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fangirl-imagines · 5 years ago

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Afternoons at the Peach Pit//Brandon Walsh Fluff

A/N: Requested by @winchester90210

Prompt: The reader goes to the Peach Pit every day to see Brandon Walsh and Steve can’t take it anymore.

You don't know how you got in the habit of going to the Peach Pitt every day. You went in one day with your friends for dinner and the next thing you know you're there every single day almost. You weren't even eating every time, most of the time you just get a milkshake or a coffee and try and sit at the counter with your homework in front of you so you don't feel so guilty about taking up an entire booth by yourself.

"So what are we studying for tonight?" A playful voice ask, leaning up against the counter beside you.

You looked up into the face of the person that brings you back here every day just to talk to. Brandon smiles at you and you swallow the nervous lump in your throat to smile back. He shouldn't look that good in that teal uniform shirt but you had a hunch he'd probably look great in anything. You realize he's staring at you, still waiting for your answer.

"History tonight. There's a test coming up in Henderson's class next week and I'm completely unprepared."

Brandon laughed, "Oh come on with the way you're in here studying every day you should ace that test. I think Nat is even thinking about charging you rent."

You laugh along with him even though you can feel a blush creeping up your face and suddenly the pen in your hands is fascinating.

"Hey, Brandon!"

You both look up to see Steve Sanders and Dylan McKay setting themselves up in a both across the room.

Brandon waves. "I'll be right back."

You nod and watch him go, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you watch him. You didn't notice the way Steve was staring at you while you did so. You tried to turn your attention back to your notes and actually do the studying you told Brandon you came here to do. You use to be terrible at focusing on studying in public places, hiding out in the library instead, but over the last month or so you’d been camping out at the Peach Pit, you’d adapted. You were focused on your notebook when an arm snaked around your shoulders, suddenly made you jump back to reality. You looked up surprised to see Steve Sanders standing there with his arm around you and a chestier grin on his face that made your brow crease slightly.

“Oh, hey Steve...”

“Hey, Y/N, look I was hoping you could settle an argument for me and Brandon over there.”

He gestures behind his shoulder to where Brandon is standing with Dylan, staring at you and Steve mortified.

“Um, sure.” You agreed, feeling nervous at the sudden attention.

You had a class with Steve once and have gone to school with him for years but you had never had a conversation with him before.

“So, Brandon?” He wiggled his eyebrows and nodded like there was some secret going on between the two of you and this was all he needed to say.

You shook your head, “What about him?”

You glanced over his shoulder at where Brandon was saying something to Dylan and still staring in your direction, “You totally want him right?”

You almost choked at his words, looking up at him in shock. Your lips opened and closed like a fish out of water, blinking in surprise. Had you been that obvious?

Steve smiled smugly and nodded, “You totally do don’t you?! I told him you were coming here for more than the coffee!”

“Wh-,What?” You managed to stutter out.

Brandon chose that minute to rush over to the counter. “Hey, Steve come on man. Just let it go.”

He tried to joke it off but from the way he wouldn’t meet your eye you knew he had heard everything.

“I told you I was right Brandon!” Steve laughed, “Now would you just man up and ask-”

Your whole face went hot and you had to get out of there. Without waiting to hear any more, you scooped up your books of the counter and tossed your bag over your shoulder, rushing out of the Peach Pit without looking back.

It was weeks before you could make yourself go back to the Peach Pit. You managed to avoid Brandon, Steve, and their whole group at school. It wasn’t that hard, you never really saw them before you started hanging around Brandon anyway. You were grateful for this. Even thinking about seeing Brandon or his friends made you feel a fresh wave of embarrassment. You fully planned on avoiding him forever and you were pretty sure that was a reasonable plan until he called you. You didn’t know how he got your number and you were too surprised to even ask.

“Y/N? It’s Brandon. Look just don’t hang up okay!”

“Um, hey Brandon?” You bit your lip and shook your head even though you knew he couldn’t see you, “Look about what happened with Steve-”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about him. Steve’s my friend and all but he’s also kind of an ass. He hasn’t quite learned what tact means yet.”

You couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah, I kind of got that.” You sighed.

Brandon laughed, “Listen, why don’t you come by the Pit tomorrow night? Nat keeps asking me what I did to run off his best customer.”

“I don’t know Brandon. I’ve got a lot of studying and stuff to do.”

“Come on Y/N, just one night.”

You could practically hear him pouting through the phone and sighed, twirling the cord of the phone around your finger.

“Okay, just one night. I’ll be there around seven okay?”

“Great! I’ll see you there!”

When you walk into the Peach Pit the next night you have your textbooks stuck under your arm and walk straight to your normal spot at the counter. Sitting down you look around for any signs of your favorite waiter but see none. Instead its Nat that comes over to pour you a cup of coffee and greet you brightly.

“Hey Y/N! We were really starting to miss you around here.”

“Hey Nat, have you seen Brandon around?”

Nat nods his head, a playful smile on his face. “Oh yeah, he’s waiting on his date.”

Nat points over your shoulder. You turn around and there he is. Out of uniform and sitting in a booth in the corner, Brandon smiles at you and waves you over. Looking back at Nat in confusion the older man just winks at you and takes your books and sets them behind the counter before walking off. Hesitantly you walk over to the back booth.

“Right on time!” He greets, gesturing for you to sit down. You do even though your still visibly confused. “You look great tonight by the way.”

“You’re not wearing your uniform.”

Brandon laughed, “No, I only wear that at work. But if I knew you liked it that much I might have made an exception.”

