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khadij-al-kubra · 6 years ago

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Thomas In Wonderland (ch 2)

Characters: Thomas (fictional), Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan, Remy, Emile, Joan, Talyn, Deceit, Nate, The Dragon Witch, fan adopted short vid characters

Pairings: None (some implied Prinxiety)

Words: 1993

Summary: Thomas takes a long fall and has some snacks

Author’s Note: Hey friends! Ya girl is back at it! Not much to say in the ways of notes except now i have an actual Beta reader! Yaaaay. The awesome and talented @fuck-my-life-i-want-food. I have to thank them for catching all the little errors and typos I miss and that WordDoc failed to point out. (digital dummy) As always I am open to any writing critiques or tips you may have, and any likes, comments or reblogs would be immensely appreciated! Also please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters for this fanfic or any of my other future writings. I am so happy everyone’s enjoying the story so far, and i’m having a lot of fun writing it! So now, where were we? Ah yes...

Down the Rabbit Hole

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH”

Thomas’s echoes screamed as he tumbled down the rabbit hole. Which if he wasn’t so busy falling he might’ve noticed was much larger than a normal rabbit hole might be. Not that he had seen the insides of many rabbit holes, but it didn’t take someone with a degree in chemical engineering to take an educated guess that most weren’t the circumference of a very large albeit dirt covered swirly slide. Nor were they probably as well lit or furbished with homey brick-a-brack here and there.

But then again, nobody in their right mind would be expected to notice these things while falling down said hole screaming their lungs out. So you could hardly blame Thomas’s momentary laps of attention to detail.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH *cough cough * AAAAAAHHHHHH”

Thomas had never been so scared in his life. Not even that one time his uncle had taken him out on a fishing trip and they got caught in that rainstorm out on the water. He didn’t know how long he’d been falling but surely it was only a matter of time until he hit the ground harder than Wile E Coyote. And his body did NOT run on the kind of cartoon logic where he could survive such a fall. His anxiety was going through the roof and his voice was growing hoarse from his shouts. Plus it was dark and dirty and humid and oh my gosh, why didn’t he just stay home!?

“AAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaah?”

Huh…jeez this tunnel is deep, Thomas thought. Now that he wasn’t so focused on screaming, Thomas had a chance to let his logic catch up to him. He realized that the less he panicked the more his decent slowed down.

Okay Thomas, just remember your breathing exercises. In for four…Hold for seven...Out for eight… As Thomas worked to count, hold, and release his breath he felt himself slowing like syrup. His spinning body settled into a calmer upright position, and finally his heart rate was back to a comfortable comforting rhythm.

Phew! Taking a break from his tiring terror, the young artist got a look around him. It was dirt brown for obvious reasons, but for less obvious reasons he also spotted old-fashioned gaslights along the walls. As well as a half stuck leather love seat, a mirror, exactly three different pride flags and a toaster oven. One thing he did not see however was a pitcher of water, which Thomas wished was around because his poor dry throat sure could’ve used something to drink right about then. Oh! He just remembered there was half a packet of gum left in his pocket from his last run to CVS. Too bad I didn’t keep the receipts, or else I could’ve made myself a rope to climb up or something. Oh well. Thomas took a piece of gum and chewed on it gratefully.

As he coated his throat in minty sweetness Thomas wished that he had a wristwatch so he could know exactly how long he’d been falling. I mean it’s gotta be a solid five minutes at least since I tripped. Stupid laces. Thomas bent down to tie his laces so he wouldn’t trip on them into any more holes. That is if he ever landed on solid ground again. The momentum caused him to flip around once or twice but eventually he made the two rabbit ear knots. Down and down Thomas went, yet still no sign of a light below or any below at all beyond the shadowy black. Who would’ve thought slowly falling down a hole for so long could be so boring! Thomas hated being bored. Almost as much as he hated writers block, but definitely more than muggy weather. And he still had no clue what time it was.

“Such a weird thing to want while falling down a deep hole,” Thomas said. “A watch of all things. Then again, I’ve definitely had stranger thoughts…Have I always talked to myself this much?”

Before he could answer his own question, Thomas spotted a glint of something from below. A light? Or maybe it was a ladder or something useful. As he went down the item came up to meet him and he snatched it form the air. It was the silver pocket watch the Black Rabbit had on him.

“Poor thing must have lost it on the way down here.”

He opened the watch to check the time, only to find that the hands were not only ticking oddly fast (Thomas would’ve sworn it was the same counts as a waltz) but also moving counter clockwise. Well that’s a lot of help, he thought. Only now did he see there was also an inscription written on the inside:

‘V- I go mad for you, every time. – R’

Thomas wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a compliment or a weird threat, but either way it was clear from the inscription and well-worn look of the silver that this watch meant a great deal to the Black Rabbit.

“Poor little guy must be going nuts without it, especially if he was in a hurry for something,” said Thomas. “I’ll try my best to get it back to him. If I ever touch ground again, let alone—Oof!”

His whole body suddenly jerked to a halt, like how it did at the end of rollercoaster rides. Thomas looked down and to his great relief saw he was floating a foot above solid ground. A second later he was dropped down and tasted said solid ground.

“Ow…” Despite the taste of twigs and leaves that he picked out of his mouth, Thomas was relieved to have reached a bottom at last.

It looked like he was in another tunnel- only this one was long ways and had a clear warm light at the end. Moreover, he saw up ahead of him a rather large shadow on the wall with rabbit ears and could hear anxious mutterings of, “I’mlatei’mlateafucki’m SO late! Where’s my watch, I’m so LATE!”

“Hey, Mr. Black Rabbit,” Thomas called out.

The shadow turned to his voice, ears shooting straight up, only to scamper out of sight. He really was a jittery little fella. Thomas ran down the tunnel in the hopes of catching up. Not only to give him back the pocket watch, but also he was honestly still pretty curious about where the Black Rabbit was going.

As he ran Thomas passed a few wooden doors and portraits of upside down selfies, but he kept his eyes ahead. At one point he saw the Rabbit’s cottony tail and turned that same corner. At the end of the hall was a door left ajar. Thomas opened it and found himself in a spacious room, nearly bare save for a round glass table and lamps along the walls. The Rabbit seemed to have vanished.

“Boy he’s really good at popping in and out of places suddenly,” Thomas said, scratching his hair. “But where could he have gone?”

Just then he spotted a spec of blue to his right: a small pair of curtains low to the ground. Thomas knelt down and pulled them apart. Behind it was a simple door with a brass handle and keyhole. This was getting curiouser and curiouser by the minute. He stooped even lower, practically laying on the wooden floor now and peeked through the keyhole. What he saw took his breath away and made him smile for the first time all day. Beyond the door was the most gorgeous garden he had ever seen! Filled with gardenias and tulips, roses and violets, sunflowers and daffodils…he really liked flowers. There were even ones in colors and species he didn’t recognize.

“Oh I gotta check that out! But how am I going to get through this teensy thing?”

Thomas stood up and walked around the room, hoping there might be another him-sized door he’d maybe missed. He saw no door but when he accidentally knocked his hip into the round table (Ouch) he saw there was a small glass bottle with a tag on it that read DRINK ME in Arial font, and a plate with a single large sugar cookie on it. On the cookie in pink colored icing were the words Eat Me in lovely Cursive. It wasn’t every day that Thomas came across food that was so bossy. Then again, he hadn’t eaten or drunk much today, and he was no good on an empty stomach. He left the bottle alone because a) the font wasn’t too nice and b) the blue liquid inside looked like Gatorade but could also very well be poison or liquid drainer or something. He remembered what happened in Heathers.

The cookie on the other hand a) had a sweeter font and b) well, he’d always been weak for cookies. So he pocketed the bottle for later, took the gum that had long ago lost its flavor out of his mouth, put in in the wrapper (because he wasn’t a barbarian), picked up the big cookie, and took a bite.

Aaaand he immediately regretted it. Not because the cookie tasted bad, it was actually delicious. But because he felt himself getting slightly compressed and saw the room getting even larger, until Thomas found himself to be the size of an ant.

“Oookay. So big cookies here make you small. Duly noted.” For some reason he felt like that should be reversed, but he could mull one that more later. Thomas turned to the door. “Say, maybe I’m small enough to fit through that door! Even if it’s locked, which it probably is and I didn’t see a key anywhere…I could probably fit through that keyhole. Ha!”

Thomas jogged on his teensy legs over to the door. He was certainly small enough to fit into the hole. Unfortunately he was too small to actually reach said hole no matter how high he tried to jump. Thomas gave a sigh.

“Okay new plan.” Thomas thought for a moment and then took the DRINK ME bottle out of his pocket. If the cookie made him small, then it stood to reason the drink might make him big. “Well, here’s hoping is not liquid cleaner.”

With 50% hope and 50% anxiety, Thomas uncorked the bottle and took a swig, downing the whole thing. Not that there was much to begin with. It was a small bottle after all. Thankfully it wasn’t poisonous; actually it tasted like grape soda. Or some kind of berry maybe? Definitely something fruity. Also thankfully, Thomas felt himself being stretched big and bigger. Not so thankfully his head knocked into the ceiling. Now he was too big. Thomas groaned. At least now he knew what it was like to be tall. That was kind of nice.

“Okay, new-new plan.” Thomas took out the rest of the Eat Me cookie and this time only took a nibble. “Take two.”

Thomas once again felt that compression like before. This time however, he was more like the size of a mouse than an ant. He jogged back to the wooden door again and this time found he could just reach the rim of the keyhole. He pulled himself up (good thing he’d been going to the gym lately) and through the hole. Finally he was on the other side.

“Woohoo! Thank you size changing snacks!”

His mood improved greatly with the treats and the new scenery. The garden was even grander up front than through a keyhole. So many vibrant colors, and the sweet earthy perfumes seemed to wrap around him like chiffon. Thomas relaxed for the first time all day. Still, he didn’t know where exactly he was or where the Black Rabbit in the purple waistcoat had run off to. What Thomas did know was that he had been very distressed about something and that he had the bunny’s missing pocket watch. There was still a chance that Thomas could help the poor fella, or at least give his belonging back to him. He could still do something. So Thomas moved on in the only direction he was sure of- forward.

<=PREV

NEXT=>

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#KDsWriting #Thomas in Wonderland AU #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #Logan sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #emile picani #remy sanders #joan and talyn #nate sanders #dragon witch #sanders sides #sanders sides fandom #famders

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kkmania44 · 3 years ago

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life so far #yass

ok so basically im trying to make this blog very indetail, and for all of my SUPER fans out there who need to know most major events in my life, here you go. i was born in a hospital on april 7th, 11:43 am. the hospital was some holy hospital. during my mothers labor, my grandma had to hold her leg up, just a fun trivia fact. she was in labor for about 3 days and didnt eat or drink ANYTHING. she also had to have her water manually broken by a doctor. during this time, my father was recovering from a terrible accident, so the fact i wasnt a miscarriage is kinda cool. and also, fun fact, my mom got pregnant from the birth control giving her the needed hormones she needed TO get pregnant. (she has a condition or soemthing that makes pregnancy like really hard or something) and my aunt also has it. she also had a high risk pregnancy because she had high blood pressure. but thats all of the birth facts i have right now.

after i was born, we moved to spokane, washington. during that time, my parents lived near their families. while trying to move out, my aunt attacked my mom, fun fact. after living here until i was about 3, my mom and i moved to lynnwood, into a small apartment, and from there to the house in bothell washington i lived in until 2019. by the time i was in preschool, we basically settled in.

i dont remember much about preschool. my mom used to work late though, and there were train tracks we passed by in the dark on our way home. i remember one time, we were supposed to be napping. but i was looking at all of the colors of the rainbow while lying there. this is in hindsight probably why im GAy. one time i gave this girl a minor concussion from throwing a doll on her head, and i got in a lot of trouble.

kindergarten was the only year i wasnt in bagc (boys and girls club) and i remember my grandparents visiting often.

first grade - 4th grade, i was in bagc. it was actually an awful experience tbh. I WAS BASICALLY BULLIED!!!!! /sar. every summer we used to go on these field trips every day expect for one “club day” once a week. i had a few friends, 3 girls. they would regularly though, chose to avoid me purposefully, and calling it a “friend break” which sucked ASS when it was every other day. im just summarizing this, because im too lazy, but yeah.

tw for next part ig

in the 4th grade, i had a friend named audrey. i would regularly visit her house, and we would take the same bus (after bagc). during this time period, i had a friend named bella. however, bella stopped hanging out with her after being friends with me. i dont know WHAT or WHY she started to hate me, but she did. it got to the point where she would casually pass me notes explaining how she was gonna tw// violent idk, quote, “i’m going to kill you. i’m going to fucking choke you to death and leave you to die.” and would send them to me, for i think, three days straight. after that incident, i went to visit her home after school. she had a basement, we would mess around and play on her wii down there. i got up and went to the bathroom, she laughed at me for bringing my phone in there, usual, expect she sent me death threats hours prior! when i left she was holding this giant wooden stick, (i would say it was pretty wide. almost taller than her.) i think it was used to keep her sliding door down there shut. it started out like a sort of game as first? she just started trying to hit me with it. obviously, when she didnt stop after i told her to, it was kind of obvious “yeah maybe those death threats werent a joke!” WHICH IS FUNNY IN HINDSIGHT BECAUSE I COMPLETELY IGNORED HER INDETAIL DESCRIPTION OF HOW SHE WOULD MURDER ME??, but anyways. it got to the point where i was hiding under her bed. it gets a bit blurry from here though. i think she dragged me out or hit me a few times until i tried to get away. either way tho, she recorded videos of her just!! trying to kill me. so that was a goofy moment.

anyways, everything is kind of normal after that. so i think its time to touch on my cool awesome family cult!! yaaaay!!

basically, in short, my family is in a cult. literally. my great aunt beth (she has all of the money. my family is generally very poor, beth is the nurse and she has all the money). she would provide food and clothing for my mother and her sisters when she was little, and in response everyone had to literally follow her like a cult. its to the point where i am unable to see my cousins. shes running a conversion therapy, she kept my cousin in a mental hospital and is fighting for custody of her to be able to hold that over her head. obviously, i was only really a “part” of it when i was the age of 3 - now. it’s only really relevant now because i cant see ANY parts of my family except for the ones who have been kicked out.

compared to those 2 funny stories, my life is GENERALLY uneventful. but theses are the few major events that may come up in my blogs in the FUTURE, which means if i have any super fans (or just me wanting to keep my blog organized and having made sense to anyone if they read through the whole thing) then here it is.

recently, i moved from the home in bothell to a home in beacon hill seattle, and now have currently lived in this house in kent washington for about 1 month going on 2. i own 2 dogs, whiskers, and zoey (crusty white dog still love her tho). i literally just wrote a novel im so proud of myself.

not sure how to close this! but yasss!!!!!!

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looselucy · 7 years ago

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November

Eating was awkward enough as it was without having a table. But it was Friday morning when we all realised just how bad things had gotten. Myself and Zayn sat on the sofa together, both silently eating our bowls of coco-pops, Harry and Tally were both in camp chairs across from us. Barely a noise from all of us.

