#or maybe you spent too much time in high school bullying people who look like that to notice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scuderiahoney · 1 month

Text

Oscar Piastri x reader // in motion part 3

hockey au part 3: a walk in near the park, a surprising team photo, and the semester comes to a close. 6.2k words

warnings: mentions of sports injury, mentions of bullying, alcohol, academic stress, final exams

Oscar has spent a lot of his life on the move. He moved to the US from Australia for high school at a pretty young age, just to try and play hockey. Looking back, it sounds crazy. What’s even crazier is that it actually worked. He’d play for club teams and in leagues and travel absolutely anywhere if it gave him time on the ice. And then he ended up on a college team and stayed put for two years, and honestly, it felt strange.

Over that time, he got good at putting things in boxes. Keeping life organized. Not so much in a sense of clutter and things having a place- his room is a mess, there’s laundry to be done, and his hockey locker is a disaster- but more so in his head. His friendships and relationships get categorized, information filed away, grouped together. Not by importance or value, but by… context. Hockey friends in one box. Family in another. People like coaches and managers and executives in a third. Moving somewhere new always shakes the boxes up.

By late November, though, Oscar’s feeling a little bit more comfortable in his own skin. He’s found his place in the team, he has weekly lunches with teammates, and he’s even made some friends outside of hockey. His old coach, Mark, says that’s a big piece of it. That it’s good to have something other than sport, just in case it all falls apart, or it doesn’t work out. People to fall back on who aren’t just there for hockey.

Oscar wants to say that his teammates would still be friends with him even if he stopped playing, for some reason, but the truth is that he’s been burned by other overly ambitious hockey kids way too often to truly believe it. That’s half the reason he’s on the Timberwolves now, why he left his old school and team behind. Things feel better here. Lando has an old friend who used to play hockey who still hangs around the house sometimes- Max, the other Max. (Oscar doesn’t call him that to his face.) So maybe Lando at least wouldn’t ditch him if he quit.

And then there’s you, too. Oscar’s not quite sure when you went from being an enigma he struggled to place into one of his carefully organized boxes in his head to, well, this.

You’re sitting across from him at the dining table in his house, one finger tracing the words in the textbook in front of you. You have a TimTam in your other hand-you seem to have developed a fondness for them, the same way that Oscar seems to have developed a fondness for you. The late afternoon sun is shining into the room through the sliding glass door and onto you. Oscar shakes his head to try to clear it.

As he does, you groan and drop your face into the textbook with a solid thud- he winces. “I hate physics.”

He holds back a laugh, because he knows you genuinely are frustrated. “Does slamming your face on the words help?”

You shrug. “Maybe, if I just sit here like this, the knowledge will seep into my brain.”

He hums. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Right, because you know everything,” you mumble. “Genius man.”

He rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table. “Come on. Time for a break.”

“I don’t need a break, I need to learn…” you sigh and turn your head, pressing your cheek to the book and looking at him with one eye. “What are we studying again?”

Oscar fixes you with a disapproving look and heads towards the front door. He knows you’ll follow. By the time he makes it to the entryway, you’re hot on his heels, watching curiously as he pulls his shoes on.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“We’re going on a walk,” he says. “Brain break.”

You shrug and nod, reaching for your own shoes as he pulls on a jacket. He tries not to laugh as you struggle to pull them on without untying them. You’re always stubborn like that, it seems. It’s almost painfully endearing. You stand up straight once you have the shoes on and look at him expectantly.

“Where’s your jacket?” He asks.

You shrug and shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie. Or is it Charles’ hoodie? Oscar swears he’d seen him wearing it just yesterday.

“I didn’t wear one,” you say. Oscar raises his brows, and you roll your eyes. “There’s not even snow on the ground, Piastri.”

“It’s almost December, Bunny” he says flatly, and reaches for another one of his jackets hanging on the hook near the door.

He hands it to you, and stands there, waiting, until you grumble and pull it on. You wear the other guys’ clothing all the time, but he swears you look almost flustered at the offer. Huh. He’s trying desperately to pretend he’s not flustered over it, honestly. Something about you in his clothing makes him blush. He’d felt the same way about the hoodie you’d borrowed at the party.

“You’re just Australian,” you say, nudging your foot against his as if to usher him out the door. “You’re a baby about the cold.”

He doesn’t have much of a comeback to that, so he steps outside, and you follow right along with him. He walks down the steps and takes off down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. You might be right- he’s a bit of a baby when it comes to cold temperatures- but his breath curls into mist in front of his face and yours does the same, so it really is chilly. The sun paints everything golden- the windows on the buildings, the dead leaves that still cling to a couple trees. Your elbow bumps against his as the two of you walk. He tries to ignore the spark that shoots up his spine at the feeling. You're chatting away about something, someone in one of your classes who’s been annoying you lately. He's found he likes to listen to you talk.

When he turns to take the path through the park next to the athletics building, you stop in your tracks. He turns back, figuring you’ve seen something, but you’re just staring into the park, and at the large building behind it. He frowns.

“Everything alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “I just. D’you think maybe we could walk to that cafe near here? I could really go for a chai latte.”

He nods- a drink does sound good. “Yeah, sure. D’you wanna walk through the park on the way? Won’t be much of a detour.”

The park is nice. It’s one of Oscar’s favorite places on campus. There’s grass and trees and a path that winds around the university’s baseball and soccer fields. But you’re staring at it with a much different feeling, if the look on your face tells him anything.

You shake your head. “No, let’s just…”

You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you take off down the sidewalk, heading away from the park. He’s left to follow in your footsteps, suddenly feeling like he really knows nothing about you at all.

…..

When Oscar thinks of home, now, he thinks of this. Not Australia, or the house, or even his family, really. He thinks of a jersey, a stick in his hand, and the scrape of his skates against the ice. Hockey, for all its cheering fans and yelling opponents and background music, is a strangely quiet sport. Maybe he’s just gotten good at blocking out the noise.

They’re warming up on the ice. He has warm up traditions, now, something he hasn’t had with teammates in years- he and Lando slap each other on the shoulders, and he and George always skate a lap together. It’s not anything huge or elaborate, but it means he’s part of the team, and that’s enough.

Max skates up to him, just at the end of warmup. He nudges his shoulder against Oscar’s through the padding. “Good?”

Oscar had a rough week in practice. It was the kind that would’ve had him benched for a month on his last team. Seb’s been nothing but supportive- constructive criticism was offered, sure, but he’s still on the ice today, so he figures that’s a good sign. He nods and turns to Max. His eyes flicker up into the stands. He shouldn’t know this, but he does- your seat is above Max’s head from this angle, up in the second section, front row. You’re wearing a jersey, probably Lando’s number if he had to guess, and sharing popcorn with Alex’s girlfriend, Lily. He smiles.

“Yeah. Good.” He nods.

Max nods in return, then skates away. Oscar follows.

When he scores later, and ties the game one to one, he looks to the same spot in the stands. Lando hits him on the back, hard, a bit too enthusiastic. You’re standing in front of your seat, arms around Lily, yelling, and he grins. He can’t help it. The smile doesn’t drop from his face for the rest of the game. The rink, the ice, and his teammates may feel like home, but the way you cheer for him feels awfully close to it, too.

At the party afterwards, you pour two shots of tequila and hand one to him. He takes it with a smile, grimaces at the taste, and laughs when you cough. He pats you on the back sympathetically, and when you take his hand two seconds later and drag him towards the beer pong table, he follows happily.

…..

December creeps up on Oscar, and with it, so does final exam week. Suddenly, it’s just… there, bearing down on him. He’s not exactly nervous about most of his exams- he’s prepared well, and though he’d never say it out loud, he’s pretty good at testing. But no matter how well he studies or how much he’s paid attention in class, exams still aren’t exactly fun.

He sees you a lot in the week leading up to it. You’re often in the kitchen, eating snacks with Max, or in the living room, quizzing Charles on vocab, or in Lando’s room taking a nap between classes. You’re stressed. He can tell. He does his best to help in any way he can- when he goes to the store, he picks up your favorite snacks and leaves them on the counter. He helps you study for the physics exam. When he finds you asleep on the couch in his living room on Saturday night, he carefully lays a blanket over you and turns off the lamp. He hopes some of it helps, just a little bit.

The next afternoon, Oscar stands in the lobby of the athletic training building. He and Max had headed over for the afternoon to do a workout together, more to get their minds off exams than anything else. Now he’s in the lobby, waiting for his team captain, and he’s staring. Laser focused. He's making a whole lot of connections all at once. The wheels are turning in his brain, and he’s sure if anyone’s watching him, he looks crazy. He jumps when someone slaps a hand against his shoulder. It’s Max.

“Hey,” his team captain says, shaking him slightly. “You look lost.”

Oscar frowns and turns back to the photo in front of him. Women’s Soccer, a team photo, from what would’ve been his freshman year at his previous school. He’d been looking at the photos while he waited- the lobby is lined with them, and some of them are actually pretty funny. Some of the faces in this one are familiar, people he’s seen in the gym off and on. One, however, had caught his eye.

“Is that who I think it is?” He asks, pointing at the left side of the picture in the third row.

When he turns back to Max, his face has changed. The teasing look is gone, replaced by something solemn and hard set. Max nods and tugs at his shoulder.

“Wait,” Oscar says, trying to stay planted while Max tries to drag him away. “But she-“

Max crosses his arms over his chest and studies Oscar, brows furrowed. “I know. It’s not my story to tell, yeah?”

Oscar nods dumbly. Max nods in response. Then he nods his head towards the door, as if he’s directing Oscar to follow him. He does, because he’s not sure what else to do, and he’s not going to get any more information from the photo. He knows what he saw, anyways. You, standing there with the whole team, in uniform, your name listed below the photo with the rest of your teammates.

If there’s one thing the Timberwolves do better than hockey, it’s soccer. The women’s team has been national champions multiple times. A spot on that team isn’t something someone gives up willingly. But you’re not on the team, not anymore. When Lando asked if you wanted to go to the gym with them, you’d replied that you “wouldn’t be caught dead at the athletic training building.” And you’d avoided the athletic park like the plague.

Max turns to him as they walk out of the building, and the confusion must still be evident on his face, because Max swears under his breath in some other language. Oscar’s too lost in thought to even wonder what language it is, exactly.

“Look, just-“ Max pinches the bridge of his nose. “Trust me, she’ll talk about it when she wants to.”

“Okay,” Oscar nods. “But, like, is she… okay?”

Max gives him a sad smile. “Yeah.”

Oscar hears the silent part in his head. She is now.

They walk home together in near silence. Oscar doesn’t know what to say. He’s sure Max doesn’t, either. When they get to the house, Alex is coming down the front steps, the door still open behind him. Oscar sees your boots in the entryway, your coat hanging on the hook. Alex ruffles his hair as he walks past, and Oscar ducks before he turns to Max.

“Don’t tell her?” He asks, and Max looks sheepish, like that was the exact thing he was about to do. “I mean. If you think she needs to know I saw it, then… sure. But I don’t want her to feel pressured to talk to me about it.”

Max wrinkles his nose and nods. “Okay. For now.”

Oscar nods. They’re in agreement, then. He walks in through the front door and he can hear you and Lando in the kitchen, singing along to whatever song is playing from the speaker. It’s family dinner night. Oscar tries to put the thoughts of you in a soccer team portrait out of his head.

He sits next to you at dinner as you pick at your food. It’s one of your favorite meals, but your appetite seems low. It has him feeling concerned. Max, on your other side, nudges you. Oscar watches the two of you have a quiet conversation and wishes he knew what you were feeling. You finally take a couple bites, and he tries not to show how relieved he is about it.

One by one, everyone wanders off to study and get ready for the week ahead. You stay sitting at the table, though. Oscar clears some plates and comes back to find you, a couple TimTams in hand. You take them with a soft smile.

“You alright?” He asks, quietly.

You nod. “Stressed.”

Oscar nods. “Anything I can do to help?”

You twist your mouth. “Probably not. I should really just go home.”

You don’t make any moves to get up. He sighs and sits down next to you. You drum your fingers on the worn wooden tabletop and set the cookies down next to your plate. You’re chewing on your lower lip, and you close your eyes and let out a breath through your nose.

“It’s like… my brain just won’t stop going,” you say. “Like everything I’ve read is just tumbling around in there and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“Objects in motion tend to stay in motion,” Oscar says, and you groan.

“Do not use physics metaphors on me right now,” you say, and when he starts laughing, you dissolve into giggles, too. “Gross.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly when you turn to look at him. “Why don’t I make some tea, and we can put it in travel mugs, and I’ll walk you home?”

A soft smile slips across your face. “That sounds really nice.”

He makes the tea exactly how both of you like it, pours it into the mugs, and ushers you towards the front door. You stop in the living room to say goodbye to Lando, who ruffles your hair, and Max, who holds onto your arm and says something to you, so quietly that you’re the only one who’ll hear it. Then Oscar heads outside, and you follow. It’s slightly dark, and chilly, but you’ve brought a jacket this time. You wrap both hands around the mug as you walk, a habit of yours that Oscar finds awfully endearing. The streetlights glow bright above your heads.

The walk is mostly silent. He reaches the entrance to the park, and on reflex again, he slows and turns to head down the path. You stop in your tracks and let out a pained little noise. Oscar’s stomach rolls. In the distance, the soccer field is lit up bright with floodlights. Something must’ve happened, to keep you from playing. You’d been good enough to be on the team. Something had changed. He turns and takes a step to continue down the sidewalk, but you stay planted there, staring. He pauses, holding his breath. It’s just the two of you, under the streetlamps, feet on the sidewalk.

“I used to play soccer,” you say, quietly, and his pulse jumps.

She’ll tell you when she’s ready. He hadn’t expected it to be so soon. He bites his lip and shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. You’re still staring out over the park, so he turns to stare, too. He feels you lean your shoulder against his, like you’re looking for support, and he leans into it, just to show he’s there.

“I got signed to play as a senior in high school,” you explain. “And, not to brag, but I was really good. Went through summer training camp and made friends with my teammates and got here and… then I fell just the right way at practice, or the wrong way, I guess,” you say, grimacing. “Fucked up my knee. I had to have surgery, twice, and even then, they pretty much told me I was done. That it would never heal right.”

Oscar’s heart sinks. His chest feels tight. He thinks of you, on the couch in the living room when he woke up feeling off and asked you to go on a run, how you’d said you’d messed up your knee. He thinks of Max and the concerned way he always watches you climb the stairs in the stands at the rink. He thinks of you, younger, like the picture in the athletics building, on the field, in pain. He feels sick to his stomach.

“And my teammates… they didn’t know how to act, I think. They didn’t know how to help, so they just didn’t try. So, suddenly I was no longer a soccer player, and I was alone, and…” you sigh. Oscar turns to face you, and he thinks there are tears in your eyes. “And then I met Lando, and the rest of the team, and the rest is history. But… there are some things that still get to me. The field… it holds a lot of bad memories, you know? And when I’m stressed like this it all comes flooding back.”

He nods. You’re not looking at him, even as he watches a tear roll down your cheek. He wants to reach out and wipe it away, but he wonders if that would be a step too far. He pulls his hands from his pockets. You swipe a hand against your cheeks and clear the tears, and then let your own hands hang at your sides. He takes a steadying breath, steels himself, and links his fingers with yours- casually, lightly, gently holding on. You squeeze his hand in reply- a thank you, he thinks. He does the same in return.

“Did Max tell you why I left my old school?” He asks, quietly.

“No,” you answer, voice low and tentative. “Max doesn’t tell people stuff like that.”

He shrugs, though he supposes that makes sense- he’d refused to tell Oscar what had happened to you. Max seems loyal like that. Oscar rolls a pebble beneath his shoe and listens to your breathing to remind himself you’re still there. He wants you to know this. Wants to share. Wants you to know he understands, at least a little bit.

“I got scouted by them my senior year,” he starts, closing his eyes. Like this, he’s almost right back in it. “And I was really excited. And then I got there and… the guys on the team were awful. I didn’t get any playing time, and they’d all been friends since they were kids, and I felt like such an outsider.” He kicks the pebble down the path lightly. “By the time my sophomore year rolled around, I hated it. I hated hockey. I’d spent my whole life doing nothing but that but I dreaded every practice. I was…”

He huffs. Squeezes his eyes shut tighter. He can feel the hits from his own teammates at practice. Can feel that same empty, lonely feeling sitting at the end of the bench. He can taste the blood in his mouth when he tried to stand up for himself and the team captain shoved him and the coach did nothing.

“It was fucked,” he says. He hates the way his voice wobbles. “So I quit. I walked out. I was done with hockey. I couldn’t even go near the rink for months.”

“But you’re here now,” you say, quietly.

He nods sharply. “I had this old coach- his name’s Mark. Showed up on his doorstep and told him the whole thing. He and Seb used to be teammates. So he got me a tryout. I refused, at first. And then Seb sent Max to come talk to me.”

He remembers that, clear as day, too. Max, bright and smiling, at his dorm room door. He knew who Max was, he had looked up to him for years. Max had walked in, planted himself on the floor in the room, and hadn’t left until Oscar changed his mind.

“I spent the summer training back home. Found my love for it again,” he explains. “But it wasn’t easy. I think I’m still working on it, sometimes.”

You hum next to him. You squeeze his hand again. His breath hitches. Your skin is warm against his. It makes his chest ache. He hadn’t known who he was without his sport. He thinks maybe you know that feeling better than anyone else.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” he says into the night air. “And I know you must’ve heard it a billion times, and that I don’t really understand what it’s like to have it taken away like that. But…”

“But you get it,” you say, voice rough around the edges. “The lonely feeling.”

He nods and swallows against the lump in his throat. “And thank you. For making things less lonely here.”

“I’m sorry if I was too much,” you answer.

He just shakes his head. “I’m sorry I was so… stuck.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, before you squeeze his hand again. “Come on, let’s go on a walk.”

You knit your fingers with his, properly, and Oscar expects you to start down the sidewalk again. You don’t. Instead, your feet carry you down the path through the park. He understands now, that this place must hold awful memories. Reminders of what was supposed to be, what was taken away. You’re trusting him with this. It sits heavy on his shoulders.

He doesn’t push, doesn’t ask more questions. When you walk past the soccer field, he turns to sneak a glance at your face. There’s sadness in your eyes, but a smile on your lips. There’s a strength, there, too, that he finds starkly beautiful. You hold onto him tightly, and together, you make it through the park, all the way to your apartment.

He leaves you at the door with a quiet goodnight and a promise to see each other the next day for the regular study session. The exam is on Tuesday, so it’ll be his last excuse to spend time with you like that. He walks home in silence, through the park, and tries not to stare at the soccer goal. That night, he dreams of soccer fields and hockey rinks and you.

…..

When Oscar gets home just before your normal study time the next day, there’s music pouring out of the front door before he even opens it. It’s louder once he does. The house seems mostly empty, but someone is either having a very good or very bad day. He wavers in the doorway, wondering if he should call you. He’s still there when you walk in behind him, bumping into his shoulder. He turns to look at you, eyes wide. Yours are even wider.

“I don’t think we can study here,” he says, frowning.

You shake your head. “We can go to my place.”

So he packs up his things into his backpack, avoiding whatever is going on in Charles’ room that has him causing permanent damage to his eardrums. Then the two of you take off down the street, towards your apartment. He slows only slightly at the turn for the park, waiting to see what you’ll do. You turn down the path through the park and loop your arm in his. He looks away in the hopes that you don’t see the smile that creeps across his face.

Your apartment is, honestly, exactly how he’d always pictured it. It’s soft and cozy and colorful. There’s a well loved, overstuffed couch in the living room, a little table in the kitchen, and so much stuff on the walls. Music posters, photos blown up big, and… collages. Some in frames, some tacked up with tape, scattered across the place. Perfect mixtures of magazine cutouts and pieces of paper and he swears he even spots a dried flower on one.

“Wow,” he says, studying the one that hangs over the couch. “These are so cool.”

You’re in the kitchen, grabbing a snack, and you turn over your shoulder. “Oh. Thanks. I made a lot of them when I was injured. I had nothing better to do, yknow?”

He sees a chunk of an x-ray in the corner of the piece, and his heart twists. You walk up next to him, shoulder to shoulder. When he looks at you, you’re smiling softly. He likes that look on your face. He wants to keep it there, and suddenly he dreads studying physics because he knows how stressed you’re going to be.

“We’ll have to make some sometime,” you say, nudging your elbow against his. “There’s a billion hockey magazines in a closet at your house.”

“I don’t have an artistic bone in my body,” he says.

You laugh. “That’s the fun of collages. You don’t have to.”

He settles in on one end of the couch, and you settle into the other. The soft light of the lamp in the living room makes it feel warm, the same way your hand in his had felt the day before. He tries so, so hard to focus on physics. It’s just… he’s in your apartment, and you’re there, knees curled to your chest, brow furrowed in concentration, and… something about this feels so soft.

He clears his throat, opens his textbook, and flips to the review questions. “Alright. Ready?”

The two of you study for hours. Oscar doesn’t know when it happens, but at some point you move closer, so you can look off the same textbook. Physics terms and formulas and theories rattle around in his brain, all wrapped up with thoughts of you. The sun goes down, and the windows to the outside grow dark. He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to stay right here.

“My brain is full,” you mumble, between a yawn.

You drop your head against his shoulder, and his heart pounds in his chest. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, he knows it. You’re just tired, that’s all.

He nods in agreement. “Mine too. I can go home. We should get a good night’s sleep.”

You nod against his shoulder and then make no move to pull away. “In a minute,” you say. “Your arm is comfy.”

Butterflies- actual, real life butterflies, he swears it- swirl in his stomach. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s seen you fall asleep on Charles’ shoulder during movie nights, watched you curl up on Max’s bed and take a nap while everyone around you talked. He’s just another friend, another shoulder to lean on. This doesn’t mean anything, and besides, it shouldn’t mean anything, so why is his stomach swirling with butterflies, and why does his face feel hot?

