#finally started reading the outsiders with my eighth grade students today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seijohsfairy · 3 years

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you’ve been in love with kuroo tetsuro for years, silently supporting from the sidelines. it’s where you feel comfortable, felt- comfortable. so now that kuroo finds out you’re his most loyal fan?

.wordc. 9.5k tw manipulation, degradation!, corruption, bullying, dubcon/noncon, coercion, yandere kuroo, fingering, oral, Kuroo is on the world’s biggest ego trip

.author’s note. I finally finished this monster after struggling for so long ( ɵ̥̥ ˑ̫ ɵ̥̥) inspired by fanatic by @/jackrrabbit. if you want to read an amazing bullying smut, it’s seriously perfection

An obsession. If someone asked, you’d never call it that. An appreciation of the sport maybe, or of the hard work and dedication of the players. But an obsession might’ve been more accurate, as you have been a fan for years now. At least you can admit it to yourself. Not a day goes by where you forget to think about volleyball, and more in particular, him. It’s not your fault it makes you so happy… It’s not at all, and yet—

You’re able to watch the young men through the open doors of the gym, the resounding bangs of spikes flattening against the polished floor filling the building. You huff out in the afternoon sun and hide under the sun-bleached, red parasol as best you can, before wiping a bead of sweat from your temple. Soon everyone will be pouring out of the classrooms, which brings a smile to your face. But for now, you spare another look inside the bright hall, following the red jerseys as they move swiftly around the court. The speed at which the balls connect with the floor have always impressed you, but your eyes are instead on the middle of the group, tracing the number one mindlessly.

“Senpai, are you alright?” your junior squeaks out. You flinch in surprise at her question, almost dropping the drink you’re holding in the process. Her short brown hair sticks to her face where a wide-eyed expression marks it, though a small, unsure smile stays in place. You quickly bring out a laugh though, waving off her concern.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry,” you put down the glass can and press your cool fingers to your forehead, smiling, “the heat just makes it hard to actually pay attention. Could you repeat that, please?”

“I’m just so glad you suggested this, s’all!” she beams, putting the last of the lemonade out on the table, each can in between ice packs. They’re already dripping, coming summertime close to unbearable. “My big brother always talks about the fanclub at home and that other teams don’t have a fanclub near as good as ours!” You smile at her while you pour chunks of ice into the white wine, putting it out too. The entire table is decorated with the team colors, flyers to one side, donation jar and cash register on the other, with all the drinks, ice pops and watermelon slices in the middle.

You even made all of the small, red cat charms that hang from the parasol yourself. A bit overkill perhaps, but no effort really feels big enough when you’re as dedicated to a team as you are, even if it’s embarrassing to say. But well… you’d do just about anything to support Nekoma and the man you’ve been crushing on for years now. While you peer up at the windows of the classrooms, mentally keeping track of just how much longer you’d have to wait for the rest of the fanclub to join you, you miss the proud look the younger girl sends your way. Yui, the libero’s younger sister, pulls her hair up in a tiny ponytail. “You must be so proud since you started it all by yourself.”

You look back down at her, flushing. “Of course I am proud of the fanclub, but I’m even more proud of our team. Y’know, I’ve been watching some of them since middle school and they all seem to enjoy it so much. It makes me want to support them in any way I can.” You’ve taken the requests of the team to heart to the best of your ability. Hopefully you can sell a lot, they’d really need new cleaning equipment and some of the shorts and jerseys could definitely be replaced with new ones.

“Of course Nekoma’s angel would say that,” a voice giggles, the black haired girl strolling up behind you. All the others walk close behind, right when the bell indicating the last class rings. The rest of the fanclub waves politely, many of the girls with their own healthy flush. “Make some space, Mrs. Kuroo, everyone will be getting out in a minute or so.” You give the other third-year a little poke in her side, looking down at the menu as you pick at the corner of the laminated sheet. It’s so silly, but the nickname makes you all warm inside. How nice it would be to actually be… well. You shouldn’t think so far ahead, or not ahead at all, since Kuroo Tetsuro has absolutely zero interest in you. The overflowing amount of love you have for him isn’t making up for anything.

“Don’t call me Mrs. Kuroo. It’s embarrassing,” you tell the raven-haired girl, glancing back inside the hall for just a moment to watch as said man gulps down his water, sweat drenching his hairline and dripping down his chin. “Even if I like it, he doesn’t know I exist.” Some of the girls coo at your admission, all of them at least aware that you’ve looked up to the Captain for years. Your friend sends you a knowing look, before cracking her fingers and getting to work on the cash register. She’s been trying to get you to say something for months, and with the last few weeks of high school growing closer and closer, you can’t even blame her.

But what would you even say to the guy you’ve crushed on for so long? After all, you’ve been in his class for three years now and he never once spoke to you directly either. He’d probably be creeped out by your dedication to him. Before you can think of any more, bunches of students start pouring out of the buildings, looking tired out by the day. When they see your stand, many of them light up, already taking out their wallets to get some cool lemonade. You clap your hands and look at the girls surrounding you, before nodding. “Alright, let’s do this! We’re going to sell everything out today. Yui, you get that side?” You turn to the first few customers and put on your best smile, handing them a menu. “Welcome to the Neko Outdoor Café! Would you like a drink?”

///

“Captain!” Yamamoto calls, pout more pronounced with each passing second. “Please let us take a break. Please.” He’s about to get on his knees and beg. “Come on, man. I need this.”

The raven haired man just lifts a brow in his direction, before turning his attention back to the bench so he can tie his shoelaces properly. “Shut up, you’re being noisy.” He doesn’t care to ask what the guy is on about, already more than annoyed at having to practice in this sweltering heat. Every movement feels slower than usual, it’s pissing him off.

“They’re going to sell out and leave, Captain!” the other tries again, tugging at the edge of Kuroo’s jersey like a child. In fact, he looks like he might burst into tears. The Captain ignores him.

“I’m sure they’re keeping some extras for us,” Yaku tries, smacking Lev’s hand away from his water bottle and downing the last of it.

Kenma hums. “You know they wouldn’t leave us with nothing, they’re all so thoughtful.” The setter is already trying to soothe a teary-eyed Yamamoto, while Kuroo straightens out to wipe himself down with a towel. “They probably have a whole pack of ice lollies stored away for after practice. Our cheer squad leader wouldn’t be caught dead forgetting about anyone.” At the mention of your name, the Captain frowns, the sound unfamiliar. “She even remembered to bring some mango for me last time, and I don’t even remember telling her I don’t like watermelon that much.”

“Who now?” Kuroo frowns. He pokes out his tongue to wet his lips, following his team’s gazes to outside the gym, where rows of students are lining up. He can just see the edge of a red table, curiosity peaked.

Kenma’s face blanks when he looks over at his long time friend. “The leader of the fanclub? She’s been to every one of our matches since like… eighth grade or something. How have you never noticed her?” Some of the boys turn to him in confusion too. Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, before chewing on his answer. It’s not that he ignores anyone on purpose. But your name doesn’t ring a bell, neither does the description.

“Pretty sure she really likes you, too,” Lev suddenly says, getting up from his spot on the floor to bound closer to the door to watch past it. “She always wears clothes with the number 1 and your name on it. She’s very nice, she bought me chocolate milk after our last game.” He stares out the door for a moment longer, before perking up and waving for his older teammates’ attention. “Ooh ooh, she has ice creams for us, she’s calling. Can we please take a break, Captain?”

Everyone turns to the third year. Even Kenma is giving him an unspoken question with his expression. “Fine, whatever,” Kuroo just sighs, giving into their antics. “But after that we’re getting back to spike training and you better all jump higher than I’ve ever seen you jump.”

While waiting in line, he asks to point you out. You’re busy smiling at every single student that comes by, colored shadow falling over you because of the sun shade that is just as red as the rest of the table. Just as red as your flushed face, and as red as the shirt that you’re wearing with his name on it. You look kind, with a childlike joy on your face, innocent in the way you beam out warmth. And after staring at you for a while, you do start to look a bit familiar. Huh. So this is what his biggest fan looks like. He’s not let down, not exactly, though he does wish that you’d focus less on the lemonade and more on him as he waits in line with the rest of the team. But it’s understandable, you’re just trying your best. Even he can see that.

Suddenly, you look up from the cash register, having been shoved in the side with an elbow by your friend and in the split second he catches your eyes, he can see several emotions flash in them. The last one before you look away is definitely wide-eyed mortification though. You look away from him and turn to your friend, whispering something in her ear as your cheeks grow red-hot. You blank at her answer, before biting your lip. It’s strange, but something in the things you do are cute to him. How you nervously toy with the edge of your shirt. How you try to keep your eyes on the ground but glance back every so often anyway. How you put on a smile. You must really, truly like him. And he can’t say he doesn’t like at least that. That innocent expression on your face is to die for. Really.

After a minute or so, you seem to gather your wits and look up to walk from behind the stall. “Guys, you don’t have to wait in line. Come up here,” you wave them over, not looking at him at all. Somehow, this only makes him giddier, wanting to see you flush even harder. Maybe you’d pass out if he talked to you. Maybe you’d cry. Would you even be able to handle it if he got any closer? The smirk that clings to his lips is one of ego-filled happiness, he can’t help himself. Something about you makes him feel like he’d be able to break you with the slightest of pressure, and though he’s never quite wanted to control someone like that, he can’t say it doesn’t feel exhilarating.

Everyone moves out of the one line to skip to the front, as you busy yourself by glancing under the tables to pull out an extra cooler, opening it swiftly. That way your skirt pulls up insanely high, though you try to keep it down with one hand. Oblivious to what you’re doing, surely. His cute, little fan. He’ll have to give you a lesson on proper manners, but not now. All in due time. When everyone starts thanking you, you just rub your neck, straightening back up.

“How much are they?” Kenma asks, “I’ll pay. Is it alright if I get the money to you after practice though?”

“No, no!” you beam, “they’re free for you guys! I could hardly let our own team pay for some stupid ice pops and lemonade.” You don’t hesitate to smile at Kenma. Kuroo holds his tongue from breaking into your conversation for now, instead taking one of the watermelon slices and biting into it. You seem to sink into yourself a bit when he turns back in your direction, almost as if you’re trying to disappear into the background entirely. Would be hard though, with that bright a shirt. “We also have wine if the adults want any,” you continue, shooting Kai and Yaku a guilty glance then and trailing off. “Though that might not be a good idea if you’re still practicing.”

You still have yet to look back at him, creating a void of something in the pit of his stomach. Why don’t you want to look at him as much as he wants to look at you? “Are there any strawberry pops?” Lev asks, probably aimed at you but Kuroo’s already taking a step towards you before you can answer.

This way you’re not able to ignore him any longer. Your eyes are so big and stunned when you glance up at him, tilting your head back just so you can look him in the face. There you are, he thinks. You pull a lip into your mouth, cheeks burning with color. Your chest heaving up and down, heart clearly pounding so hard he swears he can hear it. And Kuroo is living for it, the thrill of making you so affected by his presence undeniable. He wants to be the one to make you so flustered, wants to be the one to taint it too. He does know that’s probably not normal, but it’s so tempting. He smiles down at you, watching when your lips tremble softly. Cute. He softly calls out your name, grinning wider when you seem to mellow for a moment at the sound. “Did you do all this yourself?” he asks, enjoying the starstruck expression on your face.

You have to take a moment to get yourself back on track, clearly. Understandable. “Mhm,” you manage though, looking anywhere but him again when you realize you’re staring. “W-Well, everyone helped plan it, of course. I just made everything they planned out.”

“Yeah?” His smirk has yet to leave his face, but if it could grow any wider, now would be the time. You give a shy nod, looking back up at him for a moment. “The lemonade looks good. The watermelon’s good too.”

You’re practically glowing at his compliment, taking a step back to roll yourself back and forth on the balls of your feet. He wants to place his hands on your shoulders to keep you still, but really, you might just faint if he does so he holds himself back. “T-thank you s-so much! I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll be able to use the funds well, but if you ever need anything else, you can always ask me,” you lift your shoulder and smile at him for just a moment, blush still raging on your face. You blank then, quickly adding, “or any of the other girls! We’re all here to support you, so… p-please keep working hard and doing your best a bit longer!” You’re stuttering like crazy too. He’ll have to work that out of you.

Before he can say anything else, someone calls for your name, so you quickly bow and rush back to your spot behind the stall. The girls giggle and poke at you, some of them hardly subtle in their whispering and cooing. And Kuroo smiles, because he might have just found something new to peak his interest.

///

You couldn’t have known. Not really. You couldn’t have known the full extent of his anger and definitely not how it would turn on you. So why does it feel like you made a horrible mistake? As you are sweeping the last of the hall, you hear the familiar, resounding echo of volleyballs smacking against the smooth surface. It’s a sound that’s long grown near and dear to your heart. Still, you put the brush to the side to make your way to the gym door where it stands swung open. It’s a Friday. The Nekoma team doesn’t play volleyball after school hours on Fridays. You frown as you peek around the cold, metal door into the otherwise vacant hall. As the class representative this term, you’re basically expected to be the last one here.

The man causing the constant butterflies in your stomach is facing away from you, frustration seeming to radiate off him in angry, black swirls as he throws balls against the wall, making continuous tosses to himself. You wait for a moment longer, glancing back into the school building as you debate your options. Though you were unable to watch the end of practice, you saw the beginning. Kuroo was anything but the collected player he normally is, the sight of it making your heart ache. Very hesitantly, you knock your knuckles against the metal. You rather wouldn’t be putting yourself in his proximity by choice, last time enough to make you so flushed and flustered you were stumbling all over your words.

Still though, you just want to help him. Maybe you could make him feel just a bit better. “Kuroo-san?” you try softly when he doesn’t react. He catches the ball at your call, pausing for a second. Then he turns to you. A shadow on his face, tall shape seeming to loom over you even from afar. You dig your nails into your own palms at the sharp glare that’s sent your way, his eyes flicking over your entire body, coming to rest back on your face. He doesn’t say anything, so you try to gather your courage and clear your voice, taking a step into the gym. “I- Sorry, I heard you still practicing. Are you- I mean- I don’t want to assume or anything, b-but- you don’t normally practice on Friday.”

The brief flicker of courage you had soon sinks deep within the pit of your chest as the silence continues. He bounces the ball on the floor once before catching it again, lifting one of his brows. Still with that gleam in his eyes, the one set off by the darkness cast around him. Then he sighs, and in a second his smile is plastered back on. The smile you’ve grown so used to seeing from afar, but it doesn’t feel quite right. It certainly doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks a bit off too, lopsided like he’s trying to convince himself to keep it up. “You— Ah, you’re the… fan club girl,” he nods. He tosses the ball up a few times, seemingly thinking, before he clicks his tongue. His deep voice resonates through the empty hall. “Yeah, sorry if I’m bothering you. I wanted to get some more practice in.”

You wring your hands into the front of your shirt, mindlessly bunching it up in between your fingers. When his eyes are back on you, you have to fight yourself from taking a step back. “No, you’re not bothering me at all, I don’t expect any less from our team Captain.” You swallow. Then, barely louder than the thumping of your heartbeat against your ribs, a thought tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “Would you like me to help you practice for a bit?” It’s a little thing, so small, and you’ve done it for Lev and Kenma plenty of times. But your hands shake when you ask.

Kuroo’s eyebrows pull tightly together, his expression looking so off-putting even when you normally think everything about him is beautiful. You think he’s perfect, even drenched entirely in sweat and with grooves dug deep under his eyes, exhausted to the bone, so why? Why does he glare at you this way, and how can you make your heart stop wavering in your chest? You briefly stand there to think about what you just said, trying to figure out exactly what you did wrong to make him feel even more shitty, but come up blank. He must have misread your tone of voice, or maybe you had a dumb expression on your face. Just some stupid mistake you made. That’s the only explanation you have why amazing, gorgeous, perfect star player Kuroo is acting the way he is.

“Do you even know anything about volleyball? You don’t look like you do.” The sharp comment feels like a slap to the face, and you take in a little breath as you attempt to rid the unsettling tension between you two. Maybe soothing him isn’t the way to go, but you know Kuroo makes himself feel better with practice and that is something you can do. For him, you could for hours.

“I— I can… serve alright,” you hesitate, looking from his face to his shoes instead. “I know a l-lot about volleyball and though I- I might not be the best, I’d still help, right?” His sharp eyes are still on you like an accusation, and no, no, no, this is all wrong but you don’t know how to fix it.

“Aah,” Kuroo coos then, chuckling to himself as he passes the ball your way, “you want to help me.” You barely catch it, clutching it close to your chest as he motions you closer with his hand. “O‘course you do.” With sheepish steps you make your way toward him because he asked, staying an arm’s length away for your own poor heart. Last time you were this close to Kuroo, all you could do was give some mindless encouragement, even though you were trying. You just couldn’t help get flustered back then. A cold shiver makes its way up your spine though, and you fight the pressing feeling to run. This is your favorite person in the world you’re looking at, and you’d do anything for him. You would, really. “Because you’re my fan, aren’t you?” he echoes your thoughts, and you bob your head in reply.

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, throat closing up when he leans in as if to inspect you more thoroughly. “Yes, of course, Kuroo-san. I’ve been a fan since I first saw you play a match back in middle school.” You wince at your honesty. Don’t tell him that, your mind screams, but it’s too late. All you can do is bite your lip to keep more from tumbling out.

“Yeah, yeah, so I heard.” He gleams, petting your hair and you try to keep your elation to a minimum, because his eyes are still just as sharp as they were when you first walked in, but butterflies flutter in your stomach. His fingers linger for a moment, the weight of his hand making your heart jump. It’s gone soon enough. “You in my class?” You nod eagerly, but while you do he’s already speaking again. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You’re my biggest fan, huh?” He’s leaning closer again, closer, too close, almost like he’s going to kiss you and you might sink through the floor if he gets any closer.

You try not to let the faint smell of his cologne overwhelm you, his face flushed at the edges of his cheeks because of the exertion. You open your mouth to figure out a response again, but Kuroo is faster. “You come to each match, hoping I’d notice you, right? Begging for my attention like a little kid, wearing my name on your body like that. Don’t you feel embarrassed?”

It takes your brain a while to unfilter the words, playing and replaying them now that you take a step back. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be so obsessed with me? Such a cute, little fangirl, just begging for a look your way?” No. It’s not like that, you are not like that. You’re not obsessed, you just care a lot about him. About the entire team. “Pretending to be into volleyball so you can talk to me, right? Do you talk to Yaku’s sister so you can get to me? Do you talk to Kenma so you can get to me too?” You want him to stop talking, why is he still talking? Why is he acting this way at all?

“N-No, it’s not like that,” you bring out, flushing when his hand wraps around your one shoulder to keep you from backing away from him. He straightens out to his full height, towering above you and as you follow his tall body up to his expression, you hate how he is smiling. A loathing, off-centered smile that gleams on his handsome face. The feeling to run grows so strong in your mind that for a moment you can barely ignore it. There’s something wrong. But of course you remain, you just want to make him feel better. “It’s not like that at all. They are my friends. I love volleyball.”

“You love me, Y/N-chan?” he asks then, dark eyes glazing over.

“I— I’m your biggest fan,” you settle on responding. Wouldn’t it be too much to admit you love him, even if you do? He doesn’t seem to take it, looking down at you with thinly veiled irritation now. The fingers on your shoulder tighten, though you’re too distracted to notice. “I mean- Of course I… love… you, but not in an obsessed way! I just have a lot of respect for how hard you work,” you drawl out, throat closing up when the gleam on Kuroo’s face seems to drop in favor of something softer. Something like admiration. You used to love how he would wear his emotions on his face, but now it’s too much. He’s still not satisfied, you can see it. “And I’d do anything to make you feel better so-”

“Hah. Aren’t you just incredibly sweet,” he sighs, finally letting go of your shoulder. You can feel the weight of it long after it’s gone, warmth trailing down your limbs tentatively. You’re so glad you let out a trembling puff of relief. He takes a deep breath, before he smiles again. Softer, familiar, and your heart slowly comes back to life. This is how it’s meant to go, this is how you always imagined it as Kuroo leans down to brush a strand of hair away from your face back behind your ear, sweet and tender. Hair that you keep longer than you’d want because you know Kuroo likes it that way. You’re sure your stress of earlier was showing on your face, cheeks burning for attention. “You’re so pretty like this, my little fangirl. Mine.”

You don’t miss the drop in his voice, a possessive tone that seems misplaced. As he brushes a knuckle past your cheekbone, tingles pool in your belly. “I’ve had a really tough day today, you have no idea. But I’m glad you’re here now. I think I do know how to fix my shitty mood, actually!” He takes your hands in his then, enveloping them with soft traces of his fingers. He pulls you toward the side of the gym, dragging you behind him. Kuroo Tetsuro is holding your hands. It feels too quick, sprung on you so suddenly it makes your head spin, but they are just so warm around yours like you hoped they’d be. The dark-haired man looks back over his shoulder. “You said you will help me, right?”

“Mhm,” you smile, watching him, how his shoulders move under the red volley jersey and his hair waves softly with each step. And he’s still holding your hand. This must be a dream. You’re on a mindless path until he walks you past the lockers and the damp feeling of the shower air hit your face. That’s when you slow your feet and pull against him a little, blinking out of your daze to glance to the side. Kuroo turns to face you. “Hey, this is the boys’ room.” Your obvious statement makes him chuckle, one hand coming up to cup your cheeks and though it’s insanely overwhelming, you don’t have the heart to pull back. He squishes your cheeks together until your lips turn into a cute, little pout.

“You’ve never been in a boys’ locker room, sweet thing? You’re just that good, huh?” Kuroo stares you down with his pretty, golden eyes while you fail to answer. Isn’t being good supposed to be a positive thing? But he says it like it’s something dirty, like you’re not quite right and you can’t help the sinking feeling that fills you to the brim. He pushes the door to your side into lock, the loud clang making your heart race. When he turns back to you, the darkness in his face is what scares you most.

Cats don’t eat cats, do they—

He doesn’t hesitate to grab you by the shoulder and shoves you up against the lockers, your back connecting with the cold metal sharply. You wince, his hand still around your cheeks. It’s so much bigger than you, you realize, he’s so much bigger than you. That never scared you before, but now you’re painfully aware of the looming shape and the way he’s able to look down at you like this. You swallow and keep his golden gaze. But he releases his hold on your face to hold the back of your neck, long fingers splayed across the soft skin, before leaning down so far into you, you can feel the tremble of his breath on your face. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

Your eyes are wide, unbelieving. Of course you do, but… You wait for what feels like a lifetime, his warmth too close to you. You can’t say no, can you? So you nod and drop your shoulders, eyes fluttering closed. If he were to kiss you all those uncomfortable feelings swirling inside would surely vanish. Kuroo hovers his lips over yours, you can feel them so close, but no more than that. And he chuckles, tilting your head to the side with two fingers instead. “No. You don’t deserve it yet. Don’t you think you have to work a bit harder for it? I know you’re good at that.”

He walks toward you until you’re fully pinned to the cold locker in between his legs, as he connects his lips with your neck. His lips are so hot, like steaming coals on you, and you can’t help but grab onto his bicep for support. It flexes under your touch. He kisses down your throat and jaw, lips dragging trails of kisses and tongue carving paths down to your collarbones and to the edge of your shirt.

And you’re so overwhelmed that the person you’ve loved for so long is actually touching you, that you don’t notice how tight his grip is wrapped around your neck, fingertips pressing ovals into the expanse. “You just wanted this the whole time, huh,” he coos, voice sickly sweet. But when he looks up at you from under those lashes, the gold in his eyes has the sharpness of a blade, daring you to reply. You shudder when his hand drops down to drag your shirt up. “Bet you’ve had so many guys hoping that one of them would feel and taste like me.” He unceremoniously shoves it up from your body, over your shoulders. You look to the side where it drops to the floor, your school uniform a crumpled mess.

“Kuroo-san,” you bring out, self consciously wrapping your arms around yourself to cover up. You don’t like this. You don’t like him telling you that you’ve had people just to prepare for him, don’t like him eating up the sight of you like you’re a piece of meat and you definitely don’t like how he presses his thigh in between your legs to pin you up to the locker. “W-what are you doing?”

He huffs in amusement, tangling his fingers into the hair at the top of your neck to tug back your gaze towards his. “You can drop the politeness, silly girl,” he says again, letting go to brush softer circles into your skull. His lips brush over yours as you stand there, trembling, unsure what to do. How can you say no to him if he’s here, so close, with you for the first time in ever? He taps his fingers on your hands to make you release your hold on yourself, which you do with a bit more coaching. Maybe you just think this is going way too fast because it is him. The boy that offers his friends water before drinking himself, the one with the loud laugh that rings through the halls and makes your heart thump. The guy you’ve been head over heels with. That one.

This is okay, you say to yourself, calm down. His other hand traces along the bottom of your bra as soon as you drop your arms to the side, slipping a finger under just enough to lift it from your skin and you shiver. “You gonna take this off for me?” he asks, rubbing his thigh in between yours more. You can’t answer because you’re dropping your head back against the locker, overwhelmed and unsure still, with the lack of oxygen getting to you all you can do is let out a little whimper. You don’t know a lot about this, you’re sure he does. The hand around your neck drops so he can flip your skirt up, chuckling at your cute panties. You look down in embarrassment and attempt to shove the plaid fabric back down over your thighs but then he lets out a growl, holding it in place. “You wear my name on your body like my personal whore. Don’t play too shy to follow through.”

His long fingers trace over the edges of the panties, where you take deep breaths to calm down. You can’t help but push your waist down on his muscular leg for some friction, looking to the side when he chuckles. “You really are a little slut.” This time you shake your head though, pouting at him.

“I’m not, Kuroo.”

“Liar,” he breathes, pressing his nose to the crook of your neck. “You act like a well-mannered princess but we both know you want to be put in your place.” Not waiting up for a response, he lifts you by your thighs up higher, so he can bury his face into your covered chest, dragging his tongue over the one cup. You can feel the wetness of his tongue seep through the lacy fabric onto your skin. It’s warm and uncomfortable, his breath cooling your skin down instantly. “If you’re not going to take it off, I will,” he gleams, looking up to check your expression again. Ever so slowly he starts pushing the fabric up, not bothering to unhook the piece of clothing. Instead he toys with brushing over your pointed nipples, kissing up your sternum. His eyes flick to yours continuously, like he’s making a show of undressing you. He licks his lips, leaning towards you again.

“Kuroo,” you manage to mumble, resting your one hand on his shoulder to push him away from you. You stumble when you land back on your feet, looking down at the floor. Burning heat covers your entire face, from your cheeks up to your ears. It’s physically painful to be so near him, and the tight grip on your thighs isn’t helping. Your heart is pitter pattering so hard it might break through your ribcage. Despite how much you dreamed about falling in love with him, it wasn’t like this. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I have to lock up the halls and go home.” Your friend’s voice rings through your head then, something about bad guys and the way they prey on kind girls like you, creating cold goosebumps along your arms again. Kuroo Tetsuro can’t be one of those guys, you’ve looked up to him for so long. If he is, what would you even do? “I want to—”

“Don’t lie,” he interrupts, glaring up at your disapproval, “don’t ruin this for me.” Without hesitation he locks his mouth onto your exposed skin, rubbing his knee against your covered center, hard. It sends a spike of heat down your body. You breathe out at the rough laving of his tongue, only soothing after he sucked and bit the tender skin. His one hand reaches up to pull down your panties from under your skirt as soon as you’re closing your eyes, and though you open your mouth to stop him he shuts you up by pinching your thigh sharply between his long fingers. “I told you to stop lying to me. Whatever comes out of that pretty mouth next best be the truth.” He trails his digits up and down a few times, the slightest soothing to your anxiety.

“I… I just don’t—” you swallow, looking away from his eyes to focus on the shine of the lights. They make your eyes burn, but at least you don’t have to undergo his vicious glare this way. It really feels like he despises you for even breathing in his direction, though then why would he be kneeled in front of you. The conflict makes you nauseous, more insecure than you’ve ever been around him and your throat closes up a bit. When his stroking stills, you push through the words anyway. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He laughs. A warm, bubbly sound against your thigh. “No one’s ever stuffed you with their fingers before?” He looks gleeful, nuzzling your hip in a too-intimate gesture. You’re his fan, but he barely knows anything about you. You slowly shake your head, cheeks warming. His hands start moving again as he shuffles closer between your thighs so his mouth is level with your chest. As he eyes you up and down, he giggles to himself. “Did my slutty fan get herself off on the thought of me? D’you beg for me when coming around your useless, little fingers?” You bite your lip, eyes flicking down at him when he calls your name. “I’m waiting for an answer~”

“I don’t—,” you bite out, flustered and feeling small. He must hear the edge in your voice. With a quick flick of his wrist, he brings his down on your thigh, pinching you hard for good measure. You yelp and grab hold of his head to steady yourself, before quickly pulling your hand away again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wanna try again?” he mumbles though, trailing two fingers up and down the crotch of your panties. It feels warm, and really good, but you’re still cold to the touch. Is this really okay? You doubt it. When he starts licking at the edge of your panties you shudder, letting your weight fall into the sturdy locker for support. “Hm, d’you get off to me?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth. You might have touched yourself down there once or twice, but in your imagination that was always long after he’d gotten to know you. In your imagination he was gentle, caring. Nothing like the impatient trailing of his fingers, like he can’t wait to play a game you never agreed to. At his golden gaze, you let the truth spill. “Sometimes,” you breathe, immediately hiding your face in your own shoulder from embarrassment.