You blinked, “Nat said you had a date?”

Brandon nods, sitting up straight in his seat to look at you seriously. “Look I’m sorry again about Steve. He thought he was helping me out by trying to get you to admit to liking me.”

You swallowed down the memory of the embarrassment you felt that day to ask, “How was he helping you out?”

Brandon bit his lip, “Because I like you and he was trying to convince me to ask you out.”

“You-, you like me?”

He nodded shyly. “Yeah, I do. A lot actually.”

You both smiled but neither said anything, not wanting to be the one to break the ice.

“So I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me sometime? Like tonight maybe?”

You almost laughed, not believing this was really happening to you or that it was all because of Steve Sanders. “I’d like that.”

“Good!” He breathed, visibly relaxing into his seat. “And if you want maybe you could start coming around here again after school? I was really starting to miss that.”

“Yeah, I think I can do that.” You laughed.

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winchester90210 · 5 years ago

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The BH 90210 Rewrite. 1x20: Spring Training.

Rewrite Masterlist

Read the previous chapter here!

Chapter Summary: Alongside Brandon, you take a dive into the world of little league.

Word count: 2,000

Warnings: Swearing, brief mention of violence. Also... I know nothing about baseball.

A/N: Hi everyone! Hope you enjoy this week’s episode! Took an extra week off to focus on my mental health and am feeling much better with everything now. I hope you guys are as excited as the next chapter as I am! It’s almost time for the spring dance :)

My work is to not be reposted/republished, and/or edited without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging is great and encouraged!!)

Feedback is very appreciated and encouraged!! :)

"With my dad laid up, we need all the help we can get. We’re practicing today if either of you want to join in on the festivities," Brandon persuades the two of you as you round the corner of the Peach Pit to sit at your usual booth. The familiar scent of pie crust and burgers fills the air, instantly putting your soul at ease.

"Thanks… but no thanks, slim," Dylan rejects him, sliding into the seat opposite of you while Brandon follows suit.

"Dylan, I thought you were a total baseball freak!" You tell him.

"I am, but listening to these parents berate their kids from the sidelines all day long," he shakes his head, cringing, "Brings back a whole slew of bad memories."

"But it shouldn't be about the parents!" Brandon protests, "It should be about being on a team, learning fundamentals, having a good time!"

"That's very noble, Brandon. But when I was playing? It was about winning at any cost necessary.” Dylan argues. Brandon sighs in defeat, looking to you.

"What about you, Y/N/N?"

"Not a chance,” you laugh.

"What? Why not?"

"Brandon… me and 20 kids, in an extremely competitive state? Did you learn nothing from the summer of '85?" You jest. Brandon chuckles at your extreme rejection, sliding a laminated menu your way.

"Wait… what happened in '85?" Dylan's eyes flicker cluelessly between the two of you, awaiting an explanation.

"Look, it was no big deal. Things got a little heated during one of Eric's little league games," you shrug dismissively, flipping through the Peach Pit's menu as if you didn't get the same thing every time.

"She beat up a nine-year-old,” Brandon quips.

“I didn’t beat up a—“ you pause, taking in a breath. “To put it simply I… put a kid back in his rightful place. He was picking on my brother, nothing happened that he didn't deserve."

“What’d you do, tackle him out on the field?” Dylan lifts his eyebrows, amused smile on his face.

“No, of course not!” You duck your head back into your menu, mumbling, “I went out there and hit him in the groin with his bat.”

The kids run out into the field, taking their positions with their needed equipment in hand. You lean back onto the warm metal fence, slipping a pair of sunglasses over your eyes to get a better look at Nat’s team. Without the glaring sun in your eyes.

“This is pathetic!” A young boy, adorned in a bright yellow Dukes uniform comes hurdling out from behind the fence to join Brandon and Steve. “They’re not even wearing uniforms!”

“So what?” Brandon shrugs, voice hardened, “It’s a practice game.” Steve leans into Brandon to whisper something to him, but since he lacks the levels of common decency that most people acquire by the age of five, he talks loud enough for the whole team to hear.

“They don’t look so good, Brandon.”

“It’s okay. They came to play, that’s the important thing.” Man… sometimes Brandon felt too good to be true. You’re convinced there has to be a catch at this point. Gorgeous, smart, great with kids. What’s next? He opens up an animal sanctuary for underprivileged strays? Buys a soup kitchen? “Listen up, you guys. The way you treat your competition is a direct comment on how you play the game. Good sportsmanship counts big time with me and my old man…” as he continues to ramble on, your thoughts begin to shift elsewhere. Like how good he looks. It’s purely criminal for anyone to look so hot in yellow. It’s an inherently unattractive color. Yet, there he is—coaching children in the blazing heat, instilling them with good sportsmanship, and all you want to do is to get him to yourself. That bastard. You shake it off, chalking it up to teenage hormones, and try to focus on the game.

“Hey doofus! You really eat toads!” The same kid whining about uniforms earlier is now directing all of his pent up privilege and ten-year-old angst towards the poor, sweet, small child from Nat's team, the Pitts, further solidifying your desire to never procreate.

“You’ll throw it better next time, Manny!” Nat encourages the little boy wholeheartedly, clapping for him as loudly as he can.

“Hey Corey! Throw it to the doofus, he’s a real toad!” Does this kid only know two insults? The smaller brunette, the less athletically gifted child hangs his head, kicking sand around the base plate in frustration. Brandon takes note of it, immediately bounding out into the middle of the game.