When you finally pull away and help him pack up his things, he hopes you can’t tell how he’s feeling. You walk him to the door and wait for him to put on his shoes and jacket. It’s just so you can lock it behind him, he knows. But then you reach up and smooth the hair from his forehead and laugh, and his chest aches fiercely, and god, he could kiss you- not even really kiss you, just on the forehead or the cheek would do. He says goodnight instead and steps out into the hallway, then makes his feet carry him down the stairs and out to the sidewalk.

He walks past the soccer field and finds himself hoping that maybe you felt it too.

He gets up early the next morning and finds Max in the kitchen with coffee ready to go. He grabs two travel mugs- his, and yours. Max raises an eyebrow as he spreads cream cheese on a bagel. Oscar does the same in response.

“You were out late last night,” Max says, eyeing him.

He doesn’t bother asking how Max knows when he got back. He feels like it’s written plainly all over his face. He can feel the weight of you against his shoulder. Can feel your hand brushing his hair from his face. Can feel how much he wants to lean in. Max must see it.

“I was studying,” he says, carefully.

“With Bunny,” Max suggests, and Oscar nods. “But not here.”

“No, we got here and Charles was blasting music,” Oscar explains. “So we went to her place.”

“He failed an exam,” Max says, face scrunched up. “Well. He assumes he did. You know Charles.”

Oscar nods. Max is staring at him as he pours hot coffee into mugs. He’s not sure what the team captain is looking for, but he hopes he doesn’t find it.

“She told you,” he says, quietly, and Oscar looks up from the mugs, nearly spilling coffee all over.

He clears his throat. “Yeah.”

Max nods and finally turns back to his bagel. “Good.”

That’s that, then. He puts the lids on the coffee, and Max sends him out the door with two bagels- one for him, one for you. He almost feels like he’s passed some sort of test when Max gives him a sharp nod as he turns to leave, but he’s not sure which test it would even be.

He finds you in the lobby before the exam, hands off the coffee and the bagel and tells you he knows you’re going to do well. You smile brightly at him, and he swears it lights up the whole building.

“We’ve got this,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “And if we don’t, we’ll retake it together.”

He nods in agreement. The two of you sit on a bench and eat your bagels and drink your coffee. Oscar wishes he could attribute the warmth in his belly to the drink, but he’s pretty sure it has more to do with the way you smile up at him and the weight of your shoulder against his. Either way, it sends him into the exam with a good feeling, and that’s really all he can ask for.

…..

Oscar finds himself feeling sad when the holiday break rolls around this year. It’s a weird feeling. For years, he’s looked forward to December for this reason. The exams are over, he gets time off from school, a chance to go home or have his family visit, and a break from everything. He realizes, as he’s staring up at the ceiling, listening to Lando lugging a suitcase around, that he’s going to miss his friends when they leave for the break. It’s been two years since the last time he called his teammates friends.

He drags himself out of bed and into the hallway, because if Lando’s leaving, he wants to say goodbye. And sure enough, there he is, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants and taking an enormous suitcase down the stairs one step at a time. Oscar spots you on the ground floor, watching in amusement, and he waves at you.

“Morning, Oscar,” you call out. “Ready for the break?”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “Yeah.”

You raise your brows. “That was convincing,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your lips.

He bites back a laugh, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of having called him out. “It’ll be nice to see my family. Just weird to have everyone gone, yknow?”

Lando, who’s made it down three stairs, turns to look at him. “Aw, he’s gonna miss us!” He coos, and Oscar feels his face go red.

Before he can jump to his own defense or try to come up with something to tease Lando about, you speak up from the bottom of the steps.

“Yeah, and we’re gonna miss him, Lando,” you say, shaking your head. “Jesus. Oscar, would you just shove him and the giant suitcase down the steps?”

Oscar’s trying not to dwell on you saying you’ll miss him, too. It shouldn’t affect him nearly as much as it does right now. It makes his stomach twist. He keeps the smile plastered on his face and forces a laugh, and Lando glares at him as menacingly as Lando can glare at anyone. He brushes off the feeling and grabs the side handle of Lando’s suitcase, then helps him lug it down the stairs. Lando shoots him a smile to replace the glare as they get it to the bottom floor. Then he pats him on the shoulder and ruffles his hair. Oscar winces.

“Bye, Piastri,” he says, grinning. “Have a good break.”

He pulls the giant suitcase towards the front door. You stay standing there, even as Lando steps outside and sighs at the sight of the front steps. Oscar steps off the staircase and lands near you, arms swinging at his sides.

“You’re staying here all break, right?” You ask.

He nods. “My family will be here Monday, though.”

“Nice,” you say, smiling wide. “Well. I bought more TimTams and Vegemite, so they should feel right at home.”

Warmth bubbles up in Oscar’s chest. “Thanks.”

You nod. The two of you stand there for a few seconds, and he wonders if you’re holding your breath, too. You shift back and forth on your feet, and then before he knows it, you’re against his chest, arms around him. He barely has time to hug you back before you pull away, and that’s the only bad part about it. He would hold you forever, if he could, he thinks. And honestly, that’s terrifying.

You pull away, and he hopes you don’t notice how red his cheeks are. “Bye, Oscar,” you say, almost shyly.

“Bye, Bunny,” he says back.

Lando calls your name from the front door, and you scurry off. He sighs. He swears he can still smell your shampoo, and then hates himself for knowing what your shampoo even smells like. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and turns back towards the stairs, ready to head back to his room, crawl back into bed, and go back to sleep. He jumps in shock when he finds Alex and George standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the railing.

“That was interesting, wasn’t it, Alex,” George says.

“Quite interesting, I’d say,” Alex nods, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

Oscar rolls his eyes and takes the stairs two at a time. “You guys are creepy.”

They both just laugh as Oscar pushes past them and into his room. He shuts the door behind him, flops down onto the bed face first, and closes his eyes. Outside, he hears Logan’s car start up- the guy really needs to get the thing fixed, it’s loud as hell, but at least it still runs. He closes his eyes and reminds himself that it’ll only be a few weeks until you’re back in town. Then he wonders when having you around became so important to him. He rolls over, buries his face in the pillow, and goes to sleep.

notes: a lil osc pov!! thank you for reading! check out the winter break blurb, or find part 4 here!

tags: to be added or removed just let me know!! crossed out names were unable to be tagged- if it’s yours, shoot me a message!

main taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @verstoppenheimer @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @sakuramxchii @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @coolmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @avg-golden-retriever @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofswordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom

491 notes · View notes

smusherina · 24 days

Text

yard work - chapter 6 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): 2004 was not a good time for the gays. homophobia persists. insecurity about weight and insulting oneself about it.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 7

You dipped into your savings and got Regina a new, fancy moisturizer. You couldn't count on her using it instead of the lard, but well. Guide a horse to water, can't make it drink, and all that.

You didn't tell her about the Homecoming prank, though. She'd been pissed about that. Not for long, because then it turned into a sort of trend at Northshore and it only boosted her popularity.

You were perhaps more upset about it. Upset you'd let it happen, upset they'd done it in the first place, upset Regina stood there with Aaron. He didn't even look like he wanted to be there.

Regina managing to turn it around for her benefit didn't stop you from feeling bad. It was the principle of the thing. You'd taken some distance from her. Everybody, actually. People just didn't feel all that great to be around. You were betraying Regina by letting her be essentially bullied by Janis, you were tolerating Regina's abusive reign over the student body, Aaron was getting on your last nerve by simply existing, and your mom's death anniversary was coming up.

You went to the Georges' less. Regina came to yours when you didn't lie about having to catch up on homework or doing a project. You did do some yard work for them since you still needed the extra cash. Just basic things like raking leaves and doing small repairs here and there. You also covered the pool with Mrs George's help.

"Whew, I forget what a chore that is every year!" She wiped at her forehead. You laid on the grass, chest heaving. You'd carried maybe seventy per cent of that thing.

"You said it, Mrs George." You managed to get out.

"How many years have I been telling you to call me Jude. Or just mom." You looked up at her. She looked so much like Regina. Or Regina looked so much like her.

She'd known your mom. Cried harder at her funeral than your dad or even yourself. You hadn't really gotten it, at that point. She'd hugged you tight and told you what an amazing woman she was, that she hadn't deserved to go yet. She sent you food for weeks after, which you appreciated because dad was too busy sorting stuff out to cook for you.

She'd been more of a mom to you than your own had ever gotten to be. Still, it felt wrong to call her anything other than Mrs George. It was weird. Word association gone all wrong. Mom meant a casket being lowered into a hole on a bleak November day, an echoing house and an empty kitchen, sad and wistful things. Mrs George meant afternoons spent running around in the backyard, eating 'till your belly was full to bursting, happiness and summer.

"Many, many years." You groaned as you got up. "Is Reggie home?"

You figured it would be weird if you didn't go say hi, at least. You didn't want to cut her out entirely. It was just hard being around her when the weight of your own actions, and inactions, weighed on your shoulders.

She smiled in a way that told you she'd noticed your deflection. "In her room."

"Great. Oh, by the way, what did you do with the apples this year?"

"I convinced Rick to donate them to the women's shelter downtown. They'll be put to good use there."

"That's awesome," You put your hands to your hips and looked around. "Anything you want me to do?"

"I'll just hose down the rose bushes, you head on inside. Avoid the living room, Rick's on a conference call." She waved you off with a smile.

You trod through the house carefully, shoes in hand. You knew the Georges were a shoes-on household, but it just never felt right for you to walk on carpeted floors with your shoes on. What if you had stepped on dogshit? What then?

"Reg?" Her door was open a crack, so you peeked in. "You decent?"

"Yes, I'm decent." You could hear the eye roll in her voice. "What do you want?"

Yikes. She wasn't happy.

You walked in and closed the door behind you. She was on her bed, reading a book on her belly. She was snacking on some candy bar.

"I just came to say hi. I put the pool cover on with your mom." You walked up to her. "What're you reading?"

"I could hear you huffing and puffing all the way up here." She turned on her side to look at you. "The Catcher in the Rye. It's boring."

"I dunno, I liked it." You climbed in hesitantly. When she didn't protest, you settled down on your side facing her, head leaned against your palm.

"You've read it?" She tossed the book on the floor next to the bed, now giving you her full attention. "Can you write my paper?"

"Depends on how much you'll pay me." You grinned and rubbed your fingers together like you were handling cash.

"Boo, you whore." She pouted. "Aren't we supposed to be beyond that?"

"I don't do charity, my friend." You flopped onto your back and crossed your arms. Shit, she had a comfy bed. So soft but just firm enough, too. You let your eyes close. You were so tired from all that physical labour.

"Get off my bed, you traitor." You opened your eyes too late. She was already on you, pushing you, and you had no time to resist until you were toppling onto the floor. You clambered down in a mess of limbs and sheets, which you'd grabbed in your desperate attempt to stay aboard.

"Reg! Your bed is actually high up! Help me!" You felt like Mufasa clinging to the face of the cliff, fingers digging into the slippery bedding. One of your legs was still on the bed, but not securely enough that you would've been able to pull yourself to safety.

"Just put your leg on the floor, dumbass." She cackled, watching you panic over such a small drop.

"No, look, it's not that- close." You lowered your leg and your knee made contact with the floor. Regina fell back, gasping as she laughed. "Shut up, you teapot!"

"No! I'm not-" She tried to stifle the laughs escaping her, the real wheezing ones she didn't let out of their cage willingly, but one look at you set it off again. "Your hair!"

You lifted your hands to your head. "It's not my fault your sheets are fucking static."

By the time Mrs George came to inform you that she'd be starting on dinner, thus signifying you should probably go, Regina had stopped laughing, if just barely.

"Have you been using the moisturizer I gave you?" You tried to analyze her face. It didn't look any less flawless than usual.

"Yeah, it's really great. My old night lotion started smelling weird for some reason. Maybe it expired early or something." You just hummed in response.

"I should probably go home and make myself dinner too."

"I'll walk you down."

You walked down the stairs and to the backdoor, avoiding the living room despite the blaring of the TV. Mr George was definitely not on a call anymore.

"What're you making today?" Regina asked, standing somewhat awkwardly on the porch.

"Probably tacos. I found a great deal on some corn tortillas at the store. They're all going bad today, so. Gonna stuff myself."

"Save some for me, yeah?"

You weren't sure what she meant by that. "Sure."

You walked home and as you'd said, got started on dinner. Moving around the kitchen without Regina there in the way, chopping whatever vegetables into misshapen cubes, felt weird. She wasn't over that often, but you'd gotten used to it regardless.

It was perhaps your biggest flaw as a person, how intolerant you were to being alone. Ironic, considering how much time you had to spend alone.

If it was up to you, you would've made Birria tacos with a good cut of sirloin, but you didn't have the money for fresh cuts of beef. Besides, you hadn't even started on the stew, and that took a whole day. So, you settled on some basic ground beef filling. You had made Pico de Gallo earlier that day, so it was nice and flavourful by the time you were constructing your tacos.

Back when you'd still needed a babysitter, there had been this one Mexican lady who appeared on the roster most often. It was so long ago you couldn't remember her name. She'd made you call her Abuela. She was sweet and taught you the wonder of Latin American cuisine. From what you could understand, she'd been well-travelled and really loved food everywhere.

She stopped coming when all of your babysitters did. The last time you saw her, you hadn't known it would be the last time.

This time of year really made you a monster. A dull grey, depressing monster. You'd have to find some exciting hobby because even you were getting sick of this. Maybe cliff jumping?

A knock on your door was the last thing you expected when you were finally ready to chow down. Making such a huge amount of food took time.

"What?" You barked to whoever dared to disturb you. "Oh, shit."

"Is that how you greet all your dinner guests?" Regina asked, batting her eyelashes. She had on a deep red dress, shiny satin that licked at the curves and edges of her body just right. It reached all the way to her feet, where you could see black heels peeking out from under the hem. She stood taller than usual, but still so short you could see above her head. The dress was strapless as far as you could tell as her jacket was covering her shoulders. Sweetheart neckline and a clutch to match. She had a thin gold chain around her neck with a small R-charm on it. Gold hoop earrings, hair done up in curls.

A grin crept up onto her face as you continued to gape at her visage. "I know, right?" She posed, one hand holding the clutch at level with her thigh and one poised at her waist. "I'm so sexy."

"Yeah, uh, yes, you are." You stuttered, stunned and flustered. You wanted to touch her, feel the fabric of the dress with the tips of your fingers, grab a hold of her and press close to her. She looked so fucking good.

"Thanks, baby." She took a couple of steps forward to reach you and, nonchalant as could be, brushed her hand at your shoulder as if she were brushing off dust.

Your knees wobbled.

"I have dinner for us." You blurted out. "I, uh..." You needed to pull it together. "I'm gonna go change."

"You do that," Regina said with an indulgent smile. You shot up the stairs.

When you came back down, still tucking your shirt into your trousers and tie undone, Regina was sitting on the couch perusing a magazine. It was probably from last year or something, you didn't exactly update the stuff under the coffee table.

You coughed to get her attention. "Ready for dinner, Reggie?"

"Ugh, don't ruin the moment. Anything other than that."

"I'm Jorts and you're Reggie, that's how it's been." You reminded and gently plucked her clutch from her hands before gesturing for her to turn around. She did, looking a little confused. When you reached to take her jacket off, she recoiled.

"Um, I would like to keep it on." She said, the confidence from before diminishing.

"Oh, why?" You asked. "Are you cold?"

"No, it's just, um..." Regina George stammering. You didn't think you'd live to see the day. "I don't look like I used to before."

"What does that mean?" You checked her out, toes to forehead. Drop-dead gorgeous as always.

"I've gained a bunch of weight." She looked down as if she needed to be ashamed. "I barely fit into this gown. I had to suck in even with the Spanx. And I still look like a whale."

As much as you would've liked to be incredulous and loud about just how wrong she was, it didn't seem like the right course of action. She was being open and vulnerable with you.

"I don't think you look like a whale." You stepped close to her tentatively. You set the clutch on the coffee table. Then, just as tentatively, circled your arms around her. You slotted your fingers together at her lower back and pulled her to you so that your bellies touched.

"I couldn't hug a whale." You pointed out helpfully, leaning back slightly to still look her in the eyes. "I'd love to see the dress in its full glory."

Regina, hands fussing with unmade your tie, bit her lip in contemplation.

"Careful, don't mess up your lipstick." She rubbed her lips together at that, a smile threatening to break out.

"Fine. But you can't laugh or stare or anything."

"I swear." You put one hand on your heart and the other up. "Now turn around."

She did as you asked. "You're being awfully chivalrous."

"It's what you deserve, Reggie." You crooned jokingly, pulling the jacket from her shoulders. The dress was cut elegantly so that there were no straps, but bits of fabric hanging by her upper arms. Cold-shoulder. You hoped the jokes in your tone hid how nervous you were.

"What did I just say?" As if that little moment between you two hadn't even happened, she was right back to her normal self.

"Fine. But you'll always be my Reggie. I guess tonight we can pretend." You sighed. "Whatever you say, honey."

"Better." She turned and tugged at your tie. "Now, let's get you sorted."

"I had very little notice, okay?" You grumbled but bent down obediently so she'd have an easier time tying your tie. You'd used to play dress up mixed with house all the time. You'd nearly always been the dad and so, you had to wear a tie. Obviously. Mrs George had gotten tired of constantly being asked to do it, so she'd taught Regina.

Now, it felt a little different. For one, you were taller. Secondly, this wasn't a children's game. Maybe you were playing a little bit, pretending, but it didn't quite feel like that. There was something undeniably real about this.

"There." She said once she was finished, smoothing it out against your chest. "You couldn't find one matching the dress?"

"You're impossible to please." You chuckled. "I'll make sure to go tie shopping as soon as possible."

"Good." She liked to ignore your sardonic tone pretty often. "Now, what's on the menu?"

You tucked the rest of the shirt into your pants and, voila, you were done.

"Tacos, my lady." You offered up your arm half in jest. She hooked her wrist into the bend of your elbow with an incline of her head. Clearly, she was a girl that liked to be wined and dined.

You snuck a bottle from your dad's wine collection, hoping it wasn't some speciality. Looking at the label, it wasn't very old. Wine quality was assessed like that, right?

You ate your fills and then some, drinking wine all the while, then retreated to the couch to recover, and turned on the TV to watch while eating dessert. Sharing a pint of ice cream, curled up on the couch in fancy clothes, warm and away from the cold of late November, you wondered what had brought this on.

It wasn't an official date, that much you knew. Regina wasn't a lesbian like you. Maybe she was indulging you. That would mean she knew you had a crush on her. You hoped that wasn't true. Regina was an observant person, though. Fuck, that'd be humiliating.

It didn't feel like she was playing with you. It looked like she was having as much fun as you. Maybe she wanted to have a nice, romantic dinner without the pressure of having to impress or perform for her date.

It was nice she'd chosen you. Regardless of why she'd come here tonight, you were just glad she was with you. You'd had a lot of people leave, most of them never coming back. The exceptions to the rule were Regina and your dad. They were similar in that, but nothing else. When dad came back, he brought with him a never-pleased frown and a stifling presence. When Regina came back, she brought light.

She had her flaws. You had yours. Thanksgiving was right around the corner and Christmas would soon follow. You had no doubt that Janis had something nefarious planned for at least one of those events. Nothing was sure, things were undecided.

"I'm going for a smoke." You said when the episode ended.

"I'm coming with."

"You won't be getting one."

"I don't want it anyway. Cigarettes taste like shit."

You laughed and walked to the backdoor. Through it and onto the patio, you slumped onto the bench swing. Regina followed a lot more gracefully, heels chucked somewhere in the house, bundled up in the blanket she'd claimed as hers since the first time she slept over. She sat next to you and spread it over both your laps. You hummed in thanks and lit up.

Regina might've been a massive bitch. She had, and there was no denying it, done some awful things. And maybe it was fucked up for you to like one part of a person and not the whole of them, but did that count if you were sure that the undesirable part was all a facade?

"So..." You started. "Better than any of the dates Aaron took you to?" You couldn't help but ask. Veiled under a joke, you hoped your jealousy didn't show.

"Don't be cocky." She admonished, resembling her mom almost creepily. "He didn't really take me out."

"What? Why?" If you could openly date Regina there wouldn't be a limit to how much you'd be taking her out, showing her off to anybody who'd listen.

"How should I know?" She shrugged indignantly. "We broke up a little after Homecoming."

"What? I didn't hear about this."

"Really? I thought you would've since it was pretty big news for a while." You didn't want to admit you'd been purposefully avoiding rumours about the couple for the majority of their relationship. "He outlived his purpose."

"The Halloween Party and Homecoming." You clarified and she nodded.

You took a drag. Regina pulled what seemed like a candy bar out of her clutch. It was the same brand she'd been eating earlier today.

Considering she'd been insecure about her weight, you didn't comment on it. You took another drag. You couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something weird.

"Hey, can I look at the packaging of that?"

Wordlessly, Regina handed it over. You looked at the product info. Great, it was all in Swedish.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Cady got me a box of them. They're good for weight loss. Like, they just burn all your carbs." You furrowed your eyebrows and looked back at the product info. The numbers didn't seem like that of a weight loss product.

You didn't like she was eating something that would empty her stomach right after dinner. That couldn't have been healthy.

"You're trusting something Cady gave to you?"

She tilted her head, as if about to question you. Her mouth opened, then closed, and opened again.

"Shut up. Shut up."

You took a long drag.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared

(i keep forgetting to add this note. comment on this post if you want on the taglist!)

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #renee rapp #mean girls x reader #lesbian regina george #mean girls musical #mean girls movie #mean girls broadway #wlw #fic: yard work

321 notes · View notes

spatialwave · 28 days

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞.

“𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃”

pairing: angus tully x fem!reader word count: 8.9k summary: school is out and you’re looking to make the best out of your time while stuck in a small town. with summer in the air, you find yourself wrapped in a whirlwind of a day full of rookie hazing, warm beer and a budding romance with a certain football quarterback. warnings: underage drug use, bullying, name-calling, cheating. notes: not beta'd, so bare with me on any grammatical errors. also apologies for the wall of text LOL.

