i wish more people knew about them though

Little Secret // Isaac Lahey

Y/L/N: your last name

If you have any requests, message me! I’d love to write some more stuff!

Every girl in the school admires you, wants to be you. Every guy in the school fantasizes about you, or wants to be with you. And even though you enjoy the attention, there is something about you that makes you wish that people knew what you’re really like. And ever since you started turning people down that asked you out, just because you were not interested in dating them, no one dared to ask you anything ever again.
You were standing at your locker, on your own for once. Wednesday was the only day where you had a quiet minute without any of your ‘followers’ being around you. You were just collecting your books for the next couple of lessons, when a guy came up to you, leaning against the locker next to yours.
“Can I help you?” you coolly asked, before looking over and noticing it was Isaac Lahey. The kid had gained some points with you after shifting from a total nobody to a badass without having to beat anyone up over it. He hung out with the girl who you always had been rivalling against, Lydia Martin, before she suddenly became one of the lunatics. Everyone treated that moment as an opportunity for you to rise to the top of the school, but you had felt sorry for her.
“You can, actually,” Isaac said, making you raise an eyebrow, silently asking him what it was you could help him with. “You can help me by saying yes to going on a date with me?”
You chuckled. “It’s not that easy, mister Lahey.” You gave him a soft little pat on the chest, thanked him for trying and turned around, ready to walk away although you didn’t know where to, when he grabbed your arm and spun you around.
“Not so fast, Y/L/N,” he said, smirking dangerously at you. “I know what you get like under the full moon.” You pretended to be bored, but it did come as a surprise to you that he knew. What gave it away? You were sure that you had been hiding your scent the entire time. “Yes, I know your little secret. I’m not using this against you, no one would believe me if I told them. But hey, I get the same way under the full moon.”
“I know,” you answered, folding your arms over your chest. Unlike you, he had not been trying to hide his scent from anyone. “And now what? We’re not soulmates.”
“We might not be,” Isaac said, “but what’s stopping you from going on a date with me? The full moon’s in two days. How about we go out on Friday?” Friday was the night of the full moon.
You chuckled, because you liked this idea of him trying to convince you to go out on a date with him on the night of a full moon. Did he have any clue how not romantic that was? And besides that, he had probably not even been a werewolf long enough to be able to control his shift, and you didn’t feel like babysitting him on a night that was usually fun-packed for you. “A date out in the woods? Not very romantic is it? Can you even control yourself, Isaac?”
Isaac shrugged. “I won’t be able to when you wear that dress you wore yesterday.” He winked at you before turning around and walking off.
Surprised by those words, you quickly went after him, grabbing him by the arm and effortlessly turning him around to face you. “It’s a date. Friday night. I’ll wear that dress and you’ll wear that leather jacket.” You smiled at him, before turning around and walking off in the direction of your next class. OK, maybe the idea of a date during the full moon wasn’t that bad. And there were a lot of good things you could get out of that date as well…

When I was in college, I began Kindred*, and that was the first (novel) that I began, knowing what I wanted to do. The others, I was really too young to think about them in terms of ‘What do you have to say in this novel?’ I just knew there were stories I wanted to tell.

But when I did Kindred, I really had had this experience in college that I talk about all the time, of this Black guy saying, ‘I wish I could kill all these old Black people that have been holding us back for so long, but I can’t because I have to start with my own parents.’

That was a friend of mine. And I realized that, even though he knew a lot more than I did about Black history, it was all cerebral. He wasn’t feeling any of it. He was the kind that would have killed and died, as opposed to surviving and hanging on and hoping and working for change. And I thought about my mother, because she used to take me to work with her when she couldn’t get a baby sitter and I was too young to be left alone, and I saw her going in the back door, and I saw people saying things to her that she didn’t like but couldn’t respond to.

I heard people say in her hearing, ‘Well, I don’t really like colored people.’ And she kept working, and she put me through school, she bought her house – all the stuff she did. I realized that he didn’t understand what heroism was.

That’s what I want to write about: when you are aware of what it means to be an adult and what choices you have to make, the fact that maybe you’re afraid, but you still have to act.

—  Octavia Butler on writing “Kindred”