“Time out! Crawford, get in the game for Noah!” His voice is stern, and as he approaches the boy he’s in total coach mode. It’s kinda hot... Well, it’s not your fault baseball’s boring. Gotta keep yourself entertained somehow.

Steve stops Randy Crawford from going out from the fence with the back of his hand, and going after Brandon himself, sand slipping from under his shoes. You can’t hear what they're saying but you know it’s not the happiest conversation. Knowing them, you know exactly how this is playing out. You don’t even need to hear them. You can see Steve furrow his brows from the sidelines, and Brandon’s gesticulating with his hands wildly as they talk but can’t make out any words that are flying from their mouths. Brandon, the moral center of Los Angeles wants Noah out for being a little jerk. Steve, being Steve, would probably rather keep the better player in than save the self esteem of a little boy before it’s too late and it no longer exists. It’s not long until Brandon pats Steve hard on the shoulder, storming off the field in a blur of sand and sweat.

Well, that’s your cue to leave, isn't it? You go to follow Brandon out, but Steve stops you short.

“That boyfriend of yours is a total Boy Scout,” he spits.

“Well, someone’s gotta be," You scoff, eyes rolling, ”They’re just kids, Steve! This isn’t Major League Baseball. There’s no trophy, there’s no prize. There’s absolutely nothing at stake here. What they need to be doing is having fun, and while that snot-nosed little jerk is out there on the field, they’re all gonna be miserable.”

You flop down onto Dylan's couch, feet up on the armrest as he grabs a soda from the fridge and parks himself on the ottoman beside you. You exhale, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

"Rough day out with the little leaguers?"

"Rough day out with Steve," you snort. “I’m so used to being around Brandon I forget that people like Steve Sanders even exist.”

“Come on, Steve isn't that bad."

"Dylan, you're talking about the guy that got carjacked by a girl he was trying to hook up with, and still bailed her out of jail--despite the fact she robbed him justminutes before--in the hopes of getting laid, only for her to steal his wallet." Dylan's face screws in a mix of amusement and total disbelief.

"Okay, so he's that bad," Dylan laughs. "Sorry to break it to you, Y/N/N, but not everyone is a part of the illustrious Walsh family."

"Not everyone can be," you tease. He gently tosses you a throw pillow from the chair across the room, and you use it to prop up your head. "It’s a tragedy.”

“See, what did I tell you? Isn’t he sweet? Isn’t he great?” Brenda watches as you comb through the stray dog’s long gray fur. He really is cute… wet black nose, shaggy gray hair, big puppy dog eyes. But you can’t keep him. “I think he likes you!”

“Bren, as much as I’d love to take this puppy home, my parents would kill me!"

“Just take him for a trial run, and if you like him, keep him!”

“Bren—“

“Please?”

“Bren—“

“Come on!” She pleads.

“Fine! Okay, okay. I’ll see if we can take him in tomorrow night,” you concede, giving the dog one last pat on the head. Brenda squeals happily, a grin on her face as she wraps her arms around you.

“He’s great! You’ll love him!”

"Fine. See you later... Wally."

The four of you watch silently, perched up at the counter of the Peach Pit as Nat's baseball team chows down on slices of pepperoni pizza. We've got Nat to your far left, wondering how the hell they're going to survive against the team from Beverly Hills, then we've got Dylan to your left debating on whether to finally help Nat and shack up with the struggling team, Brandon to your right who hasn't lifted his hand from your upper thigh this whole time which is seriously distracting, and you, wondering how such little boys could devour so much pizza in so little time.

"You know the improvement from one week to the next is remarkable." You mumble.

"Oh yeah… the kids are showing a lot of promise." Brandon nods absentmindedly, bringing his cup to his lips.

"But…" Dylan begins, "you still need a pitcher that can put the ball over the plate."

"Yeah," Nat sighs, "but win or lose, the most important thing is how good the kids feel about themselves." He's trying to convince you, but the more he talks the more you know he's trying to convince himself.

"Absolutely." You agree.

"Totally." Brandon nods.

"Yeah, I mean, in the long run that's all that counts," Dylan shrugs, his voice coated with scepticism.

"Absolutely." Brandon concurs.

"Totally…” You say. “Y’know, I was talking to Andrea about this and she knows a pretty great player from the valley."

They all turn their heads, slowly, with Nat glancing from you to the phone. You roll your eyes at the boys, making your way over to the payphone. The group watches with bated breath behind you as you slip in the quarters and dial her number, waiting for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Andrea, hi! Listen, uh, do you remember the other day? You told me you knew some kid in the valley who was a major blue-chip little leaguer?"

"Oh, yeah! Avery?"

"Yeah… Avery." You twist your head back, giving them a smile and a thumbs up.

"What's Dylan doing? Bringing in a ringer?" Steve scoffs, twisting the metal bat in his hand as he cleans it. You exchange knowing smirks with Brandon as Dylan helps Avery get ready on the sidelines. She takes off her ball cap, releasing the foot of long brunette pony-tailed hair. Gasps are heard from center field, seemingly originating from Noah. Shocker.

"Oh my god! Dude, it's a girl!" He laughs out, adjusting his cap against the wind.

"Poor Dylan, he's really scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh?" Oh, if only you and that misogynistic head of yours knew, Steve-O. And surprise, surprise—Every pitch she's involved in ends up in a home run for the Pitts.

And little by little, much to your joy, Steve is getting progressively more aggravated— tapping feet, flaring nostrils, bugged-out eyes. You’re beginning to like baseball.