It had been that way since their drunken shag on Tuesday evening. They both knew the routine of sleeping with someone one time, and that being it. What they weren’t used to, was then having to live with that person. And they were not doing well. At first it was pretty funny, but after a few days’ worth, it really was just torture. We literally couldn’t even begin to make conversation, we all just sat in silence, trying to eat our breakfasts as quietly as possible, but every single noise was amplified by the sheer grossness of the situation. Oh… It was awful. It was around ten minutes of absolutely nothing before Harry raised to his feet, taking his dish over to the sink, before beginning to make his way out of the flat, running late. “Wanna get drunk tonight Zayn? I need it.” He huffed. “Yeah, sounds good, man.” “See ya later.” I cringed even more as he left, catching Tally’s eye for the first time and she just shook her head in the smallest manner possible, waiting until she had heard the door slam, double checking he was definitely gone, before turning around to us. “Oh my god!” She yelped. “Tally, this is ridiculous!” Zayn pointed out the obvious. “I didn’t tell you the whole story.” She grumbled uncomfortably. We both leant forward, eager to hear her story, but she just threw her toast dramatically onto the floor and started fake sobbing into her hands, not saying anything. “What?” I cried. “No!” She protested. “Tell us now.” “I can’t! It’s too embarrassing.” “All the more reason to tell us.” Zayn smiled, eager. “I asked him out.” She said clearly. “WHAT?” I died inside. “Oh god. Oh god no.” She started, face still hidden. “It was in the morning, and I was getting dressed, and he was lead there like some kind of porn star and... Oh god. He looked so good. So good. And I forgot how to be normal and asked him if he would want to do something some time. And he was like, oh no, sorry. And I got so flustered and stupid and I ran out of his room without even putting my dress back on. It was the lowest moment of my life.” I felt for her. I really did. Tally had once gone up to a boy on a night out and asked him to take her out, just to prove a point to us, and his mouth had literally dropped open and he had said he would love to. Tally wasn’t used to rejection. Tally wasn’t used to having to live alongside a boy she had shagged, who had continued to reject her. It was not a good situation. I mean, things were bad enough between me and Harry, never mind Tally and Harry. However, not a word had been spoken between me and Harry since Tuesday evening, so that was quite nice. “Well,” Zayn mumbled eventually. “I wasn’t expecting that.” “It’s very out of character for me.” “Why’d you do it?” I baffled. “He’s a knob.” “He’s very appealing. And he was so nice and flirty with me all night. Very charming. Never met anyone like him.” I couldn’t help but agree in my mind, but it was probably not for the same reasons she felt like she’d never met anyone like him. She stood herself up, groaning as she picked up the toast she had thrown on the floor a few moments beforehand and threw it in the bin, then turning back around to me and Zayn, finally being able to comfortably tuck into our cereal and not be paranoid about the noise we were making. “I’m gunna go home.” She sighed. It wasn’t uncommon that Tally went home at the weekends, she was only an hour’s drive away from campus, just under two hours on the train, but we knew it was simply because of how tense things had gotten in our flat, and she wanted to escape it. “Seriously?” I gawped. “Yeah. I’m gunna go now, actually.” “Don’t you have a lecture?” “Yeah. I don’t care. I’ve not missed one yet so it’s fine.” She sulked into her room to prepare her bags, leaving me and Zayn alone in the kitchen, finishing our breakfast together. He chuckled under his breath. “What?” I asked. “Harry’s been here just over a week and he’s caused so much drama.” That was extremely true, and we had around another six months for Harry to cause even more drama. It was bound to happen. With there being one girl in his flat that he hated, and another one he had shagged, of course more stuff was bound to go wrong, and there was going to be more drama on the horizon. That much was clear. Zayn checked the time on his phone, before quickly leaping to his feet. “Gotta shoot.” He sighed. “We’re drawing a naked man this week.” “Oh, you’ll love that.” I played. “Damn right. Love a good penis.”” “In and around your-” “EY! Calm down, Pippa, it’s not even lunch yet.” He grinned. He gave me a little wave over his shoulder as I chuckled to myself, wondering how this weekend was going to turn out. + + + Being the wise cookie I am, I had opted to miss out on the drunken night Harry and Zayn had planned. The weekend before had all gone to shit when I tried to make an effort, so I thought it would be good for me to just let them go out and do their thing, whilst I got a relatively early night. I’m sure I was slap-bang in the middle of a blissful, undisturbed sleep, when some very, very loud knocking on my bedroom door, ruined it. My eyes popped open, my face only being uncovered by bed-sheets from the nose up, scowling straight away, glancing to my clock and expecting it to say 4am, but it had actually only just gone midnight. I realised that often, I was a truly poor excuse for a student. The banging continued and I groaned loudly to myself, before shouting. “IT’S OPEN!” “OH. IS IT?” Zayn’s drunken voice was sweet and vulnerable and very cute. I suddenly lost the tough, angry facade and crumbled under the sound of my best mate drunkenly wanting to see me. “YES! COME IN!” The handle was pulled down and he ran in quickly, jumping on top me, and on top of the sheets, thankfully, and started hugging me to the best of his ability, like the absolute idiot he was. He began cheerfully yelling his glee. “YAAAAY YOU’RE AWAKE!” “I wasn’t but, you’re very noisy.” “And you’re very rude, Miss Payne.” The door opened again, and we both glanced to see Harry dancing his way into my room, clicking his fingers with the dopiest smile on his face, stepping joyfully to a non-existent beat, despite the fact it was absolutely silent. “LOOK, HARRY’S HERE!” Zayn continued to yell, even though his face was mere inches from mine. I could tell they had just been drinking, because they were on different highs than I had seen them for the past few nights out. When they had taken drugs, it was like they were intense, focused on dancing and having a good time. Just on booze, the two of them were so playful and lovely, even Harry, thus far. The dancing really did make me laugh. Next, Harry jumped on top of me too, there definitely not being enough room on my bed for me under the covers and two idiots flailing around on top of them. Those single beds really were a curse, and intensely uncomfortable. “This is weird.” I mumbled up to the two of them. “We would like to invite you to get really drunk with us.” Zayn nodded firmly. “Not my idea!” Harry raised one hand. “I was quite happy without you.” “I was immensely happy without you, Harry.” He smirked, and for once, it felt like our hatred was actually quite playful, which was a better way to go about it. Maybe if I was drunk too, it would be even better. “So?” Zayn pressed on. “So what?” “So are you getting drunk with us?” I glanced from one pretty face to the next, the sensible part of me wanting to just go back to sleep, but the temptation was far too great, and their faces far too funny. I huffed out uneasily, rolling my eyes and trying to contain my smile. I swear, I had started rolling my eyes so much since Harry moved in they were close to remaining perfectly fixed in the back of my head, just like my mum had always warned me. “Okay.” I reluctantly agreed. “YAAAAY. Okay, I’ll go pour us a drink.” Zayn uneasily got off my bed, clambering over Harry and tripping over himself merrily before he stormed out of the room, continuing to cheer to himself. Only then did I realise that it was now just me and Harry, and he was still on top of me, on my bed. He was far too drunk to take in how completely awkward it was. He looked down at my chest, which had become slightly revealed thanks to the wriggling of the two lads. I was bloody waiting for him to make some stupid comment. “Are you naked, Pip-Squeak?” “Will you get off me?” “Are you?” “GET OFF!” I pushed him, with a great deal of force, off my bed, happy to hear how amused he was when he crash landed on the floor, when it so easily could have spurred another argument, because I was in no way gentle with him. He then raised to his feet and looked down to me, stumbling back slightly, but not moving out of my room. I stared back up to him, confused. “What?” “I’m just waiting for the show.” He grinned. I threw my teddy, Lulu, at him, regretting it straight away because that stuffed penguin held a special place in my heart, and in my head it was as though it had been tainted by touching Harry’s tanned skin. But he laughed, clutching his stomach, having wound me up successfully, before fleeing from my room. I rolled my eyes again, being hesitant to get out from under the sheets, but as soon as I did I ran over to the door and turned the lock, half expecting Harry to attempt to burst through the door and see the apparent ‘show’ he had been waiting for. Thankfully, he never did. I threw on some underwear, leggings and a baggy top, scuffing my hair up and wishing I could simply not care and leave my face completely blank, but I caved under the pressures I had created for myself, and put some foundation on my pale face. I heard more banging coming from down the corridor as I swung my bedroom door open, seeing Harry and Zayn now banging on Mike’s door, the same stupid smiles on their faces. I went and stood next to them with my arms folded, waiting for Mike to exit. He poked his head out of a small gap he created in the door with hatred in his eyes. “For fuck sake, lads.” He huffed. “Are you naked?” Harry asked him. It seemed Harry had a fascination and a need to know when anyone was naked. Mike’s glare intensified. “I have a fucking girl in here.” He alerted. “YOU DO?” Zayn smiled wide. “OH CONGRATULATIONS! CAN WE MEET HER?” Without another word, Mike slammed the door shut in their faces, and the sound of the lock going was extremely loud. Zayn turned to me, his bottom lip poking out, eyes sad. “He was naked.” Harry nodded calmly. “OOH! Shall we invite Ringo?” Zayn’s eyes went wide again. “Leave the poor girl alone. C’mon, lets drink, before I give up and just go back to bed because you’re both insanely annoying.” I followed them into the kitchen, turning around and looking longingly at my bedroom door, remembering how lovely and snug my bed was, how warm and content I was. Why the hell was I choosing to get out of bed and drink, I’ll never know. I walked into the kitchen to see Zayn had prepared me a vodka and coke whilst I was getting dressed, and he presented it proudly to me, passing it my way and not letting go, tipping it into my mouth and not giving up, even when I tried to distance from it. I somehow powered through, finishing my first drink in one sitting, but I gagged as soon as I was done. “That was disgusting.” I grimaced. “It was probably sixty percent vodka, thirty percent coke.” He shrugged. “What about the other ten percent?” I asked through a smile. “Huh?” “You’re missing ten percent.” “Oh. Well… that ten percent is umm... love. I love you, Pippa.” “You two are disgusting.” Harry fell down onto the sofa, drink in hand. Zayn started pouring me another drink immediately as I sat down in a camp chair across from young Harold, scowling at him as usual, before turning back to Zayn, who was just about keeping himself on his feet. “How did you both get so drunk, so quickly?” I asked them. “We went to Jax for a few casual pints.” Zayn made sure to create the speech marks with his fingers when he said casual pints. “And they’re turning it into a cocktail bar too, so they were doing a night of practicing, and giving out free cocktails so people could try them. Really good night to stumble in there.” “Really good.” Harry agreed. The cocktails had obviously done their job very well, because it was probably the most drunk I had ever seen Zayn. The same could be said for Harry too, but I didn’t have much reference when it came to him. But they were giddy, obviously both in very high spirits. I preferred them that way, I couldn’t figure out why they ever chose to do drugs when they were so much better and livelier on alcohol. I suppose it was just a whole side of life I didn’t understand. I took another sip of my drink as Zayn went and slumped next to Harry, putting his arm around him. Harry’s dozy eyes closed for a second, the smile on his face proving how content he was. Zayn and Mike got on, in the way most lads get on, but Zayn and Harry were really getting on over their past week or so of being friends. They were both very similar. Ignoring the fact that I hated Harry and loved Zayn, even I could see that. I had always been a little baffled by how easily lads could click with one another, form these instant friendships and never bullshit each other, never fall out over petty things. I had always been a girls girl, always liked being one, but I figured maybe that was why I was getting closer to Zayn. Growing out of that thing where I felt like I could only be closer with one gender. Being friends with Zayn was easy. I liked that. “Shall we play a drinking game?” Harry suggested. “Yeah.” I moved to the edge of my seat. “I need to play catch up.” “What game?” Zayn mumbled. “I’ve Never.” Harry barked quickly. Zayn’s eyes went wide before he got back up to his feet and grabbed a second bottle of vodka from his food cupboard, before slumping back down. “I’m gunna need this.” He sighed dramatically. From our other few experiences of playing I’ve Never, it seemed Zayn was a very experienced chap. He knew he would be doing a lot of drinking during the game, much more than I would. Although I hate to admit it, I was definitely looking forward to learning a little more about Harry. “OKAY I’LL START!” He yelled for no reason. “I’ve never... had sex with a boy.” I took a sip, which was very expected, but Harry looked like he was about to pass out as soon as Zayn raised his glass to his lips, smiling dumbly to himself. I guess I was pretty taken aback too. Myself and Harry sat waiting for an explanation, but Zayn kept his mouth shut, obviously loving what he was doing to us. I knew Zayn considered himself to be straight, so this was news to me. “ZAYN!” I cried after some time. “What?” He played dumb. “C’mon, man!” Harry started. “I said that to get Pip-Squeak to drink, not you! Give us the story.” He just shrugged, winding us both up no end, so I decided to continue the game, and see if I had guessed the scenario correctly. “Okay, I’ve never had a threesome.” He clicked his fingers and pointed in my direction, confirming I was absolutely spot on, and taking another drink. I noticed Harry didn’t drink to that one, which in all honesty, surprised me. “Alright, you have to tell us.” Harry drunkenly demanded. “Alright okay.” Zayn got himself comfortable. “It was with a guy and a girl. My main aim had been to just shag her, but then the lad bent over in front of me and I was like... okay. Why the fuck not?” Zayn was an incredibly open person. Up for anything. He believed in trying everything that presented itself to him, he grabbed opportunities when they were there, and it was one of the best things about him. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was, I knew this about Zayn, but it was still really interesting to hear that. “What was it like?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Weird. Weird as fuck. I’ve not done it since, don’t think I’d do it again. But... glad I did.” We all took big gulps of our drinks, downing the new information, both me and Harry wanting to be the type of people who didn’t make a big deal over something as trivial as a boy sleeping with another boy, but it was pretty shocking to hear. I cleared my throat, and we all moved on. “My go.” Zayn began. “I’ve never slept with someone I live with.” We both darted our heads quickly to Harry, whose bottom lip extended itself before he took a big swig of his drink, shaking his head and trying not to laugh along with me and Zayn, but he couldn’t help but let out a little drunken giggle. ”Alright, laugh it up you two. Laugh at my misery.” “It can’t have been that bad?” Zayn laughed. ”Mate, it’s been awful. The sex, was average at best. And the whole aftermath of it? Honestly, totally not worth it. She asked me out man, what the fuck? You told me she was down for casual sex!” “She is! I just think she thinks you’re fit.” Zayn fought. “That’s because I am.” Harry raised his brows, taking a heavy sip. My face went from a smile and dropped massively, because he just did that to me. He was being deadly serious, he was so obsessively arrogant and blinded by himself, it drove me insane. I finished my drink, and poured another, sticking with Zayn’s 60% vodka and 30% coke, now with 10% of absolute frustration. I could be having a relatively nice time, and then he would just say something, something so small and something that should be insignificant to me, and it changed my mood. I tried not to roll my eyes, blinking it away a little as they both continued to ramble on about it. “You have to like... learn how to talk to her again.” “I never bloody spoke to her before, how am I supposed to figure out how to do it now?” “That, however, is an extremely valid point.” Zayn nodded. Harry tried to shake it off, obviously not even wanting to think about it, never mind talk about it. He downed the remainder of his drink, on some kind of whiskey or rum or something, and poured another, almost having the entirety of that one in another foul swoop. I guess I noticed it then, that little glint in his eyes, that bob of his Adam’s apple, the heave of his chest. It bothered him. This atmosphere he had created for himself, the way things were going with Tally. I would have never guessed it, if my eyes had been on Zayn in that exact moment, I wouldn’t have ever known. But I caught him the exact moment his facade dropped. It was surreal. But he sucked it up. I dropped my gaze. “I’ve never,” He began again. “Wanted to shag someone in this room.” Zayn awkwardly moved his eyes to me, before taking another swig, hardly able to contain his smile, proceeding to laugh new bubbles into his drink. Harry gave a knowing raise of his brows, kind of saying, I knew it. “Zayn!” I cried. “It was before I got to know you!” He cried back. Harry’s laughter caught in his throat, which he quickly washed away with a sip of his drink, and I could see he felt like saying, because who the fuck would want to shag you after getting to know you? But even he wasn’t that low. But he did think it. I know he did. “Thanks.” I huffed sarcastically. “No, no. Not like that. It was the first night we moved in, before we got this close! You were wearing that tiny red dress, and I was just like… Yeah… I definitely would.” I grinned before leaning and high-fiving him, pretty much flattered by what he had said, now he had redeemed himself slightly. We were obviously past that stage, if anything were to happen between me and Zayn, the atmosphere that was present between Tally and Harry would be nothing on ours. He was my best mate, there was no way in hell. But I liked that he had once seen me that way. I was complimented. “Okay.” Zayn continued the game. “I’ve never taken drugs.” We all took sips of our drinks, and I noticed the surprise in Harry’s eyes as he spotted me taking a big swig, and I was expecting him to say something. “Thought you were a virgin to all that, Pip-Squeak?” “I tried MDMA… once. It did not end well. In fact, it ended in a puddle, in the street. So, never again.” They both burst out laughing and I tried to pretend I wasn’t entirely embarrassed about the whole night and laugh with them, but the memory of it just made real shame stick to the bottom of my stomach. They were both clearly amused by my trauma. “Can’t hack it.” Zayn slapped his hand against his forehead. “Honestly, I don’t know why you get offended by me calling you Pip-Squeak. It’s so, so fitting.” That just got to me even more worked up. The nickname was bad enough all on its own, but the fact he thought it actually suited me and what I was like, was what really got to me. I wasn’t bothered about the fact I couldn’t hack drugs, that didn’t faze me, it was the thought that maybe he thought I was like that through and through. It was a nickname that suggested I was pathetic. I was weak. I was neither of those things, I never ever wanted that to be his impression of me. Or anyone’s impression, for that matter. “It is not fitting!” I screeched back. “Yeah but, it definitely is.” He showed his disagreement. “It’s a fucking stupid name. I wish you’d stop calling me that.” ”Well I’ll wait til you prove me wrong.” He smirked, as always. I just about stopped myself from blowing a raspberry at him but taking the biggest gulp of my drink so far, staring at him over the rim of my glass, seeing him glare right back, having successfully would me up once again. + + + I could hear Harry and Zayn laughing about something as I tried to undress myself, stumbling out of my leggings and lifting my top over my head. I stood swaying, just in my underwear, trying to stay stood up, feeling an all too familiar sensation churning in the pit of my stomach and gradually making its way upwards. “Fuck.” I mumbled to myself. The drinking had gotten far too out of hand as the night went on, and the more Harry annoyed me, the drunker I seemed to get. Unsurprisingly, Harry annoyed me a lot, so unsurprisingly, I was completely fucked. My head was spinning as I turned and stumbled over to the door leading to the tiny room where my toilet was, falling hard onto my knees, creating bruises straight away. I clutched at the seat, retching, my stomach violently emptying itself. I’m not sure how long that went on for. I remember it felt like hours, just hours and hours of it. My eyes watered and stung. I should have been used to the feeling by that point in my life, but every single time was like the first time. I cried. It hurt. My whole body ached with the feeling. Around half way through the ordeal, I noticed blood seeping from my knees, still half aware of the lads still drinking outside, loud and happy. I cried harder, wondering when the damn torture I had brought upon myself would end. It was green and it burnt every few minutes or so when it would escape my insides. I felt like absolute death, and the longer it went on, I could feel myself becoming increasingly sober, and the worse it felt. I eventually ended up with my cheek on the toilet seat, tears gently rolling down my face, knowing the worst was yet to come. “PIP-SQUEAK?” I just about heard. I closed my eyes and ignored the yelling, gagging a couple of times before sticking my fingers down my throat, and they did their job perfectly. I heard Harry yell my name again, and honestly, it just brought on more tears. But nothing could possibly bring more tears, than the sound of my bedroom door opening. I cursed under my breath. “Please don’t come in here.” I whispered to myself. More vomit came up as I heard the door to the toilet quietly open itself, and I could feel his presence behind me, tall, looking down to my shaking frame with my head in the toilet, only covered by a tiny bra and knickers. I tried to ignore he was there, drunkenly wondering whether he should back out and leave me to it or not. But, I feel, to both of our surprise, he didn’t. “Oh, Pip-Squeak.” He sighed his sympathy. I blubbered, saliva and vomit dripping from my pink lips. I could hear him shuffling awkwardly behind me, before he made his mind up. He moved down to the floor, and shuffled so I was in between his legs, his black jeans warm against the outside of my bare legs. I fell backwards and settled between his legs, my head lolled back on his shoulder, completely gone. I became surprisingly comfortable and calm against his frame, snuggling against him and loving the warmth of his body. I could tell he wasn’t expecting that. He was probably waiting for me to tell him to leave, but instead I set up camp between his legs and let my eyes close, feeling his chest heavily lift and drop between my shoulder-blades, a tranquil beat and rhythm that helped keep me content. “I’m threw up.” I hiccupped the nonsense. “Yeah.” He mumbled somewhat uncomfortably. He leant forward, with as little movement as he possibly could, and flushed the toilet, before moving back so I would remain comfortable against him, my head heavy, my stomach still churning. I let my breathing fall in time with his as we silently sat on my bathroom floor together, Harry’s head hovering over my shoulder. Next, I threw up in my mouth, the tiniest amount, and gulped it all back down before I was fully aware of what I was doing. “I threw up in my mouth.” I told him. “C’mon, Pip-Squeak, you need to get it all up.” His cheek brushed against mine. “Only if you call me Pippa.” I demanded. “I... I can’t. Wouldn’t feel right.” He chuckled lowly, his breath hitting my neck, erupting a rash of goose-bumps. “Call me Pippa, and I’ll throw up in the toilet. Call me Pip-Squeak, and I’ll throw up in your hair.” “Is that a threat?” I could feel his dimples on my cheek. ”Yes.” “Okay. C’mon, Pippa. Get your head in the toilet.” I swear I bolted forward and threw up straight away, feeling Harry grab at my hair with his oversized hands and move it out of my face, before massaging my back in the perfect pattern so that everything that could possibly come out, did. I swear he was an expert, this definitely wasn’t his first time. I think I fell asleep on those could tiles, dry blood on my legs, my head against Harry’s chest, my breathing aligned with his, but I don’t really remember. + + + I sat with my hands in the giant front pocket of my hoodie, hair scraped back into a bun, tiny denim shorts on, ignoring the weather, as always. “I swear,” I mumbled. “I’ve never been this rough.” Ed chuckled as the tattoo gun buzzed and came to life in his hand for a split second, looking excitedly down to it, me and what I was saying completely in the back of his mind. “You’re always rough, Pippa.” “Yeah.” I watched him set everything up, finally there doing it. Ed had been talking about tattooing since day one. In our first ever lecture, on the Tuesday, Ed mentioned tattoos to our lecturer, loud and excited. About people caring and relating to certain words so much they needed them on their body for the rest of their lives. It made for an interesting conversation. I’m glad I sat next to him that day. He had been drawing and practicing this tattooing business, and he had made enough money from the gig he played on Tuesday evening to finally be able to afford the tattoo gun he had his eye on. His day had arrived. He took a shaky breath. “Okay, so what date is it?” He asked. I pressed the button on my iPhone so the lock screen appeared to me, revealing the date and time to me, a little picture of myself and Grace too. “It’s the twenty-sixth.” I told him. “Alright. Twenty-six it is.” “What? That’s what you’re going to tattoo on yourself? Just like that?” “Well, yeah. I’ve been waiting for this day for years. It’s a wise thing to tattoo on myself.” He nodded confidently. I shrugged in agreement, sat on the table in his flat, looking down on him in the chair as he stretched his arm out on the table, rolling his sleeve up so he could see the inside of his upper arm, clearly quite nervous. “Ed?” ”Hm?” “Don’t you want to be doing that on your left arm, so you can use your right hand?” He looked up to me with his eyes squinted before nodding along, genuinely only just realising that was probably the way to go about it since he was right handed. “I knew there was a reason I asked you to be here, Pip. You’re wise beyond your years.” Being with Ed was curing my hangover, if only slightly. It was a drizzly Saturday afternoon, and how out of hand the evening before had got was hanging an even greyer cloud over my aching head. I hadn’t really wanted to move from my bed all day, but I had promised Ed I would be alongside him for his first tattoo. He rolled up his other sleeve and flicked the gun on, gritting his teeth right away as it neared his pale skin, letting out a pathetic squeal. “C’mon Ed you can do this. I believe in you.” “Thank you.” “Honestly, I do. You’re strong. You’re beautiful.” “Even a hangover doesn’t get rid of your sarcasm, does it?” We grinned together as the tip met his skin, and he squealed again, before he started gently moving, knowing what he was doing, if only slightly. Then his face relaxed. “So?” “It’s not even that bad. Just… weird.” I gently got off the table as not to shake his arm, moving round so I could watch him permanently scar the number 26 into his skin forever. He smiled the whole time. I think I did too. When he was done, we both gazed fondly onto the piece. He had done a good job, the lines weren’t overly wobbly, you could definitely make out what it was. Maybe you wouldn’t think a professional had done it, but it definitely didn’t look like a first-time effort from the man himself. He turned to look at me with a cheeky look in his eyes. “You want one?” “Not today.” I grinned, ruffling his hair. I stalked over to the kettle, pretty comfortable to say it was only my second time in his flat, realising I had gone far too long without a cup of tea. It was desperately needed. “You making brews?” He asked excitedly. “I will if you have any clean mugs.” “You should be so lucky. I’ll wash two.” He wandered over and deciphered two that were his from the side of the sink, rinsing them out briefly, the worst attempt at ‘washing’ I had ever seen in my life but I wasn’t overly fussy. “Do you take sugar?” I asked him. “I’m sweet enough.” He gave me the most typical reply he could, amusing himself. “Actually, no I’m not. I’ll have two, please.” “Okay.” I giggled to myself. Once the tea was made, we both sauntered back over to the table. Ed’s flats may not have been the nicest, but I was a little overcome with jealousy about the fact that they at least had a bloody table. Before moving to university I had never realised how vital tables were. I vowed never to take tables for granted again. So, I didn’t. I placed the steaming hot tea down on top of it, the feeling I got from doing that was so much more satisfying than it ever should be. “Oh! I forgot to say, I can’t believe you live with Harry!” Ed piped up. “I can’t believe it either, to be honest.” I groaned. “Why, what’s up?” “We don’t get on.” I told him. “Seriously?” That seemed like more than a question, as though Ed was genuinely surprised by that information. I gave him a puzzled look, wondering why he was so amazed by the fact we didn’t get on. “Seriously. Why?” “You’re shockingly similar.” “I am nothing like Harry fucking Styles.” I protested. “Okay.” He pfft my way. “I’m not!” “So you’re both not insanely sarcastic? You both don’t love winding people up? Aren’t you into photography?” He asked. “No.” I lied. “He’s a lads lad, you’re a girly girl. He is literally male you. That’s probably why you don’t get on. You’re so similar you just clash.” “I refuse to listen to such rubbish.” I gave myself a quick moment to think about what he had just said, wondering how much truth there actually was to that. I couldn’t help but think maybe he was right. Maybe a little bit. But me and Harry went about our teasing in different ways. His sarcasm had much more of a bitter tone than mine ever did. We couldn’t be similar. No. Not me and Harry. Nope. “He’s a good lad.” Ed mumbled more to himself than me, flicking on the TV. “How do you two know each other again?” “We met in Ibiza over the summer. He was in the same hotel as me, a few rooms down. I was there with a few of my mates and he was there with this lad Niall. We all got on straight away, just clicked. It was good.” I nodded, realising the coincidence and how strange it was that their lives had been thrust together again, but not really wanting to say anything about it because I didn’t want them to form any more of a bond than they already had. “You have a good time?” I asked with my head down. “The best. Honestly, Pip, he’s a good lad. Give him a chance.” I nodded, because I intended to. For Zayn, for Ed, and mainly, for my own sanity.

