Chapter 12: Intense emotions
It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to my parents. In fact, I had already spoken to them a few times since arriving in this world.
But anyone in my position would understand the difficulty of it. I had lived nearly forty years in a completely different world.
Forty years of memories, of routines, of emotional ties—forty years with an entirely different set of parents.
And now, suddenly inhabiting the life of an 18-year-old named Jace, I was expected to step into a new familial role with people who had known me their entire lives but whom I had only just met.
It wasn't easy. Even for someone like me, who tried to adapt quickly.
Still, I believed in the principle that children should take care of their parents when they grow older, just as parents care for children when they're young.
That belief hadn't changed just because I had crossed into another world. And now that I was in a position to do something—with a stable paycheck and a growing career—I felt the urge to reach out again.
We had been in contact, off and on, but despite living in the same state, we hadn't yet seen each other in person. Work, distance, time—they all made things complicated. But tonight felt like a good time.
I picked up the phone and dialed.
It didn't take long before my mother picked up.
"What is it, darling?" she said, her voice warm and familiar, even if still slightly unfamiliar to me.
"Nothing much, Mom," I said, trying to sound relaxed. "I just got paid for my first episode..the one I was texting you about, and was wondering if you or Dad wanted anything. Anything at all."
There was a pause on the other end. A small moment of silence that made me wonder what she was thinking.
"Your dad's birthday is coming up soon, in about a month's time," she said eventually. "How about you come over and visit us for that? That would mean more than enough."
I felt something tug at my chest. A mix of guilt and sentiment. It had been a few weeks since I arrived in this world, and I hadn't even seen my parents' faces yet.
And, if the memories were accurate, my past self hadn't been the most present son either. Not out of neglect, but because he was focused on building a future.
It was something I could understand.
"Of course, Mom," I said quietly. "I'll come over for his birthday."
"Is dad there now?" I asked.
"No, honey. He's still at work in the factory, but he should be home soon."
I hesitated a little before saying, "Mom, you and Dad don't need to work anymore. I've started earning enough. I can help take care of the house. You can rest more."
She laughed, the kind of soft laugh that carried affection and stubbornness all at once.
"You're still young," she said. "You'll need that money. Why don't you save it? Use it wisely, and later, you'll be able to support your family even more."
I didn't argue. I knew how she was.
There was no changing her mind when it was set. And truthfully, she wasn't wrong.
"Alright," I said. "I'll call again soon. We can talk more then."
We wrapped up the call not long after. I put the phone down and sat for a moment, quietly reflecting.
It was strange how easily I had slipped into this life. But moments like this reminded me that it wasn't a seamless transition.
There were still gaps—still emotional hurdles I had to clear. But I was getting there. Slowly, one conversation at a time.
…
Over the past week, something became increasingly clear to me: I was getting stronger.
At first, it wasn't anything unusual. The production had set up a strict fitness regime and diet plan, courtesy of both the director and the on-set dietitians.
It made sense.
Teen Wolf, as anyone who's seen the show knows, showcases a lineup of physically perfect teenagers, especially the guys.
Every single one of them looked like they were chiseled from stone. Unrealistically shredded, to be honest. It's almost absurd.
So naturally, to fit into that kind of aesthetic, I had to follow a pretty intense routine. The gym sessions were brutal, the food was clean but repetitive, and the schedule didn't allow for a lot of deviation.
I was usually partnered with the actor who played Jackson, which made things easier.
He had a disciplined work ethic and wasn't afraid to push hard, which in turn motivated me to do the same.
But even beyond the workouts and meals, something felt off—or rather, different. I was growing stronger and building muscle at a rate that wasn't quite normal.
At first, I chalked it up to the intensity of the program. After all, being consistent with diet and training can produce solid results. But this felt accelerated. Unnaturally so.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I had a lingering suspicion.
It likely had something to do with the system. More specifically, with the perfection-level acting skill.
From what I had already experienced, physical injuries from scenes didn't follow me into the real world.
If I got stabbed or thrown or bitten while acting, it was all part of the performance. No cuts or bruises lingered after the scene wrapped.
But emotions? Emotions did stick. The fear, the intensity, the adrenaline—those felt real. They affected me in ways that didn't just go away with a director's "cut."
And that made me wonder: if emotions lingered, and emotions affected the psyche, then could the spiritual side of the roles I played be bleeding over into real life?
The werewolf bite, for example. Sure, it was makeup, special effects, clever staging. But in the world of Teen Wolf, that bite wasn't just a wound.
It was a transformation.
A spiritual and genetic shift that unlocked something primal. Alphas, betas, chimeras—they weren't created from just blood.
I wasn't saying I had become a werewolf. I hadn't shifted. I hadn't grown claws or fangs or experienced any supernatural instincts.
But I also wasn't ready to rule it out completely.
There was a strangeness to the way my body was adapting. Strength increases that defied logic. Endurance that seemed to climb day by day. Reflexes that felt sharper. I hadn't tested them in any serious way, but I knew what my baseline had been when I arrived in this body. This went beyond healthy gains. It felt like something else.
The thought that I could be turning into something supernatural wasn't just uncomfortable—it was scary.
