#maybe if i finish my current undergrad thesis earlier than expected i could do this for fun? bonus thesis?

[silly-mode-cilia]

doing research on writing and stem and how it's taught as an aspect of a research paper has given me a deep desire to write a like. thesis about this and get research on the experiences of my peers and go to the dean and go "hai bestie uhm fix urrrrrrr bio degree hehe see: my sources". what if i just did that Because I Could.

admittedly this is largely based on my own, fairly justified i think, opinion that many of my peers don't write scientific stuff well. from observations and group projects and such. but like. just the relationship between writing and the sciences...the perceived disconnect despite it's absolute vital role in developing identity and communicating findings and synthesizing understanding of phenomena in the context of past/present research/data UGH sexy

[tertiaryembarrassment]

Unexpected (Pt.8) - Paul Lahote x Reader

I’m so sorry about the long wait! I’ve been very busy and tbh just didn’t want to write that much but I pushed through another chapter and hope it can live up to your expectations! Strap in loves under the cut cause this one’s 4388 words long oof

@bookluver01 @mrs-hemmings96 @glimmering-darling-dolly @eleganttravelercloud @vxidnik @wandering–in–fangorn @fangirlbitch02 @steggy4ever @the-main-pumpkin @alphakelsey @thisgirlisahufflepuff @delnquents @my-current-fandom-is @tlittlet @lime-001 @newtycuty

              “Which do you like better, Y/N, the peach or the cream?” Emily faces you, elbows perched on the table, waving two cloth napkins before you, one in a light pink colour, the other, a tasteful off-white. You’re sitting together at her kitchen table, a place you’ve made many visits to in the past weeks since you’d met the rest of the pack. The tabletop is blanketed in a thick layer of bridal magazines, wedding advertisements, craft ideas and, of course, napkin options.

              “Cream,” you say, finally, leaning back in your chair. For a woman with only a month left before her wedding, Emily was massively unprepared. The two of you had spent many of your last few (increasingly frequent) visits together making last-minute decisions on everything from cake decorations to photographers.

              She nods finally, turning both napkins over in her hands to examine them again herself. “I agree.” Finally, she blows out a long breath, setting the napkins on the table and running her free hands through her hair, an exasperated look overtaking her cheerful demeanor. “I am so glad to have you here, Y/N. Seriously. I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

              You laugh, leafing through a magazine on wedding dresses. “Well, for starters, you might have peach napkins.”

              She snorts, a playful swat to your shoulder. “I mean it! There aren’t many people around here I can share this kind of stuff with – the boys aren’t any help, and Leah…”

              “She’s Leah?” You guess.

              “Exactly,” She sighs. Although Leah has softened up on since that first night on the beach, lifting her near-radio silence to talk with you from time to time, your conversations were still scarce, and nowhere near as friendly as they had once been. If this is how she responds to Paul’s imprint on you, you can’t imagine how much worse it must have been with Sam and Emily. You and Paul are merely her friends – Emily is her family. “Have you heard from her recently?”

              You shake your head. “Only a bit. We haven’t seen each other one on one in weeks,” you answer, letting your gaze drop from Emily’s to examine the tablecloth of magazine cutouts and wedding decorations. There’s been a question perched on your lips since the moment you met Paul, since he imprinted, since this all began. Your voice, quiet, you let yourself speak it to the only person who knows the answer. “Does it get easier?”

              Sighing, Emily lets the napkins fall into her lap, twirling them in her fingers, chewing on the question. “Yes and no,” she begins, and you feel your heart drop with her uncertainty. “Just know… she isn’t mad at you, just like I don’t believe she was ever mad at me. Neither of us could help what happened, and she knows that as well as we do. But she’s hurt – the nature of the wolf can be like that sometimes, I think. The shift is a great gift, but also a great burden. One I fear may be heavier for Leah than the others. Give it time. She’ll come back to you.”

              Pressing your lips into a line, you nod in understanding. Give it time was the advice you’d gotten again and again, every member of the pack assuring you that it wasn’t your fault, she’d get over it, you’d both be okay in the end… and maybe this was true, but it didn’t make the waiting any easier.

              You shake your head, banishing your own lamenting from it. Huffing a breath, you run your hands down your face, leaving a forced smile in their wake. “Oof, okay. We have work to do.” You turn your attention back to the table.