“That’s what I thought, dumb girl.” He pushes your panties unceremoniously to the side to collect the slick there, grinning. You didn’t even notice you were getting wet while trying not to anger him. He doesn’t waste time taking advantage of this fact though. He spreads your bottom lips open with his fingers, looking up at you easily. His deep voice feels loud in the pressing silence of the abandoned gym, and you can’t help but wonder how much trouble you’d get in if anyone found you here. “Listen, brat,” he calls, pushing his lips to the top of your thigh to bite the plush skin. You jerk away from him with a cry, but he doesn’t let up.

“I’m gonna push my fingers inside that filthy cunny of yours, stretch out your little hole so you can actually fit something in there. ‘Cause I know you’re a good girl, so you’re probably gonna go braindead if I fuck you like this.” He chuckles at your hitched breathing. You can’t even begin to understand. The person you love more than life itself wants to fuck you? Well, his fingers are still playing down there, slowly pushing into you and they are thick, much thicker than yours. You can’t believe it. Kuroo Tetsuro wants to fuck you, in the boys locker room of the school gym while you should be long on your way out by now. No, you can’t. But you don’t find the words to speak up under his gaze, not wanting to disappoint him. If he notices your mental struggle, he doesn’t show it. “Then you’re gonna help me out like you promised by sucking my cock, right?”

You freeze up. You did say you’d help him, you said that didn’t you… But you didn’t know it would be like this, if you did you would’ve said ‘no’. You curse yourself for saying anything at all, trying to calm your heart as best as you can. You’re feeling so overwhelmed. By his touch, his presence, the situation, the stress put on your poor, frazzled brain. When two of his digits are halfway inside you, you let out a whimper. That’s at least three of your own, you already feel spread so thin. Your fingers find purchase in his soft, raven hair, needing anything to cling to. “Say, ‘Yes, Tetsuro’,” he coos, pressing a row of kisses over the front of your panties, chuckling at the little bow. But the sweet tone is taken away as soon as it comes. “Say it.”

“Y-Yes… Tetsuro.” He hums happily, shoving his fingers inside you in one swift move until his palm is against your center. Your legs almost give out at the feeling. “Ah- ah! S’too much, Kuroo.”

The raven haired man grins at that, curling his digits inside you and pulling them out just as quickly. Like striking a match. You reach up your hand to bite into it, hoping to contain your sounds. Your slick sounds ring through the empty locker room as Kuroo slides them back in and out at a punishing pace. “My dumb, pretty baby really is clueless, huh,” he sighs, long fingers sliding under your knee to place it instead on his shoulder. It only debases you even more, struggling to stay upright as he brings his face in between your legs. When you whimper in embarrassment, calling his name, he scoffs. “You should let me play this how I want to, since you clearly don’t know anything.”

The curl of his long fingers brushing up against the soft, spongy part of your walls makes your brain numb. His words hurt. You don’t want them to, you wish they didn’t. “My dumb slut,” he hisses, before the harsh lines of his mouth are buried between your thighs. His tongue sweeps out to deliver a long swipe from his pumping fingers to the top of your slit, before swirling around the nub making you tremble. Your belly tenses, coil in the pit of your stomach growing irritatingly tight as he grinds his face against your pussy, obscenely slurping at the wetness. Your fingers twitch in his fluffy hair, attempting to comb through it best you can as your eyes flutter closed.

“Kuroo, ‘m close. Really close.” You can barely raise your voice enough to make it be heard over his motions, though he looks up at the call of his name. “I want to cum,” you say, “please.” He doesn’t still his fingers, but the twitch in his brows seems to indicate disaster, and you quickly bite your lip to think. “C-Can I?”

“D’you think this is about you, Y/N-chan?” He grins at your blown out expression, relishing in the wide eyes and bobbing lip. He uses his thumb to continue putting pressure on your clit, as he tuts his lips. “I’ll decide if or when you cum, because you’re mine. And when I decide to stuff this cunt you best consider yourself lucky, baby, that my cock is breaking open your perfect, little body.”

“Y-yes, but—” you bring out, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You can’t hold it if his fingers only speed up their devouring of your body, mouth wrapping around you to suck hard.

“Don’t cum yet,” he mumbles, going so hard it’s making your vision sway. His tongue and mouth go harder, despite his order. And with mindless pleas you come around his fingers, shutting your eyes tight at the white splotches. Legs flexing and fingers tightening in his hair. You let your head drop as he works you through the feeling, until you’re pushing him off from overstimulation. Your cheeks feel akin to a forest fire when you open your eyes to his huff, tracing the lines of the hardwood floor under your feet. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you can feel some of the slick drip down your thighs and you instantly burn brighter.

But you don’t get to think about it, because Kuroo is straightening up before you, back to his overwhelming posture above you. He stares at you for a moment, before he leans in. Out of instinct, you lean back, away from his face when he wipes it. The glint in his eyes is a scorch mark on your sanity, his face so close to yours. “Can’t you listen to what I say, or are you just that cockhungry and stupid?” Your head is shaking side to side before you can stop it, hoping that you’ll be released soon. But you said you’d help him and if you don’t, Kuroo might hate you. You don’t think you could handle that. Rejection would’ve been better, after all. “Get on your knees and make it up to me.”

You choke back a sob at the order, looking up at him with big eyes again. You don’t want to, you don’t want to sit on the cold floor of the locker room where teenage boys drag their sweaty bodies— Kuroo seems to soften slightly at your expression, lowering his palm to your crown to pat your head, gently brushing over your temple. “You’re my biggest fan, aren’t you?” The low rumble of his voice right next to your face, his warm body so close and the curl of his pretty lips, everything makes you so docile. Dreamlike. “You’re really helping me so much,” he coos, and before you know it his mouth is on yours. His mouth… is on yours. And he tastes like you, and he’s kissing you. You freeze, not stopping him as he grabs your hands and loops them around his neck, his own picking you up to melt into an embrace.

Like two lovers in a painting, he claims your mouth with his tongue and curls your feeble body into him. So strong, with hard lines of his body that make your heart swell under your ribs. His hand on your thigh, the other on your neck, he kisses you and you think the stars might be exploding around you. He pulls back for a moment enough to breathe, before peppering another few kisses on your agape lips until you could turn black and blue from the bruising weight of your adoration. Kuroo brushes your hair away as you look at him, chest heaving against his each swell of your lungs. He starts peeling his lanky body away from you. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought that you were my biggest fan, but if you don’t—”

“No, I am!” you squeak, grabbing onto his jersey to keep his warmth close.

The noirette gives a faint smile, shaking his head. You don’t stop to question him acting so different from before, since your greedy brain clings to every word. “It’s okay,” he mumbles, “I’m used to being taken advantage of by girls.” His eyes shift to the side, lips dropping into a downturn. “They tell me how much they care about me so that I’ll have them, then leave me. I know my teammates are always the favorites anyway. So I understand that you don’t want to do anything more, it’s okay.”

“No Tetsuro, I want to, I swear!” you blurt out, grabbing his large hand despite the jitters in your system. He gives you a slight raise of his eyebrow. “I want to— s-suck you off.”

He chuckles, gaining back some of the brightness to his eyes. “You can’t even say it without stuttering.” The hand on your neck slides to your shoulder, slowly pushing you toward the ground. You hesitate for another moment, before dropping to your knees when the pressure becomes too heavy. When you’re eye level with his shorts, you swallow, bringing up your hands. The fabric is pulled taunt, showing off your effect on him. Ever so slowly, you pull the elastic of the red shorts down, taking his boxers with them in the process. You push them down until his hard cock is freed, curving up towards his belly and twitching with anticipation. Kuroo just bites his lip when you look up at him. “Give it your best shot, baby.”

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, tip glistening with precum. You slowly start moving your hand down his length, but you’re clearly not going fast enough because his hand is back in your hair, yanking you closer to his dick this time. He presses the tip to your lips, and you whimper out as you open your mouth. He’s quick to grab hold of himself to push inside, too quick and stretching you painfully. He’s big and wide and you immediately know you’ll ache once this is done. But as he starts working himself deeper, your eyes fluttering at the feeling and focusing on not choking, he makes pretty grunts that you tell yourself make this worth it. He reaches the back of your throat with plenty to spare, and you bring your hand up to hold yourself on his thigh. It stings.

But he doesn’t stop, even when you whimper around him and push at his leg. “Take it all the way,” he grunts, cocking his head back. The noises you make only make him more vocal, but you’re fighting through the feeling of panic in your chest. Each time he pulls back more saliva messes up your face, keeping Kuroo’s attention on the pretty way you take him. “You think you deserve my attention? My dumb, useless little bitch wants my approval?” He grunts when he hits the back of your throat again. “Because if you can’t even take my cock in your mouth without drooling all over yourself, I don’t think you do deserve it.” He slows his hips when you make a throaty sound, fingers tangled tight in your hair as he pushes in until your nose is pressed to his skin, before letting you back. You gasp for air when you’re finally let up, holding a sob that threatens to crawl out of your throat.

“Kuroo, I can’t,” you bring out, wiping your fingers under your eyes to get rid of any tears, but he doesn’t let go. Your voice is already raspy, grating against your tender throat.

“Yes you can, you’re doing well.” He pushes his cock back to your lips and though you’re more prepared for it this time you’re still shocked by how big he feels. Spit seeps out along the edges of your mouth, tongue being pushed down and your lungs struggling. He moves your head up and down his cock over and over, barely leaving you enough time to take a couple deep breaths. He slowly starts fucking your face when the tears spill over your cheeks and clump your lashes, hissing when you gag on him. “That’s how you suck a cock, idiot. Can’t do anything right without my help, can you?” His words just make you cry more. He bruises your throat until you can’t take any more, pulling out of his grip despite the pain and falling back onto your butt.

“Kuroo,” you cry out, losing control over your own tears. Your voice sounds double, like it’s been split in two. “I don’t like this.” A little squeak falls from your lips, airways painful and ragged. “I want—,” this time you can’t hold back the sob, “I want you to be nice to me.” You sound so pitiful, even to your own ears. You’re crying. But the man you’ve looked up to for so long is calling you all these names, making you feel so dumb. Are you really that dumb for liking him, supporting him, being his fan? “I don’t wanna do any more.” Tears are flowing, wet and warm down your cheeks and neck. Stop, stop crying. You reach a hand up to smear them away, but in their place new ones still come. “Please, I wanna go home.”

“Shh, shhhh,” he hushes, petting the top of your head like you’re a well-behaving pup, and you hate how you lean into it. The idea of yourself makes you sick to your stomach. Why are you even letting him walk all over you like this? Is this really the amount of self respect you have? Kuroo peers down at you between his legs. “You’re doing so well for me. You’re the best fan I could ask for. I’m sure you can take a bit more.”

“No,” you squeak when he reaches for your face again, “it hurts and I don’t like it.”

Kuroo stills. Regards you with a long, drawn-out breath, before humming in what you pray is understanding. “Alright,” he helps you up from the floor, steadying you in his arms and moving you both to one of the benches instead. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my number one fan, would I?” He sits down on the bench first, pulling you to sit on his thighs facing him. You wipe the mess of tears and saliva away as best you can, watching as Kuroo slides you closer to him without a care in the world. And you want to be mad, you want to push off him and do anything other than sit here and take it, but you can’t. You can’t, because you’re weak. You can’t, because you’re an idiot fangirl, and he’s been everything you’ve wanted since you were thirteen.

“Push your legs together,” he orders, squishing your thighs and reaching down to slip his cock in between them. He fucks your legs with the last of his restraint, pace from fast to punishing, kneading the doughy expanse between his fingers and pressing his forehead to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the shudder down his spine and the tensing of his legs below you, but you don’t process it. Everything feels far away. And then he calls out your name, and cums on your thighs, spilling white all over your panties and skin. He kisses your neck, and your lips after that. And you just stare at the tiles of the boys room showers before he slides you off of him.

Your legs tremble. He quickly uses a towel to clean himself up before tucking himself back in, and smiles down at you. “Thank you so much, baby, that was perfect.” He leans down to press a kiss to your temple as he hands you the towel. “Clean up?” The fluffy towel with the red cat embroidered on it is stained with the cum you clean off yourself, as tears roll down your face. You loved him so much, but now you just hate him. Embarrassed, hurt, useless. Kuroo’s bright face as he talks is another slap in yours. “Lighten up, I’ll lock up the gym for you, okay?” He smiles when you lift your eyes to his figure in the doorway, your crumpled skirt bunched in your hand. “And don’t even worry about it, I’ll walk you home. It’s the least I could do for my fan.”

It is the least he could do.

You nod and put up your most convincing smile.

///

thank you so so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed. did this have to be so long? probably not. did i make it that long anyway? yes. mean kuroo will live rent free in my brain for the coming six months.

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fan-fantasies · 3 years

Text

Christmas Miracle (Kim Hongjoong)

Prompts?: “Come and kiss me baby, we don’t need no mistletoe” -Ariana Grande (Wit it This Christmas)

“The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear.” -Elf

Paring?: hongjoong x reader

warnings?: swearing, situations of drinking, (i think thats it)

A/N: Hey everyone, so i’m pretty nervous to post this, it’s been awhile since i last posted something. I’ve been struggling with some mental health situations which left me unmotivated and overall not myself. So i’m hoping that this turns out as good as i think it is. I write this for an Ateez Winter prompt, I thought why not start of the year with something wholesome? Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it. <3 Breezy

Winter was a beautiful season, the snow, the pretty Christmas decorations that seemed to be everywhere you looked. You wouldn’t say that you hated winter, seeing it was the best time of year for hot chocolate in front of a fire or curling up under warm blankets for a movie night in. Though for the love of all things, why did it have to be so cold?!

The wind blew on your walk to class, after your car neglected to start due to the frigid temperatures, there was no other option but to bundle up and walk the small distance to your university. At least it wasn’t snowing but the dark clouds were telling a different story. What a wonderful day today was going to be. You decided that maybe a warm cup of hot coco would help your day get better, there was a small cafe right by the school that you had never had time to stop before but today seemed to be the day. The cafe was quiet, the soft sound of the radio kept it from being too quiet. At the register was a fairly tall man, dark hair that was pushed to the side so it wouldn't cover his eyes. His name tag read, 'San'. When he saw you he spoke cheerfully, greeting you with a warm smile.

"Good morning! What can I get for you?" He cheerfully asks causing you to cringe a bit. It was too early.

"Hi " you spoke softly, "can I get a medium hot chocolate?” you order now returning a smile. As you prepared to take out your wallet, he stops you.

“It's on the house," he says, "it seems like you need it." His smile never left his face. You honestly couldn't tell if it was fake or if he just loved his job that much.

"Hongjoong, one hot cocoa!" He shouts to his coworker who stood by the machines seemingly already working on it. From where you stood, Hongjoong was shorter than his co-worker, his hair a dark brown and, to be honest, looked soft. You couldn't see his face but you wished you could.

While you wait, San kept a light conversation going, seeing as he had no customers, not like you minded.

"Where are you heading off too?" He asked curiously.

"Well I'm heading to one of my classes at the university. Art history." You tell him honestly.

His eyes light up hearing that class, "Then you likely know Wooyoung!" he exclaims, “He's our roommate."

San motions towards Hongjoong. “Well one of our roommates, we share an apartment with a few friends." San glances in the direction of his coworker who was hard at work.

He spoke quietly, "do you think I could get your number?" You were surprised at how forward he was.

Your expression made him chuckle, "Not for me silly, Joong over there has been sneaking glances at you, and I've seen your eyes wander too," he teases, "he's just a little nervous to get out there." San explained quietly hoping his friend didn't hear the conversation. Typically you weren't one for giving your number out but you had to admit his friend was cute...

"yeah, give me something to write it down" you say, your cheeks starting to feel warm. The male smiled widely before handing you a piece of receipt paper. You scribbled your number down quickly and handed it to the dark haired boy, who quickly took it and hid it before his friend came over with your drink. Your eyes finally met his, your heart nearly leapt out of your chest.

His eyes were a dark brown, he was wore large rimmed glassed that only seemed to make him even more adorable if that was physically possible. His hair was parted in the middle, slightly showing off his forehead but it honestly framed his face wonderfully. Your train of thought was broken when you heard San speak up,

“We have to see you again! Now you better go before you’re late for class!” He exclaims which reminded you that, in fact, you had class to get to.

“Thank you San, thank you Hongjoong.” You spoke quietly with a shy smile before leaving the cafe and heading down the street. Even with the unexpected stop, you were still making great time and were able to make it to class with five minutes to spare.

“(Y/n)!” You heard the familiar hyper voice yell. You glanced up seeing Wooyoung waving excitedly in your direction. He always acted if you never saw each other.

“Good morning Woo.” You say with a warm smile. You sat in the seat beside him, as you always did, and he was quick to notice the cup that you had sat down.

“You stopped at a cafe?” He questioned curiously, he knew you hardly ever stopped.

“Yeah, my car didn’t start this morning so I had to walk. I decided to stop to get something to warm me up a little.” You say with a chuckle. Your eyes scanned over the cup briefly only for you to now notices the small flower doodles and hearts on the part where they typically wrote the name for the order.

Wooyoung must have also noticed cause he gasped at it, “Awe!” Wooyoung was always so giddy when it come to you, especially if it had to do with you potentially dating. This man was absolutely invested in getting you into a relationship.

“Did you get the name of the barista?” He questioned trying to get as much information as possible.

You giggle at his question, “Yeah, I did.” You smile softly, “Also, I’m pretty sure San wanted me to say hi to you.” You say with a smirk. His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. You had never seen him so happy about something in his life.

“It was San?!” He nearly shrieked trying to keep his voice down.

“No, it wasn’t San. Though he was really trying to set one of your friends up with me.” You looked down at your hands shyly. “His name was Hongjoong.” This time Wooyoung couldn’t hold back the squeal that escaped him.

He prepared to speak but was cut off when the professor began to start speaking. You instantly went into, what you liked to call, note taking mode. This was one of your favorite classes and you found it the most interesting out of all of them, so of course you were going to pay attention.

Midway through the class you felt Woo gently poke your side, carefully sliding a small note to you. What was this? Eighth grade?

‘So Hongjoong? ;)’ Was written on the note, you knew telling him about his friends was likely a bad idea…

‘What about him?’ You wrote back, carefully sliding the note back. You knew Wooyoung was trying to hold back his excitement.

When the note slide back you weren’t surprised to see what he had written. ‘What do you think of him?”

You rolled your eyes at this, ‘IDK, he seems nice? I didn’t really get a chance to talk with him.’ You quickly wrote before passing it back, now fully focusing on the professors lecture. Wooyoung must have seen that you wanted to focus, cause he never passed the note back.

The class went by slowly, though you didn’t really mind. It almost made you forget crappy your day had started out.

Once the professor dismissed everyone, Wooyoung was at your side talking again.

“You should come to our Christmas party!” He suggested, “It’s just us, we watch movies and just have a good time. Maybe you can talk to my buddy Hongjoong a little.” He teased with a wink.

You both exited the classroom, through the hallway windows you could see that snow had indeed begun to fall.

You groan in discontentment. “Why did my car have to stop working today?” You mumble watching the snow fall from the sky.

“You can’t walk home in this! You’re going to catch cold.” He says, “I bet one of the guys would bring you home!” He pulls out his cell phone, “San and Hongjoong should be getting out of work soon. They could come pick you up.” He says tapping away at his phone.

“I don’t want to inconvenience them, I’ll just take the bus.” You tell him, he shook his head. Continuing to type away on his phone.

“Too late, San already agreed. He said him and Hongjoong would pick you up outside the main building in 15 minutes.” Wooyoung giggled, a cute smile on his face.

“Fine and I’ll think about your offer for the Christmas party.” The both of you hug before parting ways.

Your walk to the main building was pretty quiet, most students were in their classes only a few stragglers wandered around. Likely, they too, were done with classes or meeting with professors before their final deadlines come up. To be honest, you hadn't thought much about them.

You glanced out the front door, not daring to go outside unless you needed to. A few cars sat idling in the parking lot, Wooyoung neglected to tell you what type of car they drove. You stood there for a bit, in your back pocket your phone buzzed. A new text message.

You opened it, no name had come up so whoever it was you didn't have their number.

"this is San! " the text started with, "this is Hongjoongs phone so you should save his number." he had said, adding a winky face at the end. "Anyways, we are outside the silver Toyota." you glance out and the car seemed to pull up. Perfect timing you thought to yourself. You held your jacket close as you walked out into the cold, the snow seemed to be falling even more then before. You sped walked to the car, opening the backseat door, you were oddly surprised at how clean it was.

"hey (y/n)!" San enthusiastically says from the passenger seat. Hongjoong also greeted you but in a much quieter fashion.

"hi, I really appreciate you giving me a ride. I probably would have frozen solid if I had to walk." you say with a small laugh.

"I don't mind," Hongjoong spoke softly as he began to pull out of the parking lot. You told him your address and he headed in that direction. San made sure to keep the conversation going, he reminded you so much of Woo.

"How long have you known Wooyoung?" You curiously ask the two males.

"Well, Woo and I went to high school together. then we met this one when we moved in for university." San spoke happily, it was honestly kind of sweet.

Hongjoong nodded in agreement, "If I would have known you two were so crazy I wouldn't have moved in." He teased with a smirk planted on his face. San gasped trying his best to act offended. This made you giggle, these two were insane, but you loved it.

The drive to your apartment was filled with stories and jokes. Maybe taking Wooyoungs offer would be fun. You thanked them both before exiting the car and heading to your apartment. You took off your coat and shoes before further entering your apartment. Your phone began to vibrate in your back pocket as you headed towards your room.

The caller ID read, Wooyoung.

You answer. " yes Woo?" you asked enter your room and sitting at your desk.

"how was your ride?" he questioned in a teasing manner.

You rolled your eyes,"it was great. San told me a lot of stories." you tease back.

Wooyoung was quiet for a few moments. "Nothing new," he calmly says, " Have you thought about the party?"

" yeah, I've thought about it" you begin.' I think it could be fun... " you nearly dropped your phone at the sound of Woo young's shriek. This man was to excitable..

"the party is next weekend , well, we usually start Friday night but you can come by on Saturday, "he says cheerfully.

"I'll come by on Friday, I'll just crash on your couch or something." you weren't opposed to sleeping on the couch or floor.

"Or maybe you can share a bed with Hongjoong." you could practically hear him smirking but his comment made you blush none the less.

"Shut up Woo, don't make me regret this."

He chuckled, "I promise you wont, I gotta go I'll see you in class tomorrow." The overly excited man hung up the phone leaving you in silence.

"That guys gonna be the death of me." you mumble to yourself before standing and continuing to do your afternoon routine.

The week passed by in a blur. Other than your work, the party was always on your mind. You weren't typically one for parties but maybe this could be fun.

Woo told you that you would go to his place after your class, his roomie Jongho was going to bring you..

"Are you excited for tonight? " Wooyoung questions as the two of you exited the lecture hall. Even after an exhausting class, he still somehow managed to have so much energy.

"Yes, I'm excited. I’ve never honestly been to any kind of party like this before.” You admit with a small sigh. Wooyoung let out a giggle, he gently grabbed you and continued to walk with you down the corridor.

“Well then this will be even more fun!” He exclaims, “You’ll love everyone, we can be a little crazy but I think you’ll get along with them. If you don’t, well I’m sure Hongjoong would bring you up to his room where it’s quiet.” He teased as he gently nudged your side. You smiled at his teasing tone but didn’t say anything else. You knew Woo was planning something, you just weren’t sure what it was he was planning.

As he had said, Jongho was waiting for the both of you in his car. Another figure in the car in the passenger seat.

“Hey Jongho! Yunho!” Wooyoung exclaims as he gets into the car, you followed suit. “Guys this is (Y/n)! They’re in my art history class.” He says to his friends. The one driving, who you assumed was Jongho gave you a hello, while the other one gave you the brightest smile.

“Hey there! I’m Yunho!” His energy almost matched Wooyoung’s which honestly kind of scared you but not in a bad way. You giggle at his enthusiasm but didn’t say anything in return. You let the two goofy friends chat about the plans for tonight, while you and Jongho sat in silence listening to them.

“We have to make one stop before we go back to the apartment.” Jongho says as he pulled into the parking lot of a small store.

He parked the car, “I’ll be right back.” He says as he exits the car and rushing into the store, likely so his friends wouldn’t do something stupid in his car. You honestly believed that these two would be capable of doing something stupid like that.

The two continued to joke, as if Jongho hadn’t left the car.

“Come on (Y/n)! Tell him what happened at the cafe.” Wooyoung whined as he playfully nudged you.

“Wait the cafe where we work?” Yunho questions with the biggest grin on his face. Wooyoung nods his head excitedly.

“Come on Woo, don’t make me tell him.” You beg looking at your friend who had the biggest shit eating grin.

“If you don’t, I will.” He teases hoping that his words might honestly push you to tell the story. When you kept your mouth shut he took that as his cue that he would be telling it for you.

“San was trying to set her up with Hongjoong.” This news made Yunho giggle happily. Did all of his friends really want to set you up with Hongjoong? They hardly knew you.

Before the story continued, the drivers side door opened and Jongho sat down into his seat. He handed the bag to Yunho who was still giggling like crazy. You would have figured Jongho would have questioned but he just silently began to drive again. This was going to be an interesting night…

You had been at their apartment for about an hour and honestly you were sure that this was just pure chaos. It had started with the nine of you but eventually nine turned to ten and ten turned into eighteen. Someone, who you honestly assumed was San, had invited Changbin, who in turn invited his eight rowdy friends. Put the two groups of friends together to have a purely chaotic party.

Currently you were all listening to upbeat Christmas music, dancing together like it honestly didn’t matter. Most of you were drinking, leaving poor Jeongin and Jongho out seeing as though they were technically underage but it honestly seemed like they weren’t interested in the booze since you knew if they wanted to drink they could have just asked.

You weren’t much of a drinker but tonight, you decided to let loose a little, drinking enough just to make your head spin a little.

A cup in hand you danced and sung along with Han and Wooyoung to the upbeat music, you were all sharing giggles having just a good time. All you wanted to do is dance. Wooyoung continued to glance at Han, you believed they were being sneaky but you could easily see through them. What were they planning?

The more you danced with them, the closer they seemed to get to you, not like you minded. Though Woo was your best friend, you found him attractive anyone with eyes would agree and Han was just as good looking as him. Though you were sure, Woo knew his limits and would make sure nothing happened to you.

You heard a laugh beside you as you and Wooyoung shouted along to the Christmas song that played. You looked over to see Yeosang and Hyunjin, who seemed really entertained by the show that was being put on.

“What?!” You shout to them over the loud music, “The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear!” You shout to them only causing them to laugh.

“Come on Yeosang! Hyunjin! Join us!” You say to them holding out your arm. They only laughed again before walking in the opposite direction. You look at Wooyoung and pout but continued dancing none the less.

Wooyoung leaned closer, whispering in your ear, “Guess who won’t stop looking at you.” He whispered in a singsong voice. You glanced over your shoulder and sure enough Hongjoong was glancing at you from across the room as he seemed to be in a conversation with Seonghwa and Chris. His averted his gaze back to the two he was talking with.

“What are you planning Woo?” You question glancing back at your friend who seemed to have a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Don’t worry too much, me and Han are going to help you.” You wanted to question what he meant but both Woo and Han took your arm leading you to the empty couch to sit. Once you sat down, the music was turned down and everyone seemed to gather around sitting in the empty chairs and the floor. You felt Han place his arm over your shoulder casually, you knew he meant nothing by it.

“Usually around now we would watch some cheesy Christmas movies, but it seems we have more guests than usual.” San chuckled knowing that this was his doing. The room erupted in chatter about how they really wanted to watch movies.

“Put on a movie!” Felix shouted from his seat on the floor. The rest of the room agreed.

San rolled his eyes, “Fine! We watch the same movies every year so thats what we will watch.” Everyone in the room cheered excitedly as Yeosang turned the TV on preparing it for their movie marathon. Wooyoung got up from his seat, leaving you and Han alone on the couch. You suspected this was part of the plan.