Teen Wolf didn't stop at wolves. The universe was filled with all kinds of creatures, many of which fell into the category of eldritch horror. Shapeshifters, banshees, berserkers, nogitsunes—the list went on. The idea that I could one day wake up crawling on the ceiling, out of control of my own body or mind, chilled me more than I wanted to admit.
I didn't want to live my life wondering if each role I took might leave a deeper mark than the last. And yet, the system had already proven its depth. It had blurred the lines between acting and being.
So while I wasn't sounding any alarms yet, I was paying close attention. Monitoring myself. Watching for signs that might explain what was happening.
For now, all I could do was take note of the changes, stick to the training, and try not to let paranoia creep in.
But still, it was something I had quietly carried with me throughout the past week. A question I hadn't yet found an answer to.
What exactly was I becoming?
…
INT. LOCKER ROOM – NIGHT
I was currently acting as Scott. Over the last several days, I had developed the ability to clearly tell the difference between when I was immersed in a scene and when I was just myself.
That line, which used to be so blurry it scared me, had finally started to become more distinct. I guess that's what a week's worth of doing the same scenes again and again does to you. Right now, I was in the locker room, standing beneath the buzzing overhead lights, surrounded by the familiar scent of sweat, metal, and cheap soap.
Just moments ago, we had wrapped the lacrosse match scene. And now, without much pause, we were launching straight into this next one.
There was something strangely melancholic about shooting both scenes back-to-back. It left little time for the emotions of the previous one to settle before I had to dive straight into the next. I almost lost control back on the field.
Almost shifted.
And now, here I was, trying to act normal. But the truth was, I knew exactly what was going to happen next.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. But it wasn't because I almost transformed back there. That part was surprisingly easy to brush off now. At least in this hormone-fueled, heightened, half-werewolf body I was in. The real reason I couldn't calm down? It was because I knew she was coming.
And right on schedule, I heard her footsteps.
Each one grew louder as she made her way inside.
"Scott," she called, her voice echoing gently through the space as she entered the locker room.
I didn't respond. I just stood there, completely still, waiting for her to close the distance between us.
Eventually, she reached me.
"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, voice soft with concern. I didn't turn to face her. My palms were pressed flat against the cold tile wall in front of me.
"Scott," she said again, closer this time. I felt her hand slide onto my shoulder, the contact grounding and warm.
Slowly, I turned around to meet her gaze.
"Huh? Sorry," I said, blinking like I was shaking off a daze. "I just got a little lightheaded. Maybe it's the adrenaline."
"You were pretty amazing out there," she said, offering me a small, genuine smile that made something inside my chest unclench.
I closed my eyes briefly, then reopened them, and with a tone of calm certainty, I said, "I'm sorry for acting a little weird today."
It was an odd thing to be so straightforward about, and she must've picked up on that because she let out a quiet laugh.
"It's okay. I can handle weird," she replied with a playful lilt, the last word spaced out like she was testing its meaning.
"To be totally honest, being around you makes me nervous," I admitted, leaning forward just slightly.
Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head. "It does?" she asked, like she wasn't sure whether to believe it or not.
"Yes," I said simply. "I just want to make sure I get my second chance."
As I spoke, I reached for her hand, fingers curling gently around hers as I pulled her slightly closer to me. She didn't resist.
"You already have it," she whispered, her voice low and certain. "I'm just waiting for you to take it."
She started to step back, maybe unsure of how close we were standing. But before she could move away, I instinctively reached out and took hold of her wrist. It might've been a bit too tight—the residual werewolf strength made it hard to gauge—but she didn't flinch. If anything, she seemed to trust me.
I pulled her in, and her body pressed softly against mine. Her hands found my shoulders for balance, and her eyes lifted slowly to meet mine.
We stood like that for a few seconds. Not speaking. Just letting the silence stretch. Our faces inches apart.
Then, without rushing, our lips began to move closer. I could feel her breath on mine, warm and nervous. I leaned in. And then we kissed.
It was a slightly long and slow kiss...it was hard for me to control my werewolf. If anything, the main reason I didn't do anything was because I didn't want to hurt her.
My hand slowly went to the back of her hair and I let it run through her curls a little.
Eventually, she pulled away. Her lips curved upward into a bright, slightly bashful smile.
"Um, I gotta get back to my dad," she said, her voice quieter now, but full of something that hadn't been there before.
"Okay," I said, still standing there, a little stunned by what had just happened.
I'd been thinking about this girl all week. Maybe longer. Wondering what this would be like. And now, somehow, it has happened.
Not through the real me exactly—but then again, Scott was becoming real to me in ways I hadn't anticipated. And maybe that counted too.
She began to walk away. But before she fully left, she paused, leaned in once more, and kissed me again—just a light peck, as if to seal the moment. Then she turned and continued on her way.
And as she walked out, she said something—I don't even remember what—because it snapped me out of the fog I was in.
I looked up and spotted Stiles by the bathroom sinks. He had been there the whole time.
I walked toward him, my boots echoing on the floor, that stupid, smug grin practically glued to my face.
"I kissed her," I said, almost like I didn't believe it myself.
"I saw," he replied without missing a beat.
And then, from somewhere off-set, I heard the sharp call:
"CUT!"
(Authors note: Which show/Movie would you like the MC to be in the future?)
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Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator