide grin playing on his mouth. He was a little closer than I'd realized, but not so much that it startled me.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to borrow my notes.” I glanced down to his notebook, and to my surprise, there were actual notes scribbled down. There weren't a lot, but there was something.

“Oh, um, thanks. I've got my notes from my old school's bio, though. And I'm pretty sure that my notes are more… comprehensive.”

“You think I could borrow your notes sometime?” There was something in his voice and how his lips curled that told me he didn't give a rat’s ass about biology notes.

“I'm sure that…” I trailed off, glancing throughout the room. Girls diverted their gazes, every single one looking away - all except for one. She held my gaze, a hint of a scowl on her face. “She'd love to let you borrow her notes,” I finished, nodding my head in her direction. Billy rolled his eyes. 

“Carol? Her notes are shit. I'd learn more about biology reading a math book than I would looking at her notes,” he said. His words made me chuckle. His eyes widened a little, his smirk leaning towards more of a grin. “You know, I think you-”

“Mr. Hargrove, are you planning on talking to Miss. Y/L/N for the entire duration of the class?” 

“Just letting her see my notes, ma'am. I'm trying to make her feel welcome to Hawkins.” There wasn't anything suggestive about his tone, but my stomach flipped anyways. Without meaning to, I stole a quick glance towards him. My eyes started at the top and worked their way down, stopping at the sight of his unbuttoned shirt, and what laid beneath it. My cheeks burned a bright red. I set my jaw and turned to face the chalkboard.

For the rest of the class, Billy kept quiet. I'd notice anytime he turned his head in my direction, but I wouldn't let him win.

The end of class came faster than I'd expected, and suddenly everyone was packing up their things. I slid off of the stool, letting myself glance over to Billy. He was chatting with some dark haired guy, bits and pieces of their conversation drifting over.

Apparently, they played basketball.

I slipped out of the classroom before he had a chance to say anything to me. He seemed like a flirt, but nice enough. Weirdly enough, he'd made me feel a little more at home. That cocky, annoying California asshole shtick was more comforting than anything Mom had said over the last couple of days. 

I must have been too caught up in my thoughts because the next thing I knew, my shoulder was colliding into someone else’s, and papers went flying everywhere.

“Oh God, I am so sorry!” I burst out, kneeling down to pick up the scattered notes.

“Oh, it's fine. No worries,” the voice said. I looked up, eyes widening when I realized just who it was. The hair gave it away. 

“I, uh, should have been watching where I was going.”

“Like I said, no worries.” He grinned at me. “So how was your lunch?”

taglist: @alwaysmebeforeyou @istanuriss @smittyjaws @myblackwings5 @morgandakotaq @rivedale @laterg8r @buckybass @airforcecollins @superanonymousreader @ambeazyyy @harringtonhuddle @nicospaten @selenedarkbloom @samuel-maurice455 @lilo-1398 @thevortexclubposse @laurennicole1313 @inspiredbynewt

striked out names are the ones that tumblr wouldn’t let me tag!!

[lycorogue]

Gabriel Agreste: A 3-Part Character Study

Part 2: My Headcanon for the Life and Thoughts of Gabriel

Hello again. In the first part of this series I explained my thought process as to why I bothered writing this collection of mini-essay/short story. If you missed it, feel free to go back and read that here.

Alternatively, if you want to hop ahead to my re-write of Gabriel Agreste in order to make him a legitimate sympathetic villain, you can find that essay here.

Now, before we continue with this psuedo-story, I want to throw in just a quick reminder-disclaimer. Below is my headcanon on Gabriel Agreste's history, and a sort of personality study under the assumption that he's similar to the man I know IRL and discussed briefly in Part 1. By no means is there any canonical evidence of any of this being accurate. Also, while I'm trying to explain Gabe's behavior and reasoning, by no means am I justifying or condoning it. You may continue to love or hate or love to hate or hate to love Gabriel however you please.

Anyway, check below the break to read my little pseudo-narrative short story on my headcanon history of Gabriel's life prior to us meeting him in the “Miraculous Ladybug” series, as well as my headcanon of his defining personality trait which might explain his behavior towards Adrien, Emilie, Nathalie, and The Gorilla.

Gabriel was a lonely kid. He was an only child. His parents loved him and cared for him, but they never really connected with him. He was never really all that expressive. His parents tried multiple things to bond with him over, but he was most comfortable alone in his room doing his own thing.

At university he remained a loner. He still didn't really make many connections with the other students. He was friendly with his roommate, and was willing to hang out with him and his friends, but none of the friends talked to Gabriel without the roommate there, and Gabe never initiated any interactions with the roommate. Instead, he focused on his artwork and his fashion design.

When Gabriel was about 25 his professor and mentor commented that his designs were uninspired and stale, and wondered what happened. Nothing had happened. Gabriel was just bored with life. His flatmate suggested he try going out into the world, outside his comfort zone, and observe people in order to become re-inspired. Despite himself, Gabriel agreed. He ended up going to the local watering hole by himself, and hid in the corner to try to people watch. Not even twenty minutes into this experiment, Gabriel decided it was a stupid plan and hurried out, only to run into Emilie. Literally.

If you want to read more about how I believe their first interaction went down, you can find it here.

It was an awkward and playful courtship. Outgoing, social butterfly, extroverted Emilie did everything in her power to keep Gabriel on the edge of uncomfortable as a way of broadening his horizon. She took him out to parties, social gatherings, and just public in general. She also allowed him his private time, but tended to make him try new foods, or would hide his favorite colored pencils in order to force him to try different art mediums. He soon discovered that he enjoyed the new medium of digital drawing more than colored pencils, even though he would always love the classic method.

Emilie pushed him, but Gabriel loved that about her. Every time he was down on himself she would pick him up. Every time he wanted to hide and hibernate she would pull him outside. Every time he was so engrossed in his work that he would forget to eat she would drag him to the kitchen to try out a new recipe she found.

Not everything was sunshine and roses though. There were some significant spats between them. With his life experiences, he grew to hate humanity, while she gladly embraced it. She picked on him for “not being nice” while he considered her wildly optimistic and naïve. He was gruff and callous, while she was loving, and strong enough to not put up with his crap. It only kept a couple of months before she could call him out with a glance.

She was so good for him, and he knew it. He appreciated it. And he was amazed that she picked him. He never once took her for granted, nor did he forget that she could have chosen anyone. He knew she had other options, and yet he was the one who lucked out enough to have stolen her heart. He didn't understand her love for him, for he never felt such a strong compassion towards him before. Still, he basked in the warm glow from her, and thanked whatever Greater Power That Be that she was with him.

His hatred for humanity as a whole waned slightly, mostly because Emilie kept showing him the positive. Every time he wanted to scoff, scorn, or dismiss someone he pictured Emilie's disappointed look, and it helped him become better. She became his consciousness. She became his empathy. She became his moral compass and compassion. She made him want to be better; to be the kind man she somehow thought he was.

Simply put: she became his everything. Life no longer was worth living without her. She was his sun and moon. She was his earth and sky. She was his smile and reason. And soon she became his wife.

He was nervous about not giving her the life that she deserved. They were still in a crappy little apartment covered in his drawings and fabric samples. However, Emilie got her start acting in an independent film created by an old school friend: Andre Bourgeois. While on set one day, Andre's fiance Audrey visited and noticed an outfit Emilie was wearing; an outfit Gabriel made her as a birthday gift. Audrey loved it and demanded to know the designer. Emilie excitedly called Gabriel down to the set where he met the upcoming fierce fashion critic. She thought he was the most inspired designer she had ever met, and gushed about him in her latest article in a big-name French fashion magazine.

Gabriel quickly became The Next Big Thing. He got a sense of pride knowing that he could finally provide for his amazing wife, and they enjoyed their time together inside their new mansion. Gabe doted on Emilie, treating her as both an equal and a cherished princess.

It was Emilie who convinced Gabriel to hire an assistant, and she was the one who pointed out the impressive resume of Nathalie Sancoeur. Emilie even listened in on the interview, and instantly loved Nathalie's personality. She figured that Nathalie could be just as good for Gabriel in his professional life as Emilie was in his personal. It didn’t take much for Emilie to convince Gabriel to hire the stoic woman.

Life was great. Gabriel could do the work he had always loved doing, and he could provide for his beloved wife while doing so. Nathalie helping with the day-to-day duties meant Gabe had more time for his wife as well, because what would be the point of all this money if he couldn't spend time with the reason for his waking? They were happy.

Then, when they were in their thirties, Emilie became pregnant. Gabriel didn't know how to respond. He remembered his own parents' failed attempt to bond with him, and he could sense that he'd have the same difficulties. He wasn't a people person. But he could tell how excited Emilie was, and she convinced him that he'd fall in love once he held their child. So he prepared for this new chapter of his life along side his wife.

When Emilie had Adrien she experienced a new level of love. Gabriel, however, did not. He loved Adrien. He truly did. He didn't realize he could care for anyone outside of Emilie, but there was this new and fragile life needing him, and he cared. He knew he would protect this precious little bean with all his might, but he also knew that Emilie is still his number one. She took up too much of his heart. Plus, the two of them created Adrien, while Gabriel and Adrien could never recreate Emilie.

Gabriel felt ashamed at thinking so, but he knew that while Emilie wasn’t replaceable, as long as Gabriel had her, Adrien could be replaced. It would hurt. A new child would never be the same, but at least with Emilie there was hope of returning to this family unit. He could always have another child; he could never have another wife, another love like Emilie.

Life changed more than Gabriel was ready for now that he was a father. More importantly, now that Emilie was a mother. She started pulling away from Gabe. Motherhood became her, and she connected with Adrien in a way Gabriel just couldn’t. Despite himself, Gabe became jealous of his own son. His own precious child. He reminded himself that he loved his son, but in the quiet of his mind he couldn't deny that he also missed the days when it was just him and Emilie.

The trio had family game nights that Gabriel half-heartedly participated in. They had movie nights that consisted of Gabriel working on his tablet or phone until Adrien passed out. Then he'd shift his son on the sofa so that he could have the space to snuggle up to his wife. They had family outings together: Emilie watching Adrien's glee; Gabriel watching Emilie's.

Emilie eventually called Gabriel out on the distance between her boys. Just like when they were dating and she pushed Gabriel to interact with people in order to make friends, she now pushed him to put in more effort to bond with their son. He wanted to. He really did. He wanted to laugh and play with Adrien the way that Emilie did. He wanted Adrien to run to him the way the small boy raced to his mother. More importantly, Gabriel wanted to make Emilie proud of him; to prove that he was the great father she envisioned him to be. So Gabriel started teaching Adrien about hard work, about applying himself, and about fashion.

It worked for a while. Emilie even loved the idea of their gorgeous little Adrien being the face of her husband’s brand. It felt like a great honor and show of love. But soon it just became an obligation, and both men feared breaking the one thing that tied them together. So Gabriel and Adrien begrudgingly continued with the photo shoots and ads. They both knew, however, that the only real glue holding them together was Emilie.

Then, about a year ago, something happened. Emilie is gone. Gabriel couldn’t accept never seeing his sunshine, his purpose for life, anymore, and hid her in the basement. He had no clue how to tell Adrien, and after so many months of hiding Emilie, he can't find a way to let his son now without breaking the boy's heart. Gabriel fears that Adrien knows about his father's jealousy, and would blame him for Emilie. Gabe is already overwhelmed with his own guilt at not being able to protect her. He can’t survive Adrien possibly adding to it. Adrien is his only family now; his only tie to Emilie, the only part of her still warm.

And Adrien looks so much like her. He acts like her too. Gabriel never noticed that before, and it pains him. He can't lose Adrien, he wouldn't be able to survive it. But he also can't bear to be with his son. Adrien is too much of a reminder of Emilie: her grace, her love of life and people, her kindness, her beauty, and her intelligence. Adrien is also too much of a reminder of Gabriel's guilt. Guilt in not keeping Emilie safe. Guilt in hiding her from Adrien, hoping his son would understand once she's with them again. Guilt about being jealous of his son's connection to Emilie, and the attention and part of her heart he took from Gabriel. Guilt about becoming a villain; hoping the ends will eventually justify the means.

He has to get Emilie back, though. There is no other option. He can't be a good human being without her; he doesn't know how. He can't feel compassionate towards others; he only feels hatred, and envy that he can no longer have what everyone else does. No one else's pain could be more than his. The world was simply there to keep him from his life's meaning, and he is determined to get the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses in order to change that.

Well... that became a lot longer than I originally planned, but I hope it was an interesting character study. Again, I'm not trying to justify or condone Gabriel's behavior; just trying to explain it. Long and short is that I feel Gabriel is at the very least a sociopath, but may be extreme enough to be deemed a psychopath.