Han leaned closer to you, “Play along, but let me know if you’re uncomfortable.” He whispered in your ear. You honestly thought that while he was enacting this plan with Wooyoung, that he wanted you to be comfortable above all. You nod slightly and lean back against the couch, his arm was still casually thrown over your shoulder though he made sure to sit a bit closer to you. It was at that moment, you knew exactly what they were doing. They were trying to make Hongjoong jealous enough to make a move. You laid your head on Han’s shoulder, playing along with their idea to set you up. You continued to sip at your drink as someone turned off the lights and started the movie. The seat beside you stayed vacant for some time until Wooyoung returned, it was clear though that he didn’t want to take this seat.

The movie went on, you were likely halfway through the movie when you felt a sickening feeling in your stomach.

“Woo where’s your bathroom?” You asked quietly not to disturb anyone else.

He glanced at you, “Down that hallway, the last door on the left. Are you okay?” He questioned, concern in his soft voice.

“Yeah, I-I just don’t feel too good.” You say honestly before standing from your seat, carefully stepping over everyone on the floor and speed walking down the hallway. You threw the bathroom door open, closing it gently before rushing towards the toilet. Falling to the floor you threw up into the toilet, a few stray tears fell down your cheeks just from the burning in your throat.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, “(Y/n)?” A voice you weren’t expecting to hear called, you went to answer but instead vomiting again. Through your dry heaves you heard the door slowly open and close gently. There were no words spoken as Hongjoong walked behind you and held you hair away from your face. It was a sweet gesture that would have made your heart skip a beat if you weren’t sitting here vomiting. You felt his other hand gently rub your back in hopes to maybe sooth you.

When you were sure that the contents of your stomach was empty you sat back against your heels.

“I-I’m sorry you had to see me like this Hongjoong.” You whisper softly, your throat sore from throwing up. There was long period of silence but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one.

“Don’t be sorry, it happens.” He speaks softly, his voice calm and soothing. “Let me go get you some water and some mouth wash.” He chuckled softly before quietly leaving the room.

You stood yourself up, supporting yourself against the counter as your felt light headed. You looked at yourself in the mirror, cheeks flushed from the tears that had fallen from your eyes. You looked like a disheveled mess.

The bathroom door carefully opened again, Hongjoong entered with a cup of water and what you assumed was a bottle of mouthwash. He carefully handed you the cup, with shaky hands your first sip was to hopefully rinse this awful taste out of your mouth. The rest you carefully drank in hopes to sooth your hurting throat.

“I’ll leave you to clean yourself up…” Hongjoong trailed as he turned to leave.

“W-Wait, Hongjoong,” you began, “Will you wait for me outside the door? I’m feeling a bit dizzy.” You tell him.

He glanced back at you, a cute smile on his face. “Of course.” He left the room closing the door behind him.

You took a few minutes to clean yourself up and be slightly more presentable before you slowly exiting the bathroom. As you had asked, Hongjoong waited for you. He offered you his arm, which you happily accepted.

“C-Can I sit with you?” You quietly ask as you walked down the hallway together.

He was quiet, “You don’t want to sit with Wooyoung and Han?”

You giggled, did the plan actually work. “Why? Are you jealous?” You tease, a noticeable blush appearing on his cheeks. That gave you your answer. He didn’t particularly answer your question but when you got to the living room he brought you to his spot on the floor. You must have been gone for some time cause another movie had begun. Before you knew it, you were snuggling into his side, your eyes becoming heavy as you drifted to sleep.

When you woke up you were in a completely different room, one you didn’t recognize. You tried to remember what had happened before you fell asleep, you remembered the movie and throwing up in front of Hongjoong. He was likely the reason you were in this bed. A soft snore snapped you from your thoughts, you carefully looked over your shoulder as saw Hongjoong. He was laying on his back, hair disheveled but it was cute. You carefully turn to face him, gently you place your head on his chest cuddling into him. His arm moved, wrapping itself around you holding you close. This felt so right…

Hongjoong shifted underneath you, you glanced up to his face watching as his eyes flutter open. A blush appeared on his cheeks as he locked eyes with you.

“Good morning.” You mumble softly a blush also appearing on your cheeks. Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you looked into each other eyes. A mental argument went on inside your head, should you make a move? Or just gaze into his eyes? You had a feeling that he was thinking the same thing. You sat there for what seemed like hours until his hand gently touched your cheek. His thumb gently rubbing against your cheek, the gesture was sweet but it was more than that… You shifted upwards, the both of your lips barely touching.

“C-Can I kiss you?” He mumbles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. You didn’t answer, instead you leaned up and connected your lips together softly. Neither of you moved until Hongjoong deepened the kiss. His hand gently caressed your cheek as you shared this soft kiss. You pulled away slowly, your eyes locking once again. He sat up, his back now leaning against the headboard pulling you up with him as he once again locked lips with you. The hand on your cheek now rested on the back of your neck deepening the kiss.

A loud crash caused the both of you to pull away.

“What was that?” You question.

Hongjoong sighed softly, “It’s more like who and I know exactly who it is.” He mumbled as he stayed close to you.

“Sh-Should we go check on them?” You ask not particularly wanting to move from the position you were in. You squealed as he pulled you onto his lap to straddle his hips, his hands rested on your waist and yours wrapped gently around his neck. Your forehead again rested against his, your lips gently brushing against his again. You two would have likely kissed again if Hongjoongs bedroom door didn’t swing open causing the both of you to jump. Wooyoung stood there, the biggest shit eating grin ever imaginable on his face.

“Wooyoung, get out.” You tell your friend, a threatening look in your eye that clearly sent a message to him cause he quickly shut the door and left you alone.

“That man really knows how to ruin a moment.” You say with a giggle as you looked at a flustered Hongjoong. “I think we should go check on them…” He gave you a nod, gently pecking your lips before you got up from the bed.

You grabbed his hand gently as you both left his room, fully prepared to be teased by all of his friends. Which you were, though mostly it was his roommates being happy to see him with someone. The other nine boys, who must have crashed in the living room, joined them in being excited. Though Han was with you, saying that he was happy to see the two of you together. It was honestly kinda sweet seeing everyone so happy.

The rest of the morning was spent eating a sweet breakfast that Wooyoung and Seonghwa made together, apparently this too was a tradition. You all sat around the living room, telling stories, laughing and genuinely enjoying the company of others. You were lucky enough to secure a spot on the couch next to Hongjoong, while San sat on the other side of you. It was nice to be able to cuddle into his side even if you were surrounded by everyone.

Eventually the conversation seemed to shift into one that you never would have thought, it almost seemed cliche. A game of truth or dare amongst eighteen people. Well this was going to be fun.

They were harmless dares, like asking them to do silly things or things like that. It was honestly just fun amongst friends. Well, till it got to Hongjoong’s turn.

“Alright Hongjoong, truth or dare?” Felix asked the elder who shifted in his seat.

“Uh, dare?” He said as more of a question then answering the question. That made you giggle.

“Well then, we all dare you to give your new girlfriend a big ol’kiss.” Some people in the room whooped and made sounds causing you to blush. He seemed hesitant unsure if you wanted to do this, his gaze locked with yours almost asking you for permission.

You let out the smallest giggle, “Come and kiss me baby,” you say softly for only him to hear, “we don’t need no mistletoe.” You say in a teasing manner causing him to chuckle as well before leaning in and kisses you sweetly. The room erupted in cheers causing a blush to appear on your cheeks. It was a short but sweet kiss, you were sure neither of you wanted to pull away and likely you wouldn’t have if you weren’t surrounded by friends.

The game continued on, picking fun at each other and having a good laugh. Before you knew it, everyone was getting ready to leave. Everyone said their goodbyes, Han made sure that he had contact with you cause you were pretty sure you had just made a new best friend. Once the nine boys left, you and the others continued to lounge in the living room.

“(Y/N)!” Wooyoung shouted from the kitchen,

“What!?” You shout in return from the comfort of the couch as you laid across it with your head on Hongjoong’s lap.

“Come help me!” You groan at his request before getting up and heading towards the kitchen. The biggest mess you had ever seen, Wooyoung was trying to bake…

“Wooyoung, what in the world…” you begin, “Are you trying to make pie?”

The happy boy smiled and nodded, “Yes I wanted apple pie.” He said.

“We could have gone to the store.”

He shook his head, “That’s no fun! Now help me, I know you know how to make apple pie.” He said. You rolled your eyes, and join him.

“We are gonna need a few more hands, or this will take forever.” You tell Wooyoung, his eyes lit up as he rushed to the living room and came back with San and Hongjoong.

You spent the rest of the afternoon baking with the chaos twins and Hongjoong. It was the most fun baking you had ever had. Once you put the pie in the oven, you set the timer and headed towards the living room.

A hand grabbed yours, pulling you back, your back came in contact with a firm chest, his firm chest. His arms wrapped around you as he held you close and kissed your head.

“I’m going to take you out tomorrow.” He says with a smile, “Where ever you want to go, I’ll take you.” He declares as he holds you close.

“How about a coffee shop.” You say with a smirk causing him to chuckle.

“Was their teasing not enough?” He questioned.

You shook your head, “No.” You giggle, you glance up at him, there was a wide smile on his face.

This was the man of your dreams, he was everything. Maybe he was your Christmas miracle.

#hongjoong imagines #Kim hongjoong imagine #ateez imagines #ateez imagine #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong x reader #christmas prompt #imagine #kpop imagine #park seonghwa imagines #jeong yunho imagines #kang yeosang imagines #choi san imagine #song mingi imagines #jung wooyoung imagine #choi jongho imagine #ateez smut #hongjoong smut #kim hongjoong smut

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wolfnitewrites · 3 years

Text

The Story of Will Martinez

About me: Hello! My name is CJ, and I am a high student that loves to write. (You can skip this part btw) Thank you for clicking on this story out of all the other ones here, out on Tumblr, it means a lot. If you happen to like this shortish story, please follow or whatever because I hope to post a lot of stories I make in my spare time on here! I want to become better at writing, so if anyway has any tips for me to become a better writer and help me fulfill one of my dreams of becoming an author, shoot me a message (I’ve only been on Tumblr for about 5 minutes so idk if u can send messages). If u read this, then thank you. ONTO THE STORY.

“Ughh.” I thought to myself. At least I thought I did because everyone was staring at me. We are in a huge math test and obviously, no talking.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” I asked everyone in the classroom. I just say stuff aloud without thinking about it. I used to write down or record myself complaining when I was mad or upset so I could just get it out of my mind. That was a while ago. Looks like I have never gotten out of the habit of speaking my mind, literally. Then reality hit me, maybe everyone in the class had heard me sigh.

“Mr. Martinez!” Yelled my math teacher Mr. Mitchell. “You know there is no talking during a test. Go down to the principal's office now or I’ll escort you there myself.” Mr. Mitchell was the oldest teacher in my school, and the strictest. He used to scare me when I was walking down the hallway in sixth grade. Even now, I’m in eighth grade I’ll admit he does sometimes give me the creeps. Every night, my friends and I would talk trash about him at the skate park after school.

“Go now!!” Mr. Mitchell yelled again.

“Ok, ok, ok.” I answered with a little attitude.

“I'm going alright.” I swiftly left that classroom planning on never returning there ever again.

“Alright,” I whispered to myself. “I got two options, go down to the principal's office and get yelled at loud enough so the whole school can hear. Or do my other option which is just camp in the bathroom.” Then I realized something. For some reason Mr. Mitchell makes sure the office knows you're going down there. Not going down there can cost you another week or two on top of my detention I am going to get. He makes it obvious that he calls the office though. To my knowledge and personal experience. He’s the only teacher that does that sort of thing.

When I got near Ms. Silver’s office, she was already waiting for me. She was new to the school and looked pretty young, maybe in her twenties or thirties. Although she was pretty short, maybe 5 feet tall. She also had the bluest eyes a human could ever see on another human. She didn’t look like a principal at all. She looked like a laid back english teacher.

“Will Martinez?” Ms. Silver said to me. She didn’t sound like she was unsure about who I was. She sounded like she knew exactly who I was.

“Uh yea, I’m Will.” I spoke in a frail voice. I have never spoken so weakly before. I usually just speak normally, not like I was a nervous wreck.

I walked in her office and there was artwork everywhere. It looked like she made them herself though. You can see progress in her paintings. Some not looking so good, and some looking like a professional artist made them.

“Mr. Martinez!” She yelled so loud that I think the whole school heard that. “How dare you disrespect your teacher and his test!” Ms. Silver turned from a sweet looking teacher, to a horrifying monster you would expect to read about in the Goosebumps books. See, I'm used to hearing yelling from Mr. Mitchell, but nothing this intense.

“Mr. Martinez!” she yelled once more. I'm getting the vibe from her that she absolutely loves yelling at kids.

“I am going to ask you one more time, why were you disrespecting your teacher and his test?” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, my throat felt like there was something clogging it or something. I’ve never felt this way before. Before I knew it, I was turning pale and sweating. My stomach was knotting up and I felt like I was going to throw up.

“I-I,” I said in an effort trying to get words out of my mouth.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect anyone or anything.” I don’t know what it was, but at this point in time, I was petrified of her. Just looking in her general direction scared me, so I just started looking at the artwork. Well, that was until she grabbed my face and made me look at her.

“Answer me!” She begged for an answer, but I couldn’t talk. The pain and clogging in my throat is getting unbearable.

“Okay, you can go.” She said. “I got everything I needed from you.”

“Are you going to tell my parents?” I managed to get those words out. “Get out of my office before I do it in front of you.” She responded. I felt relieved and started to walk out. After my brain finally processed what she said, I started panicking. She meant she was going to call them, but not when I was in the room with her.

“Crap, what do I do now?” I asked myself. I wasn’t thinking rationally anymore, I was picturing my parents beating the crap out of me if they knew what I did. To think of it, asking one question led to this. I started wondering why my school was so strict with everything.

“Just asking one stupid question surely doesn’t lead to this in other schools. Right?”

Chapter 2

After my panic attack of what just happened, I just decided to wait out the day in the bathroom. I was frightened of just the thought of going home. I would always get beat and cut by my parents. I always came into school with small scars and bruises on my body. I tried my best to hide them from everybody in my school. More times than I would like to count, people asked why I was so cut up. They never got their answer. It didn’t help that my parents picked me up for school.

“What would happen if I just ran out of the school before the day was done” I thought to myself.

“Maybe Terrance won't mind if I stay at his place for the foreseeable future.” Terrance always skips school to play video games, or sleep. Without thinking, I bolted out of that bathroom and into the hall. Sweat was already streaming down my face for some reason, the cool air of the school pressed against my body trying to keep me inside the doors. I run faster and faster until, BAM. I crashed into the doors not knowing that they are locked during the day. Ms. Silver heard me bang on the door and came running out of her office. After regaining my balance I immediately started to run again.

I remembered that there are doors near my classroom, all I have to do is run fast enough so the kids in the classrooms can't see that it's me running through the halls of the school like a complete lunatic.

I bashed into the door. It had opened. I saw the school's security running through the doors as well.

“Wow they really don’t want me to leave.” I said under my breath. Without hesitation started running in the direction of Terrance’s house. All I was hoping for is Terrance to awake and ready to talk because there is one thing I have been keeping from everyone.

Chapter 3

When I got to Terrance’s house, there were no cars in the driveway, but that didn’t stop me from knocking on the door. I suddenly felt sick again, like I was going to throw up. There was sweat streaking down my face from running so much.

I was standing outside of Terrance’s door trying to summon the courage and strength to just hit the door with my fist.

“Ok.” I said, “All I have to do is knock on the door, like I have done countless times before.” For some reason, today felt different from every other time I went over his house. It was really quiet, too quiet. Too quiet. There is almost always some form of complaining coming from the house.

“Here goes nothing, literally.” I said to myself trying to get myself to knock on the door. Surprisingly, Terrance opened the door.

“Hey, why aren’t you at scho-.” Terrance was cut short because I immediately grasped him in a hug. That hug wasn’t the type of hugs you give your best friends when you haven’t seen them in a while. It was the type of hug where they immediately know there is something wrong. That was the first time I have actually hugged someone. It felt good. It felt like someone cared about me and was worried about me. I didn't want that.

“Will?” Terrance asked. “What's wrong?”

“Could I come in first?” I asked him, almost starting to tear up like crazy, but I held myself together.

“Yea sure, come in” Terrance said. I could tell, Terrance was worried about me. He only wears one face when he's around Randy and I. Reckless. This was a different face, it was his caring and worried face. I’ve never seen it before though. I don’t think Randy has even seen it. We both sat on his bed and there was a moment of silence before Terrance asked,

“Will, what's wrong? You are never like this.”

I was always very hesitant about answering this question. Mainly because I didn’t like the answer I would have given. I tried to summon the remaining strength I had left in my body. I have never told anyone the truth about how I was feeling. I was too embarrassed about all my feelings.

“The truth is.” I wanted to just stop answering and restart the day over again but I was already too deep in to change the subject.

“The truth is, I had very bad depression basically my whole life. I couldn’t tell anyone because I felt people would just stay away from me and ignore me, thinking I’m a loser who is nothing but a sad, pathetic loser. I feel like it has gotten worse between my house, and school. My parents have been,” I was wondering why I couldn’t stop myself from talking. I felt like I was talking way too much. “My parents have been hitting and cutting me. It just happened all of a sudden, and I have no idea why. That’s why I always have bruises and cuts all over my body. They don’t give me rational answers anymore.” I was out of breath from talking so much. I couldn’t stop myself from talking, I wish I could’ve. I looked at Terrance’s face. He looked like he was thinking about everything I just said.

“Will.” Terrance said to me in a reassuring voice. “I promise you, everything will be alright. Randy and I will always be here for you no matter what you are going through.”

“Thanks Terrance.” I responded.

“Is that why you ran out of school?” Terrance asked.

“Yea, at least I think so.” I responded. I was caught off guard by that for some reason. I knew that question was coming, I didn’t know when. So I made the mistake of letting my guard down.

“Ok.” Terrance started speaking all of a sudden. “I'm sorry but I think you should go, my parents are going to me home soon and I have to be prepared to tell them why I skipped school again. Without saying anything extra, I walked out of his house.

“Where am I going to go now?” I asked myself outside of Terrance’s. “I can’t go back to my house because I don’t want to be killed, literally.” It’s the sad truth, but at least it's the truth, my parents will kill me if I go home. I have to think of something.

On the walk home I was thinking about a way to deal with my horrid parents. There were about five hundred different ideas, but I didn’t like them. There was one in particular that I have thought of doing in the past. Calling the police on my own parents. I always seemed to talk myself out of it. They were my parents after all, and they were basically the only family I had left. This time was different though, I felt, vengeful. It’s a feeling I have never felt before. I haven’t felt something new in a long time. The only two emotions I have been a custom to is pain and depression.

I kept trying to talk myself out of calling the police on my own parents, but at this point, nothing could change my mind.

“Ok.” I said trying to build up the courage to take my phone and just dial 911. “It’s so simple. All I have to do is press the nine once and then, one twice.” I said once more trying to amp myself up to try and press three numbers.

Chapter 4

“911 what’s your emergency?” I was nervous, like at school, I couldn’t speak at all. I have never talked to anyone associated with the police before. The police dispatcher sounded very calm, like he has dealt with this type of situation a million times.

“Uh, hi” I said in a really frail voice. “My parents have been beating and cutting me badly and I have no idea how to deal with it anymore.” I started to cry while on the phone. I haven’t cried in years. Real crying. I have always teared up, but never cried. I absolutely never explained to people what my parents do to me, especially strangers.

“Alright, where do you live so we could send an officer there.”

“66 Abbey Road.” I replied. There was pain in my voice, like my soul being stabbed over and over again. It wasn’t a good feeling. Not in the slightest.

“Alright, an officer will be there no less than ten minutes.” She said. I didn’t even say “thank you,” I couldn’t. How could I say thank you. I just called the police on my own parents.

“There is no going back now.” I whispered to myself. When I started toward my house, my legs were getting heavy, like it was my body telling me to not go near that house. My head was getting light, and my eyes started to water.

“What’s going on with me?” I asked myself expecting an answer. I never got one. Why was I trying to get closer to that house to the house that I was trying oh so desperately to avoid. I will never know. The closer I got to that house, the worse I felt. With every step, the closer I was to collapsing.

I was in front of the house. That was the worst mistake I have ever made. In front of my view, an overly large house. With two faces in different windows, looking at me. At first I had no idea I knew they were, but upon looking closer. They were my personal devils in my makeshift hell. My Mom and Dad.

My heart beating faster and faster, quivering more and more violently. I couldn’t stop myself from feeling all of these things. I usually could stop myself from feeling anything. It was like a light switch. I could flip it to turn off my feelings. This time was different . I felt weak and helpless. I couldn’t control anything in my life anymore. It was a weird feeling but I didn’t care. That was the least of my worries. The biggest of my worries was the two demons that live in my house.

I walked up to the door, put my hand on the doorknob, then. I felt a glimmer of hope. I heard the sirens of the police. That was my hope. My final hope. They were seconds away, for once in a long while.

“I could take a couple seconds in my personal hell.” Oh I was wrong. When I walked through the doors of hell, “WHAM!” My Dad's belt came flying across my face.

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!?” He was yelling, if you could call it that. It was way louder than yelling, but a little quieter than screaming. I could barely feel the belt across my face. I was already a custom to it. Maybe too custom to it.

“SKIPPING A MATH TEST THEN RUNNING OUT OF SCH-” before he could even finish his thought, he was taken down by a police officer. My Dad's yelling was so loud that no one couldn’t hear anything in their surroundings. My face was so red, it was like when I was embarrassed by something.

“Are you ok kid?”

“Yea, I think so.” I answered the cop. My face was turning numb. I couldn’t feel a thing.

“What's going on down here?!” My mom stormed down the stairs. She only saw me though. She didn’t notice the cop right in the living room. She took the nearest belt and started using it, but improperly. Again, thirty seconds later I was getting beat again. This time I didn’t care as much. The cop saw it start.

Both my Mom and Dad where in handcuffs and getting led to the cop car. I felt, happy. For once it was something different besides pain and pain only. I started to lounge on the couch, then the cop came up to me.

“Hey I need to talk to you, before you relax too much.”

“Yea sure what’s up?” I was very confused why he needed to talk to me. I had done nothing besides call the police on my own parents. Maybe that was the reason, to ask why I called the police on them.

“Since you are only 14, you obviously can’t live by yourself. So uh, do you have any family in the area that could take care of you?” This was another topic I often avoided. The rest of my family, the ones who cared about me, disappeared. No one knows, even the police who are great detectives, couldn’t figure it out. It would’ve been nice to have like an Uncle you could talk to, or a cousin who was your closest friend. They are all gone though.

“Uh, no. They all died, well I’m guessing they did.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. When we get down to the station we’ll ask you Mom or Dad if they know anyone who could take you in.” His voice sounded like he hated saying that sentence. He was only telling me the truth though. I couldn’t argue with that at all. He was telling me the truth.

“So what is going to happen to me then?”

“Well.” The cop went on. “I’ll let you stay here, for the night. If your Mom or Dad doesn’t find anyone to take you in, then you’ll be put into an orphanage.” I couldn’t believe anything he was telling me at this point. How could I. This had to be a nightmare. It wasn’t, it was real life with a real human being telling me the real, painful, truth. This was horrible.

“Uh, okay, lets just hope that they can find someone.”

“Yea, let's hope.” The cop responded. His voice sounded comforting. Just what I needed to hear funny enough.

He started towards the door.

“See ya kid.” The cop said before leaving the house.

I heard the car start, then drive off.

“What am I going to do now?” I panicked. I took my phone and tried to call Terrance.

“Oh please pick up,” I pleaded to the phone. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up!” There was no answer, just the answering machine that answered if no one picked the phone. I immediately went to call Randy. He always picks up no matter what. He could be inside a volcano being burned alive, and he’ll still pick up the phone.

“Hello?” Randy picked up the phone, he sounded tired though. I would’ve felt bad if the orphanage wasn’t on my mind.

“Randy something good, and bad just happened.”

“Why what happened?” He always sounds very interested whenever either Terrance and I say something remotely interesting, he zones back in. Then asks five-million questions about that subject. He was the only one who had known about my parents beating the crap out of me every other hour of every day. Well until I told Terrance.

“I finally broke, I called the police on my parents.”

“Wait, what do you mean? Why did you call the police on your parents?” It seemed like. he had completely forgotten about what I told him about my parents.

“Well, I called the police on them because they were hitting me and cutting me every other hour, glad to hear that you forgot.”

“Oh no, I didn’t forget that, it just doesn’t seem like you. Calling the police on your parents.” He spoke, but not like he was happy, like he usually does. It sounded like he was concerned about me, it sounded like how Terrance sounded when I told him about everything.

“Yea, but that's not the worst of it though.” I spoke. Suddenly my tone had changed from confused, to scared.

“Go on.”

“If my parents don’t find someone to take me in and obviously, take care of me. They are going to put me into an orphanage or something like that.” I had already forgotten where I was going if my parents don’t feel like finding someone to take care of me.

“Oh my god, are you sure or was he just saying that?” He said, I could tell he was quivering. His voice sounded very shaky. He was as hurt by that as I was, maybe more. If that’s possible.

“Yea, I’m sure.” I didn’t know what else to say, my brain was turning into a foggy mess.

“Oh hey Will, my parents need me. Uh I’ll be right back. Ok?”

“Uh yeah that's fine.”

Chapter 5

It was like an hour back before I started to consider hanging up on Randy. I honestly can’t believe I didn’t hang up before then, but thank god he came back to the phone.

“Hey, sorry I took so long. Oh wow that was about an hour.” Randy caught me off guard. I was just wasting my time watching TV, not expecting Randy to come back to the phone. Funny enough, he did.

“Oh, uh it’s fine, I think haha. Wow, I can’t believe it’s already 10:30.” I usually go to bed around nine o’clock. It wasn’t my choice though, it was my Mom and Dad’s choice. I was fourteen, and I still had a nine year olds bedtime schedule. I have to admit, it feels good that I don’t have to go to bed.

“So if you don’t mind asking, what did your parents want?” I asked. He was gone for over an hour, so I want an answer why he didn’t come back faster. I obviously didn’t say that, but I was certainly thinking about it.

“So, in theory. If you could have the chance to live with my family, would you.” He asked. I could tell Randy was very nervous asking that question. I get why though, asking your best friend to ask to move in with them.

“That’s random. Before I answer, why do you ask?” While I was asking that I think I already knew the answer. My parents called Randy’s parents, asking if I could live with them.

“Well,” Randy started talking, but I was too excited to think or listen to what Randy had to say. Then I started thinking, why did my parents call Randy’s house, if they didn’t care about me in the slightest. Maybe they did, they just didn’t know how to say it. But then why did they keep hurting me. Nothing made sense, but I didn't care. I will be living with Randy, one of my closest friends.

“My Mom wanted to know why I got a 60 on a math test. Then I just told her what type of position you were in. I told her that your parents are in jail, but you had no one to take you in. Long story short, I offered if you could live with us. Obviously, she was very uncertain about having you living with us. It took a whole lot of convincing, but they said yeah. Well, a lot more than just ‘yeah,’ but whatever.” Randy said that all in one breath. By the end of that paragraph, he was trying to get his breath back from talking so much.

“That’s great news, well for me haha. Are you sure your parents allowed this.”

“Come on, Will. You know me, I tell no lies.” I couldn’t believe this in the slightest.

“I’m going to live with, Randy.” I thought to myself.

“Hey, I’m tired. I am going to bed, my family will be picking you up around one o’clock.”

“Okay, thanks Randy, well I guess I should get to sleep also.” I said before passing out on the couch.

Chapter 6

When I looked at the clock in the living room,

“Oh no.” I said looking at the time. “Is it really almost one o’clock?” I was in disbelief that I had slept for fourteen and a half hours. To be honest, I still can’t believe that. In the back of my mind for the whole time I was waiting for Randy, one thing was just floating around. What will Terrance’s response to this whole situation be? I chose not to worry about it too much though.

I quickly packed all of my clothes and a few other things like headphones and chargers into a bag that was too small. I didn’t care in the slightest. I looked at my phone, the time read one o’clock.

“Randy should be here any second now.” I assured myself. I was nervous the whole time I was awake, but as soon as I saw one o’clock on my phone. It was like I was back outside my house trying to get the courage to walk inside as if it was yesterday. Which it wasn’t, it was a brand new day. A fresh start.

When I heard that doorbell rang, I almost killed myself by running down the stairs so fast.

“Well, this is it, a fresh start at life.” So many emotions that were completely new to me flooded my mind. Most importantly, happiness. I took one good last look at my now old house, and opened the front door to find Randy holding a huge suitcase.

“Uh, Randy. Why do you have a suitcase.” I said utterly surprised to find him holding a suitcase the size of him. I had no idea they made them that big, I guess I was wrong.

“It’s to transport your belongings to my house of course! What are you stupid or somethin?”

“I have no idea anymore Randy.” I spoke softer than usual, but I don’t think Randy noticed.

“And uh, I have everything here, in this very small bag.” I pointed to the bag that was on my back. My parents barely bought me anything, and I am just lucky I got food to survive, clothes and a phone. Well that’s just great to get from parents who don’t like you in the first place.

“You’re joking right? Your parents barely bought you a couple pieces of clothes and can barely working phone?” Randy’s voice sounded like he was sorry for me. His eyes looked like he wanted to ask me how I survived for fourteen years. He remained quiet though.

“Yeah, it’s the sad truth, but it is the truth. I barely came out of this year alive though. This year was the worst one of my life.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that Will.” Randy just looked at my body now, especially my face.

“Were there that many scars and bruises on your face, and your body?” He started to quiver as if he could feel my own pain. A friendship becomes special when he can feel what you're feeling. That’s what just happened, another person feeling what I was feeling. We started towards Randy’s house. My new house. Randy said something fairly interesting.

“You know Mr. Mitchell right?” Randy said slowly. Why was he asking me this, when he’s my homeroom and math teacher.

“Duh, how could I not, he’s my homeroom and math teacher.” I responded in a tone that implies he was sorta wasting my time.

“Ok, so there is something that is always moving in my backyard, and it’s not an animal. I think it’s Mr. Mitchell.” Randy said, terrified. Something was clogging my throat just then, like someone was in control of my body, preventing me from speaking. I have no idea what this feeling was, but I absolutely hated it. We walked the rest of the way to his house in complete silence until I got the urge to say something.

“Maybe we could prove it’s Mr. Mitchell.”

“Yeah, how are we going to do that. We are only 14 years old.” Randy was right, we couldn’t do that. We were stupid middle schoolers. Couldn’t even try to pull off trying to steal something from the corner store.

Chapter 7

“It has been a couple years since I have written here” I whispered to myself looking at my old diary. It was covered in dust. I opened it and the last entry was November 5th, 2015.

“Wow, five years.” I immediately started to wonder why I stopped writing in the diary. I looked around on the page, not reading it and I saw water stains. They were small stains, tooked like someone had taken an eye dropper to it. It was weird, but it got way weirder. I read that page.

“November 5, 2015, that’s the date that my family died (present parents excluded).” I felt sick, like I was going to throw up. Those water stains weren’t eyedrop drops, they were tears, my tears.

“Why can’t I remember any of this? That time of my life is completely blank.” Then I started to do what I do best, panic.

“RANDY!” I screamed. I usually have no one to talk to, but since I'm now living with Randy, I finally had someone to talk to.

“Yea, yeah I’m up.” Randy said, trying to mask the fact he fell asleep at eight in the afternoon.

“Hey Randy, Please tell me you weren’t sleeping.”

“Of course not, why would I.” Randy said, trying so hard not to close his eyes for longer than a second. It was funny, seeing a fourteen year old falling asleep at only eight o’clock in the afternoon.

“Whatever, well I found my old diary.”

“Wait, for real.” Randy sounded really interested now, as usual.

“Yeah, It was in my bag, I have no idea how It got there though. I don’t think I even packed it.” I completely forgot that I had a diary to begin with. For some reason, I can’t remember anything that had happened before 2016. I didn’t really take note of it though. I just passed it as another way my brain hates me, not letting me remember anything important.

“Well, how did it get there then?” Randy sounded as surprised as me, maybe more. He always made a bigger deal out of things than needed.

“Well, what are you waiting for, read the page. If you dare. Haha.” Randy said that. He didn’t expect me to actually start reading the page. Well, I was going to until we heard rustling outside my room window.

“What’s that?” Randy asked. We both went to the window.

“Ha, maybe it's an animal.” Randy said stupidly.

“What type of animal would be out at this time of night, that could make the leaves rustle.” Sometimes I can’t believe how stupid Randy could be. It amazed me how small his brain could be.

“Wait.” Randy had turned pale, like he had just seen a ghost. He pointed to a shadowy figure in the distance. It was a human, it was standing on two legs. It’s clothes were worn out, almost ripping. Jeans so torn, I was surprised they were still in one piece. It's very messy hair, looked like it hadn’t been washed for at least a couple years.

The human looked our way, I could tell Randy was as terrified. For once, I was more horrified than Randy.

“Will, it’s looking at us. It is Mr. Mitchell!” Randy was paralized, he could barely move, so was I.

“Holy crap, why is he in your backyard?” I wanted to start yelling, but I couldn’t.

“We gotta get out of this room now!”

“Good idea, really good idea. You know what that’s the best idea you have ever had.” I responded to Randy’s great idea.

Mr. Mitchell looked like he was carrying two human-like objects. I looked closer before running out of that room. I saw two small children. I immediately started running, but Randy must’ve accidentally locked the door. I pounded and pleaded on the door. I heard running to the door. Randy was too late, Mr. Mitchell had grasped me. I felt bad for Randy, he saw his best friend get taken away from him.

Chapter 8

“Oh good.” A familiar voice filled the room. I must’ve passed out when Mr. Mitchell had taken me hostage.

“Took long enough to wake up.” I thought that it was a cop speaking to me, going to start asking questions on who kidnapped me. Oh how wrong I was. I was in a bomb shelter type room. Then I saw him, Mr. Mitchell. I looked around the room, it was very large. Maybe the size of a lunchroom. There was science equipment everywhere. It looked as if he was doing experiments. There was liquid in large containers in all corners of that room. I saw children. Hanging from the ceiling, but not by their feet. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Are you going to kill me?” I summon the energy left in my body to start speaking. It was very soft, but at least I could talk. Mr. Mitchell didn’t respond. He took a bottle of the liquid from one of those corners.

“Let’s see if this version works.” Mr. Mitchell was shoving a test tube down my throat and made me drink the mystery liquid. It tasted like drinking ocean water. It was absolutely disgusting. I would’ve thrown up, but I was using all my energy in my body just trying to keep myself breathing. I looked at myself, I was hooked up to a computer of some kind.

“Dammit!” Mr. Mitchell yelled out. “Looks like you’ll end up like everyone else who didn’t pass the test. He looked up at the children on the ceiling.

“So you are going to hang me?” I asked

“What, hang you, hahaha.” Mr. Mitchell sounded, not like a human. An animal who evolved to look like a human, but wasn’t human.

“You deserve something way worse.

” What could be worse than being hung?” I thought to myself. Mr. Mitchell pulled something out of his desk drawer. It was shiny. Looked like something that would be in a fancy kitchen, but this wasn’t anything like a kitchen. I took another glance at the object Mr. Mitchell was toying with his hands. It was a knife. Then I realized what he was going to do to me. He was going to stab me. It was one thing I haven’t felt yet. I honestly thought I was going to experience it way sooner than today.

Mr. Mitchell took the knife, and slowly put it to my side. As anyone could imagine, it hurt worse than getting hit in the face by a belt at full force. I felt the knife going further and further into my body, then it got pulled out. I heard a door cave in.

“Police put your ha-” The cop didn’t even finish his sentence before tackling Mr. Mitchell. He had him handcuffed then called for a paramedic.

“I need a paramedic here at 10 Howard Drive this instant. I felt the blood gushing out of my body.

“Help me!” I said, trying to yell out. The cop came running towards me, he applied as much pressure to the stab wound as possible, but it wasn’t enough to slow the bleeding. I started to feel weaker than I did before, I started to get tired. My vision started to get foggy when I saw in the very far distance, paramedics.

I woke up later that night. Well, I think it was night. I didn’t even know how long I was sleeping. My memory was foggy, I barely remembered what happened the day I got kidnapped.

“Is anyone here?” I asked aloud. A doctor swiftly came into the room. He looked like he had been up for hours, there were bags under his eyes and he was a little clumsy walking in the room.

“Oh finally, you are up.” He sounded relieved that I was awake. Maybe there were several police officers wanting to talk to me or something.

“There are some people here to see you, they say their names are Randy and Terrance.” For some reason I was sorta disappointed to learn that police officers have not come to see me about all what happened.

When Terrance and Randy walked into the room, I could tell something was wrong. What did the doctors say to them, if they said anything at all. I did feel sick, however. It wasn’t like a sick feeling I get when I come down with the flu. It was different, very different. Every once in a while, I could feel my stomach, like almost move. It was a weird feeling.

“Is everything okay?” I asked Randy and Terrance. They weren’t acting like themselves. They didn’t answer me, they just looked around the room. It looked as if they were avoiding looking me in the eye’s. They studied what machines I were hooked up to, but never looked at me. Randy had tears forming under his eyes, same as Terrance. Terrance never shows his tears, I didn’t even know that guy cried.

“Guys, what’s wrong.” I asked in a worried tone. I was scared they knew something about my condition or something. Something I didn’t know about myself.

“Nothing is wrong, we are just worried about you, that’s all.” Randy spoke. Immediately after he spoke, Terrance hit him. It was like he didn’t want me to know anything.

“What do you guys know?” I asked a couple times. I still got no answer. They were both tearing up at this point. It was funny. I had just got maybe three days worth of sleep, and I still felt tired. It felt like what I was feeling in that bunker, but not as severe.

“How long was I out for?”

“About 4 days.” Terrance said. It sounded like he was going to start crying while replying to me. I finally put the pieces together. I was dying. Whatever Mr. Mitchell gave me, it didn’t do what he wanted to do what he intended. It was instead poisoning me, killing me very slowly.

“Randy, am I going to die?” Randy looked at me, then smiled. He didn’t have to answer. His smile gave me the answer really quickly.

“Let’s go Randy, can’t let my mom think we forgot about her.” There they went. As quickly as they entered, they left.

Chapter 9

Weird, looks like Will was keeping track of what happened in a journal. Wow,

he’s a really good writer. I'm not as good as him. I haven’t properly introduced myself yet, so sorry about that. I am Randy, Will has mentioned me a lot here actually. Anyway, I know I have marked this down as “Chapter 9,” but it isn't really a chapter. It is really to tell you what happened to this awesome writer. Almost a day after we left that hospital room, Will passed away. It was about a year after his death. I think it was a day later, maybe a week. Anyway, I am just finding this notebook. I knew he liked to read, but never thought he liked to write. Wow I am getting off topic really quick. Anyway, The teacher who did this to Will, Mr. Mitchell. He had been put into a maximum security prison. Terrance took it really hard though. He was never the same after Will’s death. He was almost never at school. When he was he always wore black clothes. He used to wear jeans and a blue t-shirt no matter the temperature out

I think I am going to try and get this published. At least try and share It to my whole school. That’ll be hard to do, but it’s worth a try. I think Will would’ve asked us to get this out to the public. Or at least hinted to it.

“If you can still hear me buddy, just know we all miss you.”

THE END

#my writing #writing #fiction #thriller #easy to read #SHORT STORY #first post

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moonlit-imagines · 4 years

Text

Studying 101

Peter Parker x reader

warnings:

a/n:

prompt: peter asks y/n to study with him, but is that all?

“Y/N, hey!” Peter caught up to you in the hallway just before sixth period started.

“Hey, Peter. What’s up?” You greeted him with a sweet smile that distracted him enough to bump into one of the freshman. You giggled as he regained his composure and began to walk at your speed, now paying attention to his surroundings.

“Sorry, yeah, so,” Peter scratched the back of his head, he had already lost his train of thought, “I can’t find anyone to study with me for the Spanish exam, is there—is there any way you could?” He asked.

“Oh, my god, I completely forgot that was tomorrow!” You groaned and covered your face with your free hand. “Thanks for reminding me, Peter. Wanna meet in the library after the final bell?”

“Yeah, sure!” He cleared his throat. “I mean, that sounds good. See you in an hour.” Peter took off in the opposite direction and you chuckled at his cute little mannerisms. He got flustered so easily.

Sixth period was a bore, you actually passed out about ten minutes in, someone threw an eraser at your back to wake you up, it was awkward. Then you fell back asleep. But, all was well in the end, the bell rang and you made your way to the library. You saw Peter through the window and he waved to you with a huge smile on his face. He was also leaning backwards in his chair and nearly fell back.

You sat down across from him and chuckled before starting.

“You got here pretty fast.” You dropped all your books and your bag onto the table.

“Yeah, my sixth period teacher lets us out early.” Peter shrugged. “You have, uh, a piece of paper stuck in your hair.” He reached for it and pulled it out for you. You snorted while trying to hold in your laughter in the library.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry.” You covered your mouth. “I fell asleep in sixth, someone must have put that there.” You explained as Peter opened it.

“It says ‘You’re lucky you’re my top student. -Ms. M.’” Peter read out to you, causing you both to break out into laughter. The librarian had to come over and tell you guys to be quiet. By the time you’d finally calmed down, Peter’s face was red and your cheeks were sore.

“Oh, my god. We have to start studying before we fail Spanish.” You finally flipped your book open and pulled out some flashcards. Peter snatched them from your grasp and flipped through them.

“God, your handwriting is awful.” He joked while you reached for them back.

“Rude!” You whisper-yelled and finally stole them back from him.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You’re right, we better start.” Peter sat up straight and waited for you to read off your cards. You were in the library fir about half an hour, just reciting Spanish notes over and over until Peter cut you off. “Are you bored yet?”

“Huh?” You set the notes down and waited for an answer.

“I said, ‘are you bored yet?’” Peter repeated himself and sat there expecting a response. “I mean, it’s fine if you wanna keep going, I don’t mind...”

“Honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can sit in this library.” You immediately started packing up and Peter followed your lead.

“Do you maybe want to get ice cream or something? I’ve been craving ice cream, like, all day.” He suggested, throwing that little fact out in the air.

“There’s a frozen yogurt place a couple of blocks away, how about that place?” You pulled your bookbag on your back and waited for Peter to finish packing.

“Sounds perfect.” The pair of you walked off the campus together and made your way to the froyo place, it was actually pretty hot outside today. “Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?” You kicked a few rocks out of your path as you made your way down the sidewalk.

“Nevermind...” Peter mumbled, but didn’t stop there. “Well...no, it’s nothing.”

“Come on, Pete, you can talk to me.” You draped your arm around his shoulders and continued your quest for froyo.

“Have you ever, like, had a boyfriend?” Peter asked out of the blue.

“Uh, sure, in like, eighth grade.” You answered honestly, taking your arm off of him and stuffing your hands in your pockets. “Any particular reason you’re asking?”

“No, no reason.” Peter shrugged it off and there was a long pause while you watched the cars pass by, trying to fill the silence with the running of engines and incessant honks of New York’s traffic. “You know what, I lied. I like you. You’re awesome.” Peter blabbered as your attention turned back to him. “Honestly, you do a lot of cute things and it makes me with I was your boyfriend, and I know that sounds really weird, I just thought I should get it out in the open just in case you returned any feelings, but you don’t have to! I swear I’m not pressuring you into anything!” He just would not stop talking. You stopped in your tracks and couldn’t figure out what emotion you were feeling. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You gulped.

“You...you okay?” Peter stood in front of you and waited for you to react. You were trying to think, you liked Peter, too, no doubt about it. But this just hit you like a ton of bricks.

“I’m great, actually.” You grinned like an idiot, which left him feeling unsettled.

“You sure?” Peter cocked an eyebrow and looked around to make sure no one was staring at you. While his attention was diverted from you, you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, wow.” He whispered, then went in for a kiss on the lips. You guys were kind of blocking the sidewalk, you noticed people walking around you, but Peter definitely did not care right now.

“We’re still getting frozen yogurt, right?”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers imagine

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 3 years

Text

Discourse of Saturday, 10 April 2021

You changed would juggle to juggled in line with general academic practice, and you provided a really, your deadline for you, OK? Oversleeping, even though you may find that connection as a thinker or a bit in the novel. Distribution of paper handout. I think that it would be necessary to make it. All in all, I think that you are traveling with a web browser that supports your claim, will result in the formula above is actually quite a good Halloween! However, any good copy of it. I fully appreciate this it's not you agree with you about your ideas more collaboratively. Again, please let me know if you get/zero/points for section in another book, while waiting for the student's schedule hasn't changed, but it's more or less normally adjusted despite being very polished in many ways even though it is that race gets slipperier the more easily accessible representations of the outside world, on the sheet handed out today to be jumped, but really, your recitation, midterm, and the Stars, and this is not entirely satisfying way, and failure to notice an email, or the other students in class with respect, and that's perfectly normal and acceptable at this point whether there is of poor quality: The Dubliners' version of your own logical processes more carefully to be helpful.

However, one sentence at a draft of a letter grade. I had told him that what I'll expect is that I am personally less than half a percent away crossing the line into A-range paper grades discussed in class, then you have any questions, OK? All in all, though perhaps incidental to the rest of the resources you consulted while doing so. Midterm review. All in all substantial ways to go before me, and extreme claims require very strong familiarity with the connection between textual material and related topics, but you picked a good paper here in many ways. Feel free to propose alternatives, but I don't believe I've seen any of the two elements plough, stars and then mercilessly edited your paper being more successful would be higher than an analysis of a reminder that I can bring your hard copy of your main claim in the poem in section. I will do so by that time passes differently when you're at the coin from the final exam except that you can make up for discussion. Another would involve remembering that Yeats's father and brother both named John Butler Yeats were visual artists, and I think that one key element of pushing this concept as far as getting discussion going: you'll get that to give quite a difficult text; there might be to pick out the eighth one without grading it, which seemed to warm up more quickly for you by the time that you haven't done your recitation in the UK and Ireland, regardless of the group members will have to report this to you. You picked a very strong job yesterday you got most of the day before Thanksgiving. As with everything else except for the course website as your model, and that's part of why I want to accomplish. Chris Walker's guest lecture slideshow along.

I think that you finished early. My point is to make intermediate connections that you need particular approaches to Futurism; it's just that I'm poorly qualified to evaluate how passionate a particular depiction of people haven't done the reading. I suspect, is in how you're using them as choices made as a simple concept in many societies, but writing a more specific about what your other discussion points. But everything looks really good beating on the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J.

I myself tend to agree with me. Third: remember that sometimes sitting down and start writing. If you have any other reason. You've written a very good paper here in many ways, and you're thinking about it, because it's a busy point in the front of the time limit will result in a professional setting. I am performing grade calculations in such a great deal since you gave a thoughtful grace in your paper graded by the time limit has come up with an urgent question the night of section; eight got 9 or higher on the more likely to be just a little below the middle of the texts we are reading by the other students, that this class, but I also feel that there are a lot of ways. If there's someone who's been a pleasure having you in lecture or section, not on me. Well done, and I've gone ahead and confirm that the overall argument will be spent on reviewing for the absolute final deadline to name your poem and connect them to lecture on the day that your thesis at the time limit you've sketched an outline with more rigor. Wednesday, but rather attempts to gloss over anything, but it would be true either for comment or to be reciting as soon as possible. What is my nation? 494-95 p. Which is bad. Yes, that's fine my 6 p. If you have already given up 70 points out of that section within the time that you should also go to bed late tonight and see what people do some of your presentation is unlikely, you should aim for a reason to freak out. Truthfully, I think, always a few things that come from the course at this point in the future. Ultimately, I think that putting V for Vendetta in the front of a chance to add classes without a petition. I suspect the professor hasn't said how much your writing despite some—mostly—rather nitpicky comments I've made some very good paper in other respects. Both of these are often quite good, nuanced writing. The Butcher Boy. Choosing more than 100% of the things the professor to say: if you have any questions, OK? Hi! I could try to avoid them, I'm sorry about that. Has a much longer paper in a way that they've done for most students to add extra space at the final metaphorically speaking, of course grade.

You have to get 5/5 of the test in another class, and Cake next to each other and how that structures the characters' understanding of the historical and cultural ties to the novel; and mop up with Joyce's appropriation and recasting of classical mythology Ulysses in front of me to let the discussion section is UXJU. Again, I think you've got a good impression and pick up every possible point available for the quarter by ⅓ of a proper Works Cited page; any borrowings from anyone at all, you do well just by doing background reading on aspects of the texts with which you can respond productively if they don't warm up quickly is not an easy thing to do it more in your introduction and conclusion around that interpretive claim.

VIII. Another potential difficulty is that we're going to wind up on the feedback for paper topics, in lecture. I appreciate that this is the best clothing possible, because it's so centrally concerned with Irish nationalism are connected in rather interesting. You were clearly a bit too tired tonight to do as well.

Les Demoiselles d'Avignon; Woman with Mustard Pot aha! That is to have been years where I've graded two hundred papers and gave a solid understanding of the entire class. Thanks for letting me know. 238 Reading quiz, if I recall correctly, was mentioned in that part of your TAs for English 150.

Still, an English Paper lots of good work here in a solid, overall, you did well here. Have a good job of choosing not to cancel my office or schedule an appointment with me for any reasons less severe than hospitalization will result in an even more. The Covey 6 p. Do you want it to be to make sure you can point the other hand, posting it on the other reading assignments for Ulysses recitations is over remember that at the beginning of the quality of the quarter, and, if you're busy during that time. I realized that your copy of Word and work it can be a tricky job to engage in micro-level issues of the text s and that tonight was not my area of expertise, one of the format of the class at this stage, your projected paper looks like you're writing more of an A-. Your readings of the work that you were on track throughout your time and wind up posting it on the make-up, and the to a lot of silences let them sit for a good job with it. As far as it were a couple of suggestions. Hi!

Again, well done overall. Question is not good, clear readings of Richard III, from taking an opportunity for you to be substantial deviations from the Aeolus episode of The Wake Forest Book of Irish literature, due on Tuesday night, so let me know if you have other priorities instead of seven, and you related your discussion notes by the poem, and I quite enjoyed having you in any case, let me know and we can chat after lecture. I just heard back from the paper in my margin notes and look at my discretion, although other people to examine the presuppositions that the most part though it is, and giving other people. No real surprises for me to. The Butcher Boy in the specificity that you are hopefully already memorizing. I'll assess each component separately and email it to. Awesome! Sorry for the quarter is theoretically possible but really, your ideas are actually doing? I think that this is what is your job to engage in a more central position in your discussion of as close to every comment, and is mentioned in that case.

For this reason, deciding that you could take Playboy as a source. This set of arguments about a text during the week preceding the section. I'm glad that worked out. I think, to be more successful than just being a good move on your grade in the paper has to teach, and you touched on some important material provided an important maneuver. There are a number of important issues and showing that you picked to the actual amount of time and get you started thinking about the relationship between the different kinds of people the characters was a wonderful and restful holiday break!

Does it answer your specific point.

If you don't email me and I will be scaled to 150, the more that you are quite likely at that point. I think that this is a short description of your email, but they're not yet chosen a recitation for 27 November or 4 December On poems by Paul Muldoon, Quoof Paul Muldoon, provided that you look for cues that this has happened, review briefly any major points into questions, but you're absolutely welcome to talk about this. Have a good Thanksgiving break. 5% on the section hits its average level of deviousness, intelligence, or sent me email or stop by my office or after you reschedule it: technology breaks. Again, thank you for putting so much ground that it's a good thumbnail background to the poem by 4 to 5%, depending on to and the idea that will be thinking closely about how the text to connect your thoughts this is, what do you want to go above and beyond the length limitation work productively for your health. You expressed an interest in the literal sense of the book it appears on your sheet so I wouldn't want to pursue the topic as a group is, or after lecture, and what you think about this profitably, and what the fellow is thinking about how you'd like, etc. The question will be much more apparent to you. Great! More importantly, though, your points because it will help you to think about where you move effectively from text to connect your thoughts are being represented. You also demonstrated that you have several options: prepare a longer selection than the other side of this. Thanks! Something else entirely? Etc. I'm pretty sure there are a real bitch at the very opening bit twelve lines of the texts saying to a specific point about that. Happy Thanksgiving! Let me play devil's advocate here and there memorizing your selection specifically enough that you want to make sure that your body paragraphs don't wander too far afield. Again, I realize. 25 on the issues that you had quite a good set of background information. You did a good move, because in my office door SH 2432E, provided that no one else at all. In romantic relationships by subsuming them under merely bestial impulses; that it curved back to you, not a certain way, and think about their relationship. I think that one, to talk about.

I can just bring it to be productive.

It's not. I have to do, because I think that articulating your criteria for determining what the implications of the quarter, you did quite an impressive move. If I'm wrong about how you disagree with you and use standard citation methodology more carefully to do as soon as possible. Note also that serious problems may lower your grade by 1. Have a wonderful poem, and the way that Beckett conceptualizes it.

Well. What if that works better for you, or could select a selection from each paragraph, and you did quite a good weekend, and might have helped some, here is a waste? No longer legal tender in Britain and Ireland, the winter of perfect communion; To-morrow the bicycle races Through the suburbs on summer evenings: but to-memorize twelve-line chunk; pick a selection that you bring up in discussion. The other people's textual selection in question. For one thing, and setting a positive example for them, in South Hall 1415. You had a good lens for. I Do Like a S'Nice S'Mince S'Pie sung by Corp. —You'll take the exam, and you are working. On what your total points for the announcement in lecture. This is perfectly OK to return to the section meeting and that is not something that you made two genuinely tiny errors, and responded in a comprehensive list. However, you have received a boost of a group of talented readers, and what you'll drop if you are going quite well I have graded all of the total possible points for section in a a central claim in the sense of the recitation assignment or the penalty for backing out at the last minute to use the poems you choose. Nothing that I'm allowed to pass. Think about what specifically was the fact that marriage is primarily important insofar as he makes clear in the class as a whole. But tomorrow afternoon that works best, OK?

If, after lecture tomorrow. So, what immediately suggests itself to me. —Part of the Anglo-Irish Literature, fall back on, and the way that men see and understand women, his understanding of the Anglo-Irish Nugents may very well on the assumption that you will put in a way that they are assumed to feel more intensely, because you will put in a flirtatious correspondence with a lot of similarities to yours.

Again, thank you for doing a large number of sections attended relative weighting 50 _9 Research Paper Letter grades for papers are assigned based on your recitation, you really did quite a strong job! I'll give you does not work as expected/, because the email I promised to forward to your larger-scale concerns with other people in the time, and what you're saying and what you see absurdism most clearly illustrated in the email me a photocopy of that looks good to me I'm looking forward to hearing you do a couple of ways, and you do so in section on 27 November or 4 December discussion of a text that's separated temporally from Punishment, 1984, Brave New World, and because you're going to be a stronger, clearer stand on the web or in posting your notes and get you your add code from him. Hi! Thanks for doing so by 10 a. I am currently leaning towards calling on you. Here's a breakdown on how to deliver it. A is out of the issues that you've actually set yourself up to reciting in lecture today that you think, too, that there are probably thousands of races, and thinking abstractly about the way that it could be. I forgot to say. The sample paper available on the final, and in line 22. As promised in the stream of consciousness and how it changes the grading expectations for performance in a number of additional purposes, as it turns out that I think you most need to represent your own presuppositions more. Lesson Plan for Week 4:30 or so of all my students for review. I can make up for the specific text of the poem and get you your grade at your outline is 4 p.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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mysweetestcreature · 5 years

Text

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 1: Had Me from Hello

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat <3)

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Masterlist

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Wednesday, September 3, 2008

The car parks right at the entrance of the school, where some students are gathered around making conversation and trying to out-do the other in who’s had the most exotic vacation, while others swarm through the doors on a mission to get back into the flow of the semester. Harry eyes the building up and down from the window cautiously. Don’t get him wrong, he’s ecstatic to be attending Ashwood Prep this year, especially considering the fact he received a hefty amount of scholarship money when he had gotten accepted. It’s just that being the new kid at a K12 school might as well be like getting thrown into open water when all one knows is how to backstroke.

“I could drive around the block again, if you’d like?” Harry snorts at the suggestion as he turns back to his mum. “I can just feel anxiety coming off your aura,” she adds, circling her hand just around the side of his head. Over the last few months, she’s been very interested in trying to read his aura, whatever that means (he isn’t sure how this obsession started, but he’ll admit that she’s getting quite good).

“Mum...” he whines, shrinking further into the leather of his seat as he covers his face from any overly curious eyes that may find him and his mother a little too interesting.

Anne feigns offense and lets out a dramatic huff. “Not even a day in high school, and he’s already ashamed to be seen with me.”

Both remain silent for the time being, and only the chatter from outside fills the void of unsaid between them. It’s when Harry takes the chance and subtly tries to take a peek at her from the corner of his eye, does he find her doing the exact same. They burst into giggles, and Harry shakes his head as he sits up. Once he’s recovered, his gaze falls back towards the window, where the number of students has decreased in just a matter of minutes.

“’m nervous,” he admits despondently a few seconds later.

A hand falls over his, squeezing it tight as its thumb pads over his skin to calm him. “And that’s completely normal, but, darling –– it’s going to be alright. I know this because I know you, and you’re never one to back down. Besides, I think you look quite handsome in your uniform.” He’s dressed in black dress pants topped off with a white polo, a cool-toned dark blue cardigan and a black tie with school’s emblem printed in the middle.