#I really love this chapter #and I hope you do too #BB6 #1DFF #Harry Styles

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hwarangbangbang · 7 years ago

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yugyeom » finally

i got the idea of doing this from reading a bed sharing AU i found on tumblr, you can find it here. i take no credit for these prompts or the gifs i use, however i do take credit for writing these stories.

mark | jaebum | jinyoung | jackson | youngjae | bambam | yugyeom title - Finally prompt - “i have constant nightmares and i've always had someone to cuddle with. now, i realize we're not on that level but you're the only one here and i'm really scared to go to sleep.” pairing - kim yugyeom/fem!reader tags - drinking, nightmares, cuddling, im honestly a sucker for soft yugyeom, I can barely write it but I love it, even though he's older than me I like to believe I have a noona kink with him, ok seriously tho, barely anY NAUGHTY TIME ENSUES, kisses, friends to lovers? More like enemies to lovers type-deal word count - 2,790 words author's note - enjoy i fucked up my eyes writing this at 2 AM you're weLCOME IT'S DONE YAAAAY!

You and BamBam went way back. Way back to your trainee days when you were both still learning Korean and you hadn't been assigned to a debuting group yet. While you didn't speak Thai, you both clicked instantly. However, out of all the GOT7 members that you'd intermingled with, you managed to get along with everyone except the group's maknae. You didn't know what it was about him that irked you so much – to the point where it made you not even want to hang out with the rest of the members.

It ruined almost every single visit you took to the dorms. On the rare occasion that Yugyeom was at practice or in the studios, you would enjoy your stay, but other than that it was a pretty short visit whenever Yugyeom was home. The members would scold him, but him being the defiant maknae he is, it'd do little to stop him from glaring at you from across the room or 'accidentally' putting his foot in your way as you were walking throughout the dorm.

And to make it worse, he saw you naked.

Yep. I didn't stutter. He had seen you naked.

You were sleeping over during a break with both of your debuting groups, just a harmless slumber party with a bunch of seven year old's in the bodies of grown men. You were in BamBam's room, which he conveniently shared with Yugyeom and you were under the impression that Yugyeom wouldn't be home for another few hours since he was held up in practice perfecting his Hit The Stage performance.Oh, how wrong you were.You were in the middle of taking a shower, the door was shut and locked because I mean, you were a smart girl – your mother taught you to always lock the door and you were in a house of six grown men, why else wouldn't you? BamBam failed to tell you that the bathroom lock was faulty at times, and sometimes didn't lock all the way ever since Jaebum had to break it down after the boys accidentally locked themselves out. (Small lesson in Korean society. A lot of the bathrooms don't have tubs or showers – in Korea, most of the time, your shower is your bathroom. There's a shower-head and a drained in floor. That was it.)

You had soap in your hair, and you were getting ready to rinse off and get out, when the door handle jingled. You were concerned for a minute before you remembered you'd locked the door. And then with another jingle to the door, it opened and there was Yugyeom – drenched from his practice, staring at you with his mouth wide open.

Buckle up your seat-belts kids, because what happened next was a wild ride from start to finish.

You, being the normal human being you were, were startled and tripped back under the spray, clasping your hands over yourself to cover the important areas, you got soap in your eyes, in your mouth and up your nose, and fell backwards, earning a pretty good sized goose egg on the back of your head.

All while he just watched in complete shock.

And that was the last time you visited the dorms. That was three months ago.

Now, here you were in front of the dorm's front door, shaking in your boots as you looked down at the text messages on your phone from BamBam.

You need to come to the dorms, (Y/N).

We miss you, a lot.Yugyeom too.

(Y/N), answer me, please...

After the copious amounts of texts from him, you'd replied with a snappy comeback.

I honestly doubt that Yugyeom misses me at all. From what it looks like he's happier without me around. Try having your most private parts shown to the guy who hates you the most. It's not something you want to come back to.

It was beyond embarrassing what had happened. You couldn't even face him at the office let alone in his own house.

Yet here you were.

Come over. Now. We're straightening all this out tonight.

That was the last message you received from him. And it didn't sound like a request.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you rang the doorbell. Not less than five seconds later did you get a response, the sound of the door unlocking before Jinyoung was revealed on the other side. Honestly, he'd changed in the last three months. Grown bigger in his muscles and his shoulders were broader than when you last saw him. The time had done him well.

Jinyoung's eyes widened, looking down at you before ushering you in quickly with a loud, “(Y/N) is here!”

You heard several curses in Korean, followed by a stampede of footsteps before you were graced with six out of the seven members in the group known as GOT7. Yugyeom, as usual, was nowhere to be found. Everyone started talking to you at once, asking how you were, where you'd been, how your group was doing and why they hadn't seen you at the office. They were all quieted down by Jackson, who pulled you into a hug, followed by BamBam and Mark, then Youngjae, then Jinyoung and Jaebum just simply grasped your shoulder in a friendly-affectionate manner. When you all broke apart, BamBam spoke.

“Listen, (Y/N),” he began, grasping you by the shoulders. “We all miss you. Even Yugyeom. He's busy with PD-nim at the studio, but he wants to be here. Just, stay the night. Please?” he said, and you sighed. Same old excuse. But you knew how hectic an idol's schedule could be. Even now, looking at all of the members and seeing how they'd changed, you figured it'd be for the best if you left all that shit in the past.

“We have movies, Soju, and take-out is on the way.” Youngjae interjected and you once again, sighed. “Okay, alright, I'll sta-” You were cut off by Jackson roaring in success, jumping around like a big dork, all excited. And then the others joined. You were just happy you'd already showered before you came.

And thus the get together began. You set down your stuff and ran the first film. It was an American film called IT, and it thankfully came with Korean subtitles so the boys could enjoy it as well. It was about a killer clown named Pennywise who lured children to his lair so he could eat them.

Knowing how easily you got nightmares, this wasn't going to be too fun. But the boys seemed to enjoy it so far, so you decided to put your childish fears of clowns aside and enjoy your time spent with them.

You were wedged between Mark and BamBam, your two closest friends out of the group – Youngjae was perched on one side of the love seat, while Jackson was laying down with his head in Youngjae's lap. Your head was on Mark's shoulder while your legs were curled up to your chest. Jinyoung and Jaebum were seated on recliners, all of us watching in suspense when the door flew open.

And you screamed very loud. Louder than any ahgases that they were used to at concerts, burying your face into BamBam's shoulder while gripping his shirt tightly in your hands. And you had every right to be scared – not because it was Pennywise the Clown coming to eat you and steal your soul, but because it was none other than Kim Yugyeom standing before you in the dim light of the television that your eyes focused on after pulling your head from BamBam's shoulder.

He looked tired. He looked like he hadn't slept in god knows how long – with his hair mussed in his face and the bags under his eyes. It didn't look like the Yugyeom you knew, always snapping and crabby with a quick wit. He was the disrespectful maknae that you knew hated your guts with every fiber of his being.

And his eyes were focused on you.

“I didn't know (Y/N) was going to be here.”

Your eyes shifted from him to BamBam, who gave you a sheepish smile and you rolled your eyes. The room was visibly tense, you could tell even Youngjae, who was always the coolest of cucumbers – despite how much he hated them – was on edge. “I guess that makes two of us.” You mumbled quietly, looking down to your hands that were clasped tightly in your lap. “It's fine, I'll go-”

That had a chorus of negations and pleads go around the room, while Yugyeom was silent. After a while, he spoke. “Don't let me stop you from having a good time with my members. I'm going to bed.” He said it with venom in his words, practically spitting them at you before he marched off to his and BamBam's shared room, shutting the door.

You looked down at them, a small scoff leaving your lips. “Listen, he does miss you, (Y/N), he just has a lot going on right now...” Jinyoung stated and you sighed, leaning back in your seat. “Let's just finish the movie, please, I'm tired.”

No one seemed to refuse your request.

Halfway through, the takeout arrived and the smell of pizza hit your nose. You, deciding to be civil, grabbed a few slices and put it on a plate, walking to Yugyeom's door and knocking quietly.