              As you set to thumbing through various articles, pointing out floral arrangements and chattering on about the adorable little bakery that did the cake for your cousin’s wedding, last year, and how you were certain they could make something work on the short notice – did she want cake? Because you’d seen some people opt for cupcakes instead, and you thought maybe that would be cute too…

              Emily leans in, an eye running over your face, seeing right through the calm expression you’d sewn on. That was the thing about Emily – she didn’t need a telepathic spiritual wolf-link with you to always know what you were thinking. She also knew when to keep her mouth shut. And she does, swallowing her worry, nodding along to your rambling about the bakery in Forks.

              The afternoon crawls by like this, two friends hunched over a mountain of marriage memorabilia, jotting ideas down in notebooks and making desperate phone calls to vendors. After a few hours, the two of you are broken from your stupor by the sound of footsteps as they make their way towards Emily’s front door.

              It swings open without a knock – not uncommon, for this house, as most of it’s usual guests feel comfortable enough just barging in – to reveal Sam and Paul, laughing as they enter, deep in some conversation regarding a joke Seth had apparently told them earlier. Emily raises her head, resting her chin in her hands as she leans over the mess on the table.

              “Hey, babe,” she says, smiling as she earns a kiss of greeting from Sam. He straightens to stand behind her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder and massaging it. Her hand reaches up to meet his, fingers wrapping gingerly around his touch. “Hi, Paul.”

              He nods his hello back to her, then turns to you. “Hey, Y/N.”

              A smile creeps across your lips at the sight of him, his frame towering above you from your place on the chair. “Hey, Paul.”

              ���How’s the planning going?” Sam says, and you tear your gaze from Paul’s beaming face to address him. He’s looking down at Emily, who returns his gentle expression with one of exasperation, apparently fatigued by the long afternoon of phone calls and appointment booking.

              “Exhausting,” she moans, taking his hand from her shoulder and pressing her lips to his knuckles. Laughing, she adds, “We should just get eloped.”

              He lets out a low chuckle, but shakes his head at her idea, which everyone understood to be only half a joke. “It might be a little late for that – everyone’s already been invited.”

              She groans, letting the frustrated noise melt into a laugh as Sam throws muscular arms around her in a warm embrace before settling down in the chair beside her. She smiles, a thumb on his chin, pulling his face closer to hers as she whispers something like, “I can’t wait to marry you.”

              You suddenly realize how long you’ve been staring at them, watching your two friends in awe as they move in harmony, fitting together like matching pieces in a puzzle. Averting your eyes, you let them land on Paul, who you find is doing the same thing. His lips break into a grin, and he shields his mouth with his hand so the two lovebirds can’t see his words.

              Wanna give them a minute? He mouths.

              You nod, simply pushing out your chair and standing from your place at the table, grateful both for the escape from the room and a reason to stretch your aching legs.

              “Y/N and I are gonna talk a walk,” he says, addressing Emily and Sam, who are too busy mumbling to one another about various wedding plans to acknowledge him. “Try not to miss us too much,” he tacks on, motioning for you to follow as he makes his way out the open front door into the warm sun.

              A giggle slips past your lips as you trail behind him, passing by the to-be spouses, who nod their goodbyes before turning their attentions back to the other. Out the door you step, welcoming the warmth of the early summer evening as it blankets your skin. You fall into step beside Paul, the two of you making your way down the porch steps to the road, walking in unison along the path.

              He sticks his hand deep in his pockets, leaning back on his heels. A beat of silence passes, and you can almost hear the cogs in his mind turning, searching for something to talk about. You decide not to help him out – it can be amusing to see what he comes up with.

              “How did your thesis defense go?” Is what he comes up with.

              You suck in a breath, thinking of the paper you’d turned in a few weeks ago now. “Well, I think,” you start. “It was very nerve-wracking, I was worried I wouldn’t have enough to say, but once they started asking questions, I almost couldn’t get myself to stop.” You let out a laugh, relaxing your shoulders. Paul had that effect on you – you could never be tense around him.

              “Probably helps knowing that all that stuff you’re talking about is actually out there, huh?” He jokes, poking a finger into his chest. “Mythology’s not all hypotheticals and fairytales. Some of us are flesh and blood.”

              “Flesh and blood and hot air,” you retort, throwing your head back in laughter at his feigned wounded expression. More seriously, you finish, “It does help, actually. So, I guess I have you to thank for my Undergrad.”

              He dips in an exaggerated bow, tipping an imaginary hat at you. “You’re very welcome.”

              You laugh again, shaking your head in unconvincing disapproval. He rights himself and the two of you continue down the path, the sky settling into an orange-pink hue on the horizon, sun slowly falling below the treetops.