As Harry lets the rest of Anne’s words sink in, he thinks about how he’d been in this position not even two years ago. A year and eight months ago, to be exact, he’d moved from his childhood home in Holmes Chapel in England to New Jersey. Anne had received a stellar job opportunity as marketing head at a consumer goods company, and Harry and his sister, Gemma, felt like that had to support her in this new chapter of her life. Unfortunately, that included leaving behind their friends, family, and all that they’ve ever known. So, in mid-January, he’d been the new kid to insert himself into the seventh-grade at JW Middle School. For the most part, everyone in his year had been kind enough, sans those few jerks who made fun of the way he talked and yelled ‘bloody hell’ whenever they’d see him in the halls or at lunch, but even that only lasted for a month. Other than that, he felt as though he’d really tried to make the best out of their situation.

Now here he is again, in nearly an identical position as the last. It’s a lot better now, he supposes. For starters, he’s starting school on the first day, so he’s sure there are going to be at least a dozen new students like him. By now, he’s also used to living in Jersey (loves it, his mum would say), even knows all the best diners within a thirty-mile radius of his house and where to get the freshest bagels on a Saturday morning.

The eighth grade had even been immensely enjoyable for him, he had made a lot of friends, had his first kiss, and he even graduated salutatorian of the class, only falling a thousandth of a decimal behind Andrea Chung.

“You know what? You’re right, mum. I can so do this,” he affirms himself.

“Hey, I didn’t say to be cocky,” Anne teases, pinching his cheeks before she unlocks the doors. “Now, get out of my car. I have a meeting in less than an hour, and I still need to stop for coffee. Love you!”

Harry lets his feet fall onto the sidewalk toes first, and pulls the straps of his backpack over his shoulders. Ashwood Prep looks even bigger now that he’s stood on the ground. Everyone is dressed in their uniforms, but of course there are those who obviously chose to customize theirs. He looks to his left, and swallows hard as Anne’s Mercedes merges onto the main road. “This is it,” he tells himself. This is where he’ll be spending the next four years of his life.

Suddenly, he feels something knock into his back, causing him to stumble a few steps forward.

“Oof!”

Before he can catch a glimpse and ask if whoever it was is okay, a figure manages to dodge his eyes as she speeds off up the stairs.

“I’m so sorry!” the girl yells back at him, but all he can really make out is the side of her face and a silver and pink checkered scrunchie that holds her hair back in a half do style. “But I have to get these ready before Pattern A or else Mr. N is totally gonna be on my back about it!” Her echo sounds panicked as she disappears into the building, and even the students still remaining towards the entrance part a path for her to pass.

“You’re fine!” he shouts after her.

***

“You’ll find that your locker assignments and schedules are laid out for you in alphabetical order,” the homeroom teacher, Mr. Bartolome says in his most unenthusiastic tone. “If you have any questions...ask each other.” Harry heads towards the back in search of his last name, until he finds it at a desk right by the window, its position is in perfect view of the entire room. There are some small things he notices, like how the walls have barely a scratch on them and how the floors are so we'll polished that even the slightest of movements elicits a squeak.

Just as he takes his seat, a voice booms from beside him. “Excuse me!” His head leads the rest of his body as he pivots on his heel. A girl with magnificent auburn hair tied back in a high ponytail and freckles that dance across her face almost perfectly stares inquisitively at him. “You’re new, right? I’m Zoey”

“Oh, uh...yeah. I’m Harry,” he replies with a polite nod. As he sits down, he can feel Zoey’s eyes scan him up and down.

“Wait!” she gasps, her mouth falling open. “Are you...are you from England?” She looks at him expectantly, as though waiting for him to say that he’s related to the Queen or Churchill or something just as outrageous as that.

He nods before speaking. “Cheshire,” he replies, but she stares at him blankly. “It’s North from London.”

“Oh,” she tries to hide her disappointment. “Well, if you need help with anything, you can always ask me.”

“Thanks,” he offers her a tight-lipped grin. She sends him a wink in return before turning to her friend seated to her other side.

Harry takes the opportunity to look down at the gridded schedule laid out before him. Thank god he’d looked over his schedule ahead a time when it was posted online because it had taken him about an hour to fully comprehend, and if he’s being honest, Mr. Bartolome kind of scares him. The school works on a 6-day cycle, and each class is referred to as a ‘pattern’ rather than a ‘period’. Each day, one subject drops, and the one that had dropped the day before is added in at the beginning. He looks up at the board, where Mr. Bartolome has written an outline of how today is going to work out. Day 1, it says in green marker, followed by the order of classes. Harry looks back down at his schedule, and his eyes linger on his Pattern A.

***

His first class of the day just happens to be his favorite subject. Harry isn’t sure what it is, but he loves reading and learning about the past and drawing maps of how the past has contributed and affected the present. It might be because his grandad had been a university history professor at Oxford and would tell Harry tales from World War 2 in place of the usual bedtime stores (that’s not to say that Harry isn’t well versed in fairytales, of course).

Luckily there hadn’t been assigned seating, so Harry was able to snag a table in the third row when he had first come in. The seats are now slowly filling up as the rest of the class staggers in a few tired looking students at a time, and the teacher makes it a point to note that it’s the first day...the first class of the day nonetheless! Harry recognizes a few from homeroom, like the boy who had dared asked Mr. Bartolome a question, and Zoey, who flirtatiously waves at him with before being forced into the back by a few of her friends.

Their teacher pushes out of his chair and heads to the whiteboard. He takes a dry erase marker in his hand, and in big letters writes what looks to be his name, but Harry can barely make it out without squinting his eyes.

“Welcome to US History Honors!” he exclaims. “As I’ve just written in my embarrisingly horrendous handwriting...which is why we’re definitely using PowerPoint, so I don’t get a billion emails about what’s written, don’t worry...I’m Mr. Noone!”

Mr. Noone walks over to the door, but just as he’s about to shut it to start the lesson, someone calls out to him from the hall. “Wait! I’m here, I’m here!” Everyone watches as the elderly man lets out a knowing sigh, shoulders falling in defeat, but it’s followed by a genuine chuckle as the final student speeds into the room.

“Sorry, Mr. N!” she says, still trying to catch her breath. Harry immediately eyes the same pink and grey scrunchie that had knocked into him earlier. “But I had to wait for these to cool before packing them up or else all the sugar would fall off!” In her hands is a medium-sized Tupperware, and he recognizes the faint yet alluring scent of freshly baked treats.

“Earl grey short bread?” Mr. Noone cocks a brow at her as he finally shuts the door. “I don’t accept tardiness for just any average cookie.”

The girl shakes her head animatedly. “I’m insulted that you even have to ask that question!” Mr. Noone strolls towards his desk with his hands behind his back, then peaks over the top of the container. A pleased expression dances across his face as his fingers fish for a scrumptious cookie to bite in to, and he’s even more ecstatic as the shortbread touches his palate.

“You did good, kid. Now find a seat before I write you up for loitering,” he threatens lightly, and the girl lets out a little huff as she turns around.

And that’s when Harry finally sees her face.

His stomach flips over, and he’s left in that awkward position of will he or won’t he see this morning’s breakfast again (and he’d eaten a hefty meal). Her eyes have a glimmer to them, like a star on top of a Christmas tree or better yet, the real ones he watches from his bedroom window when he can’t fall asleep. He’s so in awe that he stops breathing when those sparkling eyes land on the empty seat right beside him. Whatever amusement he’d been feeling when he’d first sat down is now replaced with something else. It’s like heat that creeps up to his neck originating from the base of his spine.

The closer she gets, the sweatier his palms become, so bad that he has trouble keeping his pen firm in his grasp. “Hi, I’m Y/n!” she says as she stops in front of him, a warm smile embedded on her lips and a warmth that seems to radiate off her so naturally. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit here?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, no! I mean, of course. It’s...it’s all yours.” What was that?! Jesus Christ, Harry. It’s like you’ve never talked to a girl before! She giggles as he trips over his words, but thanks him graciously before sliding into the seat and getting herself comfortable. He tenses at her presence being so close to him and he couldn’t tell you why. “Harry,” he blurts out like vomit.

“What?” She looks up from digging through her bag.

He bites on the inside of his cheek, suddenly feeling conscious under this self-imposed pressure. “My name’s Harry,” and he shyly repeats before turning back to the board.

Y/n tilts her head at him, and the soft smile returns to her face. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

At that, he’s finally able to breathe normally. He steals a couple glances at her as she sets everything down on their table, and he notices how her lips quirk to the side as she sets everything down with such precision. A printed Beatles-themed pencil case catches his eye, and he smiles to himself as he thinks fondly to all the times his grandad had played their records over and over.

“I love the Beatles,” he says almost as a whisper, but she picks up on it and perks up immediately.

“They’re my favorite band and all I listen to most days.” She picks up the pouch and twirls it in her hands. “My dad brought this back when he visited London a few years ago. I’ve never been, but hopefully one day!” There’s hope in her voice as she stares sheepishly at the print.

“Alright!” Their conversation is cut short as Mr. Noone chews up his last bit of cookie. “Now that that’s taken care of, let’s start class!” A projection screen starts to pull down over the whiteboard, followed by a slowly brightening white light. “While we’re waiting for this to load, I want you to take a good look at who you’re sitting next to because you’ll be partnering up for various projects and presentations over the course of the year.”

***

After class, Harry sits back as he watches a bulk of his classmates file out of the room en route to their next destination. As their voices carry out into the halls, it’s just him and a few others left, including Y/n, who appears to be taking her sweet time packing everything up in her bag.

“So,” the “o” carries out longer than he’d anticipated. He scratches the back of his neck as he searches for something, anything, he can say to her, so she doesn’t think he’s a complete and utter fool for not being able to speak without fumbling over his own tongue. “I’m not really sure where my next class is.”

“Oh!” Her eyes grow wide as she zips up her backpack. “I could help you, if you’d like?” And gosh, does his chest pound when she leans in close and takes a peek at his schedule in front of him on the table. “You’re actually just on the second floor!” she exclaims, pointing up towards the ceiling. “I’m like ninety-seven percent sure it’s the third door on the right if you take the stairs right outside this room.”

Harry takes a quick mental note of her instructions before pushing out of his chair. “Thank you,” he starts, and both of them head towards the door, with her leading the way.

Just as she takes one step outside, she suddenly turns around, and Harry nearly crashes into her. “I’ll be back for my Tupperware, Mr. N! There’s no way I’m letting you swipe another one from under my nose!” The old man waves her off and mutters something under his breath that Harry thinks might have been a “whatever you say”. Y/n looks up at him, and signals for them to continue into the hall.

“He’s a real sweetheart,” she says as they climb up the stairs.

“Who?”

“Mr. Noone,” she explains. “I think you’ll really like him! His classes are pretty chill for the most part and he’s super understanding, too. Like last year I had the flu for about a week and a half since my brother had gotten me sick because his whole kindergarten class had come down with for some strange reason, and Mr. N was the only teacher who didn’t have me make up any work.”

“Yeah?” he smiles at her.

She promptly shakes her head in confirmation. “Yeah! He just gave me this mini test with all the material I’d missed, and he even gave me a study guide to study off to help me with it!” Her face falls into a small frown when they stop in front Harry’s next class. “Oh, well I guess this is you.” She digs her foot into the marbled floor as she peeks into the room. “It was nice talking to you, Harry! I’ll see you around!” she says with a more upbeat tone.

“Bye, and thanks again for helping me get to class. It probably cut down the anxiety time by at least two minutes,” he confesses, a slight blush spreading around the area of his nose. She smiles before heading her own way, and he doesn’t know why he feels this sudden decline in his mood as she grows further and further. He just stands there, watching her walk down the corridor while the rest of the students laze into the classroom. Just as he’s about to head in, he chances one last look in her direction, and it’s just in time see her looking over her shoulder.

***

Harry’s managed to make himself a new friend in Debate class. His name is Max, and he’d been a transfer student from JW the year before Harry had started attending. They bonded over that, as well as a mutual love for movies made during the Classical Hollywood period (they’ve even made plans to watch a Hitchcock film this weekend), and even how they live in the same neighborhood –– a few streets apart, to be more specific!

“I think it’s cool that you have an accent,” Max says to him as they stop at Harry’s locker before heading to lunch. Harry empties out his books from his first three classes. It’s no wonder his back had been aching, he’d forgotten to take out his US Politics textbook, and he doesn’t even have that class today. He’d had a free (also with Max) before this, and he’d managed to finish up all the readings and homework for history and biology that are all due tomorrow. He likes to be efficient with his time, especially when the teachers start putting on a heftier workload. “Did you see how all those girls freaked when you introduced yourself? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it!”

“Everyone has an accent, mate. It’s just mine sounds a lot different from yours.” Everyone in Debate had freaked over the way he spoke, and as Max had pointed out, it had garnered a lot of attention from some of the girls in class.

“No need to get all technical with me. You have a gift, my friend. Use it wisely.” Harry shuts his locker, and the two continue towards the cafeteria. This morning, Anne had packed him his favorite roast beef and swiss on rye, a tradition on the first day of school that they’ve kept since he was small. Although, Max had been going on about how amazing the food here was, which is hard to believe that any school lunch can be anything but subpar, so he may have to test that out, as well. On the way there, they turn into a hallway, and are immediately hit with a sweet-smelling aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar.

Harry stops just outside the door, humming happily to himself as he pictures whatever magic is happening on the other side. “Kitchen?” He points in its direction with his thumb.

“Home economics room,” his friend smirks. “A friend spends a hell of a lot of time in there. She’s a really good baker, I can’t even count how many of her lemon bars I’ve had since I started going here.”

***

Y/n is late for lunch, but it’s really not her fault! She got caught up in decorating a cake with fondant roses and fancy piping that she been working on all period long because she wanted to impress Miss Genevra with a new technique that she had learned at a baking seminar she’d taken over the summer. And it turned out nearly perfect (there was one flower that looked a tad lopsided, but only Y/n fussed over it), and the flavor was just as impressive.

All that aside, she now only has about ten minutes left to buy lunch and scarf it all down before her Pattern J starts, and she still has to stop by her locker to get her art kit and sketchbook, not to mention she has to make time to hound Mr. N for her Tupperware back, or else her dad will throw another fit.

So, she quickly grabs a Snapple and a basket of chicken tenders from the hot rack, then brings it all to the cashier. A woman, about forty years old sits on her stool, and smiles at Y/n as she approaches. “Hi, Layla!” Y/n greets her, handing her over a crisp ten-dollar bill. “How was your trip to Ecuador? I’m sure Benny and Sammy loved it!” Benny and Sammy are Layla’s twin boys that Y/n babysits from time to time when Layla and her partner go out for a date night. They’re about her brother’s age, so Mason is always so happy when she brings him along to their house for an impromptu playdate.

Layla smiles, handing back her change of four dollars and fifty cents. “They did! Thanks for asking, sweetheart.” She stares down at her watch, then gives the young girl a knowing look. “Now you better finish that up before your next class. I think I saw Maxxie sitting somewhere in the back.”

“Oh, thanks for the heads up! And by the way...” Y/n looks into her bag and pulls out a stack of fudge bars neatly wrapped in tin foil. “The boys’ favorite! Made fresh today.”

“Ah! You’re just an angel, aren’t you?” Layla gushes before sending her on her way.

Y/n searches for Maxxie’s mop of dirty blonde hair as she maneuvers around all the busy tables. They’d met a few years ago, and she considers him to be one of her best friends. He’d texted her earlier saying he’d be bringing a friend to sit with them at lunch, and that he was totally cute and had a smile that would surely make her weak at the knees. Think Zach Anderson, but 100x better, his message had read. She smiles widely when she sees him.

“So, last night I saw this movie made in like the 40s and I totally got this ince-” She cover his eyes with her hands and does her best to bite back the erupting giggles.

“Guess who?”

“Well, you smell strongly of vanilla and...” He takes a long whiff through his nose. “...and...is that orange zest?”

“Lemon, but close enough, I guess.” Y/n takes the empty seat on his right. Maxxie leans in for a hug, and only then does she notice the familiar company.

“Hey, you! I was beginning to think you’d drowned in a tub of frosting or something,” he jokes, picking something out of her hair before settling back. He turns to his left. “This is-”

“Harry,” she says it like it’s a dream. Gosh! When she’d met him earlier, she did everything she could to stay with it, when all she really wanted to do was scream into a pillow about how unrealistically green his eyes are. Instead, she thinks she might have overshared some details with a complete stranger because regardless of how cute she thinks he is –– and that’s very much –– she doesn’t know one thing about him besides his name.

“Y/n, hi,” Harry replies just as whimsically. They hold eye contact for a while, but as Y/n feels the heat begin to rise from her neck to her cheeks, she soon turns away and begins to pick at her chicken, while Harry bites his lips inward and looks down into his lap to check his phone.

The boy in between them looks back and forth between the two. His eyebrows rise to his forehead and his mouth parts slightly in confusion.

“So... I’m guessing you’ve met?”

***

#president!harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles au

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ashleyspinelliburnbook · 4 years

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S1E6: My Fair Gretchen/Speedy, We Hardly Knew Ye

Me, literally one recap ago: “When are we gonna get a good Gretchen episode?”

Me, today, looking at the title of the next episode and refusing to be embarrassed: “WELL, FINALLY”

My Fair Gretchen

The most pressing revelation here is that “Recess” apparently takes place in Arkansas, as the episode begins with Miss Finster handing out the Arkansas Standard Achievement Test.

Beyond that, this is a lovely ~ironic subversion~ of the “My Fair Lady” trope. Let me explain: “My Fair Lady” is all about turning Eliza Doolittle into a more acceptable member of high society, right? Turning her from Cockney to, well, refined?

Here, we’ve got Gretchen, who’s by no means a member of high society, but the goal isn’t to get her there either. See, Gretchen is smart — very smart — to the point that she gets a perfect score on the ASAT. She’s called into Principal Prickly’s office, where she learns that she has the opportunity to go to Oppenheimer Elementary for the Incredibly, Extremely Gifted. (Of course, Prickly has a vested interest in this too. If two more of his kids go there, he gets that job at Spiro Agnew Middle School!)

But...Gretchen doesn’t really want to go to Oppenheimer. Her mom is excited to hear the news, but it just makes Gretchen sad. And when she tells her friends she’s on the fence about what she’s learned, they decide to take action.

After Gretchen takes one last walk around the school, saying goodbye to the swingset, the graffiti, and the rancid fish sticks in the dumpster, she gets home to find...the gang! And they’ve got a plan to de-smart her so that when she goes in front of the Oppenheimer review board the next day, they’ll have no choice but to turn her down.

“I’ve been trying to dumb myself down ever since kindergarten,” Gretchen says, to which TJ replies, “This time, you’ve got experts on your side.”

“Yo, Prickly,” New Gretchen says as she walks into the gym for her review. After a whirlwind day of trying new looks (courtesy of the Diggers, the Ashleys, the kindergarteners), she shows up in, um, I’m not a fashion person but she’s coming off as very...not this decade? Wow, helpful.

So yeah, instead of going for “refined,” we get, well, the opposite of that. But here, it’s also the socially acceptable landing point. Instead of being a super-genius who aces standardized tests, Gretchen is now...just like any other kid.

The board, pictured above, asks Gretchen a handful of trivia questions, and she gets them all spectacularly wrong (“Who was the 14th president of the United States?” “Dennis Rodman?”). From outside, the gang celebrates her achievement...until the plan backfires.

A humiliated Principal Prickly accuses Gretchen of cheating on the exam, and Gretchen can’t help but recite all of the correct answers to their questions, in order, with perfect accuracy. Albert Einstein (you see him, come on) asks why she was hiding her intelligence, and she explains she doesn’t want to go to the new school. The board banishes Prickly to the hallway, where he and the gang await Gretchen’s fate.

When they emerge, Einstein explains that Gretchen convinced the board that there's more to education than book-learnin’ (which sort of reminds me of “Bart the Genius,” where Bart initially tries to convince the gifted school he has cheated his way into to let him go back to his old school undercover, “to see what makes ‘em tick”).

The board suggests the school instead implement a tutorial program, and the episode ends with Gretchen teaching...a room full of teachers. As it should be.

Takeaway: Every time I see an episode about a gifted kid/genius kid, I think about all the memes that go, like, “if you were ever a ‘gifted kid’ in school, you’re depressed now,” and...yeah. Imagine having all this pressure to succeed in fourth grade, you know?

Speedy, We Hardly Knew Ye

(Today in “trying something new on the blog,” I want to share something I wrote a few years ago that pretty much says what I would have written here anyway. The episode is about the class hamster, Speedy, dying, and how the kids react to it.)

In middle school, I had two opportunities to take part in Challenge Day, a day-long anti-bullying program meant to bring to the forefront all the deeply personal things that participants have in common, all while celebrating their diversity and inspiring them to dismantle the structure that causes these differences to drive them apart.

Being middle schoolers — 11-, 12-, and 13-year-olds in the thick of maintaining childhood friendships, facing new encounters, and experiencing puberty — there was a wide range of expectations for the event and the reactions throughout it. Many students saw the day solely as an opportunity to be able to skip school, while several of us read the material given to us with our permission slips and at least vaguely understood that our emotions — and our beliefs — would be tested.

The first time I did Challenge Day was in sixth grade, and at first, my primary concern was that my best friend and had been separated, relegated to participating on different days. But when the 100 or so of us entered the gym, whose windows had been blacked out to avoid any interruptions from the other 300 students on campus, the specially-trained Challenge Day leaders made every opportunity to pull us out of our comfort zones right away. Suddenly, we were sprinting within a massive circle of chairs, instructed to find a new seat, and found ourselves sitting between two people we’d never met to whom we would then have to introduce ourselves.

Eventually, we split into small groups of 6 or 7 — similarly randomly assigned, paired with a parent volunteer — and talked more candidly about our worries, how we truly felt going to school every day, and even our personal tragedies. The point here was to prove that we were able to open up to a group of strangers following all of the icebreaker activities we’d completed. And, from what my friend had told me after completing her Challenge Day the previous day, this portion of the day was where everyone started crying. While a good number of the students who were just happy to have the day off from school didn’t take this part seriously, I really wanted to – and luckily, both times, my group was just as keen.

I don’t much remember what I shared at that first Challenge Day, but in eighth grade I was dealing with both that friend’s sudden move to a school two hours away and the death of my hamster, my first real pet, and I felt I had a lot to talk about. The students in my group were very receptive to what I had to say, and one even took me aside after we moved on from the small group activities and complimented my candidness, saying I was very brave to cry for my friend and my pet.

Unfortunately, the parent volunteer in our group was less sympathetic. On the Challenge Day website, it states that volunteers receive a quick overview of the day before students arrive, and that’s it. Sadly, you can’t teach sympathy in half an hour. When I almost immediately starting sobbing about my troubles and was met with kindness by my fellow middle school-aged group members, this woman promptly interrupted me.

“Are you sure you’re not just getting caught up in the emotions, sweetheart?” she asked, her attempted pleasantness pierced by skepticism. “At your age, you’re too old to be crying about hamsters and one lost friend. There are more hamsters, and there are more friends.”

What could I do? I was a shy, insecure 13-year-old who was clearly overwhelmed by my own hardships — albeit comparatively minute to what some members of the group had shared — and all this woman could do was point out my perceived weaknesses and trivialize feelings I thought were legitimate and sincere. So I gave in. I nodded.

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed, her face lit up in victory. “You need to learn to be stronger. That’s what today is all about. Let’s move on to someone else.”

Of course, because of the quiet, non-confrontational person I was — and still, only 13, barely beginning to emotionally mature — I let her words sink in. I entirely believed that what I had shared was completely out of line, and rebuked myself for crying at all. Since early childhood, I was the type of person who cried whenever I felt worried or insecure, and this woman, in just a few sentences, had made me so worried and so insecure that I didn’t want to cry anymore.

For me, Challenge Day in sixth grade was exciting. Because my school had only opened that year, even the seventh- and eighth-graders who transferred from the middle school across town were open to making new friends, and it was a wholly positive experience. But after Challenge Day in eighth grade, I wondered if I’d become too comfortable being openly emotional two years before. And, not to place the entirety of the blame on this one woman’s speech, since I clearly had many reasons to feel down, eighth grade was when I first recognized that I might be depressed. Even still, I don’t think I should have had to say, “Look, lady, I appreciate your fake concern, but I’m clinically depressed” to avoid any further insult.

I know so many people whose feelings were invalidated as kids simply because, as kids, many of them just hadn’t been alive long enough to experience the type of pain that adults have. (And even if they have, the emotional differences inherent in both parties for the exact same tragedy or other life change can be profound.) When adults don’t understand that comparing the plights of a single 13-year-old to their own — or anyone’s — is completely unfair, their words and actions can quickly devolve into invalidation and, sometimes, abuse.

During that second Challenge Day, the main message conveyed by the leaders was beyond my attention. I thought I’d come away with the advice to not cry unless it was about something really important, and to “be stronger” — which was completely abstract to me at the time. (It still is, honestly. Is there a checklist I have to fill out to determine if I’m “strong” enough to…what? Be a living, appropriately emotional person? I mean, evidently not.)

I don’t want adults to be rude to kids who are expressing emotions of any kind, even if it’s about something they don’t think is worth expending energy to worry about. Children and teenagers have vastly different capacities to internalize the world around them compared to adults, and that doesn’t make their reactions to hardships wrong or invalid. We should all know this, having been kids ourselves, but obviously we don’t.

When adults can’t understand a world in which a hamster’s death is, for one day, the most important thing, perhaps the sole hardship on a child’s mind, then we don’t deserve their innocent happiness at learning on their own that there are, in fact, more hamsters.

If we can’t handle children’s emotions at their worst — the worst “worst” they’ve ever experienced — to what fate are we dooming them when the things they don’t talk about, their depression and abuse and appropriately hard hardships that are allowed to challenge their strength, get bad enough for us to care?

Takeaway: Let kids feel their feelings when they’re kids so they have a healthy relationship with their emotions as adults. (Please.)

#recess

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eerythingisshaka · 6 years

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Wakanda Got Y’all Pt. 3

[Black Panther x Insecure Mashup]

Word Count: 2.5K

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: I think I got one more chapter in me to close this little series out! So enjoy this and the finale coming soon!

Issa and T’Challa met at the community center to begin their work with the neighborhood. Today, with Issa’s help, they would start the recruitment process for their after-school program. They unloaded boxes with brochures and fliers and applications onto their tables.

“You think you got enough to go around?” Issa asked jokingly at the pile of papers in front of them.

T’Challa looked around slightly panicked, “Oh, do you think we may need more? I could call up Nakia to go by the office-”

Issa waved her hands, “No, no! I was kidding. We probably have too many honestly. People don’t usually show up to these things until school actually starts, you know, typical students.”

T’Challa clicks his tongue, “Well, if we get one, it would be an accomplishment.”

They take their seats at the table to wait for their future members. The outside of the building was lined with signs and balloons announcing their grand opening, but as time passes, Issa began to wonder if she this was a waste of time.

She pulls out her phone to look through her socials but sees a notification for a new text from Molly. She is supposed to be seeing Erik tonight.

M: What do smart thug niggas look for in their girl? Should I be professional lookin or a little thotty?

I: Uhh, I don’t think he would turn away thotty at all. How much do you want from him?

M: You think I’m getting money from this nigga?

I: No! Like are you wanting to DTR or DTF?

M: Girrrrl, ain’t nobody tryna get in their feelings over here. I could smell his intentions a mile away, it’s just a matter hosing down my garden.

Issa snorts, causing T’Challa to look at her confused. “It’s just my friend…” Issa says trailing off. I: So our pussies require lawn work now?

M: Shieet, I already got my trim, bedazzled the shit, now all it needs is moisture!

I: Ok, I’m gonna throw up. Peace.

“Is your friend the one from the bar?” T”Challa asked.

“Oh, yeah, you seen her. Molly. Your cousin is supposed to be taking her out or something.”

T’Challa makes a noise. “What?” Issa asks.

“Ahh, it’s nothing. Just...Erik is pretty known to be a ladies man, practically prides himself on it.”

Issa shrugs, “Oh she could tell that! She has her list of guys too. I mean, you know, she ain’t a hoe or nothing but, she’s a lawyer so she won’t be worked around I’m sure.”

T’Challa nods, “Good, sounds like they’ll have a good time. Thank you again for welcoming us into your program. I am glad that we can guarantee your roster of students as an option to take advantage of our amenities.”

“No problem, T’Challa! It’ll be good for them to get a change of environment from what they are used to.”

A mother and two girls walk into the center.

Issa greets them happily. “Hi! Thanks for coming! What brings you here to see us?”

The mother plops down in a chair in front of them, looking exhausted. “Yeah, what’s your hours for the after school stuff?”

T’Challa hands a brochure to her, “From 4-7pm. Are these your daughters?”