After a few times, he answered.

And it wasn't how you expected.

His hair was disheveled, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and you'd be lying if you said your eyes didn't linger. You were a little bit younger than Yugyeom, but that didn't mean you hadn't had thoughts. Sure, he hated you, but he was attractive and you couldn't deny that. Gulping a bit, you presented the plate to him.

“T-The boys ordered pizza, I was wondering if you were hungry since you just went straight to bed-”

Yugyeom gently took the plate, “thank you,” was all he said before the door was shut in your face again.

Well, kudos to you for trying.

At least he said thank you.

You guys watched a few more movies, the Soju was drank by literally everyone but you – and honestly you could use it right about now. The members said their good-nights and went off to their rooms, all with either giving you a hug or a pat on the shoulder or a kiss on the head in departure.

And then you were alone in the dark living room after just watching four scary movies in a row. You shut your eyes tight, curling up on the couch under the blanket you were given and tried to sleep. And you did drift off only to flinch yourself awake a few hours later in a cold sweat, shaking with memories of seeing all the villains in their gory horror coming after you.

You got up from where you were on the couch, eyes shut tight still feeling along the wall until you got to the first door on the right – the only person who you knew you could go to right now, BamBam. He knew about your chronic nightmares and how scary movies affected you. However, BamBam wasn't the one who answered the door.

It was his roommate, Yugyeom.

“(Y/N), do you have any idea how late it is?” He growled tiredly, and you knew you'd just awoken the sleeping dragon. You immediately apologized, profusely over and over. Your voice was as shaky as you felt. “I-I'm s-sorry Yugyeom-ssi.. I-I had a n-nightm-mare and I thought B-BamBam was awake-” With an annoyed sigh, you were pulled into the equally dark room and the door was shut behind you. “BamBam's knocked out; he drank too much.” Yugyeom said, and you furrowed your brows as he laid down on his bed, scooting as far as he could to the wall leaving a whole lot of room.

Looking over your shoulder, it was true that BamBam was knocked out as you squinted through the darkness at him.

Dammit.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Lay down.”

He wanted you to lay in his bed with him?

Shyly, you crawled into the bed and got under the covers beside him. It felt tense, but not as much as you had earlier. Something had changed. But you couldn't pinpoint it. You felt the bed shift, and Yugyeom turned around to face you.

“(Y/N)... can I ask you something?”

Well, that was a change from the moody behavior you'd gotten from him the minute you'd met.

You rolled over on your side to face him.

“What is it?”

You heard a small sigh leave his lips before he responded. “Do you hate me because of that day..? The day I saw you, um, nak-”

You had to stop him there before your cheeks melted off from how hot they were.

“I-I'm not mad at you, Yugyeom-ssi-” This time it was him who cut you off.

“Stop with the formalities, (Y/N).”

You went quiet. The last thing you'd expected to happen tonight was have a late night heart to heart with Yugyeom. But lo' and behold, here you were. Another thing you didn't expect was for Yugyeom to grip you around your waist and pull you close to him in a hug.

Yugyeom did hugs?

You weren't aware of this, not in the slightest.

You.

Did not get the memo.

But here you were, pressed up against his bare chest as he held you.

“(Y/N)...” He breathed, and you tensed even more against him. “(Y/N), the only reason I've been so mean to you is because I've been fighting my feelings for you... for a long time-” Your breath hitched. He felt feelings for you other than hatred?

“I don't do girls... I've been in the industry since I was a kid I never got to experiment with girls.. And now that I found one I'd liked, I felt like it was wrong. I wanted you to go away so I wouldn't have to deal with the embarrassment of rejection but every time I was rude or mean or hurt you it hurt so much. Eventually I had to face facts.. I'm sorry, (Y/N)-ah..”

You were sure you'd pass out from shock or something, when it hit you.

You had feelings for him too.

It hit you like a damn truck.

“I understand if you don't feel the same- I-” his grip began to loosen when you gripped onto his wrist, stopping him from pulling away. “Wait, Yugyeom, I..” You could feel it on your tongue, you wanted to, but you were scared. What if he felt like he just wanted to be friends and he hadn't meant romantic feelings? That'd surely crush you. “Yugyeom... I-I feel the same..” You whispered, searching in the dark for his charcoal black eyes, which was instant.

“You do?” He asked, and you could hear the hope in his voice, his grip then tightened and you slowly nodded, biting your lip as he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours. “Yes, I do..” You confessed and a small sigh left his lips in relief. “Thank god-” he cupped your cheeks, kissing you deeply once, twice, three times, over and over.

And you weren't complaining. You entangled your fingers in his hair, rolling over as he pulled you on top of him, but he wasn't advancing to any further activities than just kissing. He ran his hands up and down your sides where your shirt had ridden up, a hand coming up to softly caress your cheek after you'd pulled away, just staring at each other through the dark.

Small laughs left the two of your lips before a voice had cut through the dark, snapping the moment in half like a set of wooden chopsticks. It was BamBam.

“Finally.”

general masterlist

#kim yugyeom #got7 kim yugyeom #hit the stage #yugyeom scenarios #yugyeom fluff #kim yugyeom fluff #friends to lovers #i tried man i did

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artikgato · 7 years ago

Text

Souyowrimo Day 17

Prompt list here, other completed prompts in this tag.

Day 17 - Sports

“Oh man, I haven’t been ice skating in years!” Yosuke said with a huge grin, and that was when Souji knew that his fate was sealed. They were all sitting around the living room of the Dojima household, spending a lazy Sunday afternoon hanging out and trying to make plans for the coming weeks. Nanako jumped to her feet and ran to where Souji was sitting at the kotatsu, grabbing one of his shoulders and asking, “Can I go too, Big Bro?”

He wanted to respond with something like ‘we haven’t even decided to go yet’ or ‘it’s dangerous, so you’ll have to ask Dojima-san’, but he couldn’t say no to Nanako. He’d never be able to say no to Nanako.

“Sure,” he replied, able to keep the nervousness out of his voice only because of months of training with the drama club. “Just make sure it’s okay with Dojima-san, okay?”

“Yaaaay!” she cheered, running off to go do just that. Everyone else started murmuring excitedly, talking about how they used to go when they were kids, seeing what days everyone was free to go...Rise even started talking excitedly about going to buy a pair of skates for herself. Everyone was excited...except for Souji. But because Souji was normally quiet anyway, nobody really noticed. In the end they decided to go the following Saturday after school let out. The rink was in Okina, set up outside for the winter. It was sure to be packed. Packed full of people that could actually skate, and Souji was sure he was going to spend the entire time clinging to the walls, miserable. But he didn’t want to put a damper on his friends’ plans, and he didn’t want to disappoint Nanako.

Somehow, Nanako got it into her head that Souji was really good at ice skating. She’d apparently been talking to her friends about how she was going to the rink on Saturday, and when one of them asked if she could skate, she responded with “Big Bro will teach me! He’s a really good ice skater!”

He wanted to tell her the truth. He really, really wanted to tell her the truth, but she was smiling up at him with a big, innocent expression on her face. And then Dojima-san said, “I’m sure he is, Nanako. Souji will take good care of you at the rink...won’t he?” And oh man, Dojima-san looked scary.

“Of course!” Souji replied, and Dojima nodded, and the conversation went back to safer topics.

As soon as dinner was over, he called Yosuke in a panic.

He hadn’t really given any thought to who he was going to call for help, actually. He knew Rise was probably the best choice as she had apparently taken actual skating lessons as a kid, but she wasn’t necessarily the safest choice - she’d think it was a date, of course. Yosuke was absolutely the safest choice. He wouldn’t tease Souji about this - well, not much anyway - and he had sounded like he knew what he was doing.

“Hey Partner!” Yosuke greeted as he answered the phone.

“Yosuke, I need your help,” Souji answered, trying not to let his panic bleed through into his voice.

“What’s wrong?” Yosuke asked, immediately on high alert. “Is it Nanako?”

“Everything is fine, don’t worry,” Souji replied, with a little smile. The fact that all of his friends cared so much about Nanako honestly always warmed his heart. “I just...I need you to teach me how to ice skate before Saturday.”

“...huh?” Yosuke replied. Souji could feel his cheeks turning red, but he barreled on through the conversation.

“Nanako thinks I’m really good at ice skating, but I’m actually bad. Really, really bad. The last time I tried it, I couldn’t even bring myself to let go of the wall,” he admitted.

“...huh,” was Yosuke’s response. “I...I honestly thought you were really good at it. You’re good at everything else.”

“Gotta have an Achilles heel somewhere,” Souji sighed in response. “Look, I don’t want to let her down, so...I’ll pay for the extra admission and everything, but please help me?”

“Of course I will, Partner!” Yosuke exclaimed. Then, after a moment of Souji thanking every god that would listen that he had such a good best friend, he continued. “But I gotta ask, why me? I taught myself how to skate, but Rise took actual lessons, wouldn’t she be a better choice?”

“I can’t ask Rise,” Souji replied. “She’ll think it’s a date.”

“Ah,” Yosuke said. He sounded a little bitter, and Souji honestly hated it. But they’d already talked about this - Souji couldn’t help that Rise had a crush on him, he wasn’t interested in her, maybe Yosuke should try asking her out himself? But Yosuke had just grumbled something about not wanting to be anyone’s second choice.

“Uh, so, can we go to the rink after school tomorrow? If you aren’t working, that is,” Souji continued.

“I’m free,” Yosuke confirmed, and Souji finally let himself sigh in relief. Everything was going to be fine - he was sure Yosuke could teach him. Even if they didn’t get it tomorrow, it was only Tuesday…

By the time Friday rolled around, Souji was really starting to panic.

They’d gone on Wednesday and, well, all they’d accomplished was getting Souji off of the wall. He could skate in a straight line and managed to turn a couple of times, but that was it. He couldn’t stop himself, he wobbled dangerously, and Yosuke was skating backwards and holding his hands for most of the time. They’d gone back on Thursday, too, and only because Yosuke had essentially begged his dad for the day off, citing it as an emergency. He could skate on his own and even do the turns now, but he’d fallen so. many. times. He was nowhere near good enough to teach Nanako to skate - he could barely even keep her from falling over, at this rate.

And so, Souji was doing the unthinkable. Five minutes into homeroom, he passed a note back to Yosuke that read, ‘Let’s skip classes for the day and practice skating.’ He knew Yosuke would do it, because when he’d skipped classes with Ai, Yosuke had said he was really jealous.

“Dude,” Yosuke laughed, as soon as they were past the school gates. “I never thought I’d be skipping classes with Honors Student Souji Seta.”

“I’m doing this for Nanako,” Souji reminded him, voice stern, but Yosuke just laughed.

“Oh man, I’ll bet every girl in school would be jealous of me,” he continued, smirking over at Souji. “Probably some of the guys, too.”

“I’m not that popular,” Souji reprimanded, rolling his eyes.

“All the notes you get in your locker say otherwise,” Yosuke replied. “Anyway, you got a plan to make sure we don’t get kicked out of the rink? We can’t go in our uniforms.”

“I do. We just have to stop by my place first...I hope you don’t mind wearing some of my clothes for a while?” Souji asked. Yosuke just shrugged in response.

“Sure, whatever,” he replied, but if Souji wasn’t mistaking it, he sounded a little weird, and his cheeks were a little red. Huh.

They showed up at the rink just before 11am, managed to fool the bored-looking college student that was manning the rink, and got right to work. They were the only ones there for a solid three hours, and that helped Souji tremendously. Even then they were only joined by one other person, a probably twenty-something girl that kept to herself in one corner of the little rink, practicing some spins and flips.

They made great progress. Yosuke made them take a lot of breaks, which was a little jarring for Souji as that was normally his job. By the time the girl showed up, Yosuke had Souji skating backwards, albeit very awkwardly, while he pushed him around the rink. By late afternoon, Souji had gotten the hang of skating backwards enough that he could do it without Yosuke’s help, though he was still a little worried about turning.

At Souji’s request, they went for a few more laps around the rink until Souji felt like he finally, finally got it. After he went around a curve and didn’t wobble even a little, he looked up at Yosuke with a big, grateful grin. He was going to say ‘thanks’, but the way Yosuke was looking at him caught him totally off-guard. He just looked so...warm, and, and affectionate. He’d never seen Yosuke giving anyone that kind of look before. Had he been looking at Souji liked that this whole time? Souji didn’t know, he’d been giving all of his attention to his feet and the rink, making sure he didn’t trip or bump into anyone or crash into the side of the rink. Now he couldn’t look away, heart pounding in his chest, thoughts whirling at about a thousand miles per hour, and-

“H-hey! Watch out!” Yosuke said, reaching out to him, and Souji realized that he’d done something weird with his feet and started to trip. Yosuke managed to grab his shoulders, but it was too late, so he just ended up going down with him. They ended up in a heap, skidding to a stop on the ice a few feet away, and Souji was thankful that he hadn’t taken off his sweater, electing to push the sleeves up to his elbows instead, because that cushioned a lot of the blow.

“Agh, man, geez, I’m sorry,” Yosuke sputtered, managing to plant his hands onto the ice after a little bit of struggling, pushing himself up and off of Souji. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Souji replied, and then made the mistake of looking up and locking eyes with Yosuke. They both froze, and Souji swore that time ground down to a halt as they looked at each-other. Yosuke blushed, and Souji had never really noticed how cute that was before, how cute Yosuke was, actually, though he knew that the other boy would hate being called cute. He’d hate that Souji was having thoughts like this at all, in fact. He’d definitely hate that Souji kind of wanted Yosuke to kiss him...but even as he thought that, he saw Yosuke look down at his lips, then look back up bashfully, and holy shit he was leaning down, and-

“Are you two alright?” a voice asked, and it startled both of them so much that Yosuke flinched backwards and Souji sat up, knocking Yosuke completely off of him and onto his back.

“Y-yes, ma’am, we’re fine, just a fall! Nothing broken!” Yosuke stammered, hands over his face.

“Thank you for your concern,” Souji said, voice a little calmer than Yosuke’s, but not by much. She gave them both a scrutinizing look.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” she said.

“Ahahaha, what? No, of course not!” Yosuke answered. She shrugged and skated away, and Yosuke managed to shuffle into a standing position, dusting off his pants before holding a hand out to Souji. Souji took it and allowed himself to pulled upright as well. “Uh, so...want to go again?”

He wanted to continue whatever had been about to happen, to be honest, but Souji just nodded. This time he kept his eyes on his feet and the rink, not chancing a look up at Yosuke once, and after they’d made several laps of the rink with no mishaps, Souji decided to declare the day a success. By the time they were on the train headed back for Inaba, it was already dark. They sat together at the back of the train car, blessedly alone, and they were both pretty exhausted.

“Um, hey, so...about what happened at the rink today,” Yosuke started, looking over at Souji. He was blushing again, and it was still really cute. Souji nodded at him to continue, but he looked away with a panicked expression. “Uh...never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What did you want to say?” Souji asked, shifting a little closer to Yosuke and putting a hand carefully on his shoulder. Yosuke shook his head, still not looking at him.

“Nah, man, don’t worry about it,” he replied. Souji frowned.

“No, really, what is it?” he prodded.

“I said forget it!” Yosuke finally exclaimed, looking over at him with an angry expression. Souji shuffled back, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and Yosuke deflated at the hurt look on his face. “...sorry. Just...never mind.” A few minutes of awkward silence went by, before Yosuke cleared his throat. “So, I’m sure Nanako’ll be thrilled at how good you can skate!”

“I hope so,” Souji replied, relieved that Yosuke didn’t seem to be mad anymore. “Thanks, Yosuke.”

“Sure, sure. I hope all that hard work was worth it. And hey, now I’m the only one that knows the dirty little secret of how bad you were at skating before!” he teased, elbowing Souji. Souji laughed in response.

“You better take that with you to the grave,” he joked.

Yeah, to the grave. Just like what he was going to have to do with these new feelings he was having for Yosuke. There was no way Yosuke liked him, right? Not after how badly he’d freaked out at Kanji in the bathhouse, or during the school camping trip. He’d just been misreading the signs all day, that was all. That had to be it. So he resolved to just forget all about this crush he was suddenly developing on his best friend. He could nip this in the bud right now, he was sure of it. Yep, he could do it.

Except that, when Yosuke flashed his usual big ‘good morning’ grin at him when they met up at the floodplains to walk to school together...all of the resolve he’d spent the entire night trying to build just...crumbled.

“Yosuke,” he said, reaching out and grabbing the other boy’s elbow and prompting him to stop pushing his bike and turn to look at him, curious.

“Yeah, what’s up, Partner?” he asked. Souji could feel his face heating up, just from having those caramel-brown eyes on him. He hated having crushes. Hated it. He didn’t even get them all that often. It was already January and he only had a couple more months of time in Inaba, and he’d thought for sure he was in the clear - he hadn’t even had a passing interest in any of his friends before. He had to get this out of the way, for his own sanity.

“I need to tell you something, alright? Please don’t freak out,” he said, and Yosuke gave a nervous laugh in response.