Eventually you make your way over to Brenda, off by the sidelines. You watch as they send Davey from the Dukes out, and Manny, the small, athletically challenged boy from the Pitts, isn’t far behind. Brandon perks up, calling a timeout to give what you can only assume is another one of his infamous Brandon talks to his team. After a moment the team breaks up, moving into their correct positions and as Manny chokes up on his bat ready to pitch. You cringe, hiding your face in your hand.

But it's nothing short of a miracle as Davey throws the ball. It makes contact with Manny's bat, soaring across the field as he jets off across the bases. The catcher from the Dukes runs for the ball, tripping over his own foot and skidding across the grass. The whole team erupts into ecstatic cheers, rushing out and lifting Manny onto their shoulders. You know that Davey blew the pitch for him, you’ve seen him pitch a hundred times. But seeing the joy on that little boy's face, you knew that it didn't matter.

"Poor kid," Brenda sighs, looking out to the opposite direction to Randy Crawford, the catcher that landed face-first into the grass. "I mean, he really gave it his best-- Wally!"

"Wally? Bren, what're you-- oh my god! That is Wally!" Off in the distance, you can see the gray ball of hair hurdling towards the baseball diamond.

"That's not Wally! That's Rupert! It's my dog, he's back!" Randy gasps, watching in amazement as his shaggy mutt runs across the crowds and into his open arms.

"Hey uh," Brandon comes to greet you, but is looking out into the field as well, "isn't that supposed to be your dog, Y/N/N?"

"No, Brandon," Brenda shakes her head, light smile lacing her lips. "I guess that's Randy's dog…" You sigh, but seeing the little boy giggle with glee as Wally-- er, Rupert, laps at his cheek, there's no troubling emotions to be found.

"I'm sorry, Y/N/N," Brandon laces his fingers with yours, grabbing your attention with a soft kiss to your temple.

"I'm not," you assure him. You smile, the sight of the boy reuniting with his long lost dog something straight out of a movie scene. One last look and you turn away from the boy, eyes meeting your boyfriend’s. “Hey, Brandon... have a date for that dance yet?”

Taglist: @be-patient-be-good @mpmarypoppins @bevelyhills90210 @blueoz @princess-ghost-alien @hueycat2004 @l4life @keepcalm-and-beyou @isthatabutterfly @rosy-pugs @thewalshess

#beverly hills 90210 #bh90210 #90210 #brandon walsh x reader #jason priestley x reader #beverly hills 90210 imagine #90210 imagine #brandon walsh #jason priestley #steve sanders #ian ziering #gif is mine #dylan mckay #luke perry #90s fanfiction #90s x reader

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essenceofrickii · 7 years ago

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A fan fiction: What Ever Happened To The Silvers?

(Disclaimer: I’ve never written fanfiction before although I am a huge fan of a lot of writers who specialize in that sort of writing. Participating in this challenge forced me to step outside of my box completely. So I sat down and thought about who would I write about if I could write a fanfiction? Who else but Donna Martin and David Silver!)

Backstory: 19 years after marrying, The Silvers are still in Beverly Hills. Donna’s career as a fashion designer peaked and then plateaued 5 years ago and she’s been forced out of ownership of her company, Donna Martin Designs. David spent most of the marriage being a stay at home dad to their 11 year old daughter, Delilah. He’s written some hit songs over the years and now that Donna is “settled”, he’s looking forward to investing in his own record company. The marriage, like the relationship before the marriage, has been rocky. And the presence of a child in combination with Career shifts has only added pressure to an already fragile partnership that truly tests the boundaries and strength of love.

While Donna was getting ready to head to a fundraiser banquet for inner city LA public schools hosted by Donna’s good friend and philanthropist, Kelly Taylor- Walsh, David walked into the room.

“Erin just left with Delilah”, he says. “How much longer will you be?”

“I just have to take these pins out and set my make up…another 30?”

“Jesus, Donna, it’s already 8:15 and you know traffic will be—”

“Yes, I know traffic will be…”, she said mockingly.

“If you take any longer, I just won’t go”

“You don’t really have that option”

“It seems I don’t have many options…”, he whispered, but just loud enough to hear.

“Is there an issue, David?”, she asked, not really interested in an answer.

He said nothing. She continued to get dressed. Forty- five minutes passed and she finally came downstairs. She looked stunning in a red Carolina Herrera gown that played off her now infamous fiery red hair that cascaded down her right side. She wore the ruby and diamond set he bought her for their fifth wedding anniversary.

“Ready!”, she exclaimed.

No response.

“David, I’m ready!”, she announced louder.

“I’m not going. I’m tired”, he said bluntly.

Donna’s face began to match the hue of her dress and hair.

“What do you mean you’re tired, David? I’m ready to go. Kelly and Brandon are expecting us. We’re Already running late, I don’t have time for this!”, she said getting angrier by the minute.

“I mean, I’m tired of this. Of all of this. Of US!”, he screamed. He was surprised by his outburst, but he walked to the foyer, where she stood, and he continued. “I spent this entire marriage focused on you. Waiting on you. Following behind you. I’ve been Donna Martin’s husband for 19 years and I forget who the hell David Silver ever was… and now here I am, waiting… again… on you. Just to go pretend for 3 more hours way I’ve been pretending for the last 10 years…”

Donna stood there frozen. Too enraged and flabbergasted to make a sound. She turned towards the door. Grabbed her fur shawl, matching clutch and car keys and slammed the door behind her.

#writingcirclechallenge #day 2

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winchester90210 · 5 years ago

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The BH 90210 Rewrite. 1x17: Stand (Up) And Deliver.