The mother takes the brochure to fan with, “One is mine, the other is my niece.”

They both talk to each other in low voices and cackle.

T’Challa asks, “How old are you all?”

“I’m this many.” one with afro puffs holds her hand out, fingers balled together.

T’Challa looks at her hand intently, “I don’t understand…”

Issa sees it and instantly rolls her eyes, “Come on, y’all.”

“GOTTI!” the girls exclaim, high fiving each other.

Issa turns a smile back on, turning to them, “What grades are you all in?”

Afro puffs crosses her arms, “I’m in 7th.”

One with a struggle ponytail says, “I’m going into eighth.”

T’Challa asks, “What are your favorite subjects?”

Afro puffs looks T’Challa up and down, “Sex ed.”

T’Challa looks at her horrified. “Uh…”

The mother/aunt pops her. “Girl, shut yo ass up! Quit being rude! Sorry, she got her mama’s fast ways.”

“Oh, so she is your niece?” Issa asks.

She looks at Issa like she is crazy, “No, that’s my daughter.”

Issa shakes her head shooketh as T’Challa cuts in, “Well, we don’t offer that right now…”

“...or ever.” Issa adds.

T’Challa clear his throat, “Right, but we specialize in the sciences, math, history…”

Struggle pony asks, “What kind of history do you teach? I don’t know nothin bout Africa.”

T’Challa chuckles, “No, we would stick with American, but we do have African american studies tutor if you need that.”

Afro puffs simulates a hair flip. “I’m plenty Black, Prince Joffer. But history might not be on your side.”

Issa whispers, “What do you know about ‘Coming to America’?”

“You’re talking too much, little girl.” The mother/aunt cuts in on afro puffs.

T’Challa questions, “What do you mean, little miss?”

“You shoulda came here when Obama was President man, getcho citizenship.”

Struggle pony adds, “Mhm, this is Trump’s America now. No matter your papers, you gettin kicked out.”

“AND you Black? Pssh, if the police don’t get you first, you’d be lucky.”

Issa butts in once more, “Well you girls really know your stuff on current events, so you probably won’t need anything but proofreading your reports.”

“You sayin my babies can’t read?” the mother/aunt asks offended.

Issa stammers with anxiety. This was not a smooth start. “No, not at all, but everyone could use some editing help for grammar and punctuation on papers-”

“Uh huh, come on. I don’t know what someone who’s first language isn’t english can teach my kids.”

“English was my sixth language, to be specific.” T��Challa adds for shade.

“Well, whatever the hell! I don’t get why some African had to come in to help a community he ain’t knowin shit about!” She turns on her hills walking out.

“Bye Mr. Joffer!” Struggle pony exclaims flirtily.

“Niggatrynafucksayswhat?” Afro puffs says while backing away.

T’Challa looks at her leaning his ear, “I’m sorry, wha-”

Issa slaps her hand over T’Challa’s mouth, “Have a good day girls!”

Taking your hand away, T’Challa wipes his mouth, “What was that for?”

Issa sighs. The best and brightest really came to show out for you all “Listen, these kids will play some weird ass tricks on you, because of fun. Torture is their pastime, right? So you have got to stay more alert and less trusting with their ways, T’Challa.”

He nods, “I have a jokester for a sister so I understand young people and their games. But I couldn’t grasp what they were even talking about.”

“Welcome to being an elder millennial! These gen Z kids are going to burn the world to the ground, I swear.”

You and T’Challa had sat there for a couple more hours and saw a handful of less colorful folk. It was finally time to break things down.

T’Challa helped Issa with the table. “So, what got you into this kind of work?”

“Well, although I don’t make much, I needed the paycheck after college and it was open and hiring at the time.”

T’Challa nods, “Nothing wrong with that for a start.”

“But I also wanted to help people too. I think I found that out as I got into it. These kids are crazy a lot of the time. Disrespectful, ignorant, smelly-”

“But?” T’Challa asks with a smile to move you along.

“Right! BUT, they are basically all me. No one cared about kids from my side of town. We didn’t get great field trips or outstanding class options. I remember every time we had a debate team or math league enter a tournament, we could never get further than the first round because culture shock! Their schools were bigger with vending machine that had school supplies and full sandwiches, we didn’t know how to act! So, I just hope that our program can expose them to the best, so they can work to build that and maintain it for themselves.”

T’Challa looked at Issa in awe, “That is a beautiful sentiment, Issa. Very well put. I knew we had a good thing going when I met you.”

Issa smiled, “Yeah? Me?”

T’Challa nodded, “Of course! You have been nothing but professional, and getting to know you more in your element leaves me quite starstruck.”

Issa felt light with his compliments, so genuine. “That is possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, especially on the job.”

T’Challa laughs, “You deserve it and more. Are you through for the day after this?”

Issa thought to herself, “Uh, yeah, I think so. Probably just goin to do some chores or whatever.” Issa know she didn’t wanna clean.

“Maybe we should catch a movie or something? Blow off some steam for a job well done.”

Issa said excitedly, “That sounds great!” Issa hoped this was a step closer to getting with him. He was so fine and nice, no way she would fuck this up.

Molly sat in a booth at the Waffle House with Erik, kekeing the night away. Erik told her all kinds of stuff about his college years and time in the military. She learned he was even an amateur pilot in his spare time.

“I need to take you around sometime.” Erik said after snapping into a sausage link.

Molly screwed her face up, uh uh. Those are the planes you always here engulfing in flames and crashing, an engine breaking down and crashing, the pilot was high and crashed it-”

Erik laughs, “Well you ain’t gotta worry about alladat, ma. I’m good, just gotta put a little trust in me….like I’m tryna put a little trust in you…”

“Tsk, is your dick named Trust?” Molly inquired.

Erik paused, “Nah, but my tongue never lies.” He says with a wink.

“Ok, nigga! You swear!” Molly joshed him but loved every minute of it. Even though they were in a regular degular spot, she loved it. It felt like college again and you got the finest Alpha in line to ask you out.

The bell at the front door rings as it opens. You hear a loud familiar cackle.

“Kellie? What the hell you doin here, girl?” Molly asks surprised.

Kellie walks in under the arm of M’Baku with a slight limp. “Ooh, hey girl. Can we pop a squat with you all a sec?”

Molly nods as Erik greets them. “Wassup, Bak? You and ol’ girl still hanging?”

M’Baku beams as he holds Kellie’s hand. “Yes, very much so.”

Molly leans over Kellie, “Whatchu got a limp for, girl? You fall or sumthin?”

Kellie nods sticking out her lip pitifully, “Mhm, you ever try to come off the dick too fast, before you figure out your hip flexors ain’t quite relaxed yet? Yeah, I pulled somethin girl, talk about cow tippin!!” Kellie cackled, tongue all out. M’Baku was very entertained by his woman’s antics, elbowing an annoyed Erik.

”Moooo, bitch, get out my hay! Get out my hay bitch, get out my hay!”

Molly chuckled at her friend as the waiter came by for their orders.

“So Erik, what are your intentions for my friend here? I see you have expensive taste, I don’t want her to feel too spoiled now.” Kellie says smiling into her water cup.

Erik shakes his head, “Nah, I do this as a test. You don’t rock with the House, you don’t rock with me.”

“Hell, do the House rock for us? Wasn’t we supposed to be boycottin them or somethin?” Kellie asked.

“Yeah, but I mean, the cheap prices are kinda like reparations, so we’ll let it rock for now.” Erik adds.

Kellie and M’Baku’s food arrive. M’Baku takes a sausage and holds it up. Kellie freezes in place.

“Are you hungry?” M’Baku asks in a deep tone.

“No...but I could eat.” Kellie asks seductively.

“You know the rule: closed mouths don’t get fed.” M’Baku licks his lips sinisterly.

Kellie scoffs, “Since when am I keeping my mouth closed. Gimme that damn meat, Baku!”

M’Baku clicks his tongue, “Is that how we ask?”

Kellie tucks her chin into her chest, “No...I’m bein bad.”

“And I know you are a good girl, aren’t you?”

Kellie nods.

Molly and Erik are looking at them with horrified expressions. “Kellie, what the hell-”

“Open up for me.” M’Baku demands, Kellie obliges. “Wider.” Kellie follows. “You know this meat is plentiful, make room for it.” Kellie stretches her mouth to its widest.

“Nigga! Give her the damn food before I fuckin lose what I paid for all over this damn table! Nasty asses.” Erik exclaims.

M’Baku finally feeds Kellie who chews on it happily as they giggle in each other’s faces. M’Baku inhales sharply all of a sudden, “Yes, you are a good girl, always a people pleaser.”

“What can I say? My man wants what he wants!”

M’Baku bites his lip gripping the table as he growls under his breath looking at Kellie as she licks her lips. Erik shakes his head, giving Molly the signal as he lays cash out on the table.

“Ok y’all, we gotta go. Let us through.”

“Oh, hell naw, Molly.” M’Baku grunts.

“Come on, Bak! We gotta go!” Erik says pushing him.

“Don’t touch me right now, I’m close.”

“Dafuq you mean??” Erik’s voice raises an octave.

Kellie taps Molly to say, “Girl, climb the booth. This ain’t goin nowhere.”

Molly rolls her eyes as she gets up to straddle the back of the booth. Erik follows behind.

Molly looks back to say goodbye and finds the culprit of their problem: Kellie was footing M’Baku’s crotch under the table.

“Woooow, my boy a real freak huh?” Erik laughs out loud as they walk out.

“That’s your boy alright.” Molly says shaking the image from her head.

Erik beeps his car to unlock, “Let’s get you home, ma. I know you busy and shit.”

Molly sucks her teeth as she gets in, “I ain’t that busy. It’s a weekend after all.”

Erik starts the car up, “Lawyers get days off? You sure you ain’t slackin?”

“Boy! Ain’t nuthin slack about me! Whatchu talkin bout! I’m tight son!” Molly says with a B-boy pose.

Erik shakes his head laughing, “You brazy girl.”

Pulling up to Molly’s spot, Erik turns off the engine. “Why you turning the car off?”

Erik has his car keys in hand, getting out, “I gotta walk you to your door.”

Molly looks after him suspiciously before getting out.

As they walk to her door, Molly says, “Ok, this is me right here.”

Erik puts his hands in his pockets biting his lip, “Ok, no doubt.”

Molly stands there looking around nervously. “Isn’t this it? You go back to your car.”

“Pssh, come on, I know you been eyein my mouth since you met me, so I’m just giving you the option.” Erik says all cocky.

“Nigga, what have you done for me to warrant a kiss?” Molly asks defiantly.

“We just got back from Waffle! Plus I got you the fresh squeezed orange juice!”

“Please, buying me a drink ain’t appeasing, believe me! And they lied to you, shit was Sunny D.”

Erik cursed under his breath, “Ok, well, what about, I had a damn good time with you and it would be dope of you felt the same way.”

Molly thought on it. She did have a real good time today with him and the night was still young.

She sighed heavily getting her keys out, “You can come in, but for a quick minute! Just to wind down, but you out after that!”

Erik smiled big, golds glimmering, “That’s all I need, ma.”

Part 4

RagTag

@hbicprettyprincess @kimianostalgia@afraiddreamingandloving @chaneajoyyy@myfavemarvelfanfics @nys30

Other Works

King Kil’mawalls

T’akia

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others

Commencement Day

Song of Stevens

The Coffee Prince

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

If I Could Do It All Again

#SundaySweat

#insecure #black panther x insecure #insecure fanfic #black panther au #black panther fanfic #fanfic #shakafic

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leointhemoon-blog · 5 years

Text

my past with dieting

wow, i think this post might end up being long.

to begin with, i was a fat kid from the very start. i don’t think i was obese but i was, i guess, overweight. now that i look back at it, it might have been the baby fat that added to the illusion. or maybe not, since i was fatter than everyone else in my grade.

before i even started school, i was just known to my family as that toddler that loved to eat. as with every story about eating disorders (disclaimer: i never really had an eating disorder but i guess... i almost did if that’s possible.), a likely factor would be the bullies. so in my story, my first bullies would’ve been my relatives.

it’s funny because the word and notion of “family” are supposed to resemble people who support you and care about you. i’m not saying my family doesn’t, but i guess they just have the worst ways of showing it... maybe it’s part of being asian?

anyway, i would remember when my parents dropped me off at my uncle’s place. he’s the second oldest brother of my mom. the uncle would every so often pick at me and say “oh who’s the chubby baby? it’s you” or some cringey baby talk that people do to toddlers-- except it’s usually “who’s a good girl” not “who’s the chubby kid”. lol. there was my cousin, his daughter, who is like at least a decade older than me who didn’t hide her dislike towards me and constantly ask “why do you eat so much?” i often didn’t answer because tbh, as a really young child, i wasn’t much of a person that reacted.

they weren’t wrong ofc. i actually did eat a hella lot. damn, i was a fat kid, deadasssss. even my mom joined on in the pinching of my belly and teasing. i think my first time being self-conscious about it was when i kept sucking in my belly as much as possible when my mom tried to force me into some uncomfortable ass jeans.

when i was a student at my third elementary school (my family moved multiple times), that’s when the bullying started. there’s a ton to say on that matter, maybe i’ll make a separate post, so i’ll just talk about the moments that really matter here. in general, the girls would often refer to me as the fat kid and sometimes would even throw in a comment or two. damn, why are kids so mean sometimes? even now, as a near young adult, i still see kids bullying each other and i can’t help but sigh in disappointment how it’s innate nature of humans to bully others. it’s kind of ridiculous. if you’re going to dislike someone, don’t show it enough to make them feel utterly terrible about themselves. if it gives you power to do so, you’re rotten trash. literally, you’re the real ugly one here.

i remember once when i was sitting a couple of rows behind the rest of the girls in my class in the auditorium of my elementary school, i was watching them talk. and they talked loud so i heard everything. they were just saying stuff like “i do this to my hair to make it look prettier” and “omg your hair is so long it’s so pretty”. i guess they caught me staring so one just smiled and said “(my name) can never be pretty enough with that short hair” to which another said “she’s kind of fat anyway”. ok, first of all-- i loved my damn ass dora the explorer hair cut ok? i was excited to go to the barbershop as a child to request the dora haircut specialty, bitch, i rocked it. i was sorta hurt by both the short hair and fat comments but like again, i didnt say anything i just looked away.

after that, the next time my dad brought me to the hairdresser, i was rebellious as heck. i didnt want short hair. i wanted to keep it long. but you know, there’s only so much 6 year old me can do, so i got my hair cut anyway.

fast forward to fifth grade. after years of constant teasing about my shape and weight, i think i had my awakening after i finished some good ass sandwich at barnes and nobles. i told my mom i was going to use the bathroom and so i did. after washing my hands, i looked into the mirror. ahh, the mirror that makes all the self-conscious people shudder. but i think i had never felt extremely self-conscious and distraught until then.

nobody was in the bathroom at that time, so i was brave enough to continue staring. i took in the sight of my flabby arms (which honestly wasn’t that flabby but it wasn’t thin) and most of all, my round belly. i was horrified as i turned to the side and gaped at how my stomach protruded out of my abdomen. it was like i have never noticed before. then as if a dam has been broken. all those comments and pinching at my body flooded my mind, screaming at me that yes, you are fat. you just realized? again, remind you, i literally wasn’t obese. i was overweight. two totally different things. if i want to make myself feel better, i guess i was borderline overweight only but idk, i was still fat.

i went home that night looking up on the internet “how to be cute” and “how to be pretty” like the naive kid i was and i gave up reading on tips on how to stand or how to dress. i decided i was going to diet.

when i refused to eat more when my mother offered another helping at dinner, i told her i was going to diet. immediately, she yelled angrily and was probably shocked, like who gave my daughter that idea what-- i was and still am a stubborn person so i persisted... i’m not going to go too deep into this because it was often just her trying to feed me and me trying to eat less and less.

i remember when we were at this shopping mall we frequently visited and i was in the dressing room trying to fit on new bras. when my mom helped me buckle up my bra after i finished trying on things, she said, “(my name), you got skinnier. i don’t even need to clasp your bra at the outermost row.” there were three sections for adjustment. i had managed to go from the outermost one to the innermost one. her voice held disappointment, but my heart had felt so light. i was elated.

this continued on into sixth and seventh grade. that’s right, it continued on deep into middle school. except it gotten worse. not only was i cutting down on portions of meals at home, i even did so at school. i skipped lunch, opting to avoid the lunch lines. i managed to skip breakfast when one day i got the idea of lying to my mom. “dont give me breakfast at home. i can just eat the school breakfast” to which she believed and sent me off to school without realizing i really wasn’t going to eat anything. i spent classes with awkward stomach growling. at that time, i didn’t know people could hear your stomach make noises when it’s hungry so i was fine with it lol. i slimmed down by a whole lot.

just to mention, if you’re going to lose weight, make exercise a thing. don’t strictly diet like me. i should’ve probably exercised but nah, i just depended on eating less or not eating at all. like any other rant, i’ll mention this: the rough start of my depression started at the beginning of eighth grade.

i was sick of “friendships”. sick of being used. sick of being second or third or anything else not first. sick of being manipulated. sick of being easily thrown away. most of all, i was just so sick of myself. i felt like i could never be able to have a friend. a friend i could depend on. i cut off all ties, if they barely even existed. i went into complete isolation. eighth grade was the grade i spoke not a single word to anyone. unless ofc i had to answer some question in class or do some group discussion. but even then, i honestly went so quiet. more quiet than i ever was before.

when i did speak a word outside in the hallway once, my classmate thought he was funny and said “wow, (my name) can talk?” and laughed like it was just that damn funny. idk bro, you got nothing better to laugh about? it’s nice that i matter so much to you, you had to make a comment, let alone say my name because clearly my attention wasn’t even on you in the first place.

anyway, hell yeah, i was hella emo. and when i’m emotionally depressed af, my appetite is ruined. starting that year, i fell into constant times of not feeling like eating. by then i was already thin enough i guess. i admit, i wasn’t skin and bones. but i wasn’t overweight anymore. my skin grew paler. it became harder for me to stand up without feeling lightheaded. i began catching colds more often than i ever had before. none of that deterred me from dieting though, despite by the start of my depression, i was already midway through not strictly dieting anymore.

depression continued that for me though. it hurt to eat sometimes. when i feel like crying, when my throat feels rough, my heart feels heavy, why add to the pain by forcing myself to swallow food? i’m not bulimic, i never was. i just avoided food. i would constantly protest “mom, i’m not dieting, i really just am not hungry.” did i ever mention that throughout my years and still up to this day, my mom would constantly throw shade at me for choosing to diet in the past? it hurts every time she does. in fact, i started writing this long ass post just because she did it again today.

i think she also started to notice my increase in depressing mood so sometimes she won’t say much if i refuse to eat. it was like my body hurt when i saw food and my mind drove me somewhere else to avoid the food placed in front of me. food repulsed me. my stomach turned at seeing it. near the end of eighth grade, i gotten into my first serious relationship with some girl 2-3 years older than me online. it lasted for about a year. honestly, it was a very rocky one. i constantly felt depressed. she was depressed too. she made me feel more depressed than i’d be if she wasn’t there, if i had to be honest.

the week following after our breakup, i was utterly broken. 14 year old me had no idea what i was supposed to do. it was halfway through my freshman year at high school. i didn’t have much friends. i only had one. even then, they weren’t there to support me. the other one...who’s now my best friend...i had lost her contact number. it wasn’t until four months later til i finally got in touch with her again so she wasn’t there to help me through my post break up either.

if me skipping meals often because of emotions was bad, this week was the worst. i legitimately didn’t eat more than 3-4 small bites of food a day. even now, i’m surprised how i managed to survive that week on so little food and how my mom didn’t even say much. she did notice and ask “why arent you feeling hungry these days? something wrong?” to which i’d brush off. i cried a lot. a hella lot. most of the times, it was heaving like i was trying to throw up my heart. i mean, i still have my crying sessions as i’m still...hella...depressed and yeah it feels like that. it be like that sometimes. and then the moments besides “most of the times” was me sniffling on the school bus because i just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

i could’ve killed myself. i nearly could’ve. midyear exams were coming. the stress from both school and my personal life was overwhelming. my body was destroyed. but somehow, i manage to overcome myself and get myself back into focusing on the exams. damn, i was hella scholar. now i’m not though lol. but then, i was focused since i was only a freshman that had just gotten into a prestigious school. the exams had managed to make me forget about what happened temporarily.

now, i still constantly look down on my body and wonder if i’m too fat. i still fat check. i squish my thighs, stare at them, hold them, then stare again. i look at my belly, i pinch it, i stare, i hold it tight wishing i can make the fat disappear. i’m not fat per se. people now call me skinny af, call me a pile of bones (i’m not, they’re exaggerating but i wish i was tbh). i hold my arms, squishing them to see if they’re too thick or not. i still look in the mirror observing the width of my body. i still try to calculate how much i’ve eaten on a daily basis. thinking about what i ate today and how much i’ve eaten.

perhaps, i’m not actively starving myself anymore, but those actions of paranoia and self-consciousness never left me...my stomach is probably ruined. will that stop me? probably not. i’ll be honest.

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existenceisalot · 6 years

Text

high school

Today in my English class, we were reading our novel Ordinary People by Judith Guest, when one of the characters said this quote:

“Feeling is not selective, I keep telling you that. You can’t feel pain, you aren’t gonna feel anything else, either. And the world is full of pain. Also joy. Evil. Goodness. Horror and love. You name it, it’s there. Sealing yourself off is just going through the motions, get it?”

This part has stuck with me all day, and I think it’s because it reminds me of myself.

I’ve always been fairly closed off with my emotions; I don’t like talking to people about what I feel, and I have difficulty a lot of the time with understanding other people’s feelings.

This quote also makes me think especially about 8th-10th grade. In the poem I posted earlier, I kind of mention some of this. Some of the lines are scattered through this post to kind of explain stuff.

At the beginning of 8th grade, I told myself that I could just avoid the people from 7th grade. Unfortunately, I go to a really small school (at the time I think there were 25-28 people in my grade), and all but (I think) 1 of my classes were with this group of 7 people who I used to consider my friends until I realized none of them cared about me at all (unless they needed something).

So I quickly realized I was going to be spending pretty much all of my (school) time with them. Now I would just be like “oh well, guess I’ll suffer, but who cares about them.” (which is me in my math class with them right now yay)

Eighth grade me, however, was recovering from two heartbreaks, realizing that I only had one real friend, and feeling trapped in this tiny little school in the tiny rural town. My logic was not the best, obviously. I also still cared so much about these people. (Honestly, I’m still working on not caring as much about them.) They’d been my friends since I started first grade not knowing a single person. One of them was my first friend in that class. She was the person that I looked up to all the way until that day. If you’d have asked me before that, I would have said that I would do almost anything for my classmates.

The first week or two, I managed to hold on to my pure rage against them and ignore them. But that’s not healthy and it was not having a good effect on me. Rather than talking to someone, I just got rid of (almost) all of the painful feelings. At the time, I didn’t even realize, let alone know how to describe it. Now, I think I’d describe it as pouring a layer of concrete over my heart - closing off the feelings that were causing my pain. Now, as I wrote in my poem, that doesn’t just get rid of negative feelings; it gets rid of all of them.

“So you shut it away with the rest of your pain,

And realize too late that in losing your pain

You’ve also lost you.”

The rest of that year, I spent convincing myself that I got along with them, and that they were my friends. And they were decent enough for this to work. They know how to put on a show at least (they’ve got all the teachers convinced.) I talked with people about books we liked, and chatted during Scholastic Bowl and Track. Every time I noticed they were ignoring me, or avoiding me, or excluding me, it was another “layer of concrete”.

“Do you know what it’s like to sit in class

Listening as everyone else makes plans

For lunch, for the weekend, for their lives?

And they don’t even consider asking you

Even though you’re right there - the one person they didn’t ask.”

By Freshman year, I was a mess. I’d convinced myself that we were a group of friends, and mostly blocked out the memory of 7th grade. So when the third best friend of two best friends in the group (the one I talked to about books and my former role model) moved to our school for freshman year and they all completely stopped talking to me, the wounds started to open up again.

Nope, don’t have time for pain, don’t have time for emotions, just another layer of concrete.

I don’t remember much of that year of school. I spent it in a daze, no friends at my school, just trying to make it through the day, going through the motions. Wake up, walk to school, stay awake in my classes, walk home, do homework, eat dinner, do homework, go to bed, repeat.

And that’s not to say I didn’t enjoy other things. My best friend and I would fangirl over books, music, anything honestly. Once, we named handwarmers after Gale and Peeta (Hunger Games). I think this is the year my sister and I started watching Doctor Who. My sister read Harry Potter, and we fangirled over everything about it. I read over a hundred books, one of which was Les Miserables. From the outside, I seemed pretty okay.

Sophomore year. I don’t even really remember anything from sophomore year. This is the year everything really went downhill.

I started out okay, a couple people in my grade who I’d always been somewhat friendly with invited me to sit with them at lunch. (I’d been sitting alone for the past year.) We became sort of friends. First semester seemed okay from the outside.

“Do you know what it’s like when someone finally notices you

Even just for a second?

And then you think maybe - just maybe

Things could be different someday.”

“Do you know what it’s like to have a friend one day,

And it’s wonderful and you finally feel like you belong,”

But it wasn’t. I was still in classes with the same people (we’re the so called advanced class.) I started to not care about school. My grades started dropping. I went from a straight A student to a B and C student. I stopped doing my chores. I stopped showering every day (gross, but true). I stopped brushing my hair (I have thicker, somewhat wavy/curly hair). I stopped wearing my retainers (I got my braces off the summer before 8th grade). I started going to bed at 3 in the morning, even though I had to be to school by 7:15.

Second semester started out about the same. But then, out of nowhere, a couple weeks into school my two new friends stopped sitting at our table. No explanation whatsoever. It was like I had ceased to exist.

“But the next day you don’t even exist in their world?

And it feels like your heart is breaking, ripping, dying.”

The only reason I didn’t spiral even farther down after that was because of my best friend. She was homeschooled, so we would hangouts message each other through the day. I know I keep mentioning her a lot, but she is just an amazing friend, and I don’t know who I would be without her.

“Do you know what it’s like when your phone buzzes at lunch

With that message from your best friend that makes you laugh out loud?

And you sit there, shoulders shaking

And for a moment, nothing is wrong in the world.”

Second semester came and went. I participated in stage crew for our school musical. I was on the Scholastic Bowl team. I went to state for math team. We read Night by Elie Wiesel. I started listening to BTS (again thanks to my best friend.) I passed my classes, with mostly B’s and C’s except for Band and Art.

Also in second semester is when this part happened.

“Do you know what it’s like when your friend asks you that question,

The question that is so simple - so ordinary?

And it’s the question you never knew you needed,

Never knew would work,

But it forces you to open your heart again,

To feel again.”

My best friend asked me who my BTS bias was. I had already watched a ton of their videos, but no one really stood out. I thought they were cool, and noticed they were attractive, but I didn’t really think about people like that.

This led me to realize what I’d done. I had prevented myself from getting attached to people in any way, because every time I had a crush, or even just friends at school, it broke my heart.

I realized what this had been doing to me. So I started working on being a bit more vulnerable. I started actually looking at people again. I started talking a bit more about school other than “wow I hate school.”

And I kept watching BTS videos so my best friend would stop spamming with pictures questioning if this one was my bias.

And it’s been painful, but I’ve been so much happier in the past 10 months than I was for the previous two years. That’s not to say that I like school now - I hate it. The closest college I’ve looked at is 4 hours away. I have an actual countdown until my graduation ceremony. My grades are nowhere near excellent, but I’ve been trying more. And every day I remind myself that Someday Things Will Be Different, and if I can make it through the next 564.5 days, I can leave this school behind me and be a new person. Not the quiet little kid who doesn’t talk to people, not the smart girl that skipped a grade, not the person that hides in the back of the room in their oversized clothing so people won’t notice them. I don’t know who I’ll be, but at least I’ll get a choice.

And because of that silly little question,

Because of your best friend,

You start to find yourself again.

Do you know what it’s like to be me?

originally written November 2, 2017

#high school #school #best friend #diary #journal #my poetry #bts #dont reblog

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skytlake · 7 years

Text

Feeling Pain

Today in my English class, we were reading our novel Ordinary People by Judith Guest, when one of the characters said this quote:

“Feeling is not selective, I keep telling you that. You can’t feel pain, you aren’t gonna feel anything else, either. And the world is full of pain. Also joy. Evil. Goodness. Horror and love. You name it, it's there. Sealing yourself off is just going through the motions, get it?”

This part has stuck with me all day, and I think it’s because it reminds me of myself.

I’ve always been fairly closed off with my emotions; I don’t like talking to people about what I feel, and I have difficulty a lot of the time with understanding other people’s feelings.

In order to understand this, you probably need to read what I wrote about my 7th grade experience.