(a03 vers)

chapter two. ->

Moving to a small Texan town during Christmas of 1975 was far from ideal, especially as a high school junior. You’d left so much behind in California, your best friends, your boyfriend (who broke up with you because of the distance) and your part-time job as a beach lifeguard on the weekends. Maybe it was shallow, but you had the perfect life! A life that every girl your age dreamed of because you got away with whatever you wanted.

You weren’t queen bee, but you were well-liked and adored by many at your previous school, and being a popular girl at a large Californian high school was basically like being the Queen of England.

Your royal kingdom came crumbling down the day your parents, the banes of your existence, decided to move out to the Texan town where your mother was born and raised–before she escaped to the beautiful West Coast. You’d only been there twice in your life to visit your grandparents, but after your grandfather passed and left your grandmother to live the rest of her days alone… well, your parents couldn’t let her go off to a retirement home all by her lonesome.

They were too compassionate to let that happen.

Your father, a pediatrician, was happily welcomed into the small town where the number of citizens far outweighed the amount of healthcare workers. Your mother, a stay-at-home wife, took care of your grandmother during the days, kept the house clean from top-to-bottom and fed every mouth that came in the door.

There was very little you could complain about because you had all the essentials that every human needs—a roof over your head, food and clothes—and although you missed indulging in what the gorgeous city of Santa Barbara had to offer, you were far from a pouty and ungrateful person. You were a teenage girl, full of emotions and dramatics, so that’s why you spent a lot of your time complaining about it. It was valid to miss the lifestyle you had gotten used to and the worst part was that it took you at least two weeks to get over your lousy boyfriend who told you that it would take too much effort calling you and sending letters.

Goodbye, loser!

On your first day at Lee High School, you had so many unknown eyes on you that you were beginning to think that your days of being atop the social ladder were gone, leaving you at the bottom begging for scraps just to get up a peg. You were met with the opposite—a pretty girl from California like you turned heads for all the right reasons, and you found yourself being swarmed by peers wanting to get to know you. Particularly by two girls in your year, Kaye and Shavonne, who you’d clicked with like Dorothy’s heels on The Wizard of Oz.

So long to your Californian friends, and hello to your new Texan best friends, who were nothing short of young partiers who favoured cigarettes, beers and driving around late at night because there was fuck-all to do. They were the two realest girls you ever met.

It was an abrupt change of lifestyle, and while it was nerve-wracking at first, you’d welcomed it because you could focus less on how others perceived you and more on enjoying the good times. You learned to enjoy the taste of cheap beer, how to hustle people while playing pool, and the best places to park your car for a well-hidden make out session. By May, you’d smoked enough reefer that you could indulge in a couple of joints without spending the entirety of your evening with a bucket and your friends holding back your hair while they try to stifle laughs.

The only downside to the move? Two girls who you could never tell if they hated you, liked you or were jealous of you—Elise Crane and Darla Marks. Elise was a kind girl, at least on the surface, but Darla was a monster who wanted nothing more than to be envied by others. Shavonne was close with them, the type of girl to jump between the friend groups and report on each other. You came into the picture late, so you couldn’t complain about her two-sided nature to her face, but you did with Kaye.

You did your best to keep your lips tight on speaking badly around them when Shavonne was around, but calling Darla a bitch slipped the tongue once, and you could see the way your blonde friend’s eyes sparkled. It was only time until Darla called you out about saying she was a bitch behind her back.

That was the supposed life of growing up in a small town, you couldn’t say a goddamned thing to even your closest friends without everyone knowing eventually. Gossiping was healthier than ever, and you found that out, especially when you told Shavonne you thought a boy was cute.

Angus Tully.

He was the dreamiest boy you’d ever seen, well, the dreamiest boy in Texas. He was tall and lanky, a bit lean under the clothes from what you’d seen, with wild brown curls that grew around his ears and brown eyes that you could spend hours getting lost in. It was so cliché, but he gave you butterflies, and you felt like the luckiest girl alive being in the same social circle as him.

Over a few weeks of admiring him from afar, you saw that he was one of the few genuinely nice boys at school, nicer than Jason Smith and hundreds of times nicer than Teddy Kountze. He was like an angel compared to them, a boy who was friends with anyone and everyone and the type to check on the younger freshman who’d get tossed around by the seniors on the regular. Though, that didn’t stop him from being a conniving little shit with his friends when provoked–you’d seen firsthand their bad habit of driving around knocking mailboxes over when they got bored.

It was the culmination of everything of Angus Tully that drew you in. His charm, his uncaring attitude, and the fact that he enjoyed flirting with you when the chance arose.

Only issue? Elise Crane.

You knew nothing of their history as a ‘couple’, so you did your best to not let yourself get involved, or worse, between them. Shavonne, the gossip machine, told you everything you needed to know about their relationship—they were kind of together. You had no idea what that meant, but the fact that Angus had started spending more of his free time with you, you imagined that meant things were going south.

Elise Crane seemed so believably nice to you, but you couldn’t trust people who hung around Darla Marks. You sometimes kept Shavonne at arm’s length for that very reason. It didn’t take much to convince yourself to keep your nose out of other people’s business, especially when it revolved around teenage love—hell hath no fury like a jealous girlfriend.

Why did he have to be so cute, though?

You had been thinking this to yourself as you sat in class, mindlessly twirling a pencil in your fingers as you stared outside into the empty hallway. This was your second-last class, devastatingly close to freedom and the promised party at Pickford’s where you could get drunk, stoned and maybe find a boy to make out with. Maybe Benny—he was your usual go-to.

Normally, you were more active in conversation, but today you found yourself half-listening to everything happening around you. You’d heard Mike mention something about a pledge that the football players were asked to sign, though, you hadn’t really been paying much attention to what came with it. Pledge this, pledge that, you were hardly concerned with their issues.

As your eyes glazed over while you stared into the empty hall from your spot at the table, you saw two other football players, Jason and Benny, come to the doorway, beckoning Angus. Curious eyes watched as he got up from his seat and jogged out of class to go meet with them, and you perked up in your seat.

A small smirk played on your lips as you sat in anticipation, juggling the idea in your head until you slipped out of your seat and disappeared out of the classroom, looking to your right and seeing the boys walking down the hall together. Benny swung the paddle around as if hitting invisible freshmen, the trio chuckling to each other about god knows what.

“Hey, boys, wait up!” You called, arms crossing over the striped-cropped shirt you wore. You gazed amongst the three boys, Benny, Angus and Jason—they always looked like they were up to no good. They usually weren’t.

Benny’s eyes fixated on you, a boy you’d gotten to know decently well, but not through conversation. Instead of fixing on him, your eyes settled nicely onto the brunette who stood between them.

Lips thinned into a small smile for a moment before speaking again, “Too good for class?” you asked, looking between the boys with slightly narrowed eyes.

“No,” Jason said, cocking an eyebrow at you before smiling and confessing, “Yes.”

“Where are you going?” You asked curiously, nodding your head at Angus for him to answer.

“What is this? Are you going to lecture us about skipping class? Didn't realize you were a self-appointed hall monitor.” He retorted with a teasing look in his eyes, hands shoved into the pockets of his blue jeans as he took a step backward with a coy shrug, “Benny wants to head to the middle school, you know, see how the soon-to-be-freshman are holding up and give them a little announcement.”

“Well, that’s exactly what I came for,” you said, turning to Benny, meeting his eyes and feeling so small under it. He was a little intimidating.

“Anything you need,” He grinned, looking down at you like a piece of meat as he continued to swing the paddle.

You sighed, tapping your hand against the wood a couple of times to get his attention, “Do me a favour and don’t go too hard on my brother this summer, alright?” You plead, “he’s still getting used to the place and this is all new to him. He’s probably scared out of his mind.”

Benny’s eyes grew big at your statement, and he laughed loudly at the mere mention of going easy on the kid, “Don’t worry, I’ll give him a beating he’ll never forget!” He laughed with a loud slap of his hand against the paddle, causing the boys to laugh at his childish antics and you to roll your eyes in disgust.

“Fine, just don’t give him any more than you would the other kids, okay? Promise me,” you look between the boys, who all nodded in agreement.

“Sure,” Angus mused, tilting his head, “Your little brother will be okay, you got our word,” he reassured you, those brown eyes scanning over your body shamelessly and confidently. He always acted tougher around those boys.

You hadn’t believed a single word coming from any of them, but you still smiled up at Angus, because at least he was kind about it. Chewing on your bottom lip, you gave the boys a little nod before turning on your heel to head back to class—not before you felt a hard smack on your ass from the paddle.

“Ow—Benny!” You yelped loudly, jumping as you turned back to the three boys with an embarrassed smile on your lips, your hands rubbing over the stinging cheek that felt like fire under the fabric of your bell-bottoms.

“You liked it,” Benny said to you, offering a wink that made your stomach flip. You really needed to stop letting male attention get to you.

“Tell them to screw off!” Shavonne’s voice came from the classroom as her head peeked out of the door, her eyes landing on Jason before pulling away sharply. Your friend pulled you toward the girl’s bathroom before you could even say your goodbyes, meeting in the room to smoke a cigarette with Kaye and gossip before the next class. Though it wasn’t much gossiping, as Kaye decided to use the time to psychoanalyze Gilligan’s Island, and its link to the male gaze—she had some fair points, but Shavonne wasn’t convinced.

The final period of the day dragged on in History class, and you seated yourself at one of the desks near the back. Your head leaning back against the cool wall as you tried your best to relax, maybe even indulge in a nap to make time go by quicker. Although nearly successful, your attempts were cut short when you felt someone landing into the desk in front of you with a loud huff. Opening your eyes, they landed on the individual you’d been daydreaming about all day—a toothy grin on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” You asked as you stretched your arms up and sighed, nestling back into the seat afterwards.

“Oh, you know, figured I’d make an appearance,” Angus said to you, leaning forward so he could cross his arms and lean over your desk, “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah, right,” you snorted a laugh, lifting a hand to tuck back some stray hairs that fell into your face as you sat forward. You mimicked his position, leaning forward on your desk and resting your chin on your arms. It left your faces only a few inches apart, “How’d it go with Benny and Jason? Did you boys manage to scare the freshman into fleeing the country?”

“Totally,” he snickered, lip twitching as he dropped his gaze briefly, eyes looking over your lips then back up, “What’s up with you and Benny? He’s been complaining about you not wanting to see him lately, it’s all he talks about. It’s annoying.”

“Wow, that is totally none of your business,” you laughed through your breath and a flicker of amusement in your eyes, “Does this mean I allowed to ask what’s up with you and Elise?”

“Mm, touché,” Angus murmured, moving to sit up straight again, though his gaze not once wavering as he leaned against the metal bar behind him that connected the seat to the desk, “Do you actually care?”

“I’m allowed to be curious. It hasn’t killed me yet,” you remained in your position, eyes fluttering up to look the boy over, noticing the way his hair looked a little more unruly than most days. It was cute.

Angus chuckled, looking down at his hands for a moment, fidgeting with them as you saw him thinking over his next sentence carefully, avoiding word vomit. It was a tough topic, you figured that as much because if everything were fine then it would be an easy response. The truth can always be found in the reactions of others, a joyous day for a perceptive girl.

Those doe brown eyes met your gaze, “Things are… they’re okay.”

Your eyes soften in concern, “Just okay?”

“Let it go, alright? I’m trying to have a good last class of junior year,” he smiled at you, avoiding the topic as he bravely let one of his hands rest over your desk, so his fingers could play with the thin bracelet around your wrist, “Spending it with you makes it a pretty good last class.” He mused quietly, his voice a bit awkward.

Why did he always have to say shit like that? Shit that made you want to giggle and twirl your hair around your finger so you could appease him into saying more.

You hadn’t known Angus Tully for very long, but you often wondered where on earth his charisma had come from. He reminded you of a boy who would have a hard time talking to women, much like his friends Mike and Tony, yet here he was making your cheeks hurt with how much he made you smile. You chalked it up to him being a football player, even back in California you knew that any boy on the team was seen as the ‘Gods’ of school and their ego always got to their head—much like with you.

Cheeks shone crimson, and you attempted to remain chill, which wasn’t very chill at all. “Come on, Tully,” you chuckled nervously, “save that energy for graduation next year. No need to get sappy on me this early.”

That smile of his grew wider, his fingers not once pulling away from you as they continued to fiddle with the dainty chain, “What? You don’t like it?” He teased, knowing very well the reaction he was getting out of you.

“You’re so annoying, I hope you know that.” You beamed, the look on your face showcasing anything but annoyance.

The two of you were lucky that everyone else in the class was so preoccupied with themselves. If you kept this up, Elise would be waiting for you outside the classroom door with her fists balled up and ready to pick a fight. It was laughable imagery, neither you nor Elise would ever make for a good visual fight. One slap, and you’d both be crying back to your friends for soothing comfort.

“Did Benny get you this bracelet?” Angus’ lips curled at the corners, and you yanked your hand away with an irritated scoff, earning a proud laugh from the quarterback.

“What’s your obsession with Benny? If you’re jealous, that’s all you have to say,” You prodded in return, feeling your stomach do flips as you ventured into questionably flirtatious territory. The question caused Angus to crinkle his nose, not answering you. “What if he did get it for me?” You furthered, knowing very well the truth behind the jewellery—a gift from your Auntie on your sixteenth birthday.

Angus took another look at the bracelet, getting a good eye over it and causing you to shift uncomfortably in your seat. He took a few seconds to really admire it, looking over the multicoloured gems that tied into the golden chain, his thumb running along it and subsequently against your skin.

As you sat there, eyes fixated on the curly-haired boy, you delved deep into your mind and wondered what life would be like if you were able to call Angus your boyfriend. You knew of his sincere kindness toward his peers and inclination to stick it to the man, but was he a good partner? Would he be the type of boy to remember the date of when you started dating, or would he compliment you on your beauty when you’ve just woken up, hair wild and eyes small and tired? There was so much of him that you didn’t know, and you were desperate to figure it all out.

It made you wonder how on earth Elise didn’t appreciate him with all of her heart and soul. You would give anything to get a chance for it. A hopeless romantic, through and through.

“Benny couldn’t pull off this type of romance,” his voice pulled you back down from the clouds you had been dreaming in, calling you out on your bluff, “But let’s say he did… I want you to know that I could buy you a better one than this,” he replied with a self-satisfied look on his face, and like it was timed perfectly, the bell rang loudly in your ears as you stared at Angus with wide eyes and parted lips, breath caught in your throat, “Catch you later.”

You were the last student to leave the classroom, frozen in place out of pure shock over Angus’ words that flooded you with mixed signals. Flushed cheeks and a rapid heartbeat were a common occurrence when he was around, but things were different these past few weeks. The two of you had been finding yourself hanging out together more than usual, whether it was driving around or grabbing a bit to eat at Top Notch, you’d been freeing up a lot more evenings for him. There was an unspoken agreement to keep these meet-ups tight-lipped, considering you both wanted to keep your heads.

It was easy to get lost in the mixed signals that he threw at you, but you could almost swear that Angus had started behaving differently around you lately, less like just a friend. He acted similarly in which you act around boys that you crushed on, a bit flustered and awkward. You wanted so badly to call him out on it, but your guilt over hurting Elise won each time.

The last thing you needed before summer break was to read into it the wrong way and be pulled into that shit-show, so you shoved those thoughts deep from the gutters of your mind and hurried off—there were freshmen to haze, after all.

With Kaye driving the truck, you sat in the middle with Shavonne to your right. You’d just finished pulling off your top to replace it with the white jersey that displayed ‘SENIOR’ in big letters over the chest and ‘77 on the back. You thought it was corny, but you knew you’d be tucking it away in your drawer after the day’s end and keeping it as a memory to look back on fondly. Not too fondly, though, these were not going to be the best years you’ve ever lived.

“What’s up with you and Benny these days?” Shavonne questioned, smoking a cigarette with her window rolled down, flicking the ash as she turned to you.

“God, why does everyone keep asking me that?” You grumbled as you put your striped shirt down on the seat between you and Kaye, sitting forward so you could adjust the jersey over your body and tuck it into the high-waisted jean shorts you’d changed into.

“Everyone?” Kaye laughed, “You’re telling me there’s something else other than us who cares about you and Benny’s biweekly hook-ups? I have a hard time believing that.” She always thought your ‘relationship’ with Benny was laughable, naming him one of the biggest jerks of school. You wholeheartedly agreed that he was an asshole through and through, but he was at least kind to you—and you were both young and hormonal. It was basic math.

“Who is it?” Shavonne’s eyes lit up, once against seeing the gears turning in her head—your beloved friend, the rumour mill.

“Don’t you dare tell anyone,” you warned, “Angus was pestering me about it,” you shrugged as you stole the cigarette from where it rested snugly between two of her fingers. Taking a long drag, you exhaled, “Not sure why.”

“Don’t play dumb, you know exactly why,” Shavonne quipped in return, stealing back the half-smoked cigarette and holding it in her hand away from you.

“How does it feel to be so loved by the male gaze?” Kaye teased you, her eyes focusing ahead as the middle school came into view, “every boy wants you, and you keep egging them all on.”

“Firstly, I am not egging anyone on. Secondly, if you are trying to insinuate that something is going on between Angus and me, then you’re dead wrong,” you mumbled, lips twitching as you reached your hand forward and lowered the volume of the radio that had been blaring the Rolling Stones.

“All I’m saying is that I’ve known him for a lot longer than you have, alright?” Shavonne said as she flickered the cigarette out of the window, watching as it landed on the pavement, “Trust me when I say that boy likes you, I’ve never seen him so attached to anyone and that’s including Elise. I’m your friend,” she put a hand on your shoulder, “Why would I lie to you?”

Your eyes landed on Shavonne, quirking a humoured eyebrow, “Because you like getting reactions out of people.”

“You know me well,” she laughed, shoving you playfully as you pulled into the middle school parking lot, where you could see the other senior girls parked with their trucks and already wrangling girls in.

Most of the freshman girls stood by the fence, anxiously waiting to be picked one-by-one for the hazing rituals. Meanwhile, the freshman boys were running away from the school like it had been infested by the plague, nothing but fear in their eyes as they prayed for their asses to remain safe from the wrath of a senior with a paddle. You swore you could hear Teddy Kountze’s laugh from here, the poor bastard who flunked senior year and was back to paddle for another year. Embarrassing.

You then thought back to the promise Angus made with you and hoped that your brother had made it home safely.

Kaye parked the truck along the fence, and you followed the girls out, finding solace under the warm summer sun that was able to distract you from the craziness that was your mind. Focusing on the present, you reminded yourself to breathe slowly and evenly as you felt yourself falling out of place very quickly.

These rituals were new to you, you’ve experienced bullying first hand, both against you and toward others, but this was unknown territory, and you worried that someone would take things too far. Could this be considering bullying, and why did teachers condone it? For crying out loud, you were right in the parking lot of the middle school, watching the teachers leave as kids scattered like it was their last day on earth.

You’d gone up to Darla, offering a fake-sincere greeting as she gave you a handful of soothers, a way to infantilize the girls and embarrass them.

But as much as you wanted to hate this entire thing, you found yourself getting a bit too invested as you walked up to the young teens, beckoning them to you and pushing the soothers between their lips. It was interesting, you could see how a few of the girls were almost waiting in excitement to be included, while others were hoping you’d skip over them and let them go home. You figured the ones who were excited were the girls that would be climbing the social ladders much faster than the rest, being a pushover for the seniors was a sure-fire way to succeed.

After successfully gathering three girls into the truck, Kaye and Shavonne having grabbed two each, you saw an empty spot in the back of the truck waiting to be filled.

A soother, which was attached to a ribbon, was swung around by you playfully as you eyed up three girls that were leaning against the fence. You kept your feet planted on the cement, leaning against the open door on the truck bed, and looked over the girl in front, long brown curly hair and big, wide brown eyes.

She reminded you of Angus, more innocent—and a freshman girl, of course.

“Hey you… come here,” you said to her with a smile and a motioning hand, your energy toward her far from malicious, “Who are you?”

“I, uh,” the girl stuttered, clutching the textbooks against her chest tighter as she flickered her eyes from the girls in the truck to you, curiously stepping forward, “I’m nobody. I mean, I’m not in the truck.”

The girl was so endearing, you almost didn’t want to invite her for the sake of keeping her innocence, but you could tell she was interested. You sucked up your own worries and smiled.

“Well, are you a freshman?” You tilted your head, a sweet smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, are you in, or you out?”

There was a look of hesitation on the girl, her eyes flickering between the truck full of her peers and you, “I’m in.”

Once more, you were settled in between Shavonne and Kaye as you drove back to the high school with the brand-new freshman in tow. Life was feeling great again now that summer was here, the sun felt hotter than it did before school was out, everyone was smiling more—well, not the freshmen. The seniors, though, this was their last summer before they would be heading off into the real world.

This was the last summer you’d be blessed with pure teenage freedom, you weren’t going to let anyone get in the way of that. Not Benny, not Elise and as much as you wanted to say not Angus, you hoped that he’d weasel himself into your life over the course of the next three months. He’s the one person you’d let flip your world upside down if he was so willing.

As you watched the girls file out of the trucks and stand in a large group, with Darla in the centre, you began to feel nervous again. Stuffing soothers in their mouths was far from the worst thing that would be happening to them, so as you watched as she started screaming at them, you had to look away from second-hand embarrassment.

“All right, you little freshman bitches! Air raid!” Darla screamed as one of the other seniors blew into a whistle, commanding the girls to lay flat down on the hot pavement on their stomachs. You watched as the sea of freshmen dropped to the ground like their life depended on it, only for Darla to scream the opposite, “That was pitiful. On your feet,” they all scrambled up, “AIR RAID!”

It was like a skipping record, you felt sorry for the girls and sorrier for the one you’d dragged in at the very end. A miserable start to their high school experience.