              “Have you decided yet if you’re going to go for your Master’s?” Paul asks after a moment.

              Your lip curls inward and you feel yourself instinctively bite down on it, contemplating your answer. “I’m not sure,” you say finally. “I might take a break first. Two more years – university has already been so expensive.”

              He nods, tearing his eyes from you for the first time since you’d left the house to examine the sky. “Makes sense. I mean, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you. Why rush, right?”

              Your eyes flicker to him. His jaw straight and sharp, lips just parted as he breathes in warm fresh air, arms extended behind him in a wide stretch as his joints comply in a series of satisfying cracks and pops. His warm skin almost glows in this light, you think, and suddenly he’s turning to you with big brown eyes.

              “What?” He says.

              You shake your head. “Nothing.”

              There’s another moment of silence where two sets of eyes settle on the ground, examining two pairs of shoes as two pairs of legs make their way down one long path. A blush heats your cheeks, and you furrow your brow in an effort to banish it, wondering what you had done to warrant it in the first place anyway.

              It is you who speaks first this time. “Are you looking forward to the wedding?” You say, hooking a thumb over your shoulder to where you left Sam and Emily’s house a few blocks away.

              Paul smiles, nods, tearing his eyes from his feet to meet yours again. Your heart skips for a moment, but you ignore it, focusing on his words. “Very. It’s been a long time coming – I can’t believe they even waited this long to tie the knot.”

              “They’re so happy,” you say, softly, thinking of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, so enthralled by the mere sight of each other it was like you and Paul just disappeared. “It’s like they’re perfect for each other.”

              Paul lets out a low chuckle, but it’s dipped in sadness as it reaches your ears. “They are pretty perfect together.” He says. He turns to you suddenly, placing a hand on your arm to stop you in your tracks. You comply, confusion evident in your eyes as you meet his gaze, intense and kind. “Hey, so, I know I’m gonna be the best man and all – but, when all that stuff is over, I was wondering, I guess, if this isn’t weird to ask beforehand – do you wanna… save me a dance?”

              The heat returns to your cheeks, this time without question as to why. His expression so earnest, genuine, you can’t bring yourself to point out that this isn’t 19th century England – Sam and Emily weren’t going to have dance cards at their wedding for the ladies to fill with the names of potential suitors, and yours certainly wouldn’t be so full that he would have to claim one weeks ahead of time anyway. Instead, you smile, biting your lip to avoid laughing at his sweet gesture. Although you would mean it as a compliment, you’d rather not chance whether he would accept it as one. “I’d me more than happy to, Paul.”

              Again, he straightens, standing to his full height, a mountain of a man, and you both continue down the path together. You feel the ghost of his hand at the small of your back and he mutters under his breath, “I’m glad.”

--

              “Y/N!”

              The call comes from somewhere across the open field, white chairs arranged in neat rows on bright green grass. A crowd mills around the lawn, folks clad in buttoned shirts and floral dresses announcing the occasion as they chatter, awaiting the top of the hour when they’ll take their seats for the ceremony. It takes a moment for you to locate the voice that calls your name, until you spot a tall, muscular man in a black suit jogging towards you.

              “Paul!” You smile in greeting, tossing your arms around him when he reaches you. He returns the hug, almost lifting you from the ground as he pulls away – he’d been a wolf for years now and still hardly understood his own strength.

              His hands linger on your arms, and he leans back as he takes in your appearance for the day, an obvious disparity between your everyday attire and this one. “You look incredible,” he says.

              You suck in a breath, letting a smile ease across your lips. “Thank you,” you return, glancing down at the dress you’d chosen for the big day, patterned with blossoming white bouquets and deep brown branches, and run a hand over your hair. You’d tried your best to tame it, trying to emulate the more stylish women you’d seen around town with a sort of soft, subtle curl to it. Upon failure, you’d opted for one of those ‘intentionally messy’ looks, braiding your unruly locks back into a low ponytail. “I could say the same for you. You clean up nice.”

              He beams at this, tugging on his necktie and raising one brow. “I do, don’t I?”

              You laugh, gesturing behind him to a group of boys in matching suits, shouting and elbowing one another in what you’ve come to recognize as their classic fashion. “The whole pack does. I can’t believe Sam got all of you in suits.”