“Eheheh, sounds serious Partner, you okay?” he asked. Souji shook his head.

“Please just listen to me, okay? I…” he trailed off, with a sigh. He’d been staring down at the muddy ground below them, but he realized that he needed to be looking at Yosuke to say this, so he tightened his grip on Yosuke’s elbow a little and steeled himself, looking up to meet Yosuke’s worried look. “I know how you feel about this stuff, and I know you’re going to reject me, but I need to tell you that I...like you.”

For what felt like eons, Yosuke was completely quiet, staring at Souji with his mouth slightly open in surprise. Just as Souji started to feel like he’d made a terrible mistake, he felt Yosuke shake his elbow free of his grip, heard his bike clatter to the ground, and -- then he had thrown his arms around Souji’s shoulders and was hugging him, and laughing. And not his nervous laughter either, but joyful laughter. He was laughing so hard that he was shaking both of them, face buried in Souji’s shoulder, and all Souji could do was wrap his arms around Yosuke’s waist and hope that this was a good thing. As it turned out, it was.

“I like you too,” he heard Yosuke say, and even though it was muffled from how he still had his head buried in Souji’s shoulder, he still heard it clearly. “Man, I...Souji, Partner, I really like you too.” Then he pulled back and looked Souji in the face. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were shining like he was about to cry, but he had that expression on his face that he’d had at the rink, all full of warmth and affection. “I just...I thought...I never thought…” he pressed his palms against his eyes and heaved a big, long sigh. “S-sorry, I’m kind of a mess.”

“That’s okay,” Souji croaked, and realized that his own throat was tight, and his eyes were a little misty, too. He reached up and wiped at them, composing himself at the same time that Yosuke was trying to.

“I...I’ve liked you for a while,” Yosuke said, after he finally managed to lower his hands. “Probably since you pulled me out of that stupid trashcan.”

“But,” Souji started before he could stop himself, “What about-”

“I know I was a dick to Kanji,” the brunette sighed. “I was just really freaked out. I...I really didn’t want to have a crush on you, y’know? You were like the first person that was nice to me here. I just wanted to have a best friend, and not have...have feelings get in the way.”

“I get that,” Souji replied, with a little sigh. “I only decided to tell you because I hate having a crush on someone.”

“I know, right! It’s the worst!” Yosuke agreed. They shared a laugh at that, leaning against each-other. Eventually, Yosuke sighed, reaching over to tug Souji into another hug, face planted into his shoulder once again. “I...I dunno whether to be happy or terrified that you like me too,” he admitted.

“You can be both,” Souji replied. “I am too.”

“Good, at least we’re equals in this,” Yosuke sighed. They stayed like that for a few minutes, before Souji noticed the time on his watch. He groaned.

“I hate to say this, but we’re gonna be late if we don’t get going, and I don’t think we can pull off skipping classes two days in a row without getting in trouble,” he said. Yosuke pulled away. He started to turn around and pick up his bike, but stopped before he had even grabbed a handlebar.

“Wait, there’s one more thing I wanna do...um, if you want to, that is,” he said, turning back to Souji. Souji nodded for him to continue, and he blushed so hard that even his ears turned a little red. “Um, I...I wanna kiss you. I wanted to yesterday at the rink, but, y’know…”

“Go ahead,” Souji managed to reply, and how he didn’t sound overly enthusiastic, even he didn’t know. Yosuke nodded, approaching him and reaching up to cup one of his cheeks and pull him down as he leaned up, tilting his head as he went.

As far as kisses went, it wasn’t too great. As far as first kisses went, though, it was pretty fantastic. It was short and sweet, and they were both smiling when they broke apart, and Souji felt energized for the entire half-day at school. That probably had something to do with the fact that the two of them exchanged flirty looks every time they even so much as looked at each-other. It made it hard to concentrate on the lectures. It made it hard to concentrate on skating, too, which honestly should have been a bigger problem...but somehow, Nanako was some kind of savant at skating. She’d taken to the rink like a fish in water, so much that she was able to keep Souji balanced whenever Yosuke distracted him, even though he was supposed to be the one keeping her balanced.

#souyowrimo 2017 #souyo #souyo hell

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bubble-tea-bunny · 7 years ago

Text

the rule of cool (part 1)

[peter parker x reader]

author’s note: yaaaay this is finally done! spent the last week or so writing it. this idea came out of nowhere but it’s probably the most fun story i’ve written. big ups to my cousin (i know you’re reading this lol) for helping me develop the plot because holy hell it went everywhere. hahaha hope you all enjoy

also tried to post this as one giant post, and while chrome and my phone’s browsing app (safari) handled it just fine, the app kept crashing, so i’m posting this in 2 parts. so sorry if you saw this before

word count: 10,167

PART TWO

some foreword stuff: never played d&d before, just did some research, so please don’t judge me lol. also do y’all recognize the reference in the first paragraph. i think ya do(;

FRIDAY

When Peter Parker leaves the premises of Midtown High School that bright Friday afternoon, there are only two things on his mind: the thrift store and his latest Dungeons and Dragons campaign.

As he leaves the station after his short subway ride, there is an extra spring in his step as he walks to the end of the block. When the crosswalk sign turns green, he’s quick to cross, and soon his ears are filled with the sounds of the city: the whoosh of cars zooming past, the hum of the above-ground subway as it slides along the tracks. Peter grabs his iPod from his pocket and puts his earphones in. His playlist is on shuffle and the first song to greet him is the electronic rock so characteristic of Ratatat, and the smooth synths and electric guitar elicit a smile from the boy almost automatically. It feels like he’s in a movie. The breeze is cold against his face as he continues on down the street.

As he approaches the corner of the current street, he can see the windows of the thrift shop, and if he should gaze inside from there, he’d see the front half of the store, which houses most of the clothes (and he says “most of” because the baby clothes are kept near the back with the toys—yes, he’s got the layout of this store memorized. He’s been here enough times). But he doesn’t stop to look inside, for there’s no need, and walks past those windows and turns the corner. He’s quick to arrive at the entrance, where above the glass double doors hangs a neon sign, some of whose letters flicker intermittently, as though they may go out at any moment. They’ve been like that for a long while though, so perhaps they won’t go out. Those bulbs must be awfully resilient.

Peter’s well acquainted with this shop. It’s on his route home and besides the dumpsters, is a primary source for his retro tech. While finding things that still work is a toss-up when searching via dumpster diving, at least in the thrift store, what’s there functions, albeit slowly most of the time, and practically on the brink of death from how old and outdated the software is. It’s still something to work with though, and garners much less stress. If he didn’t have a budget to adhere to, he’s sure he’d wipe the shelves clean of whatever was there, but since he does have a budget, thrift store or not, he still needs to pick and choose carefully what to buy.

Peter grabs hold of the handle of one of the doors and steps inside. It’s still early for many people to be on their way home, much less thrifting, so it’s quiet inside the store. Self conscious that his music may now be too loud, he turns it down a little and takes out one of his earphones, so that in his right ear remains the beloved neo-psychedelia and in his left is the thrift store’s music which sounds an awful lot like something you’d hear in an elevator.

He makes a beeline for the back of the store, passing all the clothing racks along the way. The screeching as customers push the hangers along the metal rod never ceases to hurt his eardrums, and he suppresses a cringe at the uncomfortable noise. The fluorescent lighting illuminates the electronics section like a sort of beacon, a quest marker telling him he’s found what he was looking for. He almost swears this aisle smells and feels old, but he can’t quite describe how. It’s a musty air, antiquated but almost charming as his eyes rove over the treasure trove of ancient technology. Or maybe he’s trying too hard to be poetic and it’s really just dust and he probably shouldn’t be inhaling it because—

“Achoo!”

—because that.

Peter sniffles and lets out a cough as he starts taking a closer look at what’s on the shelves, sifting through all the electronics. There are cassette players, some floppy disks, some film cameras. He never really has anything specific in mind when he’s searching around, which now that he thinks about it, can get dangerous, since everything looks so exciting and he just wants it all, but he can’t spend all his money at once, never mind the fact there’s no way he could carry all of it home.

There’s an old Macintosh monitor that catches his eye farther down the aisle, and he makes a beeline for it. It’s just the monitor by itself, no keyboard or mouse. it’s bulky as hell and the screen is tiny and he’s falling in love with the thing the longer he studies it. He turns it around until he can find the sticker with the price, and he deflates a little when he finds it’s practically all the spending money he’d allotted himself for this week’s thrift store trip. He’d have liked to leave the store with more, but this is much too good to pass up, and out of everything else in this section, it’s the only item he’s not sure will be here the next time he comes by.

With a determined breath that signals he will buy only this and not get sidetracked by the other hidden gems here, at least not today, Peter picks up the monitor, caught a little off guard by the weight of it. He cradles it in his arms as he walks over to the front registers. There’s only one open because there aren’t many people, but luckily there’s only one person in front of him.

His eyes roam around the store as he waits, since he doesn’t exactly have a hand free to get out his phone to keep himself occupied. He can hear the cashier reminding the lady paying that all sales are final, and he immediately recognizes the next song his iPod plays purely based on the familiar low-tuned riff, one that’s almost menacing. When the drums come in, beat consistent and deep, he nods his head slightly in time with it.

It’s not long until the woman finishes her transaction and leaves. Peter doesn’t notice because his eyes have dropped to a sleek black pen sitting in a bin nearby, perched almost perfectly atop some random items—CD’s, pouches, so on and so forth. Given the fact it looks so out of place there, it seems someone had decided last minute not to get it and set it down while waiting in line. Peter glances at the monitor he holds and readjusts it so he can carry it with one arm and reach out to grab the pen with his free hand to take a look at it. It’s cool to the touch, and he carefully maneuvers it, turning it upside down so he can twist the mechanism between his index finger and thumb to bring up the tip of the pen. It reminds him of the Mont Blanc Tony sometimes writes with, except this one is much, much cheaper. Peter rotates the pen until he sees the sticker with the price—it’s about $463 cheaper than the Meisterstück Classique model, in fact.

Well, Peter had just lost one of his favorite pens the other day. He’s pretty sure it’s just somewhere hidden in the mess in his room, but he hadn’t had the chance to go looking for it. And this one isn’t terribly expensive; if he bought it, he’d still leave here today under budget. He purses his lips as he thinks, twisting the mechanism again to retract the nib.

“Sir, I can take you right over here whenever you’re ready,” the cashier remarks, and Peter turns to look at her, then glances at the pen. Why not. It couldn’t hurt.

He leaves the thrift store with his new monitor in one arm and the pen tucked away in his pocket. He’s determined not to lose this one this time. Despite being cheap enough to replace should he do so, it still looks pretty sleek. He’s extra careful as he walks the rest of the way home, lest he stumble and drop the monitor. There isn’t any room in his backpack to put it. Today he’d had to bring home quite a few books for the weekend’s homework, and his bag would need to be mostly empty if he wanted to fit this bulky unit in it.

It doesn’t take long for him to arrive at his apartment building, and he rides the elevator alone. There’s a ding to signal his arrival on his floor, and when he’s at his front door, he fishes his key out from his pocket. The apartment is empty since Aunt May doesn’t get out of work until 5. Peter tosses his key into the bowl by the door before kicking the door closed with his foot. He goes straight to his bedroom, setting the monitor on his desk. He heaves a sigh of relief when he's alleviated of the weight. It hadn’t been a problem holding it at first, but it seemed to get heavier the longer he’d been holding it. He’d really like to start taking a more in-depth look at it, but a glance at his watch tells him he doesn’t have time to do that.

He pauses the music on his iPod and takes out his earphones, tossing the device onto his bed before shrugging off his jacket. The others will be here soon, which means he should probably be putting snacks together. He walks to the kitchenette and wonders if there’s still anything left or if he should try to run down to the corner store really quickly. He rifles through cabinets and the fridge and comes up with a couple of bags of family size chips and the liter of soda from last session. These will do for now. They might end up wanting to order pizza, since they hadn’t in a while.

Peter sets the food out on the dining table and switches on the lights in the living room. A large piece of graph paper sits in the center of the coffee table, and on it are drawn seemingly random shapes connected together. Four pieces of paper rest on each corner of this map, one for every party member. The die are arranged in a line in front of the dungeon master’s screen, ready for use. It was Peter’s turn to host the current campaign, and the setup has been sitting in the lounge since they started just a few weeks ago. Fridays are the normal meeting time, the day where it’s a guarantee that everyone is available, but if they can squeeze in an extra day, they make it happen.

In half an hour everyone has arrived and they’ve situated themselves in their spots around the coffee table. They pick up right where they left off. They’re still in early game, so they’re all relatively low level, but they’ve done a good bit of exploring, as evidenced by the map.

Aunt May comes home around 5:30 and greets them with a warm hello. Peter lets her know they’ve just decided to order pizza. It doesn’t feel like it takes too long for it to arrive, but that’s probably because they’re so engaged in the current adventure, as the party has found itself in a dungeon slightly too high level for them currently. Ned, as current dungeon master, had decided to make the new campaign a bit more challenging, so this probably shouldn’t have come as surprise. They take their time moving from room to room, and aren’t even halfway through the dungeon map when they call it quits for the night, since it’s getting late.

When it’s just Peter on his own again, he puts away the snacks and leftover pizza, then tosses the now empty liter bottle into the recycling bin. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him it’s almost midnight. He contemplates finally sitting down to look at his new find from the thrift store, but at that very moment, he yawns, signaling to him that perhaps he should just go to sleep for now. He wouldn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of working.

———

MONDAY

Unsurprisingly, the weekend is gone in a flash, with all the homework and saving civilians. Monday morning rolls around and it is dark outside when Peter’s alarm goes off. He groans and hits snooze, rolling onto his back and staring at the metal supports of the top bunk as he tries to wake up. His eyes are only half open when he finally gets himself to stand and head to the bathroom, and his yawn is so big he almost feels like a snake unhinging its jaw in preparation for a meal. Mondays suck.

Everyone in first period is practically still asleep. That’s no surprise. Peter drops down in his seat and rests his head on his propped up hand, which probably isn’t the best idea because he finds his eyelids sliding closed and he’s on the brink of dozing off. It’s only when the bell rings to signify the start of class does he jolt awake, just in time for his teacher to step inside the room and set his laptop case on his desk.

The next fifty minutes Peter spends in and out of consciousness, doing his best to stay up but finding it hard to fight against the heaviness of his eyelids. It just feels so nice when he closes his eyes and maybe he can get away with doing it for just a few seconds—no, he knows he can’t. If he lets his eyes close now, he’ll be out like a light. With a yawn, he sits up straighter, digging out his new pen from the pocket of his jeans. He might’ve been more awake if there were notes to be taken, but so far it was all just things he needed to listen to, and without any way to keep his hands busy, it was easy to get bored and then sleepy.

There are a few blank pieces of copy paper tucked into his notebook he’d stuffed in there specifically for times like these. He grabs a piece and pulls it out, setting it atop the still blank page his notebook is open to. He sits there for a moment, actually alert and staring at the board, but he’s not quite paying attention. He’s wondering what to draw. Well, he supposes he could draw the teacher… But he’d already done that. Multiple times in fact. This class in particular is rough because not only is it first thing in the morning, it’s incredibly boring. And there were only so many times and ways he could draw caricatures of his teacher. Where had he put those pictures anyway? Make that another thing to find in the mess of his bedroom, the aftermath of what Aunt May jokingly claimed was a hurricane.

Well, there’s Neoma.

At this point Peter’s surprised he hadn’t actually drawn her yet. He’d created her as his character for the new campaign, and it’s been long enough that it probably should’ve crossed his mind to draw her. But you know what they say: there’s no better time than the present. Even if he is sitting in class and should probably be paying more attention to what’s so interesting about the author’s metaphor in line 27 of the poem.

Drawing is successful at keeping him awake until the bell rings. He doesn’t get the chance to return to the piece until lunch time, when he’s finished eating early and there’s ten minutes left until next period. He’s so focused on the task that he doesn’t notice Ned leaning over to look at the paper.

“Why’d you give her white hair?”

At this question, Peter pauses and looks up at his friend. He shrugs. “I think it looks cool. And in a fantasy setting, naturally white hair doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

Ned laughs. “True.” He goes back to studying what Peter’s completed so far, which is almost everything. All that’s really left is the smaller details on her mage robes. “She’s pretty. Is she based off someone?”

Even though the answer to that is no, Peter can’t help the way his cheeks warm at the teasing. He hadn’t even seen her in a dream, the way all those corny romance novels always seem to have the male and female leads brought together by fate because one had seen the other in a dream. He’d come up with Neoma all on his own. She’s the first one of his characters he’d drawn, strangely enough. And he doesn’t think too hard about how she looks when he does, but with every line he lays down on the page he finds her to be perfect.

“She’s not,” Peter responds finally. Ned’s still wearing a small smirk which betrays the fact he doesn’t totally buy it, if only so he can continue teasing him. But luckily he doesn’t push it.

“Will you draw the other characters too?” Ned inquires.