Now, granted, I only took two psych classes in college, so I can’t say for sure, but it FEELS like he’s somewhere on the sociopath spectrum. Especially when compared to this quote: 

"The psychopath is callous, yet charming. He or she will con and manipulate others with charisma and intimidation and can effectively mimic feelings to present as "normal" to society. The psychopath is organized in their criminal thinking and behavior, and can maintain good emotional and physical control, displaying little to no emotional or autonomic arousal, even under situations that most would find threatening or horrifying. The psychopath is keenly aware that what he or she is doing is wrong, but does not care.

"Conversely, the sociopath is less organized in his or her demeanor; he or she might be nervous, easily agitated, and quick to display anger. A sociopath is more likely to spontaneously act out in inappropriate ways without thinking through the consequences. Compared to the psychopath, the sociopath will not be able to move through society committing callous crimes as easily, as they can form attachments and often have 'normal temperaments.' . . ."

The quote is from Kelly McAleer, Psy.D, and I found the quote here.

Anyway, there were two more elements of Gabriel’s history that I wanted to put in the above “story,” but I also feel like they would have felt out of place because they didn't specifically showcase Gabriel:

Hiring The Gorilla: I see this happening when Adrien is still about a toddler or so; about age 6 at the latest. The media and crazed fans start becoming too much, and so Gabriel feels the need to hire a bodyguard. Mostly because Emilie refuses to just have Nathalie pick up groceries and the like. She wanted to still go out and experience their city, and take Adrien with, so the couple compromised that she'd have a bodyguard with her. Over the years, though, The Gorilla falls for his charges in a very familial sense. Emilie is like his little sister, and Adrien like his nephew. He loves them and will do anything for them. This love for Adrien is one of the only reasons why he remained in Gabriel's employ after Emilie went missing, especially with the harassment he receives from his employer.  

Adrien's Isolation: In Origins we find out that Adrien has been home schooled his whole life. In Malediktator we find out that not only did Adrien and Chloe use to play together as young kids, but also that she is the only one his age he has ever interacted with. Presumably, he hung out with Chloe because of the proximity to the Grand Paris in relation to the Agreste mansion, as well as the connection between the two families thanks to Emilie. In Mr. Pigeon however, Chloe had to introduce herself to Gabriel and noted that she was the mayor's daughter, not Audrey's. Granted, this is probably because the writers hadn't figured out the familial connection or who Chloe's mother was yet, but in-universe it could be because Chloe only ever saw Nathalie, The Gorilla, and/or Emilie, and she was used to throwing the “my father is the mayor” weight around. Anyway, my point being that Adrien could have been the face of Gabriel's clothing line since he was a toddler, and so his parents feared having a celebrity child in public schooling. The oddity though, was that Adrien's name was on Mrs. Bustier's class roster, Chloe knew he would be in her class, and Adrien attempted to get to the school that first day – as seen in Origins. I don't know if it's different in France, but in America a guardian has to register you for school, which means someone had to register him for Mrs. Bustier's class. Gabriel clearly didn't want him to go, and Nathalie didn't seem to be the type to sign him up behind Gabriel's back. Because of this, I believe Emilie was still around during the summer break between the school years, and had decided that Adrien was ready to get back out into the world and make more friends. She probably signed him up and let him know, explaining that he'd have Chloe in his class so he wouldn't feel alone. Adrien was probably ecstatic about this, and talked to Chloe about it. Then, when Emilie... well, whatever it is that happened to her... Gabriel panicked. He couldn't chance losing Adrien, and so he changed his mind about the public schooling. The decision wasn't made soon enough to cancel the registration with the school though, which is why he was still expected that first day. Nathalie probably convinced Gabriel to let Adrien go by invoking “it's what Emilie wanted.”

Anyway, as I mentioned in Part 1 of this series, I had come up with an alternative way of writing Gabriel's character. One that would make him legitimately a sympathetic villain. One that won't be abusive towards Adrien, at least, intentionally. One that could actually make the eventual battle between the Agreste men even more heart wrenching. A way to write Gabriel that could have added so much depth to the overall drama and dynamic of the show.

If you would like to see my thoughts on this re-write, I'll see you at Part 3 of this series.