              “It wasn’t easy,” laments another voice from behind you, and you feel a strong arm wrap around your shoulder in a brotherly side-hug, the sort of protective motion that was not uncommon from Sam, who you recognize as you turn to meet his eyes. “Thanks so much for coming, Y/N. It means a lot to Emily and I.”

              “Thank you for inviting me!” You retort, leaning into the hug before he pulls away. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

              He smiles widely, his eyes as bright as you’d ever seen them. Sam was not an unhappy man by any means of the word, but nothing made him light up quite like Emily. “Crazy, right? I can’t believe I got her to agree to marry me.”

              “Don’t be stupid, you’re a total catch, man!” Says Paul, who claps his friend on the back.

              You nod in agreement. “Paul’s right. You’re both very lucky to have found each other.”

              Sam lets out a subtle laugh, checking his wristwatch from under the sleeve of his tuxedo. “Oh, man. We should probably get everyone to take their places, it’s almost two o’clock.”

              Paul’s smile fades, replaced with an expression of determination. His best man duties, you’d gathered over the last few weeks of planning, were something he did not take lightly. His friend’s happiness was very important to him, and, although he could be a bit silly, you found it quite endearing. “Let’s hop to it then.” He swings around, cupping his hands around his mouth to address the group of rowdy boys behind him. “Hey! Places, guys. Em will be here in a few minutes. Get everybody sitting down!” He nods back to Sam, who offers a smile and a squeeze on your arm before jogging away to take his place at the altar, leaving you and Paul alone. He turns to you. “You gonna be okay alone?”

              You laugh, a hand on his arm. “I think I’ll manage,” you say. He doesn’t respond, only looking at you with raised eyebrows, as if awaiting your okay. You wave your hands towards him, shooing him away. “Go! You have things to do!”

              With that, another grin passes over his lips, and he turns, disappearing into the crowd. Suddenly aware of yourself, you scan the crowd for familiar faces, coming up empty. The whole wolf pack stands at attention beside Sam, and you know Leah must be with Emily, begrudgingly clad in a bridesmaid gown. Other than that, you notice, you cannot recognize a face.

              Nonetheless, heeding the boy’s request, you take a seat near the edge of a middle row, so as not to take the reserved seats of close family and friends. It isn’t long before the other guests follow suit, settling into their chairs, checking watches, wondering when the bride will arrive. After a moment, the seat beside you is occupied by a tall, lithe young man, light brown skin and a mass of curly hair atop his head. You’ve hardly taken notice of him when he speaks.

              “Andrew,” he says, extending his hand towards you. His blue collared shirt is unbuttoned two from the top, neckline dipping lower than one would expect. You return the gesture, shaking his hand in yours.

              “Y/N.” You answer, turning back to the stage.

              He continues. “How do you know the bride and groom?”

              “Old friend of the Clearwaters,” you say, pointing across the way to Sue, one of the few faces in the crowd you knew, and a middle-aged man you don’t recognize. “Newer friend of the Uley-Youngs.”

              He nods, apparently satisfied by your answer. A hand on his chest, he speaks again, answering a question you didn’t ask. “I’ve known Sam since we were kids. Grew up down the street from each other.”

              You offer a polite nod, willing the ceremony to start. Conversation with strangers was not your favorite pastime at the best of times, and this man, although he’d been polite thus far, kept a wandering eye on you so closely you couldn’t help but feel your skin crawl beneath it.

              “You look lovely, by the way.” He says, twirling the sleeve of your dress gently around his finger.

              You pull your shoulder from his reach as subtly as you can, offering a quiet “Thank you,” in response. Awkwardly, you feel your eyes scan the stage, unsure of what you’re searching for before you find it – always a welcome sight, the smiling eyes of a tall, muscular, shapeshifter boy. You widen your gaze at Paul, furrowing your brow, flicking your eyes from him to Andrew, back to him. You hope the message is understood.

              It appears to be, as Andrew chats away about nothing in particular, wondering if this is how he handles all his conversations, a constant stream of words without letting his partner interject their own word edgewise, as Paul narrows his eyes and mouths four words in your direction. This guy bothering you?

              A silent laugh escapes you, and you try to disguise it as a quick breath, as Andrew begins to explain to you his utter disdain for modern social media culture – though you’re not sure how he travelled to such an unrelated topic so quickly – and you return Paul’s message with your own: Help!

              Determination setting on his brow, he’s about to step off the stand when a soft melody plays from a set of speakers somewhere behind you. The crowd takes the cue to settle down, conversations fading into the background as the guests await the sight of the bride. Even Andrew stops mid-sentence, lamenting about his hatred for selfies or something or other, as the sweet sound of violin fills the breeze.