You stood between Shavonne and Elise as you three watched over Darla, who was taking this far more seriously than anyone else. She reminded you a lot of Teddy Kountze in that aspect, ready to live and breathe for torturing the new meat.

“This is horrible,” you groaned as you looked amongst the girls with red faces. They were all tired and getting slower by the minute.

“I feel for them,” Elise spoke up, a smile on her face as her brown eyes looked over the girls who were starting to look worse for wear, “but we all had to go through this and one day they’ll be in our shoes doing the same thing. So, they have to pay for it.”

“That’s worse,” you shuddered quietly, hands shoved into your back pockets as you leaned your weight on one leg as your eyes scanned your surroundings.

There were other seniors parked around the ‘festivity’, either watching with grins on their faces, or looks of disgust. It was 50/50. You’d immediately noticed Angus sitting nearby on the back of Jason’s truck, nestled in between him and Slater, shades resting over the bridge of his nose and a big smile on his face as he watched Darla screaming at the girls.

He tilted his head forward, looking over his shades and in your direction. You glanced away, assuming that the look was meant for Elise, who lifted a dainty hand and waved in his direction. It was rare that you felt anger, but there was something about this moment that made you want to turn to her and throw her to the ground like a primal animal fighting for a mate. You desperately needed the party to start, so you could drink the night away and hopefully have your attention on someone else.

Just as you focused back on the girls, Darla’s voice marked a cue.

“Well, we tried to give you a chance,” she started, pursing her lips as she walked around the girls who were lying on their stomachs, “But because you little prick teases can’t follow instructions, we’re going to have to try something else,” she turned to you, Shavonne, Kaye and Elise, using her finger to beckon you all, “Come on, girls.” She said, licking over her teeth as she commanded the freshman to roll onto their backs.

“This is so bad,” you whined to Kaye as you walked to Darla’s truck and grabbed one of the bags of flour, holding it against your hip.

“Oh, come on, have a little fun. You’re throwing flour on ‘em, it’s not like you're bruising their asses until they can’t sit for weeks,” Shavonne jumped into the conversation as she grabbed a bottle of ketchup and mustard in her hands, “You’ve earned the right to be a bitchy senior, remember that.”

With a heavy exhale, you let your lips spread into a faux smile. As much as you were hesitant, you were still having fun, in some weird, twisted way.

You allowed yourself to enjoy this—as much as you could—giggling with your friends as you watched them squirt condiments on the girls who covered their faces with their hands. Likewise, you took handfuls of flour, sprinkling it over the freshman and adding in gentle words once in a while, “Welcome to high school,” you’d say with a smile, while carefully avoiding their faces as you packed the flour over them in heaps.

Once the girls were rightfully covered with food, oil and sauces, you all spread out and began showing off the girls to the surrounding boys that watched. Kaye had taken the new freshman over to Tony and Mike, smoking a cigarette and chatting with them as she egged the freshman on to ‘propose’. You’d watched how Tony spoke to her kindly, most of the boys finding the situation awkward.

So, you decided to suck up your hesitation once and for all and took one of the girls over to Jason, Angus and Slater. Maybe you were doing it solely so you could chat with the curly haired brunette again, but you were only human! Elise was too busy, anyway. It wasn’t illegal to talk.

“Okay, freshie,” you said as you walked up to them, your hands resting over the girl’s shoulders, “I want you to propose to Angus.”

Even behind the sunglasses, you could see him squint his eyes in embarrassment, having greatly preferred watching from the sidelines rather than being involved. You already knew he wouldn’t let this go so easily, but they were the ones who came to park and watch. They could’ve gone anywhere else but here.

“On your knees,” you said to the girl, voice far from stern.

“Christ,” Angus groaned, lifting a hand to push his shades back up over his hair, pushing the curls out of his face as he looked down at the young girl, then back up at you.

“Will you marry me?”

Angus sighed as he looked down, fighting off a smirk as Jason shoved him playfully with his shoulder, “C’mon, Tully, the poor thing wants to marry you, don’t leave the girl hanging. Imagine everything you could do to her—I mean with her.”

You kept a hand on the girl’s shoulder, hoping that Jason would shut his mouth.

“Fine,” Angus spoke, putting his hands on his thighs and sighing at the circumstance that he knew he couldn’t get out of, “What will you do for me?”

“Anything,” she answered, her voice as confident as she could muster, and you started to regret your actions when you saw Jason smile wide. He was usually a nice guy, but he wasn’t very smart and didn’t think before speaking—the sole reason Shavonne was always made at him. You also noted the empty beer bottle behind him, rolling your eyes.

“Open your mouth like this,” Jason said, opening his in an o-shape, which the girl followed. Angus groaned and turned his head away, stifling laughter, “Uh-huh, yeah. That’s a good one for the memory bank.”

“That is so degrading, man,” Slater said through a laugh that exposed how high he was, his red eyes hardly open as he looked over at Jason in a mixture of disgust and admiration.

The young girl immediately pulled herself up to her feet, cheeks red and looking up at you after Jason’s words. You wrapped an arm around her in comfort as you narrowed your eyes at the blonde boy, “You can be a real asshole, Jason,” you muttered at him, not even looking at Angus as you walked away. That was a mistake you’d be regretting for the rest of the evening.

“Don’t get mad at me, you brought her here!” Jason called after, the two beers in his system not doing wonders for his filter.

“Look at what you did you pervert,” Angus shoved at him playfully, putting his shades back over his eyes as he watched you walk away. Unbeknownst to you, he’d been thinking about you a lot too, more than you could comprehend.

“Those guys are jerks,” you had been telling the girl, “Watch out for boys like those, okay? You deserve someone who will treat you like the lady you are.”

The words were soothing, you could see it in her eyes, and you promised yourself that you’d stay far, far away from the senior’s celebrations next year.

Just as you had started herding the girls back into the truck, preparing to go through a car wash to clean the girls up in the most humiliating way ever, someone came running up behind you.

“What do you want?” You asked when the figure came into your peripheral vision, having assumed it was Jason coming back with an apology—that was wishful thinking. Lifting the truck bed up with a click, your eyes flickered to Angus, watching you through his shades and a smile on his lips.

“Ouch, didn’t realize you were mad at me,” he smirked, your eyes looking up and down at him with a quirked eyebrow. You noticed the puka shell necklace poking out from underneath his t-shirt—you’d given that to him as a gift just over a month ago. It made your cheeks warm.

“Sorry, thought you were Jason,” you admitted as you wiped your hands clear of flour on the denim that covered your hips. You glanced around, noticing that your truck was the last to leave, the other seniors pulling out of the lot as you two spoke, “I gotta’ get going. Duty calls.” You said, taking a few steps back.

“You should skip out, Kaye and Shavonne don’t need you to drive through a car wash,” he said, glancing up at the freshman that were sitting in the back and listening in because they had nothing better to do except wait for the next phase of hazing.

“I don’t know, Angus,” you sighed, placing your hands over your hips as you looked over to the side view mirror where you met Shavonne’s gaze. She motioned for you to go, your heart leaping in your chest, “Where are we going?”

“Slater wants to head over to Pickford’s place, you know, get some stuff and hang out for a bit.”

“You really want me there?”

“Well, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you around,” he smiled, a hand reaching forward so he could hook his finger into one of your belt loops. That alone made you want to throw your arms around him then and there, forcing your lips together in a heavy kiss so he could taste your cherry chapstick.

“Yeah, whatever. Sounds cool,” you returned with a bashful smile, looking over at the freshmen as you smacked the side of the truck a few times to alert Kaye that they were ready. Both you and Angus waved the girls away, but you couldn’t keep your focus on anything except where his finger kept you tugged close to him.

“Man, I called shotgun before you,” Slater complained from the back seat in Angus’ car.

“It’s the shortest drive to Pickford’s,” you told the long-haired stoner, sitting sideways in your seat so you could look back at him.

“Yeah, but it all has to do with the morals of it,” he continued.

A laugh bubbled up, and you sat back in the passenger seat, looking out the open window and listening to the rock music playing from Angus’ radio, Aerosmith. You nodded your head along to the sound, one hand resting over where the window rolled down, the other on your thigh with fingers tapping along your skin. It was in moments like these you felt at peace, your hair blowing in the wind and a big smile on your face as the sun warmed you, hot enough that you could close your eyes and pretend you were on a coastal beach.

“You’re going to the party, right?” Angus asked, slowly your attention settling on him.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it,” you smiled, the excitement buzzing inside of you.

“You going there with the girls?”

“No, I’m going with Benny,” you answered, lips spreading into a big grin when you saw the expression that fell over his face, “I’m kidding. God, you’re gullible.”

“You suck,” he rolled his eyes, reaching a hand to gently push at you. The same hand falling down so it could rest over your thigh—your bare thigh.

There was no willpower in you to push his hand away, to bring up Elise and say that if he wanted to act this way with you, he had to put an end to whatever was going on with them. The guilt would gnaw away at you later, for now you would allow yourself to enjoy the intimacy.

“What about you?” You asked, “who are you going with?”

“Just some of the football guys,” he replied, his thumb drawing circles over your thigh as he focused ahead on the road, “Why? Are you trying to go together?”

“You wish,” you laughed at his suggestion, “I’ll see you there. Maybe.”

Once at Pickford’s you lagged behind Slater and Angus, letting them talk with their parents as they packed away for what looked like a trip. That answered your question about how Pickford managed to pull off a big senior party at his house.

With your hands clasped in front of you, you smiled at the two older adults and kept your mouth tight–you’d never met them before, and you weren’t going to say anything to give them the wrong impression. They already seemed weary around Slater.

“Michelle is inside,” Pickford’s mother said to you with a sweet voice as she shoved some suitcases into the trunk of their vehicle, under the assumption you were there to meet with the only other girl there.

“Okay, yeah. Thanks.” you piped up, forcing a smile, unmoving until Angus wrapped an arm around your shoulder and tugged you toward the house.

“It was nice seeing you, have fun on your trip!” He called out to them once more, his charismatic nature taking the forefront, “Why are you being awkward with them?” he asked through a breathy chuckle, looking down at you as Slater led the way inside.

“I’m not awkward, I just like to make a good first impression,” you said, pulling away from his touch so you could shut the front door, “And what about you? You’re like… a chameleon.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Angus turned around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, paired with a curious smile.

You shrugged, walking past him as you followed Slater up the stairs, “You have this uncanny ability to blend into whatever social situation you want. It’s chameleon-like,” you explain, “Have you never noticed it before?”

“She’s totally right man,” Slater spoke from ahead of you, reaching the top of the stairs and turning around, “You know how to make friends with everybody and fit right in, you could totally be a CIA spy, man,” he spoke with his hands, eyes focusing on Angus as the two of you made up the stairs, “You’re not a spy are you?”

“Aw, shit, Slater,” Angus groaned, “You caught me. Guess I gotta’ assassinate you like they asked me to.” He abruptly fake punched Slater’s gut, making the stoner jump back.

“Not funny, man,” he said, causing you to laugh as you walked past him, “That’s, like, my worst fear.”

“Being assassinated?” You looked over your shoulder at Slater, giving him a look that screamed, ‘what the fuck?’.

“Yeah, exactly! Just like JFK, man. I’m driving around one day and BOOM, bullet right into my skull and killing me instantly.” He emphasized the word, pretending to shoot you with a fake sniper.

“Sorry to break it to you, Slate-man, but most stoner teens from small town America aren’t on any hit lists.” Angus said as he knocked on Pickford’s bedroom door, the boy needing to come up and unlock it for them all, “You don’t drive, either.”

“JFK wasn’t driving either, man, that’s some scary stuff.” Slater said, pointing a finger at him as he did.

“Be careful, Slater, if you think too hard about it, you might manifest it into reality,” you snickered as you followed Angus into Pickford’s bedroom.

“So, not funny.”

You’d all settled into the large bedroom room, with you sitting next to Angus on the bed and Slater on the floor just to your left. For the first few minutes, while Pickford had dug around in his stash, you talked with Michelle and looked at her in awe—to you, she was way cooler than Darla could ever be.

“Sample of the goods,” Pickford smiled as he sat in front of Michelle, the girl wrapping her legs and arms around him as he lit up the joint, passing it over to Slater, who was here for business.

The long-haired teen took a drag from the expertly-rolled joint, and you watched as he held the smoke in for a few seconds and narrowed his eyes. If there was anything that impressed you about Slater, it was the fact that the kid could be high 24/7 without getting sick from it. You were also sure that he could do a blind test and know what kind of strains he was smoking from memory.

“Fifteen bucks,” Pickford spoke up, handing the bag of loose flower to Slater, who then handed the joint to you.

With ease, you brought the end up to your lips and inhaled, the smoke moving deep into your lungs as you pulled away and exhaled. It wasn’t an instant high, but you could feel your shoulders relaxing as you passed it to Angus, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Hey man,” Slater leaned forward, looking between both of you, “Can you spot me a ten?”

Michelle and Pickford chuckled as both of you snapped your eyes at him, Angus humming in question as he hit the joint. “I’ll pay you, like, Tuesday and shit.” He said, smoking still coming out of his mouth, as he looked down at the five dollar bill he pulled out of his pocket.

“You owe me ten and a shake from Top Notch,” you told him as you pulled out a ten dollar bill from your pocket, a permanent smile on your face as you slipped the bill to Pickford.

“Thank you,” Slater grinned, “I’ll definitely get you a shake, man, one of this big chocolate ones, but we gotta’ share it, alright? Those are my favourite.”

“Deal,” you giggled, having not realized how you’d settled nicely against Angus’ side, his left arm wrapping around you with his hand placed over your hip.

As the five of you started chatting about the party plans and passed around the joint once more, leaving your eyes half-lidded and glossy, there was a knock on Pickford’s bedroom door. You smacked your lips a couple of times, feeling the dryness accumulate in your mouth and desperately wishing you had a big glass of water with you.

“Hide this,” Angus passed the joint to you, which made you realize the knock was coming from his parents. A bit panicked, you looked down at the joint in your hands, then passed onto Michelle as Pickford rushed up and began hiding his paraphernalia into the depths of his dresser drawers.

“Who is it?” Pickford called out, his mother answering and explaining that he’d best come out there.

The entire situation left you feeling paranoid, rubbing a hand over your eyes as if that would hide the redness—you’d left your purse with Visine in Kaye’s truck. Angus got up and helped Pickford, spraying some air freshener around the room as you all adjusted yourselves into different areas. Michelle moved to the window ledge, Slater leaned back into the rounded chair and once Angus was back to sitting on the bed, you found yourself laying back on him with his arms wrapped around your waist and hands clasped on your stomach.

“Kevin, open the door.” His father’s voice boomed, making you shudder.

“It’s okay,” Angus’ deep voice murmured into your ear, leaving you shivering and feeling nervous for an entirely different reason now.

You sighed shakily, doing your best to relax as Pickford opened the door, his father looking miserable and furious. Quickly, you flickered your gaze away and tried not to listen in on the conversation, turning your head enough so you could look up at Angus. Slowly, you lifted a hand up, so your fingers could play with a couple of the curls that hung over his ears. The two of you stayed like that, smiling at each other like you were in love and acting like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Pickford dealt with the situation, which had to do with the delivery driver bringing kegs of beer to his house much earlier than the teen had anticipated. He was playing it off as coolly as he could, but when you glanced over, his father looked like he was about to explode any second. You so wished you were sober right now.

You smacked your dry again as the teen left the room, looking up at his father, who hadn’t moved. He looked over everyone, hands on his hips, “You guys know anything about a party here tonight?” He asked, flaring his nostrils as he waited for someone to confess.

There was a collective ‘no’ amongst all of you, shrugging it off as if that was a preposterous idea. You all sighed in relief when he left, Slater especially as he pulled out the baggy of weed he’d hidden in his shirt and tossed it onto the round table in front of him.

“Pickford is so dead,” you said aloud, looking at everyone.

“Fucking delivery driver. Never in my life have I seen those bastards arrive early,” Angus replied, shifting behind you as you all tried to listen in to the sound of Pickford’s father trudging down the stairs.

“You think the party is a bust?” Slater asked, his gaze flickering to Michelle.

The girl let out a sigh as she looked out the window and saw her boyfriend coming back inside as the delivery driver start putting the kegs back in his truck. The front door slammed, echoing within the house as if confirming everyone’s worst fears, “yeah.”

As the car pulled away from Pickford's house, you settled into the backseat, eyes closed, feeling the wind from the open windows cool your skin. Angus and Slater talked over their plans for the evening, but all you could think about was the warmth of Angus's arms wrapped around you earlier. It made you feel comforted, safe, and strangely excited. You wanted to go back to that moment, to tilt your head back and look into his eyes again and note the small details on his face that you’d never paid attention to before. To touch his curls again, letting your fingers get caught as you pull him into a kiss—

"Am I taking you home?" Angus's voice broke through your thoughts, and you met his gaze in the rearview mirror.

"Yes, please," you replied softly, sitting forward and feeling like everything around you was moving slower than reality, "so what's up for tonight?"

"Don’t know yet," Angus said, turning onto your block, "we're going to meet up with Pickford and Michelle, figure things out now that his parents are staying back from the trip. You sure you don’t want to come along?"

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. It was a tempting offer to spend more time with them, but you had other plans. "No, I'm good," you sighed, looking out onto the street as your house came into view, "Kaye is picking me up around eight, so I should go get ready. I’ll see you around, though?"

"Yeah, I'll be around," Angus replied with a smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Cool," you smiled back, reaching over to tousle his curls before sliding to the edge of the car. Slater jumped out to push the seat forward for you, and as you stepped out, you leaned forward against the door, looking through the open window.

"Bye, Angus," you said, a hint of playfulness in your voice, "See you later, Slater."

As you walked towards your house, you couldn't shake the excitement bubbling inside you. The night was full of possibilities, and you wondered what it would bring. But through the anticipation, a nagging thought lingered—the growing attraction between you and Angus.

Two sets of eyes watched as you walked to your house, disappearing through the front door.

“She’s so into you, man, I’ve never seen her act like that around Benny,” Slater spoke, nodding to himself as he glanced at Angus, “What are you gonna’ do?”

The teen sat there for a moment, thinking over the words as he shifted the car back into drive and sped down the street, hand gripping at the steering wheel as his mind filled with complications over the situation, “I don’t know.”

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #the holdovers #the holdovers au #dazed and confused #angus tully fic #the holdovers fic #dominic sessa #wordsbyspatial

166 notes · View notes

thinkingotherwise · 15 days

Note

Hi! I hope I'm not too late for a request but can you please do a head canon on Wind Breaker(satoru nii),Haruka(Platonic pls)& the Bofurin,Hajime,Hayato,Akihiko,Ren,Mitsuki,Kyotaro & Ren,with s/o who is haruka sakura's older sister, who is about 22 years old, she's a hikikomori, has the same personality as Haruka, unlike Haruka, she appreciates kindness & generosity, calls Haruka an idiot but has a heart even though they don't get along.Fem Haruka's older sister s/o, used to be a sweet kid to haruka, but somehow she got bullied due to not living up to high expectations as a girl & causes her to lose him & suffer trust issues who has no friends. Her personality is similar to zooble from the amazing digital circus pls. Sorry if this explanation is long.

No worries, write as much as you want. Though I honestly didn't know The Amazing Digital Circus and I watched the pilot just to get the feeling of Zooble's character. She's a MOOD. Also, I thought about making the reader hikikomori but I wanted her to live alone, so she came to be mostly social-distant and not keen on human interactions - I hope I captured the characteristics correctly. It's also more focused on platonic relationships. I hope it's still alright.

Wind Breaker characters x Haruka Sakura's older sister (mostly platonic)

characters as written in request: Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suou, Akihiko Nirei, Hajime Umemiya, Kyotaro Sugishita, Ren Kaji, and Mitsuki Kiryu TW: bullying (mentioned), manipulation (mentioned)

- As the older sister of Haruka, you were the one who got him into training martial arts and fights, it was you who first saved him from bullies when they laughed at his hair and eyes. - You were the only one whom he could go to for comfort and the only one who hugged him whenever he needed it. - With time you got into more and more fights helping your younger brother and because of that, you got bruises in more visible places making your parents lecture you each time and each time it was worse. - You got in a lot of trouble not only with your parents but also with your boyfriend at that time, who just like them thought that girls shouldn't fight and whenever he saw your bruises he yelled at you saying that you look awful. - You didn't talk about it with anyone, and maybe that was your mistake because, after the n-th time of hearing such horrible words, you gave up. You changed and vowed to never fight again leaving Haruka alone. - Your emotions were in turmoil seeing Haruka beat up and knowing he had to fend for himself, especially when your so-called boyfriend started having heated conversations with him, but you still didn't interfere knowing that it wouldn't please others knowing that you as a girl fought. You didn't want to disappoint them more than you already did. - After some time your friends and boyfriend started turning on you. Even though they pretended to be nice, they were manipulating and soon started bullying you. - Every interaction with them started making you irritated and annoyed but you kept it in for the time being and as soon as school finished you cut everyone off, moved out of your home, and found a small flat in the nearby town. - All those false relationships had an influence on you and made you socially-distanced, you didn't want to feel more betrayed and kept your interactions with other people to a minimum. - You spent most of your time at home, thankfully you got online job and didn't need to leave your house. The only people you kinda appreciated and talked with were your neighbours who always asked how you were doing and sometimes gave you some snacks but you never let them in keeping them at a distance.

Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suou & Akihiko Nirei - Now then during one of your shopping trips Haruka recognized you. He was at one of the patrols and the sight of you, who left him, got him angry. - Nirei and Suou tried to get some information from him but he pushed them away and went to confront you. They tried to calm him down thinking he was about to beat some woman. - You heard the commotion and looked in their direction. Surprised to see your brother you became uncomfortable and tried to quickly leave. - They grew louder as Haruka started calling after and stopped you. Your irritation was apparent and you tried not to show how awkward you also were to see your brother. - "What do you want, pipsqueaks?" - "Huuh?! Pipsqueak?" - Your brother got annoyed and started lashing out at you saying you left him and why are you even here, that you should go back to all these people you chose instead of him. - Your blood boiled at the accusations and you raised your voice too, telling him how awful you felt, how everyone was putting pressure on you, and how you were never enough for all of them. - The loud argument was cut off by Suou, who proposed talking it all out privately. - You reluctantly invited them home and told them about the issues you had and that you were sorry you had to cut Haruka out of your life. - He left that day mad at you and it took him some time before visiting again. - You didn't expect to see him again and what was even more surprising was why he came. - Haruka tried to be angry and he told you, you were a coward for running away like that but that if you want you can start talking again. - It made you happy but also flustered and you tried to deny needing him and others. - Somehow after this meeting, the guys started visiting you and tried to get you used to becoming social again. - Talking with Suou was very calming and his understanding nature really helped you open up slightly more to others. - Nirei, however, was the one to fluster you the most, saying that you were pretty cool, as soon as he got to know you were the one who ignited the flame and fight skills in Haruka. - You were grateful for what they did and how hard they tried for you, so you let them introduce some other guys from Bofurin.

Hajime Umemiya & Kyotaro Sugishita - For you, Hajime was one of, if not, the most annoying. - "What? Oh God, please no, I don't want to take part in any of your so-called family meetings." - You responded once again when he invited you to the cafe he frequented with friends. - Even though you tried to push him away he was sticking to you like a leech, constantly trying to make you see that you can trust people again. - He annoyed you so much and you tried to act tough and not be swayed by him but you would lie if you said he didn't grow on you. - His friend, Sugishita, however, seemed to be the complete opposite of Umemiya. - Your first meeting went so wrong. - When you first met him, he was in the middle of arguing with your brother, and seeing him ready to throw a punch awakened some protective instinct in you, that you felt a long time ago when it came to Haruka. - "What the hell, you better step the fuck away or I'll make you." - You stopped his hit gripping his fist and ready to beat him to a pulp. - "Hey, now, now let's calm down." - Thankfully Umemiya stopped you and cleared the situation between you and the first year. - After the next few meetings although still alert near Sugishita you found comfort sitting in silence next to him, he was a great escape from Umemiya and his constant yapping.

Ren Kaji - You met Ren once, maybe twice and both of them he ogled you as if judging your mood and emotions. - Then he would reach for his pockets and hand you lollipops. - Just like with Sugishita you appreciated the silence when you stayed near him. - Occasionally the silent sounds coming from his headphones, as he listened to the music, calmed you down and brought comfort to you.

Mitsuki Kiryu - Mitsuki seemed to be the one hardest to get along with, his style was loud and clashed so badly with your shut-in personality. - Surprisingly he made a good substitute for all the friends you had during your high school years, he wasn't false like them and he actually listened to your complaints. - Not to mention the late evenings you spent on "girls talk" when you felt more in the mood for some social interaction. - He'd always have all the newest gossip to share.

Tags: @misticbullet

#wind breaker (satoru nii) x reader #wind breaker (satoru nii)#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #haruka sakura x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #hayato suou x reader #akihiko nirei x reader #ren kaji x reader #mitsuki kiryu x reader #kyotaro sugishita x reader

132 notes · View notes

cacoetheswriting · 1 year

Note

Hello! I hope all is well. I had a fluffy request if that’s ok? Eddie x fem!reader where reader is an art nerd that likes to draw for their campaigns. One day, they’re hanging out preparing for the campaign and maybe Eddie had a run in with Jason earlier and was feeling a little down that day so then reader just starts aggressivley complimenting him out if nowhere. I really love your work! ❤️

thank youuu for this request & for your sweet words, makes my heart happy that you like my little fics ❤️ hope i did your vision justice!

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.6k content warnings: adult language, use of pet names, a little mutual pining, insecurities / self-doubt, mentions of bullying, mainly just fluff - very much unedited - pls let me know if i missed anything!

Your friendship with Eddie was an odd one — if you could even call it that. More colleagues than friends, to be honest. Or better yet, acquaintances by association.

Freaks. Geeks. Social outcasts.

There was however, one big difference.

Your status at Hawkins High was by design. A strategic decision you put into play long before you even stepped through the building doors. Growing up in a busy house with a younger brother too loud for his own good, solitude was your best friend. Art was your escape. Often you only found time for both at school. So no, you didn’t wanna socialise or try out for the cheerleading team. You were quite content being left alone.

Being neighbours with Nancy Wheeler, and your younger brothers being practically attached at the hip, helped with staying invisible ‘cause who’s gonna bully the girl that sometimes hung out with Nancy and King Steve.

Eddie unfortunately was not as lucky. His label wasn’t his choice — not at first anyway. It followed him through the years from an age arguably too young. No kid deserved to be treated the way he was simply ‘cause of how/where he was brought up. The curly-haired boy couldn’t escape the names, the teasing, the dirty looks. He couldn’t change his fate. So eventually he stopped trying. The Freak.

And perhaps that’s why he’s never fully warmed up to you. You were a fraud, not actually understanding what it’s like to be an outcast.

But it’s not like you cared what Eddie Munson thought of you or if the metalhead liked you in any way. Hanging around him was simply a means to an end. He needed someone to immortalise his D&D campaigns and you needed continuous inspiration as well as material for your portfolio.

Most of your meet-ups were surrounded by quiet.

Thinking back, that was the first mistake since it was in that congenial silence, you noticed how he sucked his lip between his teeth whenever he was deep in thought, and how he’d scrunch his brows together if what he came up with didn’t quite make sense. He was undoubtedly pretty. The faded freckles on his face are reminiscent of a million stars. The dips in his cheeks, appearing whenever he smiled, comparable to picturesque valleys. Those big brown of his eyes were like chocolate buttons and the more time you spent together, the more you thought you caught him glancing in your direction with that cocoa gaze, but that would be insane. Right?

It was also in those moments, as you drew the monsters he described in grave detail, you got to see the Eddie he so desperately tried to hide away from the rest of the world. The real Eddie. He was ridiculously smart. Not many people in Hawkins, if any at all aside from your silly little brother with his band of friends, could come up with such intricate ideas. Funny too, making you snort a laugh one too many times with practically zero effort. And he was kind. Asking you how your day was, seeming genuinely interested in your answer.

The small talk was kept to a minimum in the hours you two spent working on the campaigns, but whenever you did have a short conversation, Eddie always made sure his attention was focused solely on you. The second mistake was letting him, because being his priority, if only in the moment, made your stomach flutter.

But today Eddie hasn't uttered a single word aside from a measly hello when you opened your front door earlier that afternoon to let him in.

Normally the silence doesn’t bother you. If anything, you welcome it as it helps you concentrate on the details of any piece you’re currently working on. There was just something about the way Eddie was sitting that made you feel uneasy. He didn’t seem present. Leaning against your dresser, legs sprawled out in front of him, gaze focused on something out the window as he fidgeted with the pencil in his hand.

At first you thought maybe he was planning the next move in his new campaign and just needed a minute, but then fifteen minutes passed and the metalhead still hadn’t moved. If you didn’t know any better, you’d doubt he was even breathing. As still as a rock.

A sudden wave of concern rushes through you and without taking a second to consider what you were doing, you grab one of the pillows from your bed and throw it in his direction.

“Shit, what the—”

“Are you okay?”

Eddie’s not sure how to answer that question, especially when he looks at you. Eyes wider than normal, accompanied by delicate worry lines that he's never really been on the receiving end of — aside from Wayne's constant frown. Eddie first thinks you're clearly faking the concern 'cause why would you actually care? But the longer his gaze remains connected with yours, the more he wants to believe your sincerity is genuine. And that's fucking scary.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Just a lot on my mind. Nothin' you need to worry about.”

But you don't give up as easily as he hoped you would.

“Wanna talk about it?”

His lips twitch though he never actually smiles and you are certain then something definitely happened because it's as if he really wants to offer you a glimpse of happiness, but his body is refusing.

Dropping his gaze to the pencil in his hands, Eddie sighs. “You don't have to do that.”

“Do what?” You ask, stringing your brows together.

“Pretend like you actually give a shit,” he replies with a little more disdain than intended while once again catching your eyes with his own.

You don't mean to scoff, but you do. “Look, Eddie, I know we're not like best of friends or anything,” you begin, hopping off the bed with an elegant bounce. “But considering lately I spend more time with you than Nancy or Steve, I feel like we can at least talk about shit, no? Like when something is bothering us, we can talk about that.”

He's slightly surprised at your words. The admission that you hang out with him more than your actual friends didn't seem right to him. In his mind, you and Wheeler are inseparable. He sees you two together all the time, sharing a ride to school, having lunch at the same table. And in the evenings or at the weekends, you're always around Harrington and that other girl, Buckley. Not like Eddie seeks you wherever he goes... He's just... observant.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Eddie rolls his eyes, tone full of disbelief. “You don't gotta lie to make me feel better.”

“I'm not,” you defend and sit cross-legged at his feet, knees brushing against the soles of his dirty Converse in the process. You know you don't owe him an explanation or reasoning, but it seems Eddie won't let up about what's on his mind without one.

“Nancy and I have drifted apart since I kinda took Steve's side in their breakup. Sure we carpool and sit at the same table in the cafeteria, and our idiotic brothers are good friends, but that's pretty much it.”

Eddie starts to feel like a jerk for assuming shit when he clearly had no clue, but you don't give him a chance to interject.

“And yeah, I see Steve often, but it's not like we're all buddy-buddy. He likes it when I stop by the video store to literally sit on the counter and draw his stupid head of hair just so he can make other girls jealous.”

“Jesus, that's shitty.”

You shrug, a small smile circling your lips. “I don't mind. Free film rental and peaceful sketching time.”

The lighthearted tone of your voice makes the corners of Eddie's mouth curl upwards, matching the expression currently present on your face. There's a semi-second of quiet. He's no longer feeling bad 'cause you've taken those worries away with one simple look. And when you knock your knee against his shoe again, Eddie's completely relaxed.

Lost in the way the sun reflects in your eyes, the metalhead doesn't really think when he asks, “So how come you've never invited me over for movie night, huh?”

You smirk. “Horrors aren't really my thing. I actually like to enjoy what I'm watching,” you tease, “Even if the shit is free. Don't wanna see any decapitations, thank you very much.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. He pulls his legs up before sliding along the carpeted floor of your bedroom until he's about a reach away from you. Closer than he's ever been. His arms make way around his legs, ring-clad fingers hanging low, poking at your calf.

Surprisingly, you don't flinch at Eddie's sudden proximity or the delicate touch.

“Quite presumptuous of you, sweetheart.” He affirms, gaze focused on where his skin brushes against the denim of your jeans.

“So you don't only watch gruesome things?” You challenge, your own fingers hesitantly reaching towards him, stopping before you can actually graze him in any way.

Eddie's smirking. “Not the point.”

“Sounds like I'm right,” you muse, your smile growing wider. “But I'll make you a deal.”

He looks up to meet your eyes then, hiking a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod. “If you tell me what you were thinking about earlier, I'll let you pick a movie we can watch together. Even something horrific.”

This was uncharted territory — (and also your third mistake). The two of you have never hung out outside of working on D&D campaigns, but since Eddie asked a mere minute ago, even if he was just teasing, you figured why the fuck not. What's the worst that could happen? Plus this seemed the only way to get him to open up.

Eddie tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as he mewls over your proposal. On the one hand, talking about feelings or problems isn't something he's necessarily into. And when it comes to spending time with you, part of the allure is congenial silence, unless he's the one fishing for information. On the other hand, his heart rate has increased tenfold at the thought of you hiding in his embrace during a particularly gross scene or before any jump scare.

In the end, the physical urge to be close to you, an unmistakable desire he's been experiencing for far longer than Eddie would care to admit out loud, wins.

“Carver just got in my head.”

The instant frown on your face, and how your fingers are suddenly reaching for his, looping together, make Eddie want to elaborate.

“Called me talentless. Usually the shit that douche and his gang of imbeciles spewer doesn't bother me 'cause I've been called many things throughout my life and whatever they come up with is more idiotic than hurtful, but I dunno, that comment just rubbed me the wrong way.”

He drops his gaze, focusing instead on your hands now perfectly intertwined. He began to rub gentle circles into your soft flesh and although this was completely odd behaviour for the two of you, it felt more than right.

“Because it's not true, Eddie.”

The metalhead's heart flips at your words and the encouraging tone behind them. Although he didn’t let it show, focusing instead on the dips between your knuckles and every single crease in your skin as he squeezed your hand just a little tighter.

“You're not talentless,” you affirm, dipping your head lower in hopes of catching his brown eyes. “If anything, you're one of the most talented people I've ever met.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, still refusing to look up.

“Eddie, you can't let those idiots make you feel worthless. You've got more talent in your left pinky than Carver and his band of bullies have put together.” You declare, rather passionately at that. “These campaigns you come up with, do you know the imagination that takes? I-I also know you play the guitar a-and sing too. Plus those extra curricular activities of yours require a mathematical brain. That's already also more talent than I have.”

He glances up at you then. “Shut up. As if you actually think I'm more talented than you?” he disputes and jerks his head towards some of the drawings covering the walls. “No one I know could do that and I know I never told you, but my campaigns would be nothin' without your art, sweetheart.”

Although heat rushes to your face at the unexpected compliment, you don't let Eddie's kind words steer you off course. This wasn't about what he thought of you, this was about what you thought of him and, as it turns out, how badly you wanted him to know.

“My stupid brother won't shut up about how fucking cool you are,” you reveal, chewing briefly on the inside of your cheek. “He's never said anything remotely as nice about me.”

Eddie lets out an airy chuckle. He drops his hold on you, but he doesn't give you a moment to even register how you instantly miss his touch, how your hands are burning with invisible imprints of where his skin brushed yours. No, because he's pushing your legs apart with little to no effort and sliding in-between them.

“Well, I happen to think you're cooler than me.”

It's your turn to laugh while again choosing not to comment on his closeness and ignoring how it made you feel. Ignoring how your stomach fluttered as he pressed his legs to your sides, hands hovering near your face as if he debated whether he was crossing some sort of line.

“Right. Don't fuck with me, Munson.”

“Cross my heart,” the metalhead promises. “Why do you think I asked you to help me out in the first place? Why do you think I willingly spend most of my afternoons with you? Like, there's no need for us to do this together. I can come up with the campaigns on my own then share the concepts so you can draw them out.”

You swallow 'cause the thought has never crossed your mind.

Before Eddie approached you with the offer, your knowledge of Dungeons and Dragons was definitely limited, only privy to whatever your brother and his friends shared. When Eddie asked you to draw something that very first time, and every time after that, you didn't stop and think if it was really necessary for you two to sit together for hours on end, crafting and creating on opposite ends of the room. Now that he's mentioned it, you really didn't need to.

“I-I don't—”

“There's no cooler chick than you, sweetheart.” Eddie interrupts, hands now cupping your face, no longer hesitant, and you're left wondering when the topic shifted from a conversation about his talents to whatever this was shaping up to be.

“Eddie...”

“How Harrington can use you to make other girls jealous instead of realising he should just ask you out, I-I don't understand.” The sentence fades with each word until his voice is a low muffle and you're not entirely sure you heard him correctly.

But every fibre of your being is screaming, so you know he definitely said it. And the way his doe-eyes are glimmering, your own reflection prominent in the pretty brown, only cinches that feeling.

Your final mistake is not asking then and there what Eddie meant.

He stands shortly after and extends a hand to also help you up.

“Speaking of, is the King of Hawkins working right now?” Eddie asks and when you nod slowly, still recovering from the small bomb he's after dropping, he claps his hands together. “Let's go then. I'm thinking we can start with My Bloody Valentine and because you're providing the entertainment, I'll get us some snacks.”

thank you for reading!

eddie munson masterlist | main masterlist

#gosh this is a lot longer than i intended it to be #twas only supposed to be a drabble eek #but I hope you enjoy <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female!reader

355 notes · View notes

maeleelee · 8 months

Note

Idk if you're asking or not but please stop having imagine a life like this rb your stuff!! 😭😭 her writing is so good - too good to be rbing your stuff that's writing like a middle schooler abt their crush. It's so genuinely bad. Like you can tell from the amount of notes all these other blogs get for their smau!s compared to yours. Like pls stop embarrassing yourself. I go on her blog and follow her to read good stuff and see good recs, which she mostly does but not to be spammed by your terrible writing. Pls for your own sake stop 🥲

I wasn’t going to reply to this to because of how rude you are BUT then I remembered I have the best support system and group behind me that told me not to listen to you. That you’re just being mean and you said I was the middle schooler. 🫢

Anyways, my baby boy wanted me to have you read this. He’s the guard dog of the group and found out you hurt me. He didn’t like that.

Hi random Anon that didn’t have anything better to do with their day than send hate to someone they don’t know.

Let’s go down the list together shall we buddy?

No she’s not asking thank you for creating needless hostility.

You need to learn your grammar before you criticize others people’s work doll face it’s “written” not “writing”.

Who cares about note counts when you’re having fun creating the content? It’s not always about high engagement with the content which you’d know if you spent any amount of time looking for quality like you claim.

Go away your opinion about her content and what my friends reblog doesn’t matter. But hey, maybe someone will respect you one day buddy.

I hope you can understand how much words can actually hurt and maybe reflect on them before you speak. Maybe next time you’ll remember that bullying someone is middle school with a crush behavior. 🩷

I hope you have a better day than my week has been because it’s been shit and I’m a nice person. 💙

#asked #and answered.

41 notes · View notes

queen-of-elves · 1 year

Text

Is this hell?

Niragi Suguru x fem!reader

Highschool AU(?)

Summary: the original idea post

Word count: 3,3K

Warnings: Niragi lol (not in like haha my babygirl but literally this man is psycho please beware so), bullying, mentioning of blood and violence, two or three mentionings of y/n, it's not proofread so I apologize for any kind of mistakes

A/N: I am not condoning any of Niragi’s actions, I too think he should rot in hell and his actions are unforgivable that being said this fanfiction purpose is not to glorify etc anything about him plus it’s not meant to be in any sort a darkfic (I myself can’t read those.) btw I am also tagging some people who liked the post :))

*****

Part 1: highschool

Since Suguru Niragi could remember, he was always a loser, always weaker than anyone else. Girls laughed at him and boys bullied him and if someone could actually handle looking at him, their face only showed pity. His school years were spent alone somewhere in a corner or just far away from potential troubles. There was a possible hope in going to high school in a completely different district but even that proved useless. Niragi still looked like a prey and if there is a prey, there is also a predator. So he would become as small as he could to hide but sometimes even that wasn’t enough.

These three boys picked on him since the first week of school, like if they could smell his fear, they preyed upon him, made the boy with glasses buy them snacks or lunches from his own allowance and would get pissed off at the end of the month if he didn’t have any money left for their cigarettes. And them getting pissed ment only one thing, punishment, in reality that was just an excuse to bully him harder than on the days the three boys were bored. Oftentimes the punishments were very unoriginal, that kind a child could come up with, other times the originality was astonishing, something no one in their sane mind would be able to come up with. Maybe the boys were just that, not mentally sane, or maybe an evil devoured them the moment they were born and so they did the same to others. An eye for an eye sort of thing.

By the last year of highschool Niragi couldn’t take it anymore, over the years his attempts for finding help ended in vain, no one was willing to stop them and in the end it was as if no one knew he was bullied, as if people didn’t notice his scared eyes and bruises. But Niragi didn’t know what was coming that day.

The boys dragged him to the bridge and this time it was not only the main trio but also a few of his other classmates. All of them cheered while he became a target of their baseball practice. Maybe he did something to them today that made even those classmates of his participate, Niragi couldn’t be sure anymore. No, it didn’t matter actually, any kind of word as a reasoning now was just an excuse trying to justify the bully's behavior. The abuse was too much and he was almost on his tipping point.

“Ts, you move one more time and I will make you eat it again.” The bully swung the baseball bat again while glancing around him. “Rice with piss.” He was the type who throws their head back when laughing too much. Was making him eat it so funny?

Suguru’s nose was bleeding. He could feel it before he tasted the coppery taste in his mouth and his vision was blurry, the first hit with a ball shattering his glasses on the ground. This had to be hell, purgatory or something, there had to be some divine reason, something to justify this torture. He hated himself, of course he did and through all of this pain a quick thought flashed in his mind. Maybe if he was in their position he would do the same, bully the weak.

“Yes? Oh, I would like to report fighting, they have (school name) uniforms, please be quick.” Niragi didn’t even realize that someone else was now watching him struggle to breathe, a girl in the same highschool uniform. Her voice sounded meak, scared and as if she was on the verge of tears, but she was standing like a picture of confidence with her eyes trained on one of the bullies.

“The fuck do you think you are doing, eh?” One of the bullies started to yell, however the girl didn’t even flinch, she just calmly closed the flip phone, slipping it back into her jacket. Now that Niragi had time to fully adjust his vision, which was still very blurry, he realized who the girl was. Not only was she another student from his highschool, she was one of his classmates from the same homeroom. Y/N, that was her name, she wasn’t a prominent figure in the school, not really significant like class president or something, but she was there and she was always quietly watching. She was the type Niragi aspired to be, someone who had friends and someone who gets invited to things like karaoke or dates. Dates, she probably got a loads of confessions, in no way was she the school idol but you had to be blind to think she wasn’t pretty.

“I just reported you to the police, didn’t you hear? They are going to be here pretty soon.” Y/N was now laughing lightly and the whole group looked pissed, really pissed this time. What was she thinking, they were surely going to kill her for this. One of them ripped the baseball bat out of the grasp of the last one, ready to swing it at her.

“If I were you I wouldn’t do it.” Tight lipped smile slipped on her face, her eyes staring momentarily at him. “After all, if the police arrive and find me hurt or in a worse state… it would be just worse for all of you, wouldn’t it?” Her smile now contented many teeth, white with little yellow grinning at his abusers. Her cheeks raised, it was a genuine smile, she found this whole situation truly amusing.

By now the boys thought about the risk and decided that their little prey was not worth it, at least for now. “Whatever, bitch. Oi, boys, we are done here, let’s go for a drink.” The oldest commanded and all of them swiftly following his example started to walk away. Their departure also included some rude comments thrown at her and the last one, youngest of all of them, he was two grades below them and was very keen on becoming like them for some reason, readying punch in the air just to cease the action when the girl didn’t spare him even a glance.

She was now staring at Niragi intensely, without blinking, and then she finally opened her mouth and said. “Suguru Niragi, right?” The boy could only nod to her question. Her gaze changed direction, now at his feet staring at something on the ground. That’s when Niragi got reminded again of his blurry vision, she was looking at his glasses before her eyes once again returned to his face.

“Hey, Niragi… let’s be friends.” At that moment Niragi knew that those curious eyes actually looked at him, no pity, only interest beaming behind them.

And maybe his life was not a hell, maybe from now on it would get better.

**************

The bullying indeed got better, didn’t stop but got much more bearable with her by his side. She wasn’t by any means a sunshine person, most of the time she was silent, which made him incredibly nervous and twitchy, however, when she spoke it was always something interesting. The girl never showed interest when it came to boring things, instead it seemed that her head turned at anything slightly fascinating. It was in pure contrast with her appearance, a normal highschool girl that never got herself in trouble but always was witness to some. She really did have a knack for these kinds of situations.

So his new friend dragged him along, trouble never catching up to them out of pure luck or maybe it was like her superpower, that's what the boy always thought. After a few weeks of their friendship Niragi felt content, finally he had a light at the end of the tunnel, a safe spot for himself in the world. He didn’t yet realize that soon their paths would divide when it came to college and his sunny days could be over again. But for now he enjoyed her company, after all there was still at least 4 months before the graduation.

Part 2: bordeland

College was another new start and with the promise of keeping in touch with his now sort of, Niragi wasn’t still sure, best friend, he was ready for new experiences. The first few weeks were fine, school was fun again and it seemed that he made a few new friends along the way. He now got invited to parties and shared dinners and genuinely had a good time for such an introvert.

However, his little bubble of happiness was meant to burst on one of the shared dinners after a long day of lectures. It was one of the days packed with long seminars and Niragi was ready to relax with his classmates over some good food and a bit of beer when it happened. They were sitting in the back of the restaurant, most of them already sporting one beer in hand when another group of people walked in. Loud and obnoxious yelling followed them and Niragi swore he recognized some of the voices.

The now college student should have known better, he did know them, of course he did, they made his life miserable for what felt like an eternity. Those bullies that proved to him the awfulness of humankind. The only thing Niragi now hoped for was that they would not notice him, that they wouldn't recognize him but he hadn't changed at all. The same hair, the same kind of glasses and the same scared expression.

And then it happened, one of them turned and his gaze became trained on him, his before yelling face turned into a horrible grin. This guy loved to push young Niragi’s face into the toilet, that was his thing, he really wasn’t that original in the means of “punishment” but he was still part of the group and that defined trouble.

“NO WAY!” His voice boomed through the restaurant, stopping the conversation at the table Niragi was sitting at. Most of his fellow classmates were now staring at the guy with confused or irritated expressions.

“Guys! Look who is there, Sugura Niragi.” His grin grew with these words and his friend’s attention was now at him, staring and waiting for any kind of elaboration.

Niragi didn’t know where to look, if he looked into the restaurant, he could see what felt like thousand of eyes staring at him, if he looked around the table he would get confused looks expecting explanation and if he looked before him he would look into the eyes of one of the most hated people by him, so he stared blankly into his glass, hoping that all of this could just disappear. Maybe she could just magically appear and save him once again, more like a thousand times again actually.

“You know each othe-'' But before one of his classmates could finish the question the booming voice sounded again. “Know him? Of course. Didn’t he tell you?” The rest of the guys were now coming closer, also recognizing him. Their laugh was like tiny little needles poking him and their whispers turned his stomach. His current classmates now could hear about how pathetic he was in highschool and Niragi knew that it was back, it was there again, he felt small and stupid. Did the universe really hate him this much?

But this time Niragi had a choice, he could just leave and ignore it and so he did. He rushed out leaving the payment on someone else’s shoulders while dodging and kind of arms that tried to grab at him, keep him at the hellhole. He runned for what felt like hours, sprinting down the streets until he was sure there was no way one of them could follow him. He felt terrible and knew that sleep would not come this night to him and it truly didn’t. He layed in his bed for hours until exhaustion took him out with a sweet promise of blissful ignorance of the nightmare he again became part of.

The next day was even more painful than the night before, he had to face his classmates and so when the time finally came and he had to approach someone, he chose Ayato. Ayato was always a smiling tall guy with slightly longer hair hiding the corners of his eyes and a mole under the right corner of his lips. He was a good guy, the kind of guy who would send you notes from the lecture if you asked him. However, now he looked like an instant death in Niragi’s eyes but there was no other choice than to talk to him.

“I wanted to pay you back, you probably had to pay for me when I suddenly left last night.” He couldn’t meet Ayato’s eyes, he couldn’t see in them how pathetic he was, not again, he couldn’t take it anymore. This was his burning point and there was no coming back.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, man.” Ayato laughed and went back to rummaging through his backpack. Did he bother him, no, this was probably just a tactic on how to not have further conversation with him. Just appear busy and that pathetic loser Niragi will leave. Did they all really view him as pathetic? Fuck. They probably did. They must have laughed at him when he left with the whole group of his old classmates, his bullies.

World really is cruel.

And this was the point when he decided to change and so over the following years his sorrow turned into anger, burning and scorching flame that alighted everything inside that was still alive and breathing, the rest of the hope. The little happy moments were not enough. For example, going to college? He fucking deserved it for all the shit he went through so he didn’t expect anything else than to get accepted into one. He also still maintained some sort of contact with Y/N, both of them got quite busy in college, however otherwise Niragi had isolated himself.

But oh, how he wished those guys that tormented him could see Niragi now, he changed, just like his hardened heart he hardened his appearance. Piercings adoring his face and tongue, silver glistering as warning signs. He looked like a danger, no more the prey look and nervous stare, he was to be feared now. And it wasn’t just his appearance, he became rough and cruel slowly becoming just like those he despised but he always justified it in his mind that it was for his own good.

And so came another punishment for his foolishness.

The gods really hate me, hm? That was his first thought at the empty streets of the city which he once found overly crowded. “Is this hell!?” His yelling echoing down the long corridors of empty sidewalks and alleys.

It must have been days since he woke up in the silent city, he didn’t know what else to do now that there was no one, so he drank and drank all the alcohol he could find. And in one of his drunken moments they found him almost passed out in one of the dirty alleys near Shibuya. At first he didn’t want to go with them, too drunk out of his mind to understand what they were telling him, but they grabbed him and… that's all he could remember, he probably passed out.

When Niragi woke up his head was pounding and his throat felt sore but all of that was swept under the rug with the realization that under him were soft white sheets instead of harsh pavement. Slowly, as he could manage without his head shooting needles in it, he sat up upon the bed, he really was in a clean room, a hotel room but any kind of thinking was stopped with the hotel room’s door opening. This uninvited guest sported a kimono and sunglasses were obscuring his eyes.

“You must be the newbie, let me welcome you properly at The Beach, the only paradise in The Borderland.” The man was grinning widely and Niragi was sure of his interior motive but who gives a damn, he was the first person he had a proper conversation with in days.

And so his career as a player for beach and handsman for Aguni began.

Working for The Beach was on most days such a great fun, but it was as if Niragi slowly forgot that this was also real and just submitted to his dark thoughts full of violence and blood. He stopped caring about consequences or what was morally right, nothing mattered in his world to him and he verified it through the actions of others. He met vile criminals and monsters in the disguises of people here and in the real world too, so what was the difference if he joined in, in this utopia of sin.

But it was the moment he was beating up some guy, he didn’t even break any rule, he just pissed Niragi with his stupid face, that he noticed them. She was there, she was also inside this horrible nightmare, staring in shock at him with hand covering her open mouth. Y/N must have recognized him, there was no way she couldn’t, if someone could recognize him, it would be her, solely her. He didn’t see her face to face since his change, they only texted and called each other via phone, she must have thought it was because he got so busy but maybe inside, he knew he didn’t want her to see what he had become. Suguru Niragi really thought that their next meeting would be different, that those same eyes would look into his with the same adoration and curiosity it once held but there was none of it.

And there was no excuse for his actions, he could see that now and even though his anger still buried the vast amount of guilt, he was a bad person, he was sure of it. And he knew it for a very long time but there was no denying it now. Another punishment from the gods staring right at him in the form of a pretty lady he had a long history with. And maybe there was no worse cruelty than this, knowing even through all this hardship he received all his life, he could have a good life if he had chosen to be a good person from the start.

Too late to change my path.

In the end the anger always wins over guilt that has to be buried or you will be buried yourself. Niragi used to strongly believe in this conviction but now he felt like a little school boy again, pitiful glances piercing right through him, however this time it was much more meaningful. Here it wasn’t just strangers, it was someone he trusted and they stared inside him with shocked expression. He wondered what she saw, probably someone filled with anger and filth covered in blood, someone she couldn’t handle to look at. It was the same over again but this time different and caused by his own actions, so fully justified. There really isn't any way to redeem himself anymore.

Tag list: @enslique @retirement-home @k-1-ll-em-all @urnotahotdad @cantthinkofauserlololol @nervousbasementtimemachine @verydownbadforchishiya @ksjo @antitoon @ninjacups @169cmy @lanasworld-96 @llynx7 @itsccc @benhardygalileo @hjyksgf @solintaire @fluffyandsquishy

#niragi x reader #alice in borderland #alice in borderland fanfiction #niragi suguru #niragi suguru x you #isa writes #niragi alice in borderland #dori sakurada

113 notes · View notes

rainbow-flavoured-skittles · 1 month

Text

Hey Mom, Dead Mom

Chapter 2: No more playing daddy’s game, I’ll go insane if things don’t change

I suffered for this chapter. it was fighting me every single step of the way but it’s finally finished. I can rest now. this isn’t as dark as the last chapter but Cole is running away in this, so it’s still not very happy. also I did indeed make a couple of random ocs because how else was I supposed to advance the plot? they’re not returning any time soon. as always, this is cross posted to ao3

Cole got on the plane to MOSPA at exactly eleven in the morning on a Sunday. He traveled alone — Dad was unable to come with him. Other people at the airport gave strange looks to the unaccompanied twelve-year-old, reminding him of the looks he got after Mom died. “Oh, why is that little boy all alone? So strange,” and then they’d go about their day, not giving him a second thought.

The flight attendant in front of him right now was doing just that. “No parents?” She asked, face mildly concerned.

Cole shook his head. “I’m going to visit my grandma, but Dad couldn’t come,” he lied. Cole was good at lying. He’d done it a lot these past few years; you couldn’t take care of yourself the way Cole had without at least some lying.

The attendant gave him a small smile. Maddy, her name tag read. “Well, if you need anything, just call.”

“Okay, thanks, Ms.”

Maddy nodded and continued walking, greeting the other passengers. Cole fidgeted in his seat. The fabric covering it was itchy and the seatbelt was too tight. The man sitting next to him scrolled through his phone, music blaring loudly, and the old lady behind him was snoring. Not even off the ground yet and this flight was already torture. Cole resisted the urge to groan.

It was only a two hour flight, Cole could do this. But he hated planes so much — always had. Not being on the ground made him feel ill, and every bit of turbulence was terrifying. At least he had the window seat, though that didn’t do much to soothe his nerves. Being able to see how high up he was might make Cole feel worse.

The crackling of a speaker interrupted his panicking. The sounds it made were loud and screechy. “Please fasten your seatbelts and put all devices on airplane mode. We will be taking off shortly,” the announcements said.

Finally. Cole dug through his backpack and found his book. Fish in a Tree, the title read. He’d found it at the school book sale but had never gotten around to reading it. Now was his chance.

He’d barely gotten past the first chapter before they took off. Cole actually felt it when they did — it was like getting severed from a part of him. He felt sick, though throwing up wouldn’t achieve anything. It would probably make him feel worse. Cole settled for putting the book down and staring blankly at the seat in front of him instead. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the book, or anything at all, not when his stomach was lurching so badly.

Just two hours, he told himself. Then I can collapse on a bed and sleep. He repeated those words over and over like a mantra.

As it turned out, Cole was not able to immediately sleep once he arrived at MOSPA, because he had to check in. Check in, as if the school was a hotel. Or maybe a prison, which would be much more accurate.

“It’s great that you’re here, Nicholas,” the secretary smiled cheerily as she typed on her computer. “I’m sure you’ll love this school. We’re all one big family.”

Yeah, right. Every time a school said that they didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, it meant there was probably all sorts of bullying that went ignored. “It’s just Cole, not Nicholas. Nobody calls me that,” Cole said. He hated his full name — who agreed to let his grandfather pick it out? ‘Nicholas’ was an old-person name from at least a hundred years ago.

“Okay, then, Cole. I’ve got your dorm number and schedule here,” the secretary printed out a sheet of paper. “Do you need a map of the school?”

Cole shook his head. He had spent some of the flight looking at the floor plans and they were seared into his brain at this point. “I’ll be fine, thank you,” he hurried out before she could offer to have someone show him around. He didn’t want that kind of forced social interaction.

The dormitories were not hard to find, not with the giant sign that pointed to where they were. Cole opened the door, cursing when it was stuck, and shoved everything to the side before closing it again. He didn’t see a roommate anywhere, but it was a weekend, so everyone was probably out. That was good, it meant he had a couple hours alone; he could use the time to unpack and explore the school.

Cole shoved all his clothes into the closet and shoes under the bed. MOSPA had a strict uniform policy, so he wouldn’t be able to wear any casual clothing, nor his combat boots. That was a shame — he really liked those boots. They had served well when he got into fights. And they added another sorely needed three inches to his height, another advantage.

Any books that he’d brought were put onto the desk. Items such as stationery and notebooks were placed in drawers. Miscellaneous trinkets were placed in a box under the bed and his toiletries in another box. Cole pushed the suitcases into the corner. There wasn’t anywhere else to put them, but he’d figure it out later. Right now he wanted to take a nap and not wake up for a month. Screw exploring the school, he could do that tomorrow.

Cole closed the curtains, pulled the covers over his head, and went to sleep.

MOSPA, as Cole found out in the span of a month, was its own special brand of hell. The students there hated Cole for always messing up and acting strange, as if grieving for a loved one was something to make fun of. The teachers hated him for not talking or making eye contact and always zoning out. Everybody seemed to agree that he was the weird kid who should be avoided at all costs. His roommate, a kid named John, disliked him enough that he asked to be put in a different dorm.

“Thanks for messing up again, Brookstone,” one of his classmates sneered. Brant Green, yet another asshole who existed to make Cole miserable. “You ruined the whole performance.”

It hadn’t been Cole’s fault. Another student had purposefully tripped him, causing him to fall and knock over several people. “Yeah, I did. What’s your point?” He tried not to flip off Brant. That would just cause more trouble, trouble he couldn’t risk. The teachers hated him enough already.

“How’d you even get into this school? I thought you needed to have talent to get in,” Brant spat.

“Do I look like I want to be here? I hate this place,” Cole stood up and glared at the taller boy. Brant was a good head taller than him, unfortunately.

Brant didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Perhaps he’d thought Cole was going here willingly, though how he’d come to that conclusion was a mystery. He gave Cole another sneer and walked away.

Cole rolled his eyes and went back to his lunch. For all its faults, at least this school had good food. The chicken salad was pretty tasty.

A large group chattered next to him. One of them gave him the side eye. “That’s the Brookstone kid,” she said, loud enough for Cole to hear. “His dad’s a Royal Blacksmith. Isn’t it weird how he didn’t get any of the family talent?”

Cole scowled and looked down at the table. He stabbed his lunch with more force than was needed.

“Nicholas Brookstone to the office, Nicholas Brookstone to the office,” a speaker sounded. All eyes turned to him. Cole looked down at the floor and wondered if he could just die right there in the cafeteria. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.

A kid coughed from the table in front of him. Awkward, Cole thought. What had he done this time? There wasn’t anything recent he’d done to warrant this.

It took five minutes for the school to realise he wasn’t moving any time soon. They all went back to their conversations, and Cole snuck out the side entrance. He had always been good at going unnoticed.

Cole walked through the halls briskly and knocked on the office door. He was let in by the guidance counsellor, a lady in her forties with platinum blonde hair. “Nicholas, we need to talk about your behaviour,” she said as they sat down.

“I haven’t been in any more fights,” Cole said. It was true.

“Your teachers say that you don’t pay any attention in class and that you’re not following instructions. It has nothing to do with your peers.”

“I’m trying my best, okay?” Cole snapped. Why couldn’t anyone just listen for once? He was trying, he’d been trying for ages.

“Then how come your grades are so low? This is one of the top arts schools in Ninjago, Nicholas. We expect better.” The counsellor had a mask of false concern on. Cole kind of wanted to punch it off.

“It’s not Nicholas, it’s Cole. And I am trying,” Cole gritted out.

“Your grades are barely scraping fifty percent.”

“So?”

The counsellor frowned. “If you don’t start doing better, you may get expelled.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Cole said under his breath. Then to the counsellor, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” She might be suspicious of the sudden change of pace, but Cole couldn’t care less. He just wanted to get out of the office.

The counsellor nodded and fixed her glasses. “That’s all for today, Nicholas. You can go to class now.”

She didn’t even bother to get his name right. “Thanks,” Cole marched out the door.

Cole stared down at his exam results and wondered if he was dreaming. Forty percent average, the paper said. A fail. He’d managed to do so badly that his average wasn’t even fifty.

Dad’s going to kill me, he thought. Dad expected at least nineties, and this definitely wasn’t it. He’d be grounded until his thirtieth birthday, if he lived that long.

The only subject that had above sixty was visual arts. The teacher for that class was nice — he understood Cole’s struggles and gave him all the time he needed. It wouldn’t make Dad overlook all the other failures, though.

The paper crinkled under his grip. Cole blinked the tears out of his eyes and shoved the paper into his folder. His classmates were conversing all around him, comparing grades and bragging about what they’d gotten. The teacher sat at her desk on the computer. Nobody would notice if he went to the washroom and never returned, hopefully.

Cole got up and walked to the front. “Ms. Jackson, may I please go to the washroom?”

The teacher nodded distractedly and waved her hand. “Yes.”

Cole grabbed his belongings and slipped out the door. He hadn’t taken a hall pass, not when the teacher would notice it missing. She wouldn’t know he was gone, but she would notice the hall pass. The teachers here were strange like that.

He opened the door to his dorm and collapsed on the ground. How was he going to explain his grades to his dad, much less the teachers? He could already hear the lecture. “Your mother would be so disappointed in you, Cole. What happened to all that potential?”

Then again, Dad didn’t pay attention to him. Cole doubted he even remembered that he existed; Dad was too busy partying. Maybe he could burn the report card and pretend it didn’t exist.

Or… Cole’s thoughts drifted to a snide comment Brant had made a few months ago. “Why don’t you just run away? Nobody would miss you — we’d be happy to see you gone.”

Cole had ignored him at the time. It was just another uncreative insult from the stereotypical bully. But it wasn’t exactly a bad idea. As strict as the school was, Cole knew all the weak spots in its system. It was easy to sneak out and never return. And he’d been thinking about leaving and never coming back for ages. This was just the final straw.

“All right, then. Guess Brant gets his wish,” Cole said. No one responded, of course — he was all alone. But talking to himself was a habit. Cole got up and went to the closet, finding the duffel bag he used to use for camping. He blew the dust off and packed anything that seemed useful. A flashlight, multiple sets of clothes, a reusable water bottle, that box of granola bars he’d bought a month ago, all the cash he had.

More food would need to be picked up from the school cafeteria, he decided. And he’d need to find a sleeping bag somehow. But everything else was ready. Cole could leave during the night — he refused to call it running away, he wasn’t running from anything — it was easier that way. This was the best option, he told himself.

Cole snuck out as soon as it was dark. He didn’t need to avoid any roommates, thankfully — anyone who’d been placed with him had moved out. It took a few minutes for him to write a letter to Jay. His best friend didn’t deserve to have him disappearing without warning, though they hadn’t been best friends since before Mom’s death. He put it in the outgoing mail on the way out, sealed with a blue sticker. Jay would know what that meant.

He took the back exit and walked down the road to the bus stop. The city’s streets were dimly lit, people rushing past him to get home. A couple looked at him curiously but didn’t stop him. A drunk man sat down next to him on the bench as they waited. Dogs barked in the distance and a truck drove past. It was peaceful, Cole thought. The most peaceful he’d been in a while.

The bus arrived just after midnight. Cole got on and paid for a ticket to the next town over. He could find a sleeping bag and extra clothes there, and the further away he got the better. He was finally leaving MOSPA and his dad behind, and he wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as not having basic supplies.

Running away wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. All the books made it seem easy — there was no mention of sleeping in alleys, or trying not to get mugged, or having to do odd jobs to get money. Thank goodness for Ninjago’s lax law enforcement; nobody would have hired a thirteen-year-old if the police were good at their job. Especially a thirteen-year-old who may or may not be on the missing persons list. Cole still wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed him missing.

Cole shouldered his backpack as he walked away from Jamanakai Village. He’d managed to find work at a local restaurant a few weeks prior and had finally saved up enough money to get somewhere else. He wasn’t quite sure where his next destination would be, but for now he planned to go back to the mountain range near Ninjago City. He deserved a break, and climbing was therapeutic. The city having a lot of people to pickpocket was just a bonus.

Jamanakai was isolated, unfortunately. It would be an entire day before Cole could get to a more urban area and find a bus stop. He knew there wasn’t a lot of point in travelling so often, of course, but Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t keep moving, someone would find him and bring him back to MOSPA. He couldn’t let that happen. And it kept his mind off of Mom and Dad. Nope, not thinking of that today, Cole thought. It was a good day and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

“Probably enough money for a ticket to Ninjago City,” Cole muttered. “Then it’s just some hitchhiking.”