Peter looks back down at his drawing of Neoma. “I could. Maybe Caligari.” Caligari is the primary antagonist of the current campaign, one that Ned had introduced to the party early on. He had destroyed a whole city for not bowing to him, right at the start, when the group was too weak to do anything but watch. It had angered them all, that was for sure, and it drove them to get better and take their time leveling up for when they finally encounter him. Of all the campaigns Peter has played, this villain has made him the angriest. Nothing maddens him more than being powerless to stop those who are wrong, those who kill people that can’t defend themselves. Perhaps that’s why all his characters had had some sort of alignment with good, whether lawful, chaotic, or now neutral, as Neoma is.

“You could probably illustrate the entire adventure.”

Peter chuckles as he tucks his drawing away. The bell rings. “Maybe I can get a job as a children’s book illustrator,” he jokes.

There isn’t much of Neoma to finish drawing when he arrives home. When she’s done, he contemplates starting on Caligari right away, but decides he should probably get his homework done first. But after homework, there’s dinner, then getting ready for bed, and it’s quite late when he finally gets the chance to grab another piece of copy paper and sit at his desk. He pushes aside the tools he’d used to tinker with his web shooters yesterday, clearing a comfortable amount of space. He’s really come to like his thrift store pen. The ink glides on smoothly for a secondhand writing instrument. It makes him wonder why anyone would give it up in the first place. Surely it was worth more than the $2 he’d bought it for.

The light of the lamp is what illuminates the page in front of him, and Caligari is just about complete when 1 AM is twenty minutes away. Peter yawns and glances out his window, where he can see skyscrapers and the blinking lights of planes flying among the clouds. It’s quiet on the streets. He thinks he can fall asleep right at his desk, but he knows his neck and back will hurt like a bitch come morning if he does, and his bed is only three steps away.

With a tired sigh, Peter stands and tucks the drawing in his notebook. He then stores the pen in his backpack before he switches off the lamp and ambles over to his bed, falling onto it none too gracefully. As he pulls the sheets over himself and rolls over, getting tangled in the blankets, he wonders which character he should draw next. He doesn’t bother neatening the blankets out. He’s asleep before he can even consider doing it.

———

TUESDAY

Tuesday morning is a repeat of Monday. The alarm hurts Peter’s ears and he can’t suppress a groan as he hits snooze. Based on the way there’s no light bouncing off the walls, it’s darker outside today than it was yesterday morning. He looks at the time on his phone, squinting against the bright light, to confirm that it is indeed the time for him to wake up. His eyes slide closed and he sighs heavily at seeing that yes, it is time to get ready for the day. Why couldn’t it be Friday already?

He sits up so he can look out the window, but his heart all but jumps from his chest when he sees a figure standing there, back to him. He shuffles off his bed in a panic, but given that he’d spent the night tangled in the blankets, his feet get caught and he falls off with a thud. His web shooter is sitting on the nightstand and he throws it on quickly. He stands, feet apart and bracing himself should he need to fight. His heart is beating rapidly and his veins pulse with adrenaline, because he becomes aware of multiple things at once: there’s an invader, Aunt May is also in the house, and he needs to get rid of this person quickly and quietly.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands with web shooter at the ready. The commotion prompts the figure to turn to him, and he almost doesn’t believe what he sees. Scratch that, he doesn’t believe what he sees.

“… Neoma?”

Your hair is the color of a cold and cloudy morning. It’s perhaps the most immediate giveaway as to your identity, and the boldest feature, which is why Peter notices it first. But then he takes in the rest of what you wear, and he questions whether or not he’s dreaming. You’re donning mage robes, along with the bulky scarf which sits around your neck and conceals your face from the nose down. Your eyes are a piercing blue, brows drawn together as you study him, which make your scrutinizing gaze all the more nerve-wracking. Your arms are crossed, and you slowly bring a hand up. Peter tenses the moment you move, since he’s still not sure if you’re going to attack.

But you don’t. You pull the scarf down and fully expose your face. “You know who I am?”

Peter hadn’t necessarily imagined a voice for you when he’d first made you. That’s a little challenging to begin with, making up a voice. He could’ve assigned you a voice of someone he knew, but he didn’t feel it was right to even do that, not when the rest of you was his own creation. So when he hears you speak, he’s not left disappointed nor does he find his expectations fulfilled. It’s just… you. It’s soft, a contrast to the firm expression you wear as you wait for his response.

“U-Um…” Peter stutters. His arm is still raised, palm up and ready to shoot webbing should the need arise. “I do.”

Your eyes drop down to the web shooter. “I mean you no harm. You can sheathe your weapon.”

Peter glances at the contraption around his wrist, contemplating for a moment if it was a smart idea to lower his arm. Well, it is clear you’re telling the truth considering you haven’t attacked yet, and as the one who’d created you in the first place, he knows you need no staff to carry out spells, just your hands, which are crossed currently, and your stance is relaxed. He slowly does as you say, then takes a moment to assess the situation.

You’re not a home invader. That’s good.

You’d been somehow brought into his universe from your own. That’s not good.

Peter is having a very hard time processing the situation. You’re standing in the middle of his bedroom in mage robes, looking like you’re about to go to a LARP session in Central Park, for goodness’ sake! Is he completely certain he isn’t dreaming? Should he pinch himself for good measure? Why are you here? How are you here? He’s wondering now if he should skip school today to get this sorted out, but he knows he can’t, because there’s a test they're reviewing for in history and he really needs to show up. He runs a hand through his hair, his textbook tell that he’s stressed, as he surveys you. You remain in your place, watching him like a hawk.

“Where am I?” you inquire.

“You’re in, uh… you’re in New York. Queens, specifically.” He doesn’t know why there’s a need to specify. You don’t know what New York is anyway.

“That name isn’t familiar to me.”

“Which is expected, because you see…” Peter trails off as he walks to his closet, finding whatever smells clean and pulling it out, because he does need to get ready. “You’re not in Galerion.”

Your brows furrow. “Inter-universal travel? I thought such magic was only speculation.”

Peter's less inclined to call it inter-universal travel considering your universe isn’t actually real. But he doesn’t know what it could actually be, and right now inter-universal travel is an adequate answer until he finds out more. He knows that sooner or later he’ll need to tell you the truth. He’s surprised that you haven’t freaked out at the notion of being dropped in the middle of a new world, but you are a mage. Magic users deal with the seemingly impossible all the time, their powers giving them the ability to manipulate reality itself if that’s their goal. Even so, it will be difficult for you to come to terms with the idea that your world isn’t real, that there is no Galerion. So for now he plays along, if only to keep you calm. There’s no way you’d believe him if he told you the truth right now, and you might actually lash out then, and he is in no way equipped to deal with magic.

“Apparently it’s not,” Peter states, smiling nervously.

“So you were the one to cast the spell? Because it wasn’t me.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t cast it either. I’m just as in the dark as you are.” Wow. He’d said “cast” in the context of casting a spell. It feels like he’s role-playing. If he weren’t so shocked at your presence he might be excited.

“Who are you then? You’re not a wizard or a sorcerer?”

“My name is Peter, and… no, I’m neither of those things. I can’t use magic.”

“Well if it wasn’t you, then we must find who did this.” You start to walk to the door, but Peter moves to stand in front of it.

“You can’t leave.”

You frown. “Why not?”

Plenty of reasons. Where do I begin? “Well… my aunt’s out there. And she’d freak if she saw you.”

“She has no knowledge of arcane magic yet you do?”

“Basically.” Peter shrugs. To say that he has knowledge of any sort of arcane magic is definitely a stretch. What he does know he’d acquired from playing a role-play game! He deals with the physical, not the mystical. Though he supposes what meager information Dungeons and Dragons has given him is certainly better than nothing, if anything. “Just… wait here for a second, okay?” Thankfully, you listen to him without complaint, sitting on his bed as he leaves and closes the door behind him. He skips the shower this morning, settling for washing his face so that he can get back to you quicker. When he pads down the hallway back to his room, he hears Aunt May call out.

“Peter, I’m leaving now!”

“Okay!” he replies. “Have a good day!” He stays where he is until he hears the front door close, and once it does, he rushes the rest of the way to his room. You’re still sitting in the same spot, hands folded on your lap. Your gaze slides to him.

Since you’re the only two occupants of the apartment now, when he opens the door, he leaves it open. He stands in the frame, and the two of you watch each other for a moment in silence. And then he claps his hands together loudly. “We’re gonna get this sorted out. Later.”

Your brows furrow at this statement, and you watch as he walks around the room, grabbing his jacket and his backpack. “What do you mean later?”

“I need to go to school. Like, really need to go.” Peter slips his jacket on, zipping it hastily and squashing down a curse when he pinches his finger. “Just stay here. I’ve got books and video games. Knock yourself out. But you can’t leave the apartment. Magic is… It’s not common here. You can’t just go asking people about it.”

You tilt your head. “Magic governs reality itself. I don’t understand how it isn’t common.”

“This is a conversation we can have when I get back, all right? There’s food in the kitchen. Try not to make a mess.” Peter looks at you with a raised brow, as if to ask if you’ve got all that. He’s relieved when you nod slowly, still not complaining. Out of all his D&D characters that could’ve been brought to life, he’s glad it was the mage. The paladin and the ranger might be demanding he help them this instant, caught in a panic as they might be.

Peter passes by the living room on his way to the front door, and pauses to glance at the coffee table. The game is still set up. He quickly crosses the small distance to it and picks up all four character sheets, tucking them into his backpack for safe-keeping. Then he folds the DM screen carefully, to make sure he doesn’t see what information is written on the inside, then sticks it between some books on the shelf. He can’t have you finding any of these items.

———

He’s jittery the whole day at school. His mind is buzzing too much for him to concentrate, and he thinks maybe he should’ve just missed today, since all he can think about is the fact a mage is in his apartment right now and while you’d been compliant earlier, who’s to say you’d actually end up listening?

Actually, he supposes that would be him.

He had been the one to design you. He’d given you traits, flaws, ideals. And assuming you really are Neoma from his D&D campaign, then all those aspects should be the exact same. It’s now that he realizes he really does know you. He knows the way you think, the way you act if things don’t go your way. He knows everything. He’d gone through the current campaign as you, your own personality, not his own, dictating his decisions. Reasonably he should be able to predict your next moves, but he’s less sure of it now that you’ve become an actual person, your own person, and maybe what’s written on his character sheet is correct, or maybe you’re completely different, and the only thing he’d gotten right was your name and your class. That’s why he was more inclined to play along with you earlier.

The implications of being totally wrong about you give Peter a headache to consider, for it’s just more stress on top of the fact you’re here in the first place. For all he knows, you could’ve left the apartment and sought out whoever had done this. But where could you possibly start? How far would you even get looking like that, clad in mage robes? He’d told you magic wasn’t common here, but would that stop you? Would you cast spells regardless?

As he thinks more about this, he exhales slowly, resisting the urge to groan. This is not a good week, and it’s only Tuesday.

Ned notices how fidgety Peter is during history. Come lunch time, he decides to bring it up.

“Hey, you doing okay, man?” he begins.

Peter freezes and glances at his friend, wondering if maybe Ned knew, somehow, what was going on. “Yeah.” Peter nods and shrugs. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Really? You looked like you were barely focusing in history earlier…”

“Just been a little stressed lately, that’s all.”

“Is it”—Ned leans closer and lowers his voice—“Spiderman?”

“No, it’s not.” Peter shakes his head and hopes Ned doesn’t try to question him further. Right now this is an issue only between him and you and it will remain that way. “I’m fine, Ned. Really.”

Ned doesn’t look very convinced, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything more. “If you say so.”

The end of the school day doesn’t arrive fast enough, it seems. Peter is gone as soon as the bell rings, rushing like mad back to the apartment. It feels like the subway takes even longer to arrive today than usual. The first matter of business was to get you out of those robes. If you were to go searching for the perpetrator of this whole ordeal together, you certainly couldn’t stay in those clothes. You’d stick out like a sore thumb. He decides he’ll stop by the thrift store. He’s definitely going to go over budget for this week, after buying that Macintosh monitor and now clothes for you. He’ll just need to go dumpster diving more often the next couple of weeks to make up for it. That’s no big deal.

When he gets to the thrift store, he slows down as he approaches the door. His hand is poised on the handle, and through the glass he can see those clothing racks which rest in the front half of the store. He purses his lips. The clothes in there will be cheap, no doubt, and he’d considered just buying a bunch of different things that look like they could fit you. He looks down the block, where not much farther is his apartment building. It would be much better if you were here, to try things on. He really doesn’t want to have to guess and potentially end up with too many extra clothes that don’t fit.

His hand drops from the handle. He resumes his walk back to the apartment. When he gets there, he stills at the front door as he tries to listen for anything going on inside. It’s quiet. He’s not sure whether or not to panic because it could mean you’d listened to him and you remained in the flat, waiting for his return and keeping yourself occupied with the books or the video games he had (well, maybe not the video games, it’s not as if you know what those are). It could also mean you’d left, maybe through the window. He’s several floors up but with your magic, getting down wouldn’t have been a problem. When he unlocks the door he hopes desperately it’s the former.

He ends up being right. You’ve stayed. But what he wasn’t expecting was to come home to you casting a spell in the middle of his living room.

He freezes momentarily when he sees you sitting there on the couch, legs crossed and eyes glowing a shade of white to match your hair, before he remembers to shut the door behind him. He does it quickly, and the loud thud as it clicks back into place grabs your attention. You close your eyes and when they open, they’re normal again. Your blue eyes are wide in surprise at his return, which had interrupted your task.

“What were you doing?” Peter asks worriedly. He starts glancing around at what he can see of the apartment to see if there’s any indication that the spell, or any you could’ve casted earlier while he was out, had messed it up in any way. Because he’ll need to put it all in order before Aunt May came back. This prompts him to look at his watch: he’s got 2 hours before she’s home.

“A clairvoyance spell,” you explain. “Nothing dangerous. I’ve been trying to detect any other mystical presence. It could be the source of what’s happened.”

Peter nods as he digests this information. It makes sense for you to know clairvoyance. It’s one of the spells he had—you had?—begun the campaign with. It’s low level, simple. “And? Anything?”

You shake your head with a frown. “Nothing.”

Peter sighs. It isn’t entirely unexpected. It was too much to hope that it would be as easy as that. “We’ll get it figured out, I promise. But for now, we need to get you into some new clothes. You can’t stay in your mage robes.”

You look down at what you’re wearing. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“No one wears anything like that.” Unless they’re role-playing, he wants to say, but he stops himself because how would you know what that is?

“All right…” you trail off. “So what do I wear instead?”

“We’re going to buy some right now. But let’s get you into a more… normal-looking outfit before we leave.” He motions for you to follow him to his bedroom, and you wait on his bed as he searches around his closet for anything you could wear. He pulls out his Midtown High School sweatshirt, which has been freshly washed and hung up, but takes slightly longer finding bottoms for you. Eventually he pulls out a pair track pants.

“Here.” He hands the two articles of clothing to you. You take them but look at them as though they’re something alien. “They’re gonna be a little large, but it’s better than nothing.”

You set the clothes down on the bed and stand up. You shed your scarf, tossing it to the side. The soft bundle lands with a quiet plop. When you begin to undo the ties of your tunic, Peter sputters. “I’ll, uh… I’ll wait outside,” he tells you, and before you can say anything, he rushes out, closing the door a little too hard on accident. He takes a deep breath as he tries to ignore the blush on his face.

While waiting for you to change he searches the shoe closet for sneakers that might fit you. He takes a look at what Aunt May has and finds an old pair of red Chucks she clearly doesn't wear anymore, seeing as they were all the way in the back. The red is dull and the laces are gray—the signs of a well-worn pair of shoes. He turns the shoes over in his hands to look for the size as he walks back to his room. He hears the doorknob twist and he stops short in the hallway when you open the door and come to stand in the frame.

As expected, the clothes are large for you. The shoulder seams of the sweatshirt are way past your own shoulders, and the sleeves are much too long. You’ve tried to pull up the material to prevent it from covering your hands, the excess fabric bunching up at the bends of your elbows. You have the same issue with the track pants, which you’ve folded at the bottom a few times so you wouldn’t trip. Peter can’t help but think how cute you look like that. He’s never had a girl wear his clothes before but now that he’s experiencing it, he discovers he enjoys it a lot.

“Are you all right?” you ask, brows furrowed in concern, and that’s when he snaps out of his train of thought.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Peter laughs nervously. “I found these. Tell me how they fit. They’re my aunt’s.” He hands you the shoes, which you’re able to slip on without having to untie them.

You wiggle your toes. “They fit fine. Your aunt won’t mind if I borrow them?”

“No, she doesn’t wear them anymore. She won’t even notice they’ve gone missing.”

You take a few test steps, getting used to the feeling of them on your feet. They’re definitely a change from your normal boots. “Okay.”