Rewrite Masterlist

Read the previous chapter here!

Chapter Summary: Tensions run high when Brandon decides to run for class president.

Warnings: It’s like 90% angst this week. Everyone’s a jerk at some point in this. Brandon’s a jerk. You’re a jerk. Kelly’s a jerk. Just be prepared haha. There might be a swear word in there somewhere. If any of you find something that should be tagged in the warnings, let me know!

Words: 4,100.

My work is not to be reposted and/or edited without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging is fine and encouraged!!!)

A/N: Just a little disclaimer beforehand: I like Kelly. I know this chapter doesn’t exactly paint her in the best way, but all of the relationships will heal in due time. This one was really fun to write and I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you guys think!

“Brandon, wait up!” You swerve around the clumps of people in the hall to catch up to him, “I’ve got a proposition.”

“Yeah? Your desk or mine?” He wraps his left arm around you, hand warm against your waist as he pulls you close.

"Well, actually, Andrea has a proposition for you. I’m just the messenger,“ You slip a paper out of the folder in your hands and pass it to him. His head cocks, looking back at you peculiarly.

“‘Run for office?’ Y/N/N… no one even knows me here.”

“That’s what makes this so perfect, no one knows you enough to hate you or anything! Look, this is a good idea because from what Andrea told me, the rest of the candidates are a bunch of popular airheads. And with your Kennedy hair and actual set of morals, you’d be a total shoo-in! At least think about it, okay?” He pecks the top of your head, fiddling with the paper in his hand.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

“Yo, politicos! Last-minute dark horse entry into the class presidential elections!” One minor downfall to Brandon’s entry— David Silver. You forgot he was documenting the entire thing and you didn’t find out about it until he was there sticking a camera in your face and asking you what made Brandon such a ‘suitable candidate.’ You might just lose your mind. “Brandon Walsh, the new kid on the West Beverly block.”

“The sister is always the last to know,” Brenda grumbles, leaning back into the lockers as she watches her brother get relentlessly hounded by a few bulky cameras.

“He kind of looks like a politician,” Kelly shrugs, “He’s got that Kennedy hair.” Kelly watches as well, though she’s much more interested than the candidate’s sister. Brandon turns down the hall and out of sight, the group of cameras following his every move. She bites her lip amorously. “It’s like a magnet.”

“What?”

“Power,” she smirks, a devilish glint in her eye.

Brenda shoots her a warning glare, “Kelly, don’t.”

“What great news!” Mrs. Walsh gushes, “You know, we’ve always felt bad about moving here and screwing up your plans to run back home.”

“Do you think you can pull it off?” Jim questions, sipping his afternoon coffee.

“Oh! Definitely,” Donna makes her presence known at the entrance of the kitchen, with Kelly not too far behind and… suddenly you feel the urge to leave. Immediately. “The other guy’s a nobody too. No offense.”

“I’ve never been friends with a candidate before!” Kelly smiles, rounding the table to go over to Brandon, while you’re off by the kitchen counter with the other twin.

“Friends with a candidate’s sister,” Brenda corrects.

“Uh, right,” She nods, “I’ve never even voted.” She sets her hand on him, her fingertips gently grazing his shoulder.

Brandon clears his throat, shrugging her hand off of him and moving over to the counter, “Well, you gotta get involved, Kel. It’s important to try to change things.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

“Kelly!” Brenda urges. Once she realizes everyone’s eyes are on her, she readjusts herself. “Uh, didn’t you want to um, borrow one of my jackets? Because I have it upstairs if you want to come get it.” Huh. That was… weird.

It’s the next morning, and you’re sitting there at the kitchen table with the Walshes, making button after button after button. It honestly felt like your hands were gonna fall off at this point. The things you do for that boy.

“So there I was, listening to Donna being heckled and instantly I knew what to do!” Brenda grins, reminiscing about the previous night at The Fall Out.

“That’s great, honey,” Jim smiles absentmindedly, “Would you pass me that glue, please?”

“Bren, that’s incredible! You’ll have to drag me along next time, I so want to see that in action.” You’re the only one to actually acknowledge her as you help Cindy glue down something onto one of one thousand campaign buttons. Ugh, you could feel the blisters forming.

“Definitely! Performance-oriented coffee houses are really happening, I mean, I really felt like a part of it!”

“Right… Is this button crooked?” Cindy asks, holding it up to her chest to get a second opinion.

“It’s fine, mom.” Brenda sighs, scooting her chair out from under her. She stands up with a silent huff and stomps to the foyer to greet whoever came to the door a few minutes prior. You know what you’re doing is for Brandon, but you can’t help but think about how Brenda’s holding up throughout all of this. I mean, her parents barely even acknowledge her existence at this point.

“Well, I was up all night from that toxic cappuccino, thinking about what you said about getting involved…” Kelly’s purring at Brandon in the foyer while Donna stands idly by. “Brandon, I can help you win. I know everyone.”

“Or how to glom onto everyone,” Donna mutters.

“And that’s exactly what you need.” Kelly bargains.

Brenda stalks over to the group, eyeing the persistent girl suspiciously.

“Kelly, whenever political stuff comes on you switch to MTV,” She raises her eyebrows in disbelief as she objects. She isn’t gonna let Kelly sink her claws into her brother. Not on her watch.

“Look, help from anyone would be appreciated,” Brandon smiles politely, stepping back into the doorway as Kelly tries to bound closer.

“Help doing what?” Andrea swoops in from behind Brandon and waltzes in through the open door, arms full of rolled up campaign posters.