Not a difficult journey, really. Cole continued on.

The mountain was tall. And windy. And probably dangerous to climb without proper gear. Cole tried not to think of that as he pulled himself up the next ledge. He’d already had a close calls today, almost fell off before he found a foothold. Cole thanked Wojira that he hadn’t fallen to his death. If he was going to die, he wanted it to at least be dignified.

Only a bit more to the top of the mountain and then he could rest. Cole planned to camp there for the night and then go back down, hopefully without any major injuries. The broken ankle still ached, and it had been months. He hadn’t been able to walk for two weeks the last time, and Cole wasn’t eager to have a repeat.

Huffing and sweaty, Cole reached the top. He climbed over the last few rocks and stopped, feeling pretty proud of himself, when he noticed the man sitting in front of him.

“Hello there,” the man said. He looked ancient, with deep set wrinkles and a long white beard. He took a sip of his drink and smiled.

Okay, that’s creepy, Cole thought. He had thought he was the only one climbing. How had he not noticed this guy?

“Wha— who are you?” The words exited Cole’s mouth without permission. He really should work on his brain-to-mouth filter at some point.

“Maybe that is a question you should ask, but first: why do you climb the mountain?” The old man looked at Cole with something like curiosity. Curiosity about what?

“Because it’s a good way to get exercise?”

“You can tell me the truth, Cole. I don’t judge.”

“How do you know my name? I never introduced myself,” Cole took a step back. Was this man some sort of stalker? Nobody knew where he was. If he got kidnapped, or murdered, no one would be able to find him.

“Because I know you, Cole. I was there when you were born.”

“You know my Dad? Are you going to bring me back to him? Give me another lecture on how I’m a disappointment? I don’t need to hear it,” Cole crossed his arms and prepared to make a run for it. It would be suicidal to jump off the mountain, but he was a fast climber. The old man wouldn’t be able to catch up with him.

“I knew your mother. She was one of my students,” the old man stood and held up his hands in the ‘I surrender’ gesture.

“Student?”

“I taught her to be a hero. Did you think that all the stories she told you were made up?”

Cole hadn’t thought about his mom’s stories in years. She used to tell him about great heroes who could control the very elements themselves, who tamed dragons and fought against evil. He’d loved those stories.

“You’re telling me that all those stories about ninja and dragons were real? Yeah, and I’m a giant purple unicorn,” Cole glared at the old man. This guy had to be crazy, spouting nonsense about real-life superheroes and monsters. Mom had told him those stories for entertainment and bonding, nothing more.

“You are stubborn. Also like your mother, I suppose. I can prove to you that all the old legends are real. You just have to trust me,” the man held out his hand. His face was a mixture of hope and worry and maybe a little bit of fear. Fear of what, Cole didn’t know.

Cole hesitated for a moment. There was nothing left for him back at home, if he still had one, and no one cared if he went missing. The only people he cared about were either dead or better off without him. His life truly couldn’t get any worse, and if this man had known his mom he couldn’t be too bad. Cole took the hand.

#in the very early days of my time in this fandom I saw a headcanon that Cole's full name is Nicholas and it stuck in my head #still not happy with this but it's better than the first draft #bruise childhood friends au #cole ninjago #cole brookstone #ninjago cole #cole hence #ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago fic #ninjago fanfiction #lego ninjago fanfiction #kit's writing #bonus chapter will be coming soon!

10 notes · View notes

poisonandpages · 7 days

Text

Imagine you are a conservative catholic and you had your silly slutty phase when you were younger, but now you're ready to settle down and start your "holier than thou" era of life where you're cruel and judgemental to everybody else, never a kind word to say, despite the fact that you yourself are a sadistic person who never grew past being a bully in high school and decided to go into nursing where you'd find more vulnerable people to abuse. You have an older sister who's more or less the exact same, but you're slightly dumber.

Imagine your younger sister, a genuinely kind person, marries a man that you despise. Not for any of the valid reasons to criticise him, but because he's both a protestant and an outspoken person who will call you out when you say something objectively wrong. He does not blindly go along with everything you say like your own husband, and so you hate him.

Imagine you hate this man so much that as your sister is dying you and your other sister steal most of his property from her house and try to tamper with your dying sister's will to essentially steal their children. Not because you care for them and want to look after them, purely to spite the husband. Imagine you scowl at him throughout the funeral, not caring that his daughter is right beside him watching her mother be buried.

Imagine when you don't get custody of the children you convince him to let you, your sister, and your mother take the children a few days a week, ostensibly to keep them close to their mother's family, but really to abuse them in multiple ways including heavy psychological abuse - again, just to spite this one man.

Imagine these kids grown into teens and stop talking to you one by one as they realise how fucked up the situation is. Imagine the eldest one hasn't spoken to you in ten years.

Imagine around the same time these kids stop talking you, you realise you've spent all this time neglecting your own children, one of whom has fallen into heavy drug use and gotten another teen pregnant.

Imagine the baby's mother ODs and your own child is struggling so much with addiction care of the baby falls to you.

Imagine your own brother hangs himself because he suffered greatly from the death of his own wife and felt completely detached from everyone else. He couldn't possibly talk to you. He didn't trust you. But at the funeral you pretend you were best friends. From the other side of the hall your dead sister's children look at you with disgust. Your dead brother's children ignore you completely.

Imagine your child that gave you a grandchild comes out as transgender, but you don't accept that so you act as though they've died instead.

Imagine ten years after your sister's children stopped speaking to you, you realise your family has gotten a lot smaller and your mother may be dying, so you try to reach out to them. No apology, no acknowledgement of the time passed, no thought that maybe since they are all now adults between 22 - 30 they'll have a better understanding of what they were put through and why they're still struggling to recover from it years later, just a casual reach out as though you're old friends who haven't been able to catch up in a while. You don't even use your own social media profile, you borrow your daughter's. You invite them to your grandson's communion ceremony at the church they all still have trauma from because that was also part of the abuse that YOU and your family made them endure.

Are you struggling to imagine someone so cruel and stupid? I would too, if she weren't my own aunt.

#tw suicide #tw child abuse #personal #long post #tw OD #this is a very condensed version of everything #the details are just too much #but I had to vent this out because I am so very angry #I broke down crying last night out of sheer rage #like how dare she? after everything? how fucking dare she speak to me as though we're friends #hey everybody welcome to Auntie Anna's Tragic Backstory Extravaganza #making vent posts because the other option is breaking furniture #K in the unlikely event this post makes its way to you somehow I hope you get hit by a truck & your grandson winds up somewhere much better

2 notes · View notes

inkyquince · 2 years

Text

Sexting with Leighton

content warning. Feminization, lingerie, sexting and nudes, blackmail, masturbation.

Sending

Shall send "tasteful" pics of himself, the same way Avery would but it still comes across different. Avery placed his hand on the base of his clothed cock, mainly showing the outline through his underwear, making sure to have some stomach too, and its quite pleasing aesthetically? He's showing off his body but Leighton wants you to know how hard he is. Precum stain where the head of his cock presses against the material, hand slipped into the underwear, obviously jerking off. Cum spatters along stomach and happy trail.

Will also send pics of the videos he's watching, definitely of you, and making it obvious exactly what he's doing, his cock lying hard and heavy against his thigh, leaking against his trousers material, frame on the screen paused at any shot with a toy or him inside of you, maybe his cum on your face.

Sends the Thinking Of You text with the photo

Quite bored, would be shame if I shared some pictures of you around. Entertain me.

Touch yourself before coming to my office, not in the mood to play around today.

You weren't in school today. I guess we have to do the photoshoot in my home this time then.

Good morning. Show me how pretty my favorite student looks in the morning as my motivation for the day.

Receiving

Leighton generally wants to be surprised with nudes in the morning, maybe in the evening and in the night. Not because its to clear his head for the actual work day, but because it proves you're thinking of him outside of school. Wants to be teased, maybe just starting with a selfie, but shirt open a tad, trousers slung low or skirt tugged up high. Loves the chase, the build up, the tease. Obviously want pictures in their school uniform, but also generally "safe" clothing, soft jumpers and turtle necks, snug jeans or long skirts. All lifted up by the 4th picture, holding fabric between teeth to show off a scantily clad chest. Wants to be able to peel away protective layers to reveal something slutty, lewd. Nipple clamps, lingerie, cock rings, maybe some body writing like "Teacher's pet".

With a female pc, he wants them showing off their body in lingerie. Wants them draped in pretty things, sending pictures of them cupping their breasts, practically spilling out of the fabric. Underwear taut against their body, he wants to see every single part of you pressed against the soft material. Wants you trussed up all pretty, but obviously ready to be ruined. Nipples just peeking out of the bra cups, obvious arousal marks on the underwear. Better yet if there's a toy inside of you. Favorite one shall always be the dildo handle straining against your underwear, lifting the fabric away from your cunt enough to show off how big the dildo is, snug inside of you.

Male pc? He wants an entire photoshoot of them in the girl's school uniform. Leighton was bullied when he was in school, and nothing makes his stomach flutter than humiliating boys. He gets even harder if you actually enjoy it, if you're encouraged to keep wearing it all. Wants pictures of you in the soft pink striped thigh highs, short skirt just brushing the soft flesh spilling out the top. Another picture of your fingers lifting the skirt, clear outline of your cock against the simple panties. Shirt unbuttoned to reveal your nipples. The last picture must be cum stained underwear, the entire outfit ruffled with an obviously spent PC.

That much of a needy little student, needing your headmaster at this time of night?

My my, who knew the little rebel wanted people's eyes on them in such a whorish way.

Maybe panties and cock rings should be put in for all the boy's uniform.

Good girl, hiding your slutty side from everyone but your headmaster.

Send another, this time from the back.

My cock is still hard from the last picture. Don't you want to come and make your principle relax?

#leighton the headmaster #dol #nsft #quincewrites #degrees of lewdity #this is very #imprompu

111 notes · View notes

howuart · 1 year

Text

pre series ref sheet(s)

Kai got his two scars under his eye, from working in the forge at the age of ten. Nya bandaged him up and then the two walked into town together to get it treated properly.

Kai couldn't sleep that night so Nya spent the night up with him and got him to sleep by talking about her school.

Kai is very ill literate and has a hard time reading, thus Nya does most of that when they need to.

Kai doesn't have any burns since Ray and Maya gave up their powers not long after they were taken, and Kai was already nearing the age where he'd start to show signs of his element. Elements come slowly to the next generation unless the parent has died/willed it to them. Nya can take in a bit more water than most other people and Kai is somewhat fire immune.

Sadly I don't have many thoughts on pre zane, maybe i'll get more later but for now this is pretty much it. I'll probably change his outfit later. People know him for coming out of the Birch wood forest occasionally and helping, though they don't know anything about him. Thus he's known as the Spite of the forest. <- also since the weather doesn't seem to affect him.

Heterochromia since Dr. Julian didn't have two of the same color eyes when making him.

Jay I have way too many thoughts on.

First he was home-schooled till his parents couldn't teach him any more since Jay's really smart, so they started sending him to High school. He was 14 when he started. Now Jay lives in a junk yard and he's younger than most all of them thus bullied, also picked on for his Heterochromia, freckles and Curlly hair because the bullies can. So he started covering them up not long into his first school year.

During his second years he fully covered up his freckles and wore a contact to make his eyes match, Jay get's loud and doodles when he's stressed so yeah. during this year he meets wu, and well he can't really wait to ditch school. So after a talk with Ed and Edna, they let him stay with Wu. There he meets Cole and the two become close. before they meet Zane and since Zane's the last Jay wants to take him under his wing.

After his mom's death he and his father got into a lot of fights and well you know.

Ran away from home when he was 15 so just when he was supposed to start High school, after a year of living on his own he meets wu and starts to live with him.

Grew up with Kai for most all her life, is his support as much as he's hers. Has short hair since it's simply easier to take care of. Kai learned to cut hair so his sister would have nice hair for when she went to school. At the age of 13 she stopped education. Either because Kai couldn't pay for school any more or she was too smart for their village.

When they where little she almost drowned Kai when he made her mad once, and he'll never let her live it down.

This is lloyd-

Yeah I know doesn't look much like him, but any who this is when he was living with his mother. Now Misako had him for He's 4 when Misako leaves his at Darklesy since she's going to have to do much more research and it's not safe to keep Lloyd with her.

25 notes · View notes

sebxxrhds · 4 months

Text

ꕀ ᐝ 𖠳 charles melton, cis man, he&him 𖠳 ᐝ ꕀ ‷ heads up ; if you hear TIME TO PRETEND by MGMT blaring, it’s most likely SEBASTIAN RHODES making their way down the shore ! they’re 30 years old and celebrate their birthday on 08/13 - i knew they were a LEO ! especially since they’re very CHARISMATIC and MANIPULATIVE. they are from CHICAGO, IL, staying in SUN RETEAT and are currently working as a LIFEGUARD/ESCORT, here at the cape. they always did remind me of nights spent partying like a vip, days spent at the beach flirting with everyone they see, and a charming smile that hides the truth.‷ tw: drugs

Stats

Full Name: Sebastian Elliot Rhodes

Nickname(s): Seb, Sebby

Age/Date Of Birth: Thirty/13th August

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Man, He/him

Height: 5''11

Sexuality: Bisexul

Occupation: Lifeguard & Escort

Parents: Edward & Loretta Rhodes

Siblings: None

Personality:

Zodiac Sign: Leo

Positive Traits: Charismatic, Charming, Outgoing

Negative Traits: Blunt, Manipulative, Materialistic

Hobbies: Working out, Listening to Podcasts, Partying.

Likes: Money, Expensive Whiskey, Fast Cars, Sex.

Dislikes: Cheap Clothes, Rude People, Cats, Winter.

Biography:

Sebastian grew up practically having to take care of himself from a young age. His parents both worked all the time to make enough money to put food on the table and clothes on Sebastian's back, and they never quite had enough for much else.

He hated having to go to school with thrift shop clothes that didn't quite fit and a lunch box that wasn't quite full.

He was bullied relentlessly for being poorer than the other kids but Seb's dad always taught him to stand up for himself, which he did, but this often lead to fights on the playground and Seb getting sent home from school.

By the time he was starting High School Seb decided he was done with getting teased and bullied for being poor so he started faking it.

He became a little more selective with what he wore and told people his clothes were 'vintage' and super rare, to hide the fact they were from the thrift store. He'd even shoplift a few pieces of clothing from the mall if he was really running low on threads.

When he got a little older it became a little hard to fake it. So he had to make some real money, and when his part time job at the local TJ Maxx wasn't quite hitting it, he started selling drugs on the side to make some extra cash.

He quickly found he wasn't very good at dealing though and it didn't help that he detested the smell of weed, so he needed a new plan.

The retail life wasn't for him just as much as dealing wasn't, so he had to really think of how he was going to finance this faux lifestyle he had created for himself.

He looked around, scrolled through the ads on craigslit for days, until he stumbled upon somebody looking for 'company' and willing to pay handsomeley for it.

Seb was nervous as shit at first, but after meeting the guy, who ended up being a lonely old tech ceo who just wanted someone to have dinner with him at a fancy restaraunt, he didn't find it all too bad and the pay out was pretty good.

He started finding more and more ads like this, some a little weird and outlandish than others, but some of them were pretty simple and Sebastian had never made so much money doing so little.

He quickly fell into the world of escorting and found he rather liked it. He never told a soul about how he made all his money, and always just came up with some lie about 'work'.

He'd even lie to people he met at bars and make up some bullshit about being born into money, and that his parents were mega rich, something that often helped him get laid.

Eventually Sebastian grew tired of his home town, he truly hated the cold, and was pretty sure he had gone through every rich asshole in the city willing to pay for his time, so he headed for the beach and landed in Cape May, a place known for it's hot sandy beaches and rich as hell residents, just the place for a guy like Seb looking to catch a tan and maybe increase his list of clientele.

Other Stuff:

Sebastian doesn't mind being called Seb, but call him Sebby or Bastian or anything else and he will likely want to fight you.

He got a job as a lifeguard to keep him occupied during the day which is when his business isn't so active. He enjoys it because he gets to sit in the hot sun all day and network with all the hot rich beach goers.

He doesn't get close to people often, since he's often worried they will find the truth about how he makes his money and maybe also that he's not as much of a hard ass as he pretends to be on the surface.

Has a mild obsession with old 70's and 80's movies since he was practically raised watching his dad's old collection of VHS tapes since they could never afford the new stuff when he was a kid.

He's secretely a hopless romantic, when he's not working he is all over the apps and loves going on dates, though it rarely ends well.

Looks like an asshole, acts like an asshole, walks like an asshole but deep down he's not THAT much of an asshole.

tbc

Wanted Connections

Bestie/Ride or Die

Clients!

Exes/Hookups

Roomate?

#cape.intro

3 notes · View notes

beezusvreeland · 5 months

Text

a very good idea - chapter 10

summary: After your boyfriend cheats on you at a party, you break up with him, who tells you nobody else is willing to be with you like him. You decide to prove him wrong, with a little help from a new friend.

ship: miguel o'hara x f!reader

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 10

“Thanks for coming”, Miguel said when you sat by his side. You made a point to keep a distance, not sure how things would play out. You spent a few hours deciding whether or not to meet him at the park, but ultimately put on some sweats, sneakers and left the house before you could change your mind.

It’s a windy sunday, and you have to twist your hair and put it inside your hoodie to keep it from flying all over the place. There were a few people around, mostly walking with their dogs. You and Miguel were the only ones sitting in the grass. You braced yourself, watching the pets and the leaves falling, Miguel had his elbow on top of his raised knee, hand messing with his hair. You can feel his gaze searching for you and then looking away. But if he wanted to say something, he would have to initiate it, you decided. You already went through the trouble of leaving a party in the middle of the night and your cozy bed on a cold afternoon.

Miguel let out a breath.

“Last night took a weird turn”, he started.

“To say the least.”

“I hm…I was way out of line…And I’m sorry for that.”

You turned to the side, your eyes finally meeting his. Miguel didn’t look too good. Still a beautiful boy carved in marble, but tired, with puffy eyes and very messy hair. He was wearing dark jeans pants, a black sweatshirt and a very distressed pair of red Chucks. His eyebrows were furrowed, he looked like he was trying really hard to understand something.

“I guess I’m just confused. Out of nowhere you break up with your boyfriend and ask me if I can pretend to be your boyfriend for some undisclosed reason and that never actually happened, but we got closer and I thought we were becoming friends, and then at the party in one moment…”, Miguel was speaking so fast you had a hard time keeping up with him. “You know when…during the concert…shit, things seemed good, like, really good and then I left for a moment and came back to find you chatting with your ex, the one I thought you hated, but apparently not so much. I just…fuck!”

There was no way of pinpointing only one of the emotions that were going through your head. Your blood was boiling full of anger, confusion and so many other things you couldn’t identify.

“Well, I did ask you to be my fake boyfriend, which in highsight was really stupid and a total impulse after a break up, and I’m sorry for that, I guess, even though you said yes”, your tone was pure frustration. “You didn’t know why I asked you, we weren’t friends before or anything and you knew I had just broken up with someone, and you said yes! It was just a stupid proposition, you could’ve changed your mind, told me to fuck off at any point or stopped hanging out with me. It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”

“I…I…”

“You know, Miguel, I get your confusion and I’m sorry if I caused any harm, okay? But I’m fucking confused too. About all the above and also why you keep acting like you had no idea about my loneliness and what I’ve been through before high school. You were there! You saw the whole thing happening!” The next part, you said in a lower voice, refusing to cry one more time: “And you didn’t do anything. You watched as your friends and even girlfriends bullied me and did nothing.”

And there it was. Your main frustration with Miguel, one that never left you, even as you started to develop feelings for him. Maybe it was the whole reason why you picked him of all people to be your pretend boyfriend. In some twisted way, you wanted to understand what he did — rather, what he didn’t do —, you felt like he owed you for turning his back on you so many times. Harry had told you no one was ever going to want you or stand you. Your ex used words, Miguel acted like it.

“I guess I resent you for it.” That was the most you ever said to him, definitely the most you’ve ever spoken, to anyone, about your middle school years and the deep scars you were left with.

Miguel looked surprised, sadness taking over his teary eyes. You didn’t know what you expected to find, but tears were not it. He looked ahead for a few moments before speaking again.

“You are right…God, I was such a stupid kid. I was just scared, you know? The whole time.”

“But you always looked so confident. People were drawn to you because of it.”

“And I was convinced that if I didn’t follow what they were saying or doing, they would find out the truth, that I had no idea of who I was. It was easier being who they wanted me to be”, Miguel said, he almost sounded…ashamed. He turned to you. “I admired you, you know?”

“Sure”, you scoffed. “Come on now.”

“No, really! You have always been yourself, in spite of anyone or anything”, his intensity said he was telling you the truth. “I knew people weren’t very nice to you, but I had no idea of how bad it actually was. Hey, look at me”, Miguel grabbed your hand. “I only learned that wasn’t normal behavior once I started hanging out with Pete and the guys. If I knew then what I know now…God, I would have never looked away, I would have stayed by your side, I swear.”

It was a lot to process. His words were sweet and you really wanted to believe them.

“I should’ve done that as soon as you landed me a pen for the first time”, he said quietly, squeezing your hand.

“Do you remember that?” You had assumed he had just forgotten it, given the way he acted during the years after that.

“Are you kidding?”, Miguel let out a soft chuckle. “A little boy was devastated that day, having just discovered that his parents decided to divorce each other and that his dad was going away. He was so sad he barely packed his things for school. A teacher shamed him for it, but this little girl, the one with the glasses and the desk organized with a notebook with beautiful handwriting and supplies, was kind to him and made his day less horrible. He never forgot about that.”

Still holding his hand, you watched as tears fell from his eyes. Your heart ached a bit less and you felt a massive weight being lifted from your shoulders.

“Well…you’re welcome”, you said, a timid smile on your face.

Miguel laughed, looking at you with an expression you could only describe as tender. His thumb started circling your knuckles. Both of you shifted your gaze to your hands holding each other.