The moment the two of you step out of the apartment building, you pause to take in your surroundings. It’s not as bright outside now but it isn’t any less magnificent. The buildings here are so unlike what you have in Galerion. You lower your gaze to the streets when you hear the whoosh of cars, your brows furrowed as you watch the unfamiliar machines travel down the roads. The stoplights flash red and yellow and green and they bounce off the cars waiting at the intersections. At the end of the block, the crosswalk sign turns green and while you can’t hear it, Peter can pick up the sound of clicking, a signal for blind pedestrians that it’s safe to cross. He studies the wonder on your face as you look in awe at everything, even though to him this block is nothing exciting. He sees it every day.

“This is incredible,” you breathe out.

The statement makes Peter smile. “It’s just a small bit of what New York has to offer, believe me. Come on.” He gently sets a hand at the small of your back to guide you down the sidewalk.

When you arrive at the thrift store, Peter pulls the door open for you, and you blink a few times as you adjust to the fluorescent lighting. You follow him to the clothing rack, but when you get there, you stand still, not entirely sure what to do. He picks up on this quickly.

“Just find anything you like,” he explains.

You nod slowly, eyes roving over the numerous racks of clothing. He smiles encouragingly, and you start to walk down the first aisle, running your fingers along the clothes that hang there. Peter watches you for a moment to make sure you’re okay before he pulls up his jacket sleeve to look at his watch: 4:30. There’s an hour until Aunt May should be coming home. That should be enough time.

He wants to look at the electronics aisle just for fun, but knows he can’t let you out of his sight since you don't have a phone and he can’t risk having a lost mage running around New York. He tucks his hands into his pockets and he waits. He doesn’t even notice the smile that creeps onto his face as he watches you, and it widens when you make your way back to him, armed with several articles of clothing.

“All right, now you have to try these on.”

“You can do that without buying them?” you question, trailing behind Peter as he walks toward the changing rooms. He finds an empty one and holds an arm out to let you know you can head inside.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” he informs you.

He’d forgotten his earphones this time around, so he’s stuck listening to more of the screeching as hangers slide along the metal racks. He sighs as he stands there, analyzing the current situation, if only to help block out the grating noise. You’re under the impression you’ve been transported from your universe to his, and that isn’t the case. You’d simply been brought to life—and by what? By who? Peter has never felt so confused. He might be Spiderman and he might deal with far beyond what the normal teenager does, but this kind of stuff, it’s not something he’s even remotely familiar with. Whenever he does find what or who did this, what is he supposed to do then? There is no “home” to send you back to, as you believe. Did that mean you were stuck here? How could he possibly break that kind of news to you?

“Everything fits fine,” you comment as you open the door, clothing bundled up in your arms.

Peter forces a smile onto his face. “Great. Let’s get these paid for.”

The same lady is working the register as the last time he was here. You wait patiently behind him as he pays, eyes glued to the type of currency they use. There’s no gold exchanged. Peter pulls out a plastic rectangle and inserts it into a small machine. That’s all you’re really able to follow. He tells the lady thank you after the clothes are bagged and he picks it up before you leave the store.

“So… what did you do today, while I was gone?” Peter asks as the two of you walk back to the apartment.

You shrug. “I took a look at some of the books you had.”

“And?”

“They’re interesting. Certainly different from all the spell books and tomes I studied in Galerion.”

It sounds strange for Peter to hear you say this, to talk about this realm of yours like you truly do live there. “You were a student?”

You nod. “I was a wizard’s apprentice before my companions and I left to hunt for Caligari. Caligari is a ruthless monster who’s decimated city-states without batting an eye, and we aim to defeat him, no matter what it takes.”

The more you say, the more Peter comes to understand. This matches his character sheet perfectly. You learned magic as an apprentice before Caligari destroyed Rimmen, as recounted by Ned, the current campaign DM. It seems you’d come to life with the background Peter had given you and what they’d covered in the adventure so far. It makes sense that you truly believe you’d been transported from there to here.

“What’s that?” You stop walking to point at the pizza joint, with its neon sign and a poster of a pepperoni pizza which advertises some special deal for “a limited time only.”

“Pizza,” Peter says matter-of-factly. He glances at you and the curiosity in your eyes is hard to miss. He looks at his watch again: 5:20. At this point, they’ll be late anyway. So he smiles, corner of his lips tilting up. “Come on, I’ll buy you a slice.”

You wait for him at the table in the corner, the plastic bag filled with your clothes sitting on the floor next to you. The lighting in here is brighter than what had been in the thrift store, and it glares off the table tops. There’s a little girl a few tables away staring at you, and you smile softly in hello. The woman across from her whom you assume is the mother sees this and smiles back.

“I think she was looking at your hair, that little girl,” Peter remarks as he sits down across from you. He has a slice of pizza on a paper plate which he sets in front of you, along with a cup of water.

“Is there something wrong with my hair?” you ask, reaching up to feel if there are any unruly strands.

Peter chuckles. “No, but it’s white.”

“Is that strange here?” You try to pick up the slice of pizza but feel awfully clumsy doing so, using your fingers to support it as you bring it to your mouth.

“Usually the only people that have white hair are old.”

You take a bite of the pizza, and when you pull it away, some of the cheese stretches. Peter watches in amusement as you try to break the string, and when you finally do, you’re able to set the slice back down on the plate.

“How is it?” he asks.

You swallow and grab the water. “Greasy.”

“Sounds about right.”

It’s almost 6 PM when the two of you return to the apartment. When you’re at the front door and Peter’s unlocking it, he glances at you. “I need to see if my aunt is there so just wait for a second, okay?” You nod and remain where you are, holding your bag of clothes, as he steps inside He doesn’t see Aunt May in the lounge, nor the kitchenette, but he can see light peeking out from the crack at the bottom of her bedroom door. Silently he walks back out to you and motions you inside.

Stay quiet, he mouthes, and you’re swift and light on your feet as you walk to his bedroom. You set the plastic bag down by his desk and turn around to face him as he enters behind you and closes the door.

“So where will our search begin?” you inquire, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Is there a library we can go to?”

“We have libraries,” Peter begins as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the back of his desk chair, “but they don’t have tomes or anything like that.”

“Right,” you say, remembering what he’d say this morning. “No magic here.”

Peter smiles slightly. “Exactly.”

“So what do you use to research?”

“The Internet. There’s all kinds of stuff there.”

“Brilliant.” You clap your hands together. “And where is this ‘Internet’?”

Peter walks over to his desk to pick up his laptop and hold it up. “It’s here.”

Your brows furrow. “But that’s so… small.”

“The Internet isn’t physical. It doesn’t need a lot of space.” He sits next to you and opens his laptop, and your eyes are glued to the screen attentively. He opens the browser and goes to an online newspaper, showing you the array of articles that appear in seconds. He sneaks a glance over to you and you’re clearly very enamored with the piece of technology. It’s almost endearing. No one ever gets this excited about the power of the Internet anymore.

“May I?”

It takes a moment for Peter to understand what you mean, but when he does, he immediately says of course. He balances the laptop on his lap as you set your fingers on the trackpad, and your smile widens when the cursor on screen moves along with the movement of your finger. You follow what he did and tap the trackpad once to open up articles, and you might be skimming them, you might not. He speculates you’re too caught up in the wonder of it to really try to read.

“Since this is already here, we can begin our search tonight?” Your hand leaves the trackpad and you return your attention to him.

The smile on Peter’s face drops. “Not quite. We still need to know what to search, and right now we don’t know anything. I think I might know someone who will that I can talk to tomorrow. But in the mean time…”

“No research.”

“No research.” Peter shakes his head.

You sigh, and it’s rife with dejection. “If we must.”

“Sorry.”

At this, you smile a little as you glance at him. “Don’t be. We can’t make morning come faster. Only the greatest of magic users can manipulate time.”

He stands to set his laptop back down on his desk. “I have some work I need to do for school. Will you be okay while I do that?”

“I’ll be fine.” You stand and walk over to the shelf where his books rest. You run the pad of your index finger along the spines. “You have many books and I have the time to read them.”

“Great.” Peter smiles. He settles down at his desk and pulls his backpack next to him while you settle down on the bed with his copy of Down and Out in Paris and London. He'd bought that book for an essay earlier this year, but he’d never finished it, stretched thin as he was with his other homework and patrolling Queens. He distinctly remembers getting to page 84 three days before the essay was due, giving up on it, and writing the paper with what meager knowledge he had the night before the due date. He got a 95%.

The homework for tonight moves slowly. Peter’s history review notes are all over the place, due to his inability to focus in class. He’ll need to ask Ned if he can look at his notes tomorrow. He ends up saving English for last because it’s just more poems and if he tries to read them now he’ll fall asleep immediately. At least with chemistry it requires him to be actually write, and that can keep him awake. He’s halfway through the problems assigned for the night when he hears you shuffle around.

He looks back over his shoulder to see you’ve set the book down next to you so you can lean over to grab the camera he has sitting on the nightstand. He’d bought it a couple of months ago, and he has an extra pack of film stored in the drawer, but he hadn’t even gotten through the first pack. He sets his pencil down and settles for watching you, to give his mind a break. You turn the thing over in your hands, locating the viewfinder and putting it against your eye.

“That’s a Polaroid camera,” he pipes up, and you set the camera down to look at him. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed and gently takes the camera from you. You scoot up to be closer, as you’d been leaning against the pillows. “You use this to frame the picture”—he points at the viewfinder—“and when you take it, it comes out here.” He turns the camera around to point at the slit in the front.

Your eyes are concentrated on the camera, and you can’t help but smile. “I know you’ve said there’s no magic in this universe but I’m inclined to disagree.”

Peter smiles softly. “Here, I’ll take a photo of you.” He’s adjusting the light meter when you speak again.

“Why not a take one of both of us?”

Peter doesn’t look up immediately but when he does his smile is wider due to the idea you present. “I can try, but no promises that it’ll come out well.” He turns the polaroid around so it faces the two of you, and he leans his head to the left to motion you closer. You slide over, shoulder to shoulder with him, and he hopes he’s angling the lens correctly to get the two of you in frame properly. You glance at Peter to find him smiling, so you grin at the camera as well, and then suddenly there’s a bright flash which momentarily obscures your vision.

“Sorry,” Peter apologizes as he lowers the camera, which now begins buzzing as the photo slides out.

“Do they all flash so brightly?” you ask.

“The older ones do. You can turn that off in newer cameras.” He grabs the photo carefully. Since it’s fresh, it’s still blank, and you point this out.

“There’s nothing there.”

“It needs time to develop, so you store it somewhere dark.” He puts the camera back on the nightstand and stores the photo in the drawer.

“How is the school work?” You motion toward the desk, which has since become a mess of papers and textbooks. Peter follows your gaze and sighs as he too studies the materials on his desk.

“Boring. Slow. Tiring.” He shrugs.

You laugh. “I felt the same with all the work my mentor would assign me. Studying late into the night and waking up early to train in the field. It was frustrating, but it was worth it.”

Peter smiles. The way you stare at the far wall, as if remembering memories not called upon for a long time, he could swear that maybe everything—the realm of Galerion, your training, the destruction of Rimmen—was real. The way you act, the memories you have, the expressiveness in your eyes and the softness of the smiles you grace him with… It is all so real. As he considers this, it’s now him who’s having difficulty coming to terms with the idea that your very being is made up. You’d been a figment of his imagination. And now you sit here before him, in his Midtown High School sweatshirt and his track pants which are much too large for you. This morning he wondered if he was dreaming. He knows now that he isn’t.

It's another couple of hours until he’s just about finished with his homework. He pauses momentarily to roll his neck, stretching the muscles after having looked down at his work for so long. You’d fallen asleep a while ago. Peter puts his homework away in his backpack and makes his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. It’s been a long, very confusing day, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him when he showers.

Before he leaves the bathroom, he grabs his jeans which he’d left on the counter and empties the pockets before he tosses them in the hamper. He grabs his wallet, some change, and his pen. He carries all of this with him to the room. The first two things he sets on his desk, but the last he starts to put away in his backpack. He’s tucked it into the front pocket, but then he pauses. He pulls it out and studies it, rotating it in his hand. The expression on his face shifts to one of realization. He stands slowly, and his eyes slide from the pen to you.

What else could it be?

You popping into existence the day after he’d drawn you is too much of a coincidence. You looked just like the drawing, right down to your clothes. Peter huffs and rubs at his temples. A pen is basically the cause of the entire ordeal. It’s no ordinary pen, that’s for sure, but what had it been doing sitting in a secondhand store? It’s very clearly a magical artifact that shouldn’t be there, yet it had been. He supposes this could’ve gone worse. Someone else could’ve taken it, set such things into motion, and not known how to deal with them. Peter won’t deny that despite his inexperience with magic, he’s still better equipped than most. He’s glad he hadn’t decided to draw a dragon or something. The notion of a pen he found in a thrift store being this powerful is kind of ironic, he can’t help but think.

If this pen is what’s started it all, you aren’t the only one it’s brought to life. Peter had drawn Caligari as well. When he remembers this, he almost wants to punch himself in the face, never mind that he had no way of knowing the powers this pen held. Although he wasn’t too far into the D&D campaign, he knew a fair amount about its main villain, and he knew that at this point your companions were still too weak to face him—you on your own, even more so.

He walks up to his window and gazes outside as if he’ll see Caligari standing there somewhere. But he knows he won’t. New York is large and, well, who’s to say he is in New York anymore? Had he gone somewhere else, to a new state even? There’s no way to track him, and with his shapeshifting abilities, he could be practically anyone. Was he laying low for now? Peter would’ve expected Caligari to wreak havoc the moment he’d spawned, yet there hadn’t been anything disastrous reported. Aside from you showing up, it was a normal day—as normal as a day like this can get, anyway.

Peter glances over at you. You’re hugging a pillow to your chest. Had Caligari sensed you at all? You hadn’t sensed him after doing your clairvoyance spell, but then again, you may not have the precision to detect more powerful mystical beings, early on in the game as you technically still are.

With a sigh, he turns off the lamp and goes to his closet, digging around for some extra blankets. There’s no room on the top bunk from all that he’s stored there, and he’s too tired to move any of it. He grabs one of the extra pillows from it instead before laying down on the ground, doing his best to get comfortable on the wooden floor. To clear more space he has to push aside clothes he’d haplessly thrown around. He really should clean up his room.

Once he’s finally settled, he stares up at the ceiling, the blood rushing to his head so forcefully he has to close his eyes for a moment. There is now an actual threat out there somewhere in New York (hopefully, which is strange to say, but it’s the best case scenario because at least Peter can reach him), and he's the cause. It won’t be fun seeking out that help he’d mentioned to you earlier, but he has no choice.

A heavy feeling bubbles in the pit of his stomach. He rolls onto his side, staring at the pile of clothes to his right and listening to the sound of your breathing. This is not a good week.

PART TWO

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman imagine #tom holland imagine #peter parker #spiderman #tom holland #bubble-tea-bunny

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elizabethschoices · 7 years ago

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The Freshman, Book 4, Chapter Three: My Thoughts

Are we even legal to drink alcohol?

Alright, so the chapter starts off with Zack being a horrible driver on a bad road. #IBelieveIt We’re headed to the Ashtons’ summer home in Roxbury, and apparently it’s hella off the grid because there’s no maintenance on the roads. Lovely. Zack’s tires are gonna be fuuuuuuuuucked.

Same, Zig. Same.

Zack is poking fun at how snobby Mr. and Mrs. Ashton are, and good guy Chris defends them. We’ve met them before, so we of all people should know, right? Well, I didn’t love them, but they were tolerable. I did have a thing for James and they actually kind of brought us together, which I love. Even though I broke up with James, I still respect him greatly and would be open to getting back together under the condition he quits wearing that hipster outfit and that he’s not a douche anymore. It was hard breaking up with him because I was so whipped for him in all three books, but then he kind of turned into a fuckboy and that is #NotMyStyle.

I’ll say James’ parents are an acquired taste, because that’s exactly what they are. Some will like them, some won’t. MC advises them that while it’s okay for us to stay at their place, we should be on our best behavior. And honestly, that’s what any decent guest should do. Don’t act like an ape at someone else’s expense.

Good news! James’ parents are letting up on the writing thing, which is great! I was hoping they would come around. James is such a natural at writing and he genuinely loves the craft. That should be enough for parents, even if I do understand wanting the legacy to continue on and wanting a good, stable life for their child. At some point, you have to learn to let baby bird fly away.

Hopefully his parents aren’t still upset about the fiancée thing, ‘cause that would suck. Build a bridge, bruh. They’d probably be less upset though if we were still with James. But alas, that ship has sailed and I’m not getting back on it unless I see changes.

That’s right, Zig doesn’t know about basically anything our group has gone through in the first two books! Story time?

Almost story time. Damn you, Zack, for finding the house and shit. And apparently James has left the house unlocked for us, which I think is dumb. Just because you’re in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean people won’t come steal your stuff. Also, be a good host and greet your damn guests at the door!