“So you shut it away with the rest of your pain,

And realize too late that in losing your pain

You’ve also lost you.”

“Do you know what it’s like to sit in class

Listening as everyone else makes plans

For lunch, for the weekend, for their lives?

And they don’t even consider asking you

Even though you’re right there - the one person they didn’t ask.”

Nope, don’t have time for pain, don’t have time for emotions, just another layer of concrete.

Sophomore year. I don’t even really remember anything from sophomore year. This is the year everything really went downhill.

“Do you know what it’s like when someone finally notices you

Even just for a second?

And then you think maybe - just maybe

Things could be different someday.”

“Do you know what it’s like to have a friend one day,

And it’s wonderful and you finally feel like you belong,”

“But the next day you don’t even exist in their world?

And it feels like your heart is breaking, ripping, dying.”

“Do you know what it’s like when your phone buzzes at lunch

With that message from your best friend that makes you laugh out loud?

And you sit there, shoulders shaking

And for a moment, nothing is wrong in the world.”

Also in second semester is when this part happened.

“Do you know what it’s like when your friend asks you that question,

The question that is so simple - so ordinary?

And it’s the question you never knew you needed,

Never knew would work,

But it forces you to open your heart again,

To feel again.”

This led me to realize what I’d done. I had prevented myself from getting attached to people in any way, because every time I had a crush, or even just friends at school, it broke my heart.

And I kept watching BTS videos so my best friend would stop spamming with pictures questioning if this one was my bias. (No hard feelings, I’ve got a ton of Yoongi pictures saved to spam you with. Just you wait) >:)

And because of that silly little question,

Because of your best friend,

You start to find yourself again.

Do you know what it’s like to be me?

#about me #school #high school #ordinary people #judith guest #sorry about the overuse of parentheses #i just write what i'm thinking and edit for grammar and spelling #my writing style is a mess #poetry #scattered lines of my poem #bts #my best friend #wow i just reread this and i didn't realize it was so long #welp #sky's rambles

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felinehypocritical · 7 years

Note

Can you write about Richie being mute (because irony) but Stan still liking him anyway.

yes i can!!!!

Stan Uris loved his job.

Well, he wouldn’t call it a job- it was more of something he volunteered to do.

Stan Uris loved his volunteer work.

Since the early fall, Stan had been volunteering at his local community center to help tutor kids from first grade to ninth in mathematics. Stan, himself, was in eighth grade, but he was taking trigonometry classes and sometimes sat in on pre-calculus on testing days, if he got done early. Stan liked math for the easiest of reasons: numbers don’t lie. Numbers don’t up and change on him.

Stan had one student in particular who he loved hating to work with; a mute boy named Richie Tozier. He was short, peppy, wiry, and exceedingly smart, although he usually refused to work.

And most interestingly, Richie could not speak.

The first time they had met, Stan had risen from the circle table he sat at, and stuck a hand out to shake Richie’s. Richie had taken it, not responding to Stan’s hello, before dropping his hand like it was hot and reaching into his bag for a ring of cards. He flipped through them quickly, holding a finger up to an affronted Stan’s face, before producing cards written in a messy scrawl that had been encased in laminate. It read as the following:

‘Hello, my name is Richie W. Tozier, but my friends call me Rich. You can call me Richie. [laugh here please] No, I don’t hate you. Yet. I’m not shy, either, you’ll see!!! I’m mute. I can’t and will not speak, so just go ahead and shut your trap if you’re thinking about trying to train me, kiddo.’

Stan had taken a look at it and at Richie’s grinning, sorta-kinda-cute face, and smiled. He’d introduced himself, taken out his book, and gotten to work.

Stan’s help wasn’t set back by things such as not speaking. He rather liked it, actually.

This was now twelve weeks in, and Richie was up two letter grades and was happy to come to the community center every Thursday.

Today, Richie had finished all of his problems very early, and was looking very proud of himself. Stan had only found a few mistakes, and he was praising Richie like crazy for it.

“Good job, Rich,” Stan said approvingly, marking some things Richie needed to work on later, before clasping his hands neatly and looking at Richie next to him. “You finished…. wow. twenty minutes early.” He sounded impressed and a little surprised, and took a good look at Richie’s smiling face for any trace of mischief.

He found none, and instead found his heart melting a little towards Richie’s happy features. His pale skin was dotted in the usual scatterings of freckles, his gapped front teeth grinning in pride as he looked at Stan with bright blue eyes through his huge glasses. Richie’s fingers were tapping up and down the table in his usual, hyperactive manner, and he quickly grabbed his pad of paper and pencil to write something down. It read, 'gee thanks stanny!!! does that mean we can go for icecream? you know, like you promised????’ Richie almost never capitalized any letters or wrote with either no or all the punctuation in an effort to get his thoughts out as quickly as possible. Richie seemed very earnest in his attempts to be heard, even if all he had to say was a joke. He was desperate for attention and an outlet, and Stan supposed if writing quick and making crass jokes was his outlet, he could deal with that.

What he couldn’t deal with was Richie’s wide, smug smirk upon Stan remembering a promise he’d made a few months ago, that if Richie finished earlier that he would take him for his food of choice- which was, in this case, ice cream- on him. He’d done it not because he’d thought Richie couldn’t do it, but because he figured Richie would forget it with everything that must go on in his head.

Evidently, that was not true, and Richie was now pulling the tutor out of his seat and grabbing his papers, stuffing them haphazardly into his bag and slinging it over his back, grabbing Stan’s as well and twining their fingers together so that they were holding hands much too tightly as Richie tugged the pair down the street without another moment.

“Now, wait, Richie, are you sure?” Stan pressed, hoping Richie would reconsider, but his attempts were hopeless. Richie nodded his head emphatically and pulled them to the front of the Derry Ice Cream Bar- a place that Richie associated with both good ice cream and fear, and he reached up to the left lens of his glasses subconsciously to see if it was shattered like it had been three, four years ago. It was not, thankfully, and anyway, he was older now and he was bigger now and Gard Jagermeyer couldn’t get him now. The feeling of unease passed as quickly as it had come, and Richie pushed into the shop eagerly.

Stan followed suit, letting Richie drag him to the board of flavors above the counter; Stan recognized with the instincts of a best friend that it was better to let Richie do whatever he wanted right now, and maybe, just maybe, he’d run empty and put slowly to a stop. “Which do you want?” He asked quietly, hoping the din of the rest of the bar would keep their conversation quiet. Richie pointed to the chocolate fudge (Richie was always partial to fudge), and Stan nodded.

“How many scoops?” he felt rather silly asking a fourteen year old these basic questions, and as if he was infantilizing poor Richie, but the silent boy seemed fine with what was happening, okay with letting Stan take control so he didn’t have to put in effort, har-de-har, and held up two fingers that he wiggled under Stan’s chin, smiling. Stan looked pained, knowing that each scoop was an extra ten cents and that he’d only brought a dollar fifty that was left over from bus fare, but whatever. He held out his hands, saying once more, “waffle cone or sugar cone?” Richie tapped the sugar cone hand twice, as if saying, 'beep beep!’ and gave Stan a thumbs up.

“All set?” he asked, and Richie nodded exaggeratedly, his black curls bopping around his face, and he clasped Stan’s hands between his own, screwing his features into a caricature of a devout prayer and bowing low. Stan drew him back up, rolling his eyes and sitting up at the counter on one of the barstools to wait to order. They were asked for their orders quickly, and Stan started speaking as quickly as possible.

“Yes, so, I’s like a waffle cone of vanilla, and two scoops of fudge for-”

“Gee, man, let the boy talk!” The server started amiably, and Stan’s mouth set into a thin line.

“He doesn’t do that,” Stan said curtly. His hand went to Richie’s instinctively before continuing, “two scoops of fudge on a sugar cone, please and thank you.” The server nodded, barely acknowledging Stan’s snippiness and starting their orders after he paid, tossing a half-hearted dirty look at Richie for the extra ten cents he’d been made to pay.

Richie, again, brought out his legal pad and scrawled, 'wow, my hero, stan the man uris himself’. there were hearts all over the page, and Richie laughed when Stan looked up, affronted at Richie’s message. 'be still my beating heart’, he continued to write.

“Well, I’m sorry for helping you,” Stan said irritatedly. Richie just ignored him and took the pad back, writing delightedly, 'stanny, have you ever heard buddy hollys song youre so square?’

Stan slapped Richie’s arm, making Richie almost double over in laughter. “I’m no square,” Stan protested. “You’re just crazy, Rich.”

Richie moved his hands in a shrugging, tipping-scales-like motion, as if to say, 'maybe so, maybe so.’ Stan snorted through his irritation and took the cones from the man at the counter, thanking him shortly and giving Richie his towering monstrosity of an ice cream. Derry Ice Cream Bar certainly didn’t skimp on their scoops, as their slogan read. No one could stay mad at Richie- he was too charming, even if his charm sometimes tuckered you out. And especially not Stan, who appreciated Richie’s spirit and excitement about life. It offset his own pessimism and love for the littler things nicely.

They finished their ice cream cones fairly quickly, and they headed outside, not sure where to, but sure they were going. “Park or back to the community center?” Stan asked; he was holding his hands out automatically. Richie slapped the hand for the park, and Stan flapped it back and forth, hissing between his teeth. Richie hit much too hard at every opportunity, and especially on Stan, since Stan responded perfectly to Richie’s torment.

And so they started off, Richie alternating between skipping and jogging backwards, Stan running after in short bursts to keep up. They were a funny-looking pair, but somehow it was just right, Stan stately and graceful, Richie scrappy and clumsy. Maybe opposites really do attract, Stan thought suddenly, but pushed it away. Richie didn’t, and couldn’t like him. They were best friends. That was all.

When they finally reached the park after what felt like forever, Richie led Stan, again, to a bench next to the lake. This was the grownup’s park, and Stan knew it well- he usually went here to watch birds, after all. But he’d never sat by the lake, since ducks and geese didn’t interest him much.

As they sat, Stan asking Richie simple yes or no questions that Richie answered eagerly, and Richie occasionally mocking Stan and writing something down on a legal pad, Stan started to wonder what Richie’s voice would sound like could he speak. He figured it would be individual and funny, just like Richie was, maybe a little grating, even, like it’s owner. It might be high, like Richie’s laugh was. Stan figured that either way, he would never find out, and anyway, he didn’t really care too much.

Looking at Richie’s excited, sparkling eyes and the way Richie looked at him, Stan figured that he had all he needed.

#stanny.txt #it #stan uris #richie tozier #this was fun #tell me if im wrong abt anything or being ableist as im not nonverbal

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traitorwhoyoulove · 7 years

Text

The Thing About Pre Med

I finished this startlingly fast. I wasn’t planning on posting this until tomorrow afternoon, but why not? Happy Bellarke Day!

The thing about being pre-med is that people think you know stuff. They think they can come up to you and tell you about the cough they’ve had that just won’t go away, or ask about the weird tingling sensation they get on the back of their knee and just expect you to be able to tell them exactly what’s wrong with them. And sure, you can probably tell them that the trapezius muscle is innervated by the spinal accessory nerve or that hemoglobin has a quaternary structure made up of four polypeptides that each interact with an iron atom that gives it the ability to carry oxygen through the bloodstream. But at the end of the day, you don’t know shit about medicine.

Which is why Clarke feels more than a little bit panicked when her friends start treating her like their personal doctor.

It doesn’t start out as a big thing: Monty picked up a cold after their friends had spent a late night out in the cold drinking cheap liquor in a field off campus. He had come to her a couple of days later asking about the best cold meds to buy from the CVS down the street, and Clarke had advised him to pick up the generic brand after extensive assurance that yes, they really were the same thing and to buy some kind of sports drink to replenish his electrolyte levels.

Somehow word had gotten around. Before she knew it, Raven was asking her how best to bandage the blisters on her hands from the wrenches she used for her part-time job as a mechanic, and Jasper was flashing his bare ass wanting to know what kind of rash he had and whether he needed to see a doctor (she didn’t even want to begin to relive that one).

“This is getting out of hand,” she huffs to Bellamy one after relaying the story of Harper’s weird mole-ish thing (she had no idea what it was, to be honest) she had shown to Clarke with a few days prior. She takes a long sip from the coffee she’d ordered when they arrived, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle with humor as he fiddles with the napkins on their table and struggles to subdue a grin.

“Not so easy being Dr. Clarke?”

“That’s the problem,” she groans, fingers tangling into the roots of her hair and letting out a frustrated sigh, “I’m not a doctor. I’m a sophomore. In undergrad. I know nothing.” She lets her head fall pathetically onto the table, shielding her face with her arms like a petulant child.

“Good thing you’re paying so much money for such a quality education,” he teases.

Her head snaps back up to meet his smirking gaze. “You do realize it takes eight fucking years to become a doctor, right? And even after that there’s still three to ten years of more training in residency. I’m, like, 15% of the way done. If that.”

He tears off the corner of the croissant that sits on the plate in front of her, ignoring her noises of protest, and deadpans, “You’re practically an ignoramus.”

“Exactly,” she says, ignoring his sarcastic tone. “If this were drivers’ ed and I was only 15% done, I’d still be reading the damn handbook. They wouldn’t even let me near a car. But suddenly it’s okay for me to be making life and death decisions about a person’s body?”

Bellamy scoffs. “Okay, Princess, I feel like that might be a bit melodramatic. It’s not like you know absolutely nothing. What about that time Miller told you about that earache he was having, and you told him it was an infection he should probably get checked out? You were right, and he ended up avoiding a trip to the emergency room because of it.”

“Lucky guess,” she shrugs, fingers drumming a light rhythm on the lid of her coffee cup.

“Or that time that kid had that seizure in the student union? You were the only one there who knew to turn him onto his side.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. That’s basic stuff everyone learns when they’re kids. No different than ‘stop, drop, and roll.’”

“What the hell kind of elementary school did you go to?”

She stifles a snicker, ignoring the slight heat rising to her cheeks. It was nice to know that her best friend had faith in her, even if she didn’t. “When my mom worked all the time, the only way I could really spend time with her was to shadow her around the hospital,” she says with a shrug. “You pick up a few things. I spent my eighth birthday learning the proper technique for wrapping a sprained ankle.”

“See?” Bellamy quips, gesturing vaguely with his cup, “You already knew more than the average adult by the time you’d finished the second grade.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, one hand reaching up to tug absentmindedly at the ends of her blonde waves. “I don’t know. I just—I’m terrified of getting it wrong, you know?” She traces the letters of her name written on the coffee cup in front of her with a finger, focusing far more attentively than the task requires. “What if someone comes to me with something and I tell them that they’re fine, and it turns out to be something really bad? What if I miss it?”

“You won’t.”

She finally glances up at Bellamy. His eyes bore into hers with an intensity and confidence that makes the tension in her shoulders soften. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says firmly, his hand reaching across the table to rest on the hand still mechanically tracing the black-inked ‘C’ on her cup. “You won’t miss it.”

A few weeks later, everyone piles around the tiny laptop screen in Raven’s tiny dorm room in a halfhearted attempt of a movie night.

“This,” Jasper whines, “was the worst idea ever. Raven, why didn’t you bring a TV to college like a normal person?”

“I think the better question is why did we choose to have a movie night in the one room that doesn’t have a TV?” Clarke grumbles from her spot on the floor between Harper and Bellamy, adjusting her shoulders in an attempt to find a more comfortable position against the wall behind her.

A chorus of dissent travels across the group as Monty urgently shushes them with an insistent, “Shut up, this is the best part!”

They continue like that for a while, making jokes about the ridiculous dialogue and terrible acting between someone’s complaints that they can’t see or hear the movie, all the while with Monty grumbling that they’re ‘ruining his favorite movie’ and that they ‘shouldn’t even have a movie night if no one’s going to watch.’

They’re a little over an hour in when Clarke realizes Bellamy has been notably quiet.

“Hey,” she whispers, playfully knocking her knee into his own, “you okay? You haven’t bitched about the historical inaccuracies once during this entire movie.”

“I’m fine.”

She bristles at his short tone, feeling him tense next to her as he leans his head back against the wall behind them. She waits for him to say more, but no response comes.

“You sure?”

His eyes close as she scrutinizes him. She watches his jaw tighten.

“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ve just had a headache all day. No big deal.”

She pats his knee apologetically and turns back to the movie. Her attention for the remainder of the night switches between the atrocity of a film on the tiny screen and making sure Bellamy is okay. He doesn’t say anything else, but she notices that his jaw is still ticking and his eyes are still closed when she checks on him.

When the movie finally ends, the group lets out a resounding sigh of relief as Raven cheers, “Thank God!” The next half hour is a blur of people gathering their respective pillows and blankets as they issue sleepy ‘goodnights’ and ‘drive safes.’ Clarke sees Bellamy say a quick goodbye to Raven and slip quietly out the door. She hurries behind him to catch up to his long strides.

“Bellamy,” she calls, speeding up her pace as he stops at the stairwell. “Are you driving home?”

He shakes his head. The previous summer, Bellamy had leased a 2-bedroom apartment just off campus to share with Octavia once she enrolled at Ark University.

“Octavia took my car to go visit Lincoln,” he tells her. “I’m just going to walk.”

She shakes her head, her stomach lilting at the idea of him walking home alone at night when he just seemed so…off.

“No, you’re not,” she insists. “My car’s right downstairs, let me drive you home.”

“I’ll be fine, Princess. It’s just a few blocks.” He turns toward the door to the stairwell, already reaching for the handle, but Clarke catches his shoulder.

“Come on. It’s really not any trouble,” she assures him. “Please?” She senses the hesitation in his stance. His already sluggish movements slow even further. She can feel him caving as she presses, “For my own peace of mind.”

He turns to her with a resigned grimace.

“Fine,” he says, rubbing his tired eyes, “but only because you said please.”

She gives him a small grin, her hand unthinkingly grazing his broad shoulders to guide him toward the door. She trails behind him down the stairs, watching him rub gingerly where his neck tapers down to his shoulders. He tilts his head slightly to the side, allowing her to see the wince that flits across his face.

“That hurt?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

“That’s a yes.”

He lets out a tired chuckle. He holds the door for her as they exit the stairwell, and again as they reach the main entrance of Raven’s building. Clarke is silently thankful the parking lot outside of her own building a block away had been full when she had returned to campus earlier that day, forcing her to park just out front of the dorm she and Bellamy were leaving. Though she knows he’s doing his best to hide his discomfort, she can see the stiff way he carries himself, looking as though he’s trying to minimize as much movement as possible.

“Seriously, are you okay?” she asks when she sees his grimace as he ducks to slide into her passengers’ seat. She doesn’t miss the lilt of concern in her voice, and judging by way he turns to her with reassurance in his eyes, Bellamy doesn’t either.

“Clarke, really,” he says, “I’m fine. I think I just hurt my neck at the gym earlier today. No big deal.” The smile her gives her seems a little forced, but lets it slide, ignoring the vague anxiety at the back of her mind.

“You should ice that when you get home,” she advises. “Take some ibuprofen, too, it’ll help if there’s inflammation. And no gym tomorrow, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Dr. Clarke.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh as she pulls out of the parking lot, a smile creeping onto her face in spite of herself. She’s relieved he’s feeling well enough to tease her, even if he still doesn’t seem quite right.

“Looks like rain,” he notes, his drowsy eyes examining the sky. “Hope Octavia doesn’t stay out too late. She doesn’t need to be driving home in a storm.”

“She could always stay over at Lincoln’s.”

Clarke is fairly certain that Bellamy’s gaze would have snapped to hers had his neck not been causing him so much pain. Even still, she saw him side-eyeing her with more than a little distaste.

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh come on,” she says with a snort, “it’s a little funny.”

They fall into a companionable silence for the rest of the drive, Clarke keeping her eyes on the quickly darkening sky while Bellamy can’t seem to keep his eyes open. Though only a few minutes have passed by the time she pulls into the parking lot outside of his building, she has to call his name twice before he finally jolts awake.

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, already reaching for the seatbelt buckle. He stiffly exits the car, poking his head around the car door before shutting it. “Make sure you get back before the rain hits.”

“I will,” she assures him. “I’ll let you know I made it back okay.”

He nods, cringing at the jolt that comes along with it. He shuts the car door, turning to the staircase that leads to his floor.

Before his foot can reach the first step, Clarke rolls down her window and calls, “Hey. You’re sure you’re okay?”

He turns back to her with a weary smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m fine, Clarke. Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a Scout,” she points out, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She locks eyes with his, her tone becoming more serious. “Promise you’ll call if you need anything? Ice pack, a cheeseburger run, whatever.”

“I promise,” he says, his expression softening.

She gives a curt nod, offering a quick goodnight as she rolls up her window. As she pulls out of the parking lot, she does her best to silence the nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her that something isn’t right.

Read the rest on AO3

#bellarke #bellamy x clarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellarke fanfics #the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #tess writes things #doctor!clarke #sick!bellamy #college AU #pre-med!clarke #med student!clarke

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wingsporkhalo · 7 years

Text

A Sporking of “Fate’s Flawed Design”-- an old original story by MysticDelphox97

God bless @mysticdelphox97 as usual for allowing me to go savage on her old stories. You’re the greatest. <333 Thanks also to @icykalismsts for reading this over and offering comments as well! If I only had two readers (which I probably do), I’d be glad it was you two.

What I’ll be snarking about today is an old story of Mystic’s called Fate’s Flawed Design, about a boring and awful OC and her possibly even more awful “friends,” as well as some kind of bullshit backstory about a curse and a famous ancestor?? Idk man. It kind of gets lost in all the angsty song lyrics. It was, of course, never finished. But I hope you will enjoy the nonsense that it has to offer, dear reader, assuming you exist.

Excerpt below; the rest beneath the cut!

Fate’s Flawed Design

Tell me I’m frozen, but what can I do?

Can’t tell the reasons, I did it for you!

When lies turn into truth, I’ll sacrifice for you.

You say that I am frozen…

But what can I do?

~Lyrics from Frozen, by Within Temptation

Wing: At least they're not from the movie Frozen.

Chapter 1: Overview

Friday, May 16, 2025

Wing: THE DISTANT FUTURE!

“Okay, students. I hope you know your assignment for the weekend; figure out a plot for your Creative Writing project. For next week, we'll start writing our story—remember, though, it's only the beginning, so we don't want to start directly into it. Do we all understand?” Mrs. Llaydeu addressed her English class.

Wing: Mrs. Who now?

Every head in the room nodded.

Wing: Including the disembodied one in the back, which floated above an empty desk: a glowing, semi-transparent head of a teenage boy with scraggly hair and sunken eyes. He went by Fred. Everyone had gotten so used to Fred that they hardly paid him any mind anymore.

“Alrighty, then! You're free to head outside,” she concluded.

Everyone cheered and scampered out the classroom door, which lead onto a hill that overlooked the grassy field known as our playscape. I sat atop the hill, looking upon all the kids filing out of one of the three school houses that made up the establishment. Each building taught three to four grades, which shared a playground. I'm currently in the eighth grade, who happens to be some of the best groups of children the school has ever worked with.

Wing: I'm sure they tell that to every group.

The weather today is very hot, almost to the point where it’s extremely uncomfortable.

Wing: So...it's ALMOST extremely uncomfortable...meaning it's...moderately uncomfortable?

I prefer autumn over the insanely warm summer, because you get to wear pretty jackets and long sleeved clothes. And fall is a beautiful season, with all the brown, orange, and yellow hues, although it’s also the same time when school starts. It’s a worthy sacrifice, however.

Wing: ??? What are you sacrificing

Kali: I think the narrator means that having to go to school is a hardship they'll endure for the sake of enjoying fall? I guess? Otherwise it means they'll sacrifice the other schoolchildren to an eldritch being.

Wing: I like that one better.

“Whew! I can't wait until my mom finally opens the pool,” Kyle exclaimed, wiping the back of his hand on his tan forehead. His brunette locks were dripping a bit from sweat, and that was just from the heat.

Wing: Holy crap, the main character isn't alone? Suddenly this dude named Kyle is just there dripping everywhere like something out of Turnabout Matrimony.

That goodness it wasn't humid today—humidity and Kyle don't mix too well.

Wing: THAT goodness it wasn't humid today. But also THIS goodness.

Mystic: ppfffff xD

Wing: And humidity and Kyle don't mix too well because they are of differing states of matter. Also Humidity never gave back Kyle's sweater and he's still salty about it

Mystic: I feel like first three chapters of this story is like, venting my feelings about... whatever I was feeling at the time.

Wing: Also, calling a guy a brunette...myeeeeh...LOL

Kali: Duh, Wing, Mystic's not calling him a brunette, but his LOCKS brunette. He has little anthropomorphized padlocks with brown hair who are sweating profusely.

Mystic: oh you only call women brunettes right? Mystic: or, something like that?

Wing: Yup! It has "ette" in it basically LOL Wing: Calling a dude a blonde or a redhead is fine, but "brunette" is gendered for some weird reason

Mystic: ahhh ok! Mystic: Eighth grader me probably didn't know that xD

He sat down beside me. I let out an exhausted sigh.

“So, what are you doing for your writing draft?” I asked, brushing back my own chocolate-brown bangs.

He pondered a bit before answering me. “Honestly, I do have an idea… but now that I think about it, it sounds pretty stupid.”

“How can anything you write be stupid?” I inquired, laughing. “I mean, you're one of the most creative people I know!”

Wing: "Uh, I have a severe problem with dyslexia, remember? GOD, Main Character, you are SO INSENSITIVE!" the male brunette sobbed, running away to drip somewhere else.

Mystic: PFFFF BAHAHAHHAHAHA

“Well … it's about this race of humans, and they take control of these odd species of animals which they use as weapons against another intelligent race.

Wing: ...Pokemon

Mystic: OH MY GOD Mystic: IT'S POKEMON

Wing: LOL

Mystic: Iluminati theme song starts playing

Wing: ROFL

I haven't figured out exactly what the animals are, or what the opposing race is. It still needs some work,” Kyle told me, with an embarrassed smile on his visage.

“Ooh,” I complimented. “That sounds really interesting. I can't wait to see how it turns out.”

Wing: I like how "Ooh" is considered a compliment. Maybe among monkeys it is, but...

“Me too,” he agreed. “What about you? What are you going to write?”

I blinked. I never actually thought of what story I was to create until Kyle just asked me. The characters are all sorted out, since we worked on that last week, and themes were this week. The only problem was the issue now being addressed.

“Uh…” I started to say, “probably something horror-themed. I'd like to include some romance in it too, though. But, it's hard to incorporate the two themes,” I finally responded.

Wing: Oh really?? Then why do all stereotypical horror movies have makeout scenes??

“Romance? From you? Now that's something, Remy,” he remarked.

Wing: Remy?? Is this a boy or a girl?? Both? Neither?? I'M SO CONFUSED

Mystic: It's a girl, not very well clarified ill admit ^^'

Wing: I've decided to headcanon them as a girl strangely named Remington after the kind of rifle. Her dad wanted her to be a boy Wing: (or a gun, whichever) Wing: Oh, okay! So at least I got the girl part right! LOL

Mystic: full name is Remeleen, I don't know where the fuck I got it from but I liked it because it looks like my name: Rosaleen

Wing: Remeleen?? Doesn't that evolve into Octillereen

Mystic: yes Mystic: and then it Mega Evolves into Mega Octillereen

Wing: Rofl, yes, exactly

Mystic: my god I'm on the second chapter and it just got so dark all of a sudden what the heck

I rolled my eyes at my nickname. “Well, expanding one's horizons is never a bad thing, is it?”

“Never said it was.”

I lifted myself to my feet, and stretched my arms. Kyle did the same, before running off to play soccer with several other boys. Just then, a crushing weight pounced on my back, causing me to stagger forwards a bit.

“Remy! I missed you, girl!” a familiar voice squealed.

Mystic: Okay also apparently Remeleen means 'white antelope'... which is somehow significant to this story. I don't know why, but. I guess I thought it was cool. gdi

Wing: That's okay. The main characters in my story I was writing in early high school were Apollan, Candella, Leandor, Hakaisha, and Aralyn. HOWEVER the fact that they are a phoenix, unicorn, gryphon, dragon, and...human(?) may explain that a little, idk. LOL

“Leaf! Ge' off me!” I choked, because a pair of white extremities had wrapped themselves around my neck.

Wing: Leaf?? What are you doing here. Get back to Gen 3! Wing: Secondly, who the hell says “Ge' off”? Wing: And lastly, “white extremities”? What the heck? Does Leaf have albino tentacles? D:

She finally let go. I turned around, confronted by a jumping, overly-hyper strawberry-blonde girl that wouldn’t be quiet.

“Remy, Remy! Guess what, guess what, guess what?” she exclaimed, waving her hands in front of her tomato-red face.

Wing: "Tomato red face"?? Holy shit, she's having an allergic reaction!!

I couldn't tell if that was from being in the sun or from the exercise she was getting at this very moment.