“I’m going to run Brandon’s campaign!” Kelly grins.

“Kelly, he already has someone running his campaign,” Andrea reminds her.

“Yeah, I think Y/N already has it covered,” Brenda jumps in, nodding eagerly.

“Well, isn’t there enough room for the both of us?” Kelly asks, hitching an eyebrow up. She folds her arms over her chest and starts at the candidate.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Kel,” Brandon agrees.

“Oh, come on! You can never have too much help. It’ll be fun.”

“Here, I got some cute politician photos,” Kelly offers. Oh yeah. Kelly being here was a real help. “Try to model yourself after these guys, okay?”

“Well, I can see you’ve been busy,” You comment, peering over her shoulder to look at the pictures she prepared. “Gary Hart never even made it to the nominations, Kelly. Besides, what we need to be focusing on are the actual issues. Not if Brandon looks cute enough.” You go and sit back down at Brandon’s desk.

“Yeah!” Brandon agrees enthusiastically, “See, I had this idea that we could feed the homeless people with all the surplus food they throw out of the cafeteria.”

“That’s perfect!” You smile approvingly, tapping your fingers against the wooden desk. “And that’s why you’re going to win— you actually use your brain instead of just your face.”

“Wait!” Kelly cautions, “We have to hit people with what they want for themselves.”

“Hey,” you hear Brenda’s voice come from the conjoined bathroom, “Big news— I’ve got my own campaign going— to leave school.”

“Brenda, that is a great idea!” Kelly exclaims, “Yeah, we’ll tell them they can leave school for lunch!” Oh dear.

Brenda stomps back into her room without hesitation and slams the door behind her. You sigh, lifting yourself from the seat.

“Be right back, B,” you trail after your best friend into her bedroom, sitting beside her on her bed. “You’re serious about quitting school?”

“Yeah, I am serious, actually.”

“Hey, y’know, in some cases, getting your equivalency could actually be more beneficial. Just because it’s not right for other people doesn’t mean it can’t be right for you.” Well… you didn’t think it was a great idea, but you weren’t about to tell her that. The last thing she needs right now is for another person to dismiss her. And hey, if anyone can pull it off, it’s probably her.

“Tell my parents that,” she snickers, eyes rolling.

You can’t believe you’re even thinking this… but you are so sick of Brandon’s face. You can’t turn down a hall without seeing his picture, seeing his face staring right at you. “Brandon Walsh for CLASS PRESIDENT.” It was mocking you at this point. And you know, you know, it was partly your idea. But it was mostly Andrea’s. And the idea was to work on the campaign with him as a team. A small two-person team. Maybe even three with Andrea. But not Kelly. Anyone but Kelly.

You’re sitting with Brenda at Fall Out and it feels good— getting out of school, out of your house, out of Casa Walsh. Not to mention the great coffee.

“Rumor has it that some things you learn with Jack you never wanna unlearn,” Sky, the spunky redheaded barista whispers.

“Are you two…” Brenda trails off, both hands wrapped around her warm coffee mug.

“No way,” she giggles, “Even good sex ruins a good friendship.” The guy you had met earlier, Jack, treads over, plopping himself down on the empty seat at the table. “Listen, Jack, I really hate to ask you this, believe me… but it’s family crisis time again, I’ve gotta go up to Modesto.”

“Forget it,” he scoffs, “every time I house-sit for you we wind up in a fight. It’s always ‘you didn’t water the plants’ or ‘you forgot to feed the guppy.’”

“Hey, you know, if you need a house sitter I might have a candidate,” Brenda smirks.

You watch, horrified as Brandon’s campaign video plays across the Walshes tv screen. It’s self-indulgent superficial nothingness as clip after clip of Brandon being cute and literally nothing else is displayed. This had to be the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen. No selling points, no talk about anything he’s looking to improve, not even a lousy bribe. Wonderful. Very smart move letting Kelly put this together. And it’s only getting better as it freeze frames, with David’s voice-over pulling through.

“Bran the man! And he can deliver.” You had to fight off every urge you had to laugh out loud. I mean… come on. Come. On! Bran the man? Way to go, Kel.

“Bran the man?” Brandon’s just as confused as you are, mouth agape. You have to take a deep breath to suffocate the laugh that’s trying to claw its way up before you speak. And behind that laughter, there was just a little bit of anger. Juuust a little bit.

“Now, okay. As incredible as that was, Kelly, and I mean incredible— you told us… nothing.”

“That’s the beauty of it! He doesn’t have to say anything.”

“That’s not a good thing! He could be trying to reinstate nazis or the KKK into West Beverly and we’d have no idea. Brandon, you can’t possibly think this is a good idea!” You protest, eyes wide.

“Hey, we all want to win, Y/N/N.” Okay. Make that a lot of anger. He was actually going to let that flaming piece of self-indulgent garbage be his campaign video?

“Well, if this is your way of winning… I think there’s a part of me that actually wants you to lose. I’m out.“ You shove on your jacket, jumping up from your seat and start to foot it out the door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

You shrug carelessly, “I don’t know. Might grab some pie, might rent a movie, maybe a pizza. We’ll see.” You make it out before he can get another word in, the slamming of the door the only sound in the house now. Hah. Bran the Man. Unbelievable.

“I can’t believe it,” Brandon mumbles, “she totally just deserted me.”

“Well…” Kelly begins, “I’m still here, Brandon.” He lets out a gravelly sigh, shaking his head as he paces over to the bookshelves.

“I don’t know. I think she’s right. The whole thing might be a little vain.”

