#// hey i had to separate your reply with a break line instead of the indented text bc tumblr wouldn't publish the indented text 🤷‍♀️

[voxvulgi]

@mythvoiced (cont from x)

The amount of ways things could go wrong here reaches a number especially comical if contrasted to the way things actually go wrong.

They don’t, actually, which is a shocker in on its own. After Eddie had successfully snook all the way into the Quill manors only (and evidently very precious, at least from a financial standpoint when looked at from her father’s eyes, which only makes Eddie want to rip into his throat) daughter, he’d have thought that the true trouble would only start once they get to figuring out how to get him the fuck back out of it.

Sneaking around and reaching the bedrooms shouldn’t have been possible in the first place. What the fuck is Philip Quill thinking? Does he want his daughter to get caught alone in her bedroom, dolled up for the first deranged fucker brave enough to will his way to the next floor with intentions nowhere near as ridiculous as Eddie’s mere desire to make her laugh?

He tries not to think of the answer to that question, to the implications that Jackie is to be kept safe from only those Philip doesn’t deem a valuable asset to add to his vast vault.

He tries not to think about that, about the eyes he knows must have seen him head upstairs, even in a hall full of people out for meaningless conversation and appearances, someone must have seen, on accident, the turn of a head, the lift of a gaze mid-word, and yet, and yet, and yet.

He tries not to think about that, lest he might do something stupid like grab Jackie, haul her into her father’s car and then set the entire place on fire.

Maybe he’d spare her mother. He senses no venom when she speaks of her - the resemblance seems evident now, but where Jackie is a Fabergé egg, her mother glows as dimly as a diamond shattered against the wall.

Maybe, though, the lack of venom was to attribute to her laughter. Or the ease with which she slips in and out of his space, brushes her fingers against him as though he owed it to her, this much at least. It’s a silent deal of sorts, is it not? How many rules is he breaking by being in her room?

Fuck the legal issues of breaking and entering in the first place, fuck whatever trouble he might get into just for showing his face exactly there they want to see it least.

Jackie had not just allowed him into her room, she’d suggested he’d stop there.

And now it seems she’s not as inclined to suggest he leave it again.

There’s an urgency to the way she halts him before he can break out of her cage again to visit her prison’s courtyard represented by the class downstairs. Or maybe he’s projecting, maybe it’s his own iron-grip on the doorknob that he loosens just in time to pose no resistance to her suggestion.

He had the DIPSHIT ready. He had the shit-eating grin of her laughter brushing against parts of his soul he’d thought dead, infusing life into him he’d thought to stay away from, turning him into a moth to her flame, or an Ifrit ready to become her