“Do you forgive me?”, he whispered.

“I do”, you whispered back.

“What now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is your proposition still on?”

“No, I think we already established it was very stupid.”

“Oh”, he sounded disappointed.

“We could try to get to know each other, since we’ve never actually been friends”, you suggested.

“No more pretending?”

“No more pretending.”

“I’d like that”, he squeezed your hand once more.

***

On monday, after school, you go to a coffee shop with Jess and Gwen to catch up. Sitting at the edge of her chair, the blonde girl beamed as she recalled what happened at the party.

“I was talking to some people when Miles, all of the sudden, showed up and asked me to dance”, she said with excitement. “And I was like ‘this isn’t a dancing song’, there was a terrible playlist on the speakers, so he went away for a second and all of the sudden, In da Club, by 50 cent, started playing…It was so silly, but so fun.”

“Honestly, it looked like everyone at the party woke up from a trance. People came to the living room and started dancing”, Jess took a sip from her iced latte. “It was one of those moments where I look around and think: ‘God, so this is the whole enjoy being young thing is about’”.

“Are you sure it was the dancing or all the kissing you did while dancing?”, Gwen raised an eyebrow.

“What?”, you gasped. “How am I hearing about this just now? How was it? Who was the guy?”

“Well, honey, I don’t kiss and tell”, Jess teased.

“Okay, I guess blondie is telling, then.”

Gwen looked at Jess, then turned to you, giving you a mischievous smile.

“Ben O’Reilly.”

“Jessica!”, your sudden scream makes the baristas roll their eyes and say something like ‘My God, I hate teenagers’.

Jess used her hands to hide her face, while Gwen couldn’t stop laughing.

“I don’t even know where to start…Jessica, my love, this is so random!”

“I know, I know”, she uncovered her flushed face. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I mean…why him of all people?”

“Well, he is really hot.”

“I guess we have to agree with that.”

“What did you even talk about? I know he is a bad guy, but I can’t stand him for more than a few minutes. He just loves himself so much”, Gwen shook her head.

“Oh, blondie, we did very little talking”, Jess laughed, looking at her coffee. “Let’s just say that he is very good at expressing himself without words. Like, very good.”

You were happy, amused even, to see your dearest friend enjoy herself so much. Jess’ standards for dating had always been so high, you couldn’t have imagined a party hookup with Ben O’Reilly.

“Now that we told you our party experiences, wanna tell us what happened to you, honey?”, she turned to you, her expression turning serious.

“Miles told me you weren’t feeling well and that your sister picked up. I was really worried”, Gwen said.

You looked at your friends, trying to think of a way of telling them where you were at without giving too much away. There was so much you still wanted to figure out.

“I don’t feel comfortable talking in depth about it right now…”

Gwen and Jess nodded.

“We understand”, Gwen pats your knee.

“What I can say is that Miguel and I had a fight and after that I was just so drawn out, I decided to go home.”

“You could’ve reached out to us at the party, we would go with you in a heartbeat”, Gwen said.

“I know that, blondie. But if I did, you wouldn’t have experienced all these beautiful memories you just told me about.”

Gwen sighed.

“But, honey, and it’s okay if you don’t want to go further, you and Miguel seemed to be doing well during the concert. You looked like…like a couple in love.”

You shifted in your chair. Was that what it looked like? Because you felt like it, there was no point in denying it anymore, but you thought maybe Miguel didn’t feel the same way. You still aren’t sure about it.

***

Even though the deal was off, you decided that you’d still help Miguel with his english grades. You had avoided him during the start of the week, not feeling ready to talk again after the conversation you had at the park.

There was someone seated at your usual tutoring table outside, but it wasn’t Miguel. It was Peter.

“You are in need of assistance with your english grades too?”, you elbowed him softly.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“I hear you are a great teacher, so I just might accept the offer.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, you know, the streets”, Peter seemed down compared to his high energy self. Still, he would not let the opportunity to banter pass him by, no matter at what cost.

“Are these streets tall and beautiful?”, you seated in front of him.

“Yes, exactly those ones”, he remained quiet for a few moments, then looked up at you. “It’s not my business what you two have been up to or what your relationship status is. However, I do care about Miguel’s happiness.”

You gulped. Deep inside, you felt the need to be liked by Peter. Not only because he was great and had been nothing but the nicest to you, but because he was Miguel’s best friend. He obviously had a huge impact on him, like Miguel told you.

“I think you are good for him, you bring up his brighter sides. It’s nice to see that”, he gave you a soft smile. “I guess what I want is to ask you to please be careful with his heart.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t give him false hopes just to let him down. He likes you a whole lot.”

“I like him too, Pete.”

“No, buddy, Miguel doesn’t just like you. He has had feelings for you ever since I met him. Probably even before that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

<< chapter 9

>> chapter 11

all chapters

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a very good idea playlist

#a very good idea #oscar isaac fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #fake relationship #friends to lovers #unrequited crush #Spotify

6 notes · View notes

kikuneesama · 2 years

Text

Happy birthday @enevera!! Here is a little something something, I hope you might like. I'm sorry I couldn't come up with anything cooler fsdklfsdaklf. I havent written in a while and idk with my brain yet. Anyway, wish you a great day and all good things. Sending hugs <3

Uh, yeah, this is I guess Satoru x Suguru x Shouko .... maybe

2064 words

unedited because im lazy.

There is this certain type of cigarette smell that transforms Shouko back in time whenever she smells it. It does not matter where exactly she is, Tokyo’s main station, the narrow ways between the high rise buildings of Ropponing, the long way up the road to the school, if she just catches a whiff of that smell it is like she timewarped back to being a teenager.

Maybe that is why she stopped smoking those brands of cigarettes completely.

Once you enter adulthood, many people in the country start looking back at their childhood summers with this nostalgia for a time that seemed almost too perfect to be real. Anime, movies, music and tv often discuss these summers, the longing an adult feels for them and how a time like this would never happen ever again.

Shouko hated this. Summers were hot, summers were sweaty and overtly sunny and full of bugs and cicada noise. As a kid she would hide in the basement, and now, as an adult, she was doing much the same.

Her childhood summer, the one she longs for, happened when started when she was 15. It lasted for much more than four years and it smelled of chewing gum, wooden rooms and menthol cigarettes.

Being a person who can see cursed spirits didn’t make you a popular student with the other kids in schools. So for her first 8 or so years in school, Shouko tried to stay out of everybody’s way. That didn’t mean they didn’t whisper about her behind her back, thinking her interest in medicine and especially forensic sciences were odd. Still, she didn’t have it as bad as other kids like her, she was not bullied, she was mostly just left alone.

It was good to be alone. She knew how to cope alone.

It was an unusually warm April day, the cherry blossoms just falling down the trees when Shouko entered Jujutsu High for the first time. She was almost sweating in the black new uniform with the long sleeves. She was greeted by the headmaster, introduced to her teacher and told that she’d share the year with two boys. She wasn’t very interested in them.

Shouko heard Gojo Satoru before she saw him. The corridor with the student rooms was full of the noise of his laughter. When he introduced himself to her, with that sly smile of his, and told her who he was, what significance he had, how he was going to be unbeatable, Shouko guessed and guessed right instantly, that he was overplaying.

That he was lonely was obvious, even if you couldn’t see his eyes.

Geto Suguru was a different kind of boy. He was quiet, an outsider and he knew it. He was friendly, always overly courteous. He inquired about her medical books and anatomy posters and overall did some friendly small talk. Shouko guessed that he too had been mostly alone and instead of becoming louder, like Satoru, had just quieted down more.

All three of them were similar in that regard.

At first she thought she'd never like either of them very much.

And so classes began.

Getting to know both of them was a slow but rewarding process. Shouko had been right about Satoru, he had been isolated from other people most of his life so far and craved human connections. He would come by her room even when she was studying, hanging on her bed throwing balls at the ceiling and down until she told him to leave.

Suguru turned out to be a real nerd. Super interesting and classic and modern Anime and Manga, though he hid his addiction well. In his room he kept most of his Manga volumes under his bed and in the corner, all neatly packed and dust free, as if they were porn magazines. But if he was asked about it, he would never stop talking. Shouko sometimes spent evenings with him just sitting side by side reading in comfortable silence.

She knew the boys were doing things together without her too. That they spent time with just the two of them. One time she opened the door to Satoru’s room for this and that and they were laying shoulder to shoulder on his bed.

At the time she had no way to explain the stinging she felt at being excluded from the intimate moment.

They were a trio. Most first years came into the school in Trio’s or groups of four, but none were as close as the three of them. It was impossible to mention Suguru without mentioning Satoru and Shouko too. Triple S, the first years called them once they graduated to year two, and they meant it in annoyance and admiration.

That second spring, Shouko brought the menthol cigarettes for the first time. She ignored the “That’s bad for your health” and “those stink” comments from Satoru whenever she put on one, and his dramatically waving hands if it was around him. Smoking was nice and a stress relief and made her feel good.

Smoking wasn’t allowed in the dorms or through the open windows as the smell could seep into the furniture and curtains, so Shouko often had to go outside to have some. Either of the boys, sometimes both of them, often accompanied her then, even if Satoru often pulled a face.

The smell of the cigarettes seeped into all of them anyway, their hair, their clothes, their minds that summer, with so many things happening. Shouko was watching the boys grow from the sidelines. Her career path was different and so they were often separated. But before and after missions they’d still all sit together, outside, on porches or in gardens and on benches, talking, laughing and the smell of Shouko’s cigarettes were always there too.

Shouko loved both of them. Each in their own way, but at best together. In those times she used to think that if she’d be able to live with them side by side forever, she would never need to marry. They would be family enough.

Suguru could endlessly talk about manga he had bought, new shonen jump issues and anime adaptations, but it was Satoru who brought in the story that finally helped her figure her mind out. It was a Shoujo manga, something Suguru would never touch if he could help it. Satoru was raving about it, the story of a protagonist who couldn’t choose between two suitors. “She loves them both,” Satoru exclaimed. “So she can’t choose! It's incredibly exciting to read.”

“You can’t love two people,” Shouko said in reflex, but took the books anyway. To humour him.

Amongst all the relatively standard romance and reverse-harem tropes Shouko actually did find the narrative pretty interesting. The lead character did love both boys very clearly and struggled to decide who to pursue. Didn’t help that both guys had different personality traits that fit neatly into hers, but none of them was perfect.

When she gave the books back to Satoru she told him she liked it, but not without gritting her teeth a little. Still, he smirked, because of course he did.

Not long after that, at the height of sweaty summer, Shouko felt like hanging out with Suguru, so she made her way over to his dorm room, her arms full of books to study with. It was not locked, the door just leaning, so she pushed it lightly with her foot to have it swing open. Suguru was there with Satoru.

They were kissing.

This time the sting felt much more real. She turned and ran away.

The moon was already up and Shouko had not found sleep yet. It was good that the boys were a couple, they were good, they worked together, they liked each other, right? That was good. She was just upset that this meant they’d do more things without her. That she’d be excluded more, because couples want to be alone. Right?

“You can’t love two people.” So it was.

She tried to stay away from them a little more afterwards. They deserved to explore this thing on their own, without her around. Plus, in middle school she had always been alone, so she must be used to it.

But losing both her best friends at the same time was a hard pill to swallow.

Not that they were actively excluding her. No Satoru still came around to annoy her when he felt like she needed cheering up, Suguru still invited her over if he had a new manga issue bought somewhere, or a novel to share, but Shouko blocked them off most times. They should spend time together, not waste it on her.

Shouko smoked more cigarettes than any other time before. The pain ate at her insides. Never had she thought that losing a friendship could hurt like that.

She thought of that manga again, that main character that loved both of the male leads equally as much. The tear it brought her to have to choose possibly, the fact that she couldn't. The fact that Shouko’s own reaction had been to immediately dismiss it.

Maybe that was it, she thought, a midnight in winter. Maybe she loved them both to equal measures. Maybe that was why this felt more like heartbreak.

The next week Shouko started observing herself around both of the others. How she felt when she was with each of them alone, how she felt when they were all three together. At the end of it, there was no doubt about it really. You could in fact love two people.

She didn’t know how to confess what she felt, too scared that she would ruin what little they had left. Satoru and Suguru loved each other clearly and they liked her well enough, but was that a good basis for an actual, real, relationship as three?

At least she stopped blocking their advances and started hanging out with them more again. More cigarette smoke and book talk and laughter. She was relieved to be by their side again.

One night, way later than Shouko was allowed to stay in the male dorm rooms, they were laying together on Satoru’s bed. Satoru was telling a story about the clan house his family owned, about one of the old guy’s that always came around to stare at him as if he was a rare jewelry item. Satoru was good at telling stories, always making them very imaginative and easy to follow.

Suguru smiled and laughed along too, even though in recent times he had grown so quiet and often looked tired. In hindsight, Shouko felt like she should have known something was not quite right with him.

Still, that night, she felt so at peace with both of them by her side. She slung her hand around Satoru’s - at least the one he wasn’t waving around– and then the other around Suguru’s. They let her, entwined her fingers with hers. And so they fell asleep eventually, just holding on to each other.

Shouko wondered the next morning if confessing was necessary. If they’d just continue being together like this, it was enough for her.

The day Suguru left she found a note on her notepad in her dorm room. He had hastily scribbled it down right there, just three words, no other goodbye.

He did not go to Satoru. He did not say goodbye to anyone else. Instead he scribbled something for Shouko, maybe in hopes she would understand.

It was something she recognised from Bleach, a popular manga at the time. A character, ready to leave her old life behind for ever, as a goodbye to friends, had left a note behind.

Goodbye, Halcyon days.

And though at first she did not understand what that meant, she instinctively knew the feeling those words wanted to convey.

To him, the carefree days of youth, the long summer of their childhood that they’d long for as adults, was over.

Suguru was not saying goodbye to her specifically, he was saying goodbye to the version of him that had been in the last two or so years.

That day she went to smoke outside her dorm even if it was against the rules. She could not explain why, but the taste suddenly made her feel sick.

In the end, she never got to tell them.

#dunnooo how to tag this because ihave no tagging system on this blog #asdfaskldfhsd #oh well #HBD VERA KISS FOR YOU

8 notes · View notes

bitletsanddrabbles · 2 years

Text

I’ve seen all sorts of posts about what people miss about fandom in ‘the old days’ and ‘old time fanfiction’, so I thought I’d do one myself. You know what I miss?

I miss the threat of cease and desist orders.

And before you go “Ah, yes, another post on how we were getting away with so much!” let me stop you right there by pointing out: we weren’t getting away with shit. Anne Rice made that very, very clear. Everything that we ‘got away with’ we ‘got away with’ because the creators themselves supported fan fiction or, at the very least, didn’t bother to come after us. Anyone who decided to shut us down had but to call their lawyers and we were toast.

So what was so good about that, you ask? What was good about the continual worry that it would all go south? If we weren’t part of the Glorious Rebellion Against The Creator?

One word: Manners.

The rest of the fandom could be as nasty a bunch of bullies as they liked. They could write essays on how their high school physics instructor told them it was impossible to fly on a magic broomstick and how that knowledge made them so superior. They could bully actors into giving up their careers or, better yet!, contemplate suicide. They could be as intolerant and unforgiving and demanding as they liked, but the writers?

We had to at least pretend to respect the creators and view them as actual people. We needed our disclaimers saying “I own nothing except my student debts and a pile of dirty laundry! Please, oh creator, do not break me open like a bag of groceries and dance on my sticky bones!” No, really, those were things people actually said in their disclaimers. We needed those to keep ourselves safe.

Unlike the rest of the fandom, we could not take that safety for granted. We couldn’t afford it. Thought something should have been done differently? “I get where the author was going with this, but I’d have like to have seen it done this way instead”. Thought a scene would have been more interesting from the view of a side character rather than the main? “I thought I’d explore this through the eyes of John Doe over here.” We could still write everything we do now, and for all of the same reasons, but we could not get away from the fact that the creator was a human being who had reached into their skull and pulled out something that inspired us.

It protected us in other ways too. When people came at us complaining that fan fiction was disrespectful to the author, we had a thesis paper’s worth of disclaimers: disclaimers thanking the author for their work; disclaimers promising the reader that we were just having fun; disclaimers saying in plain words that this was not to be taken seriously, but was written as finals-week-therapy at three-bloody-am. Even the people who were lying in their disclaimers, who really did look on the creators as the lowest form of life, had to pretend to have respect and that, in turn, made sure they could never completely overlook the truth of the matter: without the creator, they wouldn’t have anything to write about.

We were Emperors and the threat of a law suit was the man following us in the parade, whispering in our ears: Remember, one day you will die.

It kept us humble.

It kept us respectful.

It kept us, to some degree, empathetic. After all, we were writers too, weren’t we? We were just having fun, mind, or practicing our writing, or whatever, but the important part was that we were all writers.

Maybe it’s a reflection of the people I spent time with, but it showed in our meta too. When talking about characters, the other fans might sprinkle their posts with snide comments about authorial intent, but we stuck to observations about the characters themselves. “But of course, the creator didn’t think about that” was again a non-writer line. If we wondered what the creator had been doing in a particular plot, it was because we were genuinely curious and wanted to know, not because we wanted to look clever. If the creator ended the series like a Shakespearean comedy rather than a John Webster piece, we didn’t sit around debating the likelihood that the whole cast would be eaten by a rabid rhino the second the credits stopped rolling, because really, let’s look at the creator’s history here. We celebrated our happy ending.

We had conversations because we wanted to enjoy things. We were in the fandom to have fun, period, end stop.

This was really important when I was in my twenties and working on getting a B.A. in Creative Writing. The idea of publishing, particularly in a pre-self-publishing craze, was daunting. Basically everything the big publishing houses put out were novels. That was a lot of work, a lot of revision, a lot of money for editors and agents and shipping things around. You were looking at a lot of rejection, so much so that writers like Steven King gave advice in interviews and autobiographies on how to deal with the sea of ‘sorry, not interested’. And it wasn’t much money, usually. The idea that, if you made it, you could wind up with millions of ‘fans’ bitching about how the book you got on eating disorders in 1893 had given you bad information and calling you a no talent, idiotic hack because you believed it was enough to make someone just give up and go into landscaping. However, the knowledge that people might be inspired to write their own things based off of your work, that they might recognize you as the source of their inspiration, and that there might wind up being a communal, living body of work based on something that you pried out of your brain….that was exciting. That was worth it. That made being part of a fandom and the thought of having one of your own encouraging and fun and supportive.

To twenty something me, that made being a published author seem like an infinitely better job than packing groceries.

Then we got lawyers. We got rights. That should have been a good thing, and in ways it is, but we now have the privilege of being entitled, spoiled bullies like the rest of the fans, and God forbid we not make the most of our privileges. ‘Having fun and enjoying the thing’ has given way to ‘find as many things to be dissatisfied about as possible’. Telling the nay-sayers ‘no, we’re all just having fun’ has turned into a battle to defend our hobby against someone armed with a list of fiction summaries along the lines of ‘fixing the plot because the author is a no talent hack who couldn’t write their way out of a wet paper bag!’

Forty something me packs groceries for a living and plans on doing it until I retire. Yeah, self-publishing is a thing now, and I’m financially stable enough to do it. I could finish a rough draft (Hell, I have one that’s probably good enough to pitch at an editor), hire someone to help me clean it up, and get it out into the world.

I just don’t want to. It might do well, and then what? I get to hear all about how I’m an idiot because side plot B didn’t make sense to five people? About how someone had a great revelation about character C and it’s a pity I couldn’t be clever enough to have actually thought about it myself? About how they know that my story is really super cringe, but they found a way to think about it that I never intended and actually makes it good? About how all of the problematic parts are clearly because I’m majority? (Well, you know, mixed status, but that just means ‘worst of both worlds’.)

Working retail I have to put up with a constant stream of superior people being nasty and critical, but I don’t have to spend more money than it takes to drive to work. I don’t have to let people see my thoughts and dreams. I don’t have to hand them characters that I’ve poured hours of thought and care into, developing them to be the best, most human people I can manage, only to have them run over with steamrollers and be criticized for making them so flat.

Not to mention it pays better.

No, really. People assume that once you’ve published a book or worked on a TV script, you’re set for life, but I’ve already made more money this year boxing groceries than a bottom tier novelist. And before you say ‘oh, but the bottom tier is practically unknown and doesn’t need to worry about fans’, that is not the point. The point is that a lot of well known creators have second jobs. They still get routinely attacked by people who claim to like their work.

It’s not encouraging anymore. It’s not supportive. And I’m sure there are people out there all ready to say ‘Oh, but with you it will be different because-” no it won’t. I’m not that special. I’m not special at all, except in that way that everyone is a unique and special individual, and that statement applies to every human being in history, including the genocidal maniacs.

There are days I’m not even sure why I bother with fan fiction anymore, except that I want to write and this is what’s inspired me. Half the time it feels like people just see my comments section and go ‘Ah yes! A fresh forum to complain about the creator!’ or my meta and go ‘Oh yeah! I can add to this, and get in a few digs on the creator to boot! Gee, I can’t believe you forgot that part!’ And I want to get better at writing and that requires feed back and being able to ask people who have different specialties than I do how things work and…

I just want to be able to enjoy talking to people about things again. I want to be able to read a great observation on a character and not have it ruined by the obligatory “But of course, we have to take into account who’s writing it!” comment. I want to be able to see a story with an awesome looking summary that isn’t labeled “fixing what the creator ruined by being a no-talent hack”. I want to be able to see I have a comment and not have to hold my breath that it’s yet another person complaining about what a horrible, awful thing the creator did by writing a scene that makes me feel represented in a way nothing else ever has and how much they hate it and of course I hate it too, right? I want to not feel bad about supporting a fan author knowing full well that they’re writing because they think the original creator sucks and will interpret everything possible in a way that reflects badly on them.

I’m glad we have the right to create fan works without fear of repercussions, but I’m really not sure we deserve it.

#writing #fanfiction #fandom #let's see how long until i delete this one

19 notes · View notes