“Listen, Brandon,” she stalks over to him, voice lowering, “If you really want something… you have to go after it. Hard. Any means necessary.”

That’s when it clicks for him. Had Kelly had been coming onto him this entire time? He looks down at his feet, chuckling sheepishly, a hint of bitterness peaking through.

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

Kelly shakes her head, approaching closer and letting her arms snake around his neck.

“I wouldn’t say so.”

“Kelly,” he grabs her wrists and removes them from around him, setting them back at her sides.

“C’mon, no one has to find out,” she purrs, attempting to return to the previous position.

This time, he’s not so gentle, practically flinging her arms off of him. “What’s your problem? She’s technically not even your girlfriend!"

“But she’s not not my girlfriend. Just because we haven’t sat and talked and said ‘we’re dating’ doesn’t mean it changes our relationship. I love her, Kelly. And there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about that."

“But—“

“Let me rephrase this so you understand,” he continues, only speaking fractionally slower. Taunting her. “I’m not going to do this to Y/N. And I’m not gonna self-sabotage after one argument. I don’t know if I’ve been sending off the wrong signals or something— but I have no interest in you romantically. I agreed to let you help so I could get extra help on the campaign. Not so I could see your clumsy, evil attempt at trying to seduce me out of the relationship with the girl I love.” He clears his throat, “Now… Are we clear?”

Kelly exhales in defeat, eyes lightly lined with tears of embarrassment. “Crystal.”

“This place is so cool!” You cheer as you enter through the front door of Sky’s apartment, cheese pizza in hand.

“I know, right?!” Brenda beams, “I can’t believe I actually convinced my parents to let me stay here for a few days. Then again, maybe they’ve been so focused on Brandon that it slipped right by them.”

“No way! Parents worship the ground their children walk on, they just never admit it,” you convince, throwing your jacket on the couch.

“That’s probably true,” Brenda laughs, “how’d you convince your parents?”

“I didn’t, Eric did. I swear that kid could talk his way out of a paper bag,” You set the pizza down on the coffee table, kicking your feet up. “So, our first order of business. What are we watching? Dirty Dancing or Risky Business?”

You sigh as you and Brenda watch her brother chat up a random jock. Tom or Todd or Mark or something.

“Brandon hates that jerk,” She notices. Andrea joins you at your other side, scoffing.

“Yeah, well, jerks are voters too,” she adds.

“I just can’t believe he let himself get manipulated this way!” Brenda might not be able to, but you sure can.

“Major integrity loss,” Andrea laments.

“And here comes Svengali,” you fawn sarcastically as Kelly struts her way over, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Brenda, how can you wear that costume?”

“Well, Kelly, you put one arm through one sleeve and one through the other,” Brenda taunts back. You’d think with the number of costumes Kelly wears that she’d be a pro by now.

“First of all, Hippie Witch is out,” She hisses.

“It’s not hippie witch. It’s twin peaks and it’s very in, but that doesn’t matter.”

“What does matter is that it’ll hurt Brandon,” Kelly barks back. Yeah. Like she’s ever cared about Brandon.

“Just till elections, kay, Bren?” You don’t even notice Brandon until he’s there, directly in front of you. He’s like a pop-up book from hell, “so, are you guys coming to the campaign party at Donna’s?”

“As much as we’d love to, we have to stay and house sit for Sky,” you shrug.

“Sounds thrilling,” Kelly comments.

“Well, Kelly, one day when you’re finally grown up enough to be on your own, maybe you’ll understand having responsibilities beyond finding the best shoes to match your outfit,” you snap.

“Can’t you at least leave the chair?!” You call after the man that’s been carrying out Sky’s possessions for the last twenty minutes, but your voice is raw and it’s all in vain as he carries out the last of it. “There’s nothing left!”

“Uh, you’re something,” Oh. Jack. Or was it Mark?

“They took everything,” You bellow, “I mean, I could’ve tried to fight them to the death for it but I’m not sure that would have done any good. The repo man knows no bounds, apparently.”

“I know, I saw ‘em cruise by. It’s pretty awful. But hey, at least it’s only things. We’ve got what’s important. You… me, Shakespeare the fish, and some Franco-American spaghetti.” He strides into the apartment and over to the oven, to which you follow. He holds his lighter up to it, but to no avail. You jump as there’s a knock at the door. You bounce over, figuring it’s Brenda. And… well, it is. And then some.

“What’s going on?” You ask, Jack not far behind you.

“Y/N/N, I’m sorry, I tried to get them to go somewhere else but they wouldn’t listen,” Brenda apologizes genuinely as the group of people push their way in, “Hey, Jack.”

“So this is the fish you’re feeding while the cat’s away, huh? Classy,” Kelly smirks. Crowd after crowd file their way into the apartment every time you believe they’re about to stop. “Where’s the food?”

“Well, I’m sorry, Kelly, but if I knew you were coming I would’ve stocked the place for you!” You retort, eyes narrowing.

“I tried calling but the phone was disconnected,” she responds and sashays over to the fridge.

“I’m here at the Walsh campaign party,” oh god. You’d know that voice anywhere. The joyous David Silver. “It’s sort of a standup event, everyone seems to be having a great time!” David speaks professionally to the camera as he walks through the front door and into the bare living room. You give a quick wave to Scott, who’s holding the camera as David continues to lay it on thick. “And here’s the candidate’s sister! The hostess with the mostest!” Brenda storms right up to David, ripping the microphone from his hand.

“Get out!” The room goes silent as all heads are turned to her as Jack calmly grabs the mic.