Alright, we get the staircase from the Cordonia’s castle! You’d think they could be a little more original with it. We first meet up with James’ mother, Olivia. She remembers us! Kind of hard to forget the woman that pretended to be engaged to your son though. Especially on the same night that your son admits he’s been lying to you for months now and is actually planning on doing nothing with the family firm you’ve been guiding him to all his life...

The boys leave the room and we’re left alone with Mrs. Ashton. She’s being very hospitable, and I wouldn’t have really expected anything else. What’s the point of being rude to someone you allowed into your home? We’ll tell Mrs. Ashton that it’s a pleasure to see her again, because it is. I’d rather just start from scratch with James’ parents, honestly.

Approval points for politeness!

She smiles at us!!! She seems to be on the same page as me. Mrs. Ashton then apologizes to us for being pulled into the middle of family problems that we had absolutely nothing to do with and she says she doesn’t hold our deceit against us. At least she knows how loyal we are to her boy!

‘Dear friend’

Is that all he said about us? And by us, I mean the people who dated James and then broke up with him when he was being a fuckboy?

All of the boys come back from moving the luggage, and Mrs. Ashton asks us about our trip. Honestly, during school, I never had anything to do over the summer, so I’d be looking forward to this trip. Approval points for not wanting to be lazy!

‘I’m not really one to sit around the house all summer’

This MC is not me. The past six summers I was forced to stay home and babysit. :/

James’ father George arrives! I hope he’s also chill with us. He says it’s nice to see us, so it’s a start! He introduces himself to the boys. Mr. Ashton pinpoints Chris as the football star of our group, and says he used to play rugby before school got in the way. Chris can sympathize, as being student body president isn’t easy to juggle life with. We can all recognize that, after all the shit from Book 3 that went down.

James’ father is impressed with that! Aaaaand they’re kind of down in the dumps about James not having that to add on his résumé. Olivia seems really upset that the movie deal fell through. I wonder how much James told his parents about what happened in LA.

Hmm, what to say... I don’t really feel like I have the right to tell them that it’s James’ life and not there’s. That’s something only James can say. Also, where is James, exactly? Anyway, we’ll tell her he left because he was miserable.

Ooooh, approval points!

She understands. She loves her son and wants the best for him, but doesn’t want him to hit an emotional health low. Good mama. His papa was worried about him too. They really do love their son, people who said that they didn’t. So take that!

OH FUCKING HELL HE’S STILL WEARING THAT STUPID HIPSTER OUTFIT THAT IS NOT THE JAMES I FELL FOR EWWWWWWW

James enters the room suddenly and I hope he plans on changing his clothes before we leave because otherwise I’m not letting him in the fucking van. DON’T HUG ME WITH THOSE GLASSES ON DAMMIT I’LL LET THE FLANNEL SLIDE BECAUSE I LOVE PLAID BUT THIS IS RIDICULOUS.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be so salty if the red in the shirt was a blue color. Like a darker blue, almost purple shade. And the glasses were gone because they look dumb. And honestly, I’m fine with the shirt he’s got on underneath the plaid one.

The Ashtons are heading for a vacation in Greece, so the place will be all ours. Oh lordy. There’s a winery; we’re gonna get smashed. Can we get some kind of drama to this story now? It’s kind of boring with all this setup. There better be decent payoff, because nobody likes foreplay without an orgasm. Well, some people do, but not in the literary sense, anyway.

Zack is teasing James on the plaid.

James says it’s summer, so he’s gotta stay cool. And then he mentions his lightweight sweaters are at the dry cleaners. <3 But, let’s be honest, PB didn’t feel like animating new designs. The only one so far who has gotten lucky is Zack. Bastard.

James tells us he’ll be at Hartfeld next year, as he didn’t get all of his credits the previous year. And I’m sitting here like ‘i thought he was a junior this whole time shit’

Super senior James! That feels odd to say.

He says it’ll be good for him and give him more time to figure things out. He may even stay longer! Might as well start on a master’s degree. He says he’d like to enjoy the real world though.

Tour time! Horses first! After our latest encounter in The Royal Romance, all I can say that will make this chapter worth playing is if Drake saves us from being run over. Otherwise, I’m pretty bored.

Same background as in The Royal Romance too. Does that bug anyone else like it bugs me? It’s just the continuity of it all and I’m kind of OCD in that sense and it messes with me, not because I think that PB should design a new background for everything.

Zack tells a total dad joke and James might as well just prep himself for the road trip because that’s all it’s gonna consist of.

AWWW ZIG IS PETTING A HORSE AND HE’S SO GIDDY ABOUT IT

He likes animals! Ugh, he’s such a dork and I love him.

Lmao a horse is using us to rest its head on. Same. We’ll ask for the horse’s name.

Shut up, Chris, that was meant for James to intercept and tell us.

Apples McHooves? What the hell, Zack? He must be inhaling leftover pot from the van.

The horse’s name is Ezra! Isn’t that the teacher dude from PLL? Idk, all I know about PLL is what’s on Episode. Also, didn’t they say they would update that in January? I haven’t seen an update on it yet!

YES I WANT TO EARN THE HORSE’S LOVE FOREVER AND IF YOU WANT TO EARN MINE TAKE OFF THE GLASSES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

Yaaaay, we get to feed him! Maybe Zack should get a pet! He’d probably like a cat. They’re lovely. Assholes, but also lovely.

We inform James on the breakup and for the billionth time we’re hearing about it. Good god end this torture.

Fuck me I hope this is a premium choice ‘cause I’m gonna skip it so hard!

FUCK YEAH PREMIUM CHOICE WOOOO THIS DAMN CHAPTER WILL END SOON!

Sorry, Ezra. And sorry, Zig. But I have no interest in horseback riding as it is. At least James will back us up, even if he does have his sad face on. Fuck you and your attempted guilt trip, game.

Nap time!

Zack wakes us up when they’re done.

Wine cellar time!

Who needs this much wine?

Is this all this chapter is going to be? The boys amazed at the richness and me being bored out of my mind?

James takes us to where the magic happens, in his own words. I wonder if they make the wine themselves of if they have it made for them?

Little bit of both.

Ahh, here’s where the MC gets to make a fool of herself. We fall into the vat of grapes. Lovely feeling, I’m sure. At least James is cool about it.

OH FUCK FOOD FIGHT MAYBE JAMES WILL CHANGE HIS FUCKING CLOTHES AFTER

Chris, did you really need to remind all of us that you’re a quarterback?

Also, this is not our best behavior.

I just noticed Chris is wearing that hot white shirt of his again. Sweet!

Alone time with James now. I wonder if they were creative enough to do the ‘we were in a relationship and now we’re not’ kind of connection between books.

James grinning ‘wolfishly’ is so fucking hot omg

20 diamonds for a food fight part 2? DA FUCK?!

Nah, I’m fine.

After cleaning up and having dinner, we head to bed. Someone’s at the door though. James?

Yup.

We chat with him a bit about the bed and how he’s got plans for us in the Big Apple. And then we finally hit the end.

Until next week! Hopefully I’m more entertained by it.

#the freshman #the freshman book 4 #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #choices stories we play #pixelberry #my thoughts #my review #my opinion #my choices #elizabethschoices

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gleefail · 4 years ago

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Glee Memories: 1x9 Wheels

A long, long time ago, as Glee was approaching graduation in Season 3, I found myself nostalgic with some rare free time on my hands. So I decided to rewatch the series from the beginning and jot down some memories, discrepancies that have arisen since, fave quotes, tally solos - all that good stuff, strictly for shits and giggles.

8 years later (eek!) and once more I find myself with an unexpected abundance of free time. With so many revisiting or being newly introduced to the show between binge watching during Quarantine and all the tragedy that has surrounded the show since it went off the air, I figured I’d finish what I started. And by finish, I mean go through the end of S3. Cause I truly cannot acknowledge what happened after that. Except for 5B.

Kicking this off by reposting the first 15 episodes I already went through. Enjoy!

1x9 Wheels I haven’t addressed yet that this voice-over “Here’s what you missed on Glee” guy is different…will be interesting to see when they changed it.

um…when did Kurt tell everyone that he was gay? Didn’t he only come out to Mercedes and his dad so far? I definitely missed that on Glee

Holy crap. I forgot about this Cheerios jump rope number.

This is when I started not liking S1 Quinn. When she started being just plain mean to Finn even as she lied to him about the baby being his. Uncalled for. Although her calling out that he’s a peabrain is hella-necessary.

Figgins can’t pay for a bus for Artie to get to sectionals. Understandable? Is that like, legal?

Makes total sense that Sue has boosters that provide funds for traveling etc. Doesn’t make sense that the Glee club never started music boosters….not to me anyways.

Will’s right. In high school, some of the best trips were rides to other schools for volleyball games and showchoir competitions together. Although that almost always involved people mooning out the back window. And getting to third base under letterman jackets. Just my school? Anyone else?

Aw…Tina is looking at Artie from afar…not necessarily romantically…concerned? Whatever the reason, it’s cute.

Aw, Kurt’s so excited about Defying Gravity

let the record show, Mr. Schue just handed a solo to Rachel for a competition for the first time ever. But not the last. Don’t get me started.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find something for you to…dip in chocolate” Two things: 1. Yes you will. And his name is Sam Evans. (’wanky’). 2. No, you won’t Mr. Schue. No. You. Won’t. #oops

“I mean, bake sales are kind of bourgee” “So hip people stopped eating delicious, sugary treats?” “It’s not that, it’s that most of us don’t know how to bake. I find recipes confusing.” I love every moment of this exchange. And

Britany’s officially not all there now. :) Yaaaay!

Aw, poor Artie and the peer pressure of having to say he doesn’t mind when he’s clearly hurt by people he thinks are his friends. Poor guy.

It really does impress me how Kevin McHale manages to completely lose use of his legs. Even when he’s boppin in his wheelchair. I don’t think I could do it.

Jenna Ushkowitz is flat out adorable laughing at her lunch table in slow motion.

Aw Tina. These original members really do all have a lil special place in my heart. Before RIB screwed most of them over.

Ruh roh, I know that look. Mr. Schue is getting an idea watching Artie jamming around in his wheelchair…

Why is Kurt wearing a gangsta bandana on his head?

“But I’m happy to have you try out something else, Kurt. And I’ll make sure it’s got a killer high note” No. No, you won’t Schue. Ugh. Three seasons of empty promises and he won Teacher of the Year? Riiiight.

“Well, you’re irritating most of the time but…don’t take that personally”

“Preach!” Yes!!! There’s the Artie I know and love! It makes me giggle more seeing moments like this knowing he asks Amber to show him how to do it, lol.

hahahahaha – Finn just got hit in the back of the head with someone’s baseball bat! Rachel just got her lunch spilled all over her! Oh, happiness.

“it’s what I have left of my pool cleaning money. After I bought dip and numchucks”

Quinn is so pretty in regular clothes with her hair down in season one. I would buy that THIS is the girl everyone wants to be. She’s totes that popular, bitchy girl who has everything.

“It would be pretty awesome if it came out with a Mohawk”

Aw, this food fight is still so cute. I feel like we haven’t seen Quinn laugh like that since until she was going up that ramp with Artie cheering her on. So cute.

“It’s not about a guy, is it? Cause…I’m not ready to have that conversation.” “At least you don’t have to worry about me getting someone pregnant” snicker snicker. True dat.

“You sing like a girl – in a good way”

So…yeah, they were doing Defying Gravity for Sectionals…what happened to that?

FIRST APPEARANCE OF LAUREN ZIZES!!!

Ugh. So stupid Rachel is complaining about having to audition for a solo. It’s showchoir. You should have to audition for EVERY solo and anyone who wants to can. …but it’s Glee

“We all know I’m more popular than Rachel – and I dress better than her…”

“Your right hand, Britany” *Santana whispers to her “it’s this one”* Yup. Not all there. There’s mah girl!

I love that instead of saying “I promise to vote for whoever sings the song better”, Mercedes blatantly says to Kurt “I promise to vote FOR YOU” with a big smile. I love Kurtcedes. Have I said that yet?

“Maybe one of these days you’ll find a way to create teaching moments without ruining my life.” Oh he will Rachel. He’ll just ruin everyone else’s.

“Those are what I call ‘lazy makers’”

Figgins is making Sue hold auditions to replace Quinn on the Cheerios. How do they not try out in the first place?

“and as soon as a cheerleader rolls herself out onto the field in a wheelchair she becomes decidedly less effective at cheering people up. It’s just a fact.”

“Stop attacking me. I’m sick of it” I like this Finn. Where did he come from? And where did he go?

I never ever ever realized that that was Kurt auditioning for the Cheerios with a baton. OMG!

haha, also never realized that the “freak” did the splits and clearly landed on his junk but tried to play it like he was fine. HAAAAA!

“Becky, I’m gonna stop you right there. You’re in.” YAY!

“I’m just saying, she has a point; you are kind of an idiot.” Truth.com, Puck.

“It’s just like you, with your stutter” Tina’s reaction said it all. “But I wanna be very clear: I still have the use of my penis.” HAAAAAAA!!! And Artie’s “why did I say that?!” look afterwards. Golden.

Kurt warming up to a high F while Burt gets the “your son’s a fag” phone call. So damn sad.

“Sometimes I just…I wish your mom was still around, y’know?” Aw, Burt. So happy you’ll find Carol.

“I don’t wanna win out of charity. I wanna win the solo because it’s right for the club. I really think that the judges at Sectionals will find a female version of Defying Gravity much more accessible.” Lies and manipulation and selfishness of Rachel Berry. And it begins.

“People just don’t like me.” “Yeah, you might wanna work on that” Yup. You might, Rachel. Too bad ya never really did unless it was to benefit you. hahaha, Puck put a lil pot in the cupcakes. I totally forgot about that. omg. There’s a loooot of flannel in that lunch room. What is that about?

Haha. Puck buying pot from Sandy. “The doctor said the shark fractured my spinal cord.” “This is why I don’t go to the aquarium.”

Sue’s mean don’t discriminate because of handicap, gender, religion, or sexual preference.

“You think this is hard? Try auditioning for Baywatch and being told they’re going in a different direction. THAT was hard.” Truth.

“Oh, I bully everyone, William. That’s the way I roll”

First official Diva-off!! I remember I soooo wanted Kurt to win, but it was all over his face that something was up ever since Burt told him about that phone call.

First sacrifice for Rachel Berry. Go.

Even back then when I liked Rachel Berry, I didn’t like her singing this song. I think my dislike of her started right around here. Like “who does she think she is, trying to sing this song better than Idina, when she knows damn well, coming from Broadway, who Idina is!?” that was me, lol. My point is I still don’t like her on this song. It has a special place in my heart and I need more of a powerhouse on it, and someone whose soul I can hear when they sing it, not just trying to sing pretty.

“’It’ is a ‘she’.” That’s a cute moment. :)

Ok. Ohhhhh boy. Finn got a job by pretending to be handicapped and stuck in a wheelchair. But wasn’t it Finn that 2 seasons later berates Quinn for not announcing that she’s improved to now be able to stand/walk to get votes for Prom Queen? I just…I refrain from comment. It’ll get ugly.

Aw, Artie is donating the money to get a ramp put in the auditorium instead of using it to get a bus to go to Sectionals with everyone. Way to take one for the team, Artie. He’s a good guy.

Sue donated the $600 to rent the bus for Sectionals. Aw. I knew something was up at that point. Lies. I knew something was up when she told Will “You don’t know the FIRST thing about me.”

Aw, Jean. This relationship was so sweet.

AWWWWW – Artie’s face after Tina kisses him!!!

Aw. Artie’s face after Tina admits that she’s faking her stutter. :(

“I’m sorry now you get to be normal and I’m gonna be stuck in this chair for the rest of my life. And that’s not something I can fake.” Aw, man. So sad.

“I’m just saying that I love you more than I love being a star.” Oh Kurt. You little angel.

Ok. There are no words for how I felt when I found out Glee was doing Proud Mary. Here’s the thing: Me and my theatre friends always go to karaoke and take turns singing this song. And then the rest of us kinda flash mob it and rush the stage once the tempo picks up in synchronized back-up dancing. And it’s the highlight of our night and the best tradition when we can get everyone together to do it. Once people came up and asked if we were some group of performers that the bar hired to come do it. It’s soooo much fun. It has such a special place in my heart. I do it now for warm-ups with my high school kids when we need to unwind. And I always use this Glee version. Cause I loves Amber Riley and Kevin McHale and Jenna Ushkowitz on it. Things like this are what make me sad that Glee-ers are graduating more than missing the show itself or the writing; the memories made along the way. And the things like this that just make me smile.

Lol, one of my friends loved the duplicity of them singing this. Cause it was ‘rollin’ for Artie and ‘Mary’ for Kurt. He was gay, so I guess he was allowed to say things like that cause he owned it, lol.

This number is so effing awesome. And the costumes and hair are super cute.

I love the behind the scenes of this where Cory talks about when Amber fell out of her wheelchair and he just heard a crash followed by incessant laughing. SOLOS: Artie (2), Rachel (1), Kurt (1), Mercedes (1), Tina (1)

#Glee Memories #Glee #lol Glee #Glee Wheels

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