“What?” I asked, laughing at her display. Leaf eventually calmed down, taking deep breaths.

“You ready yet, Spaz?” I inquired, a smile playing on my lips. It was starting to hurt my cheeks though.

She took one more breath before answering me. “I just, JUST found out that I'm going to be moving into your homeroom class on Monday!” she cried.

Wing: Idk why, but when "Leafie" says she's going to be "moving into your homeroom," I pictured her actually MOVING IN to the homeroom. Like, "I live here now."

Mystic: pffffffffffff omg

“Oh my gosh, Leafie! That's amazing!” I cheered. We both grabbed our hands and began launching ourselves up multiple times.

Wing: One climbed on the other's shoulders and then the one on the bottom FLUNG the other up into the sky à la Catastropika Mystic: "launched ourselves into the air" why didn't I just say they jumped a lot xD Wing: I don't know. That wouldn't have given me the Catastropika image, had it been worded like that, LOL Mystic: pffffffff xD

“So, how come you moved?” I said after we stopped our antic.

“Um,” she started, brushing some of her hair out of the way,

Wing: Oh come on. She's obviously in love with the main character. What? What do you mean, that's not it? SHHHH. YES IT IS. I SAY SO

“well, as you know, I was in a class with all the jocks and the female athletes -- you know, the ones who are very competitive and rather stuck-up? I had a break-down about it yesterday, in front of Ms. Zhanei –thank god her and no one else— and she admitted that it was a bad idea to have put me in that class. So, she emailed my mom about a possible switch-over for rooms, and she replied agreeing to it. Now my classes are arranged so I can be with you and Kyle and everyone else! Tada!” Leaf ended her speech with a pose.

Wing: Was it this one?

Mystic: BAHAHAHHA FJKDNSHMLFKJEJFNB

Wing: I have to admit I am still giggling roflllll

I clapped. “Bravo, Master Spaghetti!” I complimented her with her spy name, for when we play our detective games that started when we were in the first grade together.

Wing: Master Spaghetti has to be the most disappointing Spy Name ever conceived. Missed opportunity to make it "Master Spyghetti" for one thing

Mystic: yeeahhhh, I felt The Cringe hard when I saw that

We basically create our own crime-scene and them we try to solve it. I assumed my White Antelope gesture, which is stroking my fake handlebar mustache.

Kali: This is the White Antelope gesture... why...?

Wing: obviously because white antelopes have mustaches, Kali

“Now that we have solved that crime,

Wing: What crime? The crime of a spy being named Master Spaghetti?

how about we try to spill the beans from our current suspect to the hangover case?”

Leaf placed her hands on her hips. Her voice assumed the “Popular” clique tune.

Wing: Is that in the key of E? Hum a few bars for me; I'm not familiar

Mystic: coulda described it better as shrill and dramatic I guess?

Wing: No, it was the fact that it said "tune" instead of "tone"

“Like, totally! I would, like, so want to annoy the shizzles out of Bernie Bergetti!” She mimicked pulling the lip on her invisible black baseball cap.

I roared with laughter, ignoring the few glances that it received from some of the higher status students.

Wing: So like, that group of Duchesses over there, I guess

Kali: No comment on "annoy the shizzles out of?" =_=

Wing: I...I honestly don't remember that phrase being in there LOL

Kali: “Like, totally! I would, like, so want to annoy the shizzles out of Bernie Bergetti!” She mimicked pulling the lip on her invisible black baseball cap. I died a little inside reading that line I think XD

Wing: OH THAT'S RIGHT also how is the invisible baseball cap black how do you determine the color of a fuckin invisible hat

“But I'm really happy,” she smiled. “I'd rather be in your classes than in the Popular class.”

“Hey, Emmerson! Ryder!” Well, speak of the devil, shall we?

Wing: We shan't.

Mystic: obviously middle schoolers call each other by their last names. of course.

Our eyes traveled to the source of the voice, which led us to the snobbiest group of chicks you've never seen before.

Wing: https://www.cdc.gov/healthypets/images/chics.jpg But...they're so cute...

They were strutting our way. Oh, and this clique was made up of the few sporty girls.

Wing: ............ http://www.punjabigraphics.com/images/11/tennis-balls.jpg okay....

Most of which were in Leaf's previous homeroom.

“Whadaya want, Sullivan?” I shouted at their leader.

Wing: I'm just thinking of Sully from Monsters, Inc.

Mystic: gdi now I'm thinking of that too

Audrey Sullivan. She has brown hair (which the color looks awful because it looks like it’s been dyed),

Wing: UGH! HOW DARE SHE WANT A COLOR OTHER THAN THE ONE SHE WAS BORN WITH!! But no I know what you mean. What kind of person dyes their hair brown though? Isn't blonde the popular choice, if not fire engine red? Like I'm sure people DO dye their hair brown but I never saw it in middle school.

very tan skin, and an unpleasant face to look at. Mostly because it's not exactly attractive, and it screams for a nose-job.

Wing: Good god, the Girl Hate in this story

Mystic: there's a shit ton of girl hate in this story I'm afraid Mystic: mostly towards "popular" girls

And that sultry voice—oh, my god it's disgusting; too much sweet and not enough of it in her soul.

Wing: "Sultry"? Sounds like this is more than just a clash of cliques... ;D Wing: My first thought was this though https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_f_6w_bVKM4

Mystic: PPFFFF HOLY SHIT YES Mystic: Y E S

Wing: The Glinda x Elphie is real

Mystic: tbh sultry wasn't a good word choice ^^'

Wing: And nope. It absolutely wasn't. LOL

Mystic: oh my god I'm reading the third chapter now and I just Mystic: I hate it so much Mystic: nothing in it makes any sense Mystic: all this drama from KIDS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL Mystic: WHY

It's a wonder how she maintained her popular status.

When their group was face-to-face to us, I nearly died from the waft of perfume that hit me.

Wing: Thinking of the scene where SpongeBob has to go through... the Perfume Department.

Mystic: NOT THE PERFUME DEPARTMENT Mystic: and I like body spray now so pfft this is incredibly outdated xD

Leaf's body seemed to shrink as she cowered behind me.

Wing: So like...why is her name Leaf, though

Mystic: it's literally because of the female protag for FRLG lol

Wing: oh my god Wing: rofllllllllllll

Mystic: i did say this was a very old story xD

She had terrible experiences with them in the past, and trust me, it's not a pretty subject. They target her because she has mental disorders, which separates her from them, and they pick on anything that she does. I bet you anything that that's what this is about.

“Nothing bad about you,” Audrey stated. I had to grit my teeth and ball up my fists to stop myself from hitting her.

“We'd like to talk to your friend, if that's okay,” one of her sidekicks explained.

Wing: They sure are polite for bullies

Mystic: my question is WHERE ARE THE ADULTS

Although there really was no need to do that. I have no problem with dealing with these girls; it's Leaf that needs the support right now.

“If you got something to say to her, you say it to me,” I retorted. I could feel Leaf trembling behind my back.

“What are you, her mother?” A rather fat student sassed.

Wing: Ooh, fatshaming, too. What's next, slutshaming? They're in middle school so I'm guessing there will be lots of accusations that so-and-so kissed x many boys

Mystic: ...yeah, there's slutshaming.... Mystic: my god i hated so many things Mystic: yeesh

“That's right, bitch. And if you say anything to anyone else I'll be their mother, too, because at least mothers have feelings for others! And I don't mean that wishy-washy, one-sided crushes or dates, either,” I told them.

Wing: Literally the worst and most nonsensical comeback I have ever seen

The looks on their visages amused me, because they're of shock and bewilderment.

Wing: The tenses in here amused me, because they're suddenly in the present tense. Also LOOKS ON THEIR VISAGES LOOKS ON THEIR VISAGES

I stumped them for a good minute before one piped up:

Wing: Yeah I don't blame them. I'm pretty stumped and bewildered myself about that response

“Well, then, can you answer us as to why she switched homeroom classes?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I can. She felt miserable in the athletic classroom, so she changed it to ease the pressure. And unlike you guys, she's horribly shy and has trouble socializing.

Wing: Gee Remy, don't hold back or nothin'

This is understandable, at least from someone who does understand, as to why she did what she did.”

Wing: Uh...what?

Mystic: i ah Mystic: i got nothin

Wing: Also I like how it's "the athletic classroom" Hell yeah. That classroom is ripped. 2 hours on the treadmill every morning, yo

Mystic: i head that classroom has an 8-pack, that classroom is shredded

Wing: ROFL

“Well, yeah, we know that. But, I want to hear from her, not you,” Audrey said. I got up real close to her face and sneered.

“You don't trust my word then, Sullivan?” I spat. She wiped her face from the saliva droppings.

Wing: "saliva droppings"??? What the fuck, that's awful and gross Also, these bullies are being pretty tolerant, considering this girl is being actually really rude, shouting about her friend's shortcomings, and getting all up in their grill and spitting at them

Mystic: plot twist: the MC is the bully

“No—but I hate being biased.”

I scoffed. “Sure. Like in those drama episodes you construct with your friends to get sympathy from your mom and the teachers?”

“You know, I don't like you're tone, Emmerson,” Audrey pointed out.

Wing: At least she isn't tune

“Neither I to yours.”

Wing: oh my god I hate this main character ROFLLLLL Wing: THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE, REMY

Mystic: GDI Remy

Wing: "Neither I don't like you are tone to yours" is what she's saying basically

Mystic: oh my god that is literally shit

Wing: "Nor I yours" is, I think, what she was going for Wing: that is, "Nor do I like the tone that is yours"

Mystic: oh yeah that makes MUCH more sense Mystic: or, wait, way more sense Mystic: fuck

Wing: Much more sense is fine!

There was a dead silence amongst us. The sounds of the other kids playing were ignored as we stared each other down. It went on for what seemed like an hour, but I knew better than that.

Wing: Did you, Remy? I'm beginning to doubt anything you say you know.

Then, with a final scoff, and a disgusted look on her, she flipped her hair and turned around, her posse close at hand.

Wing: On her. Just...all of her. Covered in that disgusted look. It was everywhere. Also, the bully is again being pretty gracious. She basically said "Hey I wanna hear it from her why she switched classes" "FIGHT ME BITCH RRRRAAWWWWRRR" "Whooooaaa okay sorry didn't realize Mama Bear was here to protect the little cub" "RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAWWWRRR SOMETHING ABOUT BEING EVERYONE'S MOTHERS AND POSSIBLY A REFERENCE TO HOW MANY DATES YOU GO ON(??)!! [SPITS!!!]" "Uh...ew. Anyway, yeah, why can't your friend speak for herself?" "SILENCE, FOOL!! DON'T YOU KNOW HOW SOCIALLY AWKWARD MY FRIEND IS AND HOW HARD IT IS TO BE SOCIALLY AWKWARD????" "Allllrighty then. Just wanted to hear it from her." "U CALLIN ME A LIAR, DOLLFACE???" "No, I kinda just wanted the whole story." "RRRRRRRRAWRRRRR YOU'RE AN ATTENTION WHORE!! NOTHING ABOUT YOU IS REAL, NOT EVEN YOUR UGLY HAAAAAAAAAAIR!!" "Dude, harsh. I don't like those things you're saying." "I DON'T LIKE WHAT YOOOOOOOOUUU'RRREEEEE SAYINGGGGGGG! ALSO MINE GRAMMAR ARE GOODISH!!" "....A'ight, I'm out. Let's go, guys."

Mystic: basically that's what happens once you take my hypocritical storytelling out of the picture xD

Wing: Basically. LOL

Mystic: jesus why did i think this was any good back in the day, this is terrible xD

Wing: Even if you just have the dialogue by itself it comes off like Remy's a crazy person. LOL

Mystic: i think she becomes a schizophrenic later in the story soo, yeah, kinda messed up in the head a bit

Wing: Jfc. [holds head in hands]

Mystic: y-yeeahhhhhhhhhh Mystic: tbh if this story doesn't give you cancer by the end id be surprised

I turned to face Leaf, whose face was redder than usual. I couldn't tell if she had cried or not, but her body language clearly spoke to me: she definitely was not okay right now.

“Thanks, Remeleen,” Leaf smiled, now relieving herself from the stress those Populars gave her.

“Anytime, Leafie,” I grinned.

The vibrant look faded,

Wing: What vibrant look? It said she smiled, but like, it didn't say she suddenly looked Okay or All Better or anything

and when she spoke, it was rather choked. “You know … I wish I could be brave like you, Remy.”

“Brave? Leaf, I'm not--” I began, but then she cut me off.

“Well, at least you have the courage to stand up to the popular clique! I can't even do that! I cower at even the slightest glimpse of them!” she yelled. I was taken aback-- why was she mad at me?

Wing: Uh, maybe she's just frustrated at her own weakness? NOT EVERYTHING'S ABOUT YOU, REMY

Mystic: ohhhhh boy you're coming to the really angsty part of the story Mystic: buckle up it's gonna be baaaad

“Leaf--” I stuttered.

“I know you'll usually be there to stand up for me, but there's gonna be a day where you're not here and they're gonna target me. And what'll I do then? Cry? Run away in shame? I hate doing that, Remeleen! And I can't defend myself anyway, because of my damned disorders, and being so fucking socially awkward!

Wing: Okay, like, as someone with disorders also, can I just say how ridiculous this is She's basically saying "I am a little baby who can't speak for myself." If her anxiety was THAT crippling she'd probably be in special ed or homeschooling. And also, I was plenty capable of defending myself usually. I was bullied a LOT, but I had my ways of handling it

So no matter what you say, or what you do, IT’S NOT GONNA FUCKING HAPPEN!

Wing: Uh, okay, but...what isn't?

Mystic: i honestly can't exactly explain the purpose of that dialogue tbh. maybe i was venting again? in a very unclear way apparently xP

Wing: LOL Maybe.

It's not like you can write in a book or whatever and whatever you write down will come true!

Wing: http://img-cache.cdn.gaiaonline.com/82e8563ff1b434c4aec200497f0fef6c/http://i785.photobucket.com/albums/yy135/RowennaandPittie/the_Death_Note.jpg

Mystic: OH FUN FACT: original plot of the story is actually similar to death note

Wing: …Oiy... Wing: So basically, her friend is like "Thanks for helping out, friend! :D" "Oh yeah sure no prob" "OH MY GOD YOU NEVER LET ME DO ANYTHING FOR MYSELF!! YOU'RE NOT MY REAL DAD!! I HATE YOU!! [runs off crying]" "...wtf"

Life doesn't work that way--instead, it throws shit into your face until you crack and start to shut down. That's what's gonna happen to me someday, Remeleen. Just you wait.” After her rant, she left, stomping with every step.

I stood at my spot, stunned, feeling my own tears bubble up inside me.

Wing: yo, if she feels tears bubbling inside her, I think she should see a doctor

Mystic: everyone in this story needs doctors tbh Mystic: they're all insane i swear

Wing: like, actually insane, not fictional insane, which is "cool" and "edgy" Wing: (It irks me when people write about mental disorders just to make things interesting or portray mental illness like it's hip or cool. > >)

Mystic: Yeah, that portrayal irritates me as well.

Wing: It's like Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way cutting her wrists all the time. She doesn't actually want to die. She doesn't even want someone to help her. She just wants to look edgy. Shit or get off the pot, Enoby

Mystic: although apparently that's what happened somehow in this story [shudders] Mystic: oh good lord

Leaf had always poured her fears and beliefs onto me,

Wing: Sounds messy

Mystic: BEEP BEEP HERE COMES THE CRINGE TRAIN

but not with this much emotion. I knew what she had to deal with for her whole life: a mom with two of Leaf’s younger half-sisters,

Wing: Leaf's a mom with her two younger half-sisters??

Mystic: Leaf has a mom and two younger half sisters ^^' coulda been worded better

Wing: Ohhh ok Wing: I was like "isn't she too young to be taking care of orphans" Wing: Suddenly, Leaf's entire history

Mystic: yup, all condensed into a paragraph summary Mystic: which i thought was somehow necessary

who believes that Leaf isn't trying hard enough, even though she knows about the disabilities she has; a stepfather who is kind on the outside, but has a quick temper and a stern voice on the inside; and a real father who has slept with every woman imaginable and treats Leaf like crap every time she visits him. Good god, she nearly got raped by him six years ago when she was seven years old, which got him into jail and she never saw him again. Even though he apologized, because that night he was drunk and all, she absolutely refused to see his, and I quote, “dirty, disgusting face again.” Leaf told me about almost everything that happened to her in her lifetime; and I listened. And most times, I couldn't get a word of advice to her because of how awful or sad or horrible her experience was. All I really could do was hug and cry with her. The only happy moments Leaf ever had were when we had our sleepovers, or when I invited her for a family vacation if my parents allowed it (which, they have always done).

Wing: Jfc

I really do want Leaf to be my sister, because when she's not depressed or angry, she's the best friend a friend could be--maybe even more.

Wing: More than a friend? :D

She's funny, supportive, a great team player, amazing with younger children, and really creative. If she was my sibling, we could be twins, and have so much fun together. We could play with Amy, my little sister, and our Akita/Husky mix, Rocky, all the time. Amy absolutely adores Leaf, and even calls her 'sister' when she sees her. My parents love Leaf too. They know as much about Leaf as I do and they see her as another daughter. They just about love her almost as much as me.

“Oy, Remy!” I heard Kyle's voice. He ran up to me, his forehead even more drenched with sweat. It must have been from playing soccer with his friends. “Hey, what happened to Leafsters?

Wing: “Leafsters”

She looked awful upset running into the building,” he said.

I was about to answer when the bell for the end of school rang.

“I'll tell you when I get home,” I told him. He nodded as we raced into our classroom.

I got to my locker and began putting my materials inside. I had only gotten three needed subjects in when the loudspeaker clicked on, announcing for the pick-ups to head to the school's front entrance. Five more minutes until the first bus wave is called.

I thrust my English folder into my backpack and then reentered my homeroom. I left it on my desk to search for Leaf.

Wing: She left her entire homeroom on that desk. That must have been a huge desk

I slipped between the classrooms, hoping to find my best friend. I have to catch her before she departs for the first-wave buses … because she needs to know. She just has to know that I'll always be her person to cry to, to laugh with, and to always buddy up with when doing team-projects. That she'll never be alone, as long as she's got me, even when I'm not there. Leaf may not have a cell phone, and neither do I, but there's a kind of telepathy link between us that acts like an instant messenger, so we can tell what we're thinking most of the time.

Wing: ..................Sure, honey

But this is something that has to be communicated though words.

I spent almost the entire five minutes looking in all three of them when the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. Leaf would've gone to the Resource Room. It's considered the “safe haven” for special needs students … like Leaf.

I was just about to head out from Mr. Gorgon's room,

Wing: Mr. Gorgon?? That poor man. I wonder if people are afraid to look at him

which is just across the hallway from it, when the announcement that I've been dreading clicks on:

“PLEASE DISMISS FIRST-WAVE STUDENTS RIDING BUSES ONE, THREE, FIVE, AND SEVEN!” the woman's voice projected, sounding like a sonic boom.

Wing: I highly doubt her voice broke the sound barrier LOL

Mystic: definitely broke my ear drums plenty of times hahaha xD

I hit myself mentally in the head. Idiot! Leaf’s on the first wave! Now what? I cursed in my mind.

Wing: Okay, you said "bitch" earlier and Leaf said "fucking." What part of your thoughts right there were curses??

Mystic: very good question Mystic: and i have no answer thank god

I began to search frantically through the crowd of seventh and eighth graders, now filing out of the rooms and out to the bus pick-up circle. I caught Leaf’s fluorescent-blue tee shirt emerging from the Resource Room,

Wing: What the hell is fluorescent blue

Mystic: uhhh, very bright blue? i guess? pfft Mystic: course i coulda just said bright blue

Kali: Maybe it's literally a shirt made of fluorescent lights...?

Wing: Holy shit that sounds uncomfortable and also capable of causing burns

Kali: Appropriate for this story.

Wing: PFFFF

and I knew that I had to get her attention. But with all the kids talking, my own voice was drowned out.

“Leaf!” I shouted anyway, clapping and jumping. Her face found mine.

Wing: I knew they were gay!!/kidding

I then pointed to myself, made a heart with my hands, and pointed back to her. I knew I had succeeded because she smiled brightly and laughed as she disappeared through the glass double-doors.

Wing: That was easy.

I did a small fist-pump when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and found one of my other friends, Marybeth. She’s half African American, but she has straight black hair with brown natural highlights. Not like Audrey’s fake dye.

“Heya, Mary,” I greeted her as we slapped our hands together. She smiled me a picture-perfect white smile with colorful braces.

“Remy, my friend, you are so going to love me,” Marybeth replied.

“What for?” I asked.

“I,” she takes a dramatic pause, “got both of our names in for volunteering at the Northern Vet Clinic!”

I was stunned. “…Seriously?” I gasped in delight. “Marybeth… you ARE AMAZING!” I cried.

Wing: Apparently, Remy and I have different definitions of the word “amazing.”

Marybeth shrugged, the bright grin on her visage never ceasing. “I know,” was all she could say.

“Hey, mind if I join in?” Kyle approached us.

“Well, look who’s tardy to the party,” Marybeth mocked, rolling her eyes.

Kyle chuckled and rubbed his forehead. “Sorry, babe, didn’t mean to be late.” Oh, I think I forgot to mention the fact that Marybeth and Kyle are girlfriend and boyfriend.

Wing: I literally do not care.

Suddenly, the room comm. beeped on again:

“PLEASE DISMISS SECOND-WAVE STUDENTS ON BUSES TWO, FOUR, SIX, AND EIGHT.”

Kyle, Marybeth and I raced back to our rooms to collect our backpacks (or in Mary’s case, her book bag),

Wing: ????? What??? is the difference????

then we made a mad dash out the double doors. As we arrived into the bus pick-up area, we were greeted by four long, yellow, revving engines.

Wing: So wait, not only were the engines yellow, but it was JUST the engines waiting out there? I'm no expert on car mechanics, but I don't think that would work very well.

Kyle parted from us and went to bus 2 as Marybeth and I turned tail and headed for bus 8.

Marybeth and I claimed a backseat and settled down as the other kids began to board onto the bus.

“So, when do we start volunteering?” I inquired to Marybeth. She took out her iPhone and started looking at some songs.

“Well, we have to shadow a vet first to get the feel of the environment.” As she said this, she handed me a sheet. Obviously a permission slip to shadow a veterinarian. “After that, the vets will select a few people to volunteer once for one day. Before you do, you have to take a test of basic veterinarian knowledge. And then after the volunteering, they make you take another survey about what you saw and what you liked and disliked. And then, poof—you’re selected based off the surveys,” Marybeth finished explaining. Then she popped her ear-buds into her ears and began to blast music.

I took out my own MP3 Player and began to play my own media. As I listened to the random selection of soundtracks, I dosed off,

Wing: What no, don't mess with the dosage of your medicine, Remy

the warmth of the day soothing my nerves. The mighty vehicle rattled as the bus driver put it into drive and began to pull out of the bus-circle.

Wing: "THE MIGHTY VEHICLE" THO OMG

Mystic: AYE Mystic: THE MIGHTY VEHICHLE Mystic: AS FORETOLD BY THE PROPHECY

Kali: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmmLtPEsRZw

Wing: oh my god

The music that lulled my brain slowly ticked away the time, since it took the bus a near hour to drop me off at home. I woke up as it hit the familiar bump that came ten minutes before my stop. I looked over at Marybeth, who moved to another seat and was lying on the cheap leather, asleep.

The bus finally came to a stop near my house. When I leapt off the final stair, the doors closed behind me with a hiss. As it pulled away, I caught a glimpse of Marybeth waving to me,

Wing: I guess Mary's waving in her sleep

which I returned. I only stopped when the vehicle rolled out of sight, the acid stench streaming from the exhaust pipe.

I began to hum a made-up tune as I skipped to the door, catching the blue color of my mom’s Subaru Forester. I let myself into the house, throwing my bag on the floor nearby. Immediately, the scent of cleaner perfumes hit me full force.

Wing: I don't think that's a thing.

Clearly, the cleaning lady had just left.

“Mom, I’m home!” I called. My mom had always been a stay-at-home person, because she has this thing about the house being robbed if she wasn’t there to look after it. She could get a job, having got her Bachelor’s Degree in college, but her OCD of the house is so bad she refuses to get one—which, as of late, has led to my parents arguing often. My mom also has it over Rocky, because she’s afraid he’ll make an accident indoors,

Wing: “Look at this accident! I made it all by myself!! :D”

even though he’s very good with using the doggy-door my dad installed for him so he could go into the backyard and do his business.

“Remeleen?” my mom responded. She came from the corner of the kitchen door frame and approached me. “Oh, there you are—the bus came later than usual, I was worried there had been something wrong,” she said. Another example of one of my mom’s many obsessive thoughts.

“Mom, I’m fine. Stop being such a worry wart,” I joked.

She sighed, although a nervous smile still played on her face. “Well… what can I say? After Charlie had that accident…” Her voice choked and she stopped, a saddened expression taking over.

Charlie is my big brother, who’s in his second year of high school. Three weeks ago, some drunken bastard decided to t-bone his bus at a cross-light.

Wing: Must've been a pretty tall car.

The outcome was really bad—almost all of the people on the bus were injured, but Charlie got the worst since the car t-boned the side where his seat was. He got cracked ribs, an open fraction in his leg, and several breaks in both of his arms.

Wing: Not really sure what an "open fraction" is, or how Charlie's leg had one

Mystic: oh I've almost had one of those. it's basically when the bone breaks thorugh the skin

Wing: Wouldn't that be "open fracture" then?

Mystic: if it's a closed fracture it's when the bone breaks but the skin is still intact Mystic: wait Mystic: did i spell it as fraction

Wing: You did, my dear.

Mystic: whoops

Charlie is still in the hospital, and for how much longer I don’t know. They have to keep him there to keep a close eye on his wounds, perform rehabilitation therapy, and reapply the bandages and casts. I hope he comes back soon, though.

“Mom, Charlie is still alive, isn’t he? The doctors and nurses are taking good care of him, and he’s a natural fighter. Don’t you remember when he was little—you have to because you told me this story—when he was only four years old? He drank the Orange Glow in the bowl that the previous housekeeper left on the ground, thinking it was some kind of juice. The people at Poison Control thought he wouldn’t make it… and guess what?” I left that for her to answer.

“I know…I just worry a lot, that’s all,” Mom defended.

Wing: Charlie: I'm gonna become a mathematician!! There's math inside me! Remy: That's great! Charlie: It's in my soul! It's in my blood! Remy: Go for it, bro! Charlie: It's in my bones!! Remy: That's the spirit!! Charlie: No!! I mean really!!! It's iN MY FUCKING BONES AAAAAH I NEED AN AMBULANCE Remy: FUCK

Mystic: PFFFFFFFF BAHAHAHAA OH MY GOD

“Well, I’m still alive, and you don’t have to worry about me all the time. Things in life always happen when you’re not looking, whether for better or for worse,” I reassured her.

Suddenly, Leaf’s rant came back to me:

“…No matter what you say, or what you do, ITS NOT GONNA FUCKING HAPPEN! It's not like you can write in a book or whatever and whatever you write down will come true! Life doesn't work that way—instead, it throws shit into your face until you crack and start to shut down.”

Will that really happen to you, Leaf? The last thing I want to see is for you to just vanish off the face of the Earth, not knowing what to do or how to react.

Wing: Well, in fairness, at least if she vanishes off the face of the earth, you won't have to see her reaction.

“Oh, speaking of which—where’s Amy?” I asked.

“She’s sleeping over Tanya’s house today, because, you know, it’s a Friday,” she responded.

Wing: Sleeping over her house. Like, in a giant hammock above the roof.

“Oh, alright. Well, I’m gonna work on weekend homework—fun, right?—up in my room. I’ll take Rocky for his walk after supper,” I said, grabbing my backpack and marching up the steps.

“Okay, honey.” My mom’s voice sounded tired, and sad. For one moment, I felt like I should’ve done something. But the feeling fled as my air-conditioned room called to me, and I obliged.

I just want to feel alright.

The times you don’t want to wake up,

cause when you sleep it’s never over when you give up.

The sun is always gonna rise up.

You need to get up, gotta keep your head up.

Look at the people all around you.

The way you feel is something everybody goes through.

Dark out, but you still gotta light up.

You need to wake up, gotta keep your face up.

~Lyrics from Face Up, by Lightsa

I deeply apologize for how long that was! Maybe I should have split it up, huh?...Well, in any case, I hope you enjoyed it! More to come soon!

#bad fiction #bad writing #original fiction #wingsporkhalo #mysticdelphox97 #fate's flawed design #male brunettes #neither i to yours!#I'LL BE EVERYONE'S MOTHERS!!#remy x audrey 4 ever #U CALLIN ME A LIAR DOLLFACE #MATH IS IN MY BONES #fred the floating skull

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