“Uh, friends. Yeomen. Country club men. Lend me those pierced ears. Listen up, how many of you really know what this candidate stands for?” Brenda slowly approaches Brandon, who was in the middle of chatting up potential voters.

“Do you even know anymore, Brandon? I mean, you’ve sorta turned into this processed candidate, haven’t you? Leaving any real help, any honest shot of winning behind.”

“David!” Kelly practically catapults herself across the room, grabbing David by the arm, “Why don’t we turn on the video, okay?” Damage control, you presumed. David moves to plug the tv in, but as soon as it goes into the outlet— darkness. And not the metaphorical deep kind of darkness, but literal darkness. The power goes out.

“No manager is listed! What do I do, ring all the bells?” You lament as you turn around to go back into the apartment, met by Steve at the doorway.

He mumbles as he breezes past you, “Low-rent city, Y/N/N.”

“You’re welcome, Steve!”

“Hey, where’s the fuse box?” Oh joy, the candidate himself.

“No clue.”

“No offense, but you really have the apartment from hell!” Kelly snickers. And that’s your finishing touch, tonight. Between the power going out, everything getting repossessed, and Brandon and Kelly the power couple from hell, you can’t take it anymore.

“You know, you guys just showed up!” You start, arms folded, “You just burst in, not even thinking that Brenda and I might have a life, just assuming that it would be fine to invite yourself to someone else’s apartment!”

“Y’know, you could’ve been a little more supportive and offered the apartment,” Brandon jeers.

“Supportive?! Give me a break! What about you, Brandon?! You’ve been so vain and self-absorbed these past two weeks that I’m not even sure you’re the same guy anymore!” You snarl out, and you can almost guarantee that all the neighbors are now privy to the drama, but at the moment you really don’t care. You try to stop the words but the more they flow out the harder they are to stop. You can feel the burning in your eyes as they well up, “and you, Kelly!” You can hear the disgust rolling off your tongue as you say her name, “You just hate when anyone besides yourself gets attention, so you decide to console yourself on Brandon! Why can’t you go for any of the millions of guys in Beverly Hills, why do you have to always go straight for your friend’s boyfriends?!”

You pause for a moment and inhale deeply, “Look. You guys have had no problem passing me right by, so why don’t you both just keep on going and leave me the hell alone?”

“C’mon, Y/N. Don’t do this now!” He whips you back around, his grasp firm but gentle enough that if you wanted to keep walking, you could. You look him dead in the eye as your voice softens.

“I’m sorry, it bad timing for your campaign?”

Brandon sighs, and when the light catches his eye you can see he’s just as thrilled with this fight as you are, tears delicately rimming the edges. He releases his grip on your arm. Taking your hand in his instead, apologetically, he drops his voice down to match yours.

“I gotta go now. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“I don’t even think I want to vote. But hey, you know what, Brandon? Congratulations. You might really have what it takes to be a politician.”

“Mr. Walsh, your proposals please.”

“Uh, my first order of business will be to get rock bands every Friday at lunch.” The room breaks out in an erupting cheer as you and Brenda watch amusedly off to the side. You look down at the “Walsh for Class President” button in your hand, fidgeting with the metal clasp between your fingers as a brief chant of “Walsh! Walsh! Walsh!” starts. God, he had them eating out of his fingers at this point.

His opponent, Michael Miller, leans into the mic. His voice rings throughout the room skeptically as the cheers settle, “How do you plan to implement this?”

“Well, Uh…” He swallows, “Contact the bands.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. There are releases and— and permits and insurance. When I was assistant activities committee chairman—“that doesn’t sound like a real title but whatever“—I brought in bands for the prom. Are you aware of all the red tape involved?”

“Uh…” Come on, Brandon. Say something. “No.” Uh-oh. “But you are. And that’s just one of about fifty reasons why you’re more qualified to be president than I am.”

Your hear Kelly’s enraged whispers from behind you, “What the hell is he doing?” As you smile down at your hands you know exactly what he was doing. He was being Brandon.

“And you certainly run a more honorable campaign. During the two weeks of total campaign madness, I set out to be an honest reputable candidate. I ended up with a vague campaign and I seriously hurt the people I love along the way. Not only that, but I’m nowhere near as experienced you as you are. And that’s the reason why I’m throwing my support to you… Mr. President.” Unanimous frustration spreads across the room, groans and everyone else’s aggravated yells sounding out. But you? You’re trying to keep your grin down.

"Hey, B.” You approach him in the hallway as he skids to a stop, letting Steve wander off with Donna and Kelly.

“Oh, hey. You want to talk?"

"I think we better,” you pause, “I can’t believe you dropped out… I mean, Steve was gonna stuff the ballot box for you and everything. He’s a real friend, that Steve.”

"I’m sorry."

"Wait– why?"

"You were right. I was self-absorbed. I got so wrapped up in trying to win any way that I could that in the long run all it did was push you away. I’m sorry."

"I’m sorry too,” you sigh, “as soon as things didn’t go as I planned I ran off. I think it’s safe to say we both did our share of messing up this week."

"Me a little more so than you, but yeah. I’d say so," he nods in agreement. As you peer to the nearest wall, you’re met with yet another Brandon Walsh poster. You smile deviously, yanking a sharpie out of your purse. You raise the marker to the poster and begin to sketch a goatee onto his black and white face with the real one off to your side, chuckling at your immaturity. You hand the sharpie off to him so he can continue to defile his own face. "Remind me to thank Andrea for this experience, will you?"

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