              Paul backs into place beside the other boys, another glance in your direction to make sure you’re alright. You nod, thankful for the music for stopping the conversation, and offer a thumbs-up to calm his obvious nerves. He straightens, apparently satisfied.

              The bridesmaids enter first, a few faces you don’t recognize, and Leah, smiling as widely as she can, given the circumstances, which, for her, is tight-lipped but genuine. She looks beautiful, short hair tied back in a fancy updo, rings of black hair falling from the style to frame her face. Her dress is soft, light and pink, so long it drags along the grass on the ground, ruffled straps framing her shoulders, revealing toned arms beneath. It’s the first time you’ve every seen her look like this, and, you admit, it took you a moment to even recognize her.

              Finally, the crowd rises, instructed by a woman in long robes at the front, in preparation for the bride. The music swells, awaiting Emily, long moments ticking by before she appears.

              You try hard to remember a time when you’ve seen a woman look more beautiful, or smile wider, than Emily does now. You can’t. Her look of excitement rivals any you’ve ever seen, beaming with joy so brightly you fear she might blind her guests. Her long, white dress is strapless, a curved heart-shaped neckline over her breast covered in soft lace. The skirt flows like water behind her, helped on by the breeze, layers of fabric dancing behind her as she approaches the altar, slowly, timed with the music. Her hands clasp a bursting bouquet of white flowers, bright green leaves and lavender – just as she imagined during the planning, you remember.

              When she reaches the altar, Leah accepts the flowers from her hands, and she places then instead in Sam’s open palms, entwining their fingers together. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen two people look at one another the way these two do. It a love you’ve never quite seen before; unlike movies, where the love is fast and harsh and forceful, this is soft, quiet and clear, two people sharing something the rest of the word can’t possibly understand. So natural, it seems strange to think that they ever lived without one another. Two halves.

              The rest of the ceremony passes in a daze, your heart full to bursting with happiness for your new friends and their union. The officiator shares stories of love, what it means and how the couple can pledge themselves to one another. They share vows, promising support, love, and companionship to the other in sickness and in health, and you feel tears forming in your eyes as Sam says the final words of his speech, and the officiator speaks again.

              “Sam, you may now kiss your bride,” she smiles.

              There isn’t a moment of hesitation before his arms are around her, fingers curling in her hair as she cups his face, lips dancing on one another as if they’ve been waiting for nothing else for months. Cheers erupt from the crowd, friends and family whooping and hollering as the couple breaks apart, turning to address their guests, and Sam raises his hand, still entwined in Emily’s, above his head in a victorious salute.

              Paul cups his hands around his lips, letting out a long, high-pitched howl at the sight of his best friend and his new wife. The rest of the pack follows suit, the boys clapping one another on the back and howling like the wolves only they knew each other to be. Even you, from your spot in the crowd, can’t help but join in, a long howl whistling past your lips as you lock your eyes on Paul. He picks you out of the crowd immediately, a broad smile splitting across his face at the recognition of your howl.

              The party is led out by the bride and groom, hands clasped together as they’re followed by their friends, each boy offering an arm to a bridesmaid. Paul tosses a wink in your direction as he passes you down the aisle, Leah’s hand wrapped half-heartedly around his arm. They disappear after a moment, piling into cars to head to their next location, for picture-taking and reception preparation as you find yourself once again without a friendly face in the vicinity, and cringe at the voice over your shoulder.

              “I assume I’ll see you at the reception?” Andrew says, his voice deep in an effort to sound… coy? You nod politely, lips pressed together in a thin line without word. “Maybe you’ll save me a dance, then?”

              You once again, like so many times in the past few weeks find yourself without words, wondering how to respond to such a comment. You must act fast, you think, as your silence will eventually become unbearably awkward, even more so than this interaction already has been. The ‘no’ you want to respond with gets lost somewhere in your stuttering, instead opting for a quiet “Sure thing,” and a swing on your heel, down the aisle and through the crowd, hoping to lose him before he can respond. A long breath of relief escapes your lungs as a moment later you’re leaning against a tree, surrounded by strangers, at the realization that Andrew hasn’t followed you. Perhaps come the reception, you can hope that he won’t notice you. Another quick glance through the crowd and a tall, lithe figure with dark curly hair catches your eye, waving an awkward goodbye as he elbows his way through the mass of people, and something tells you that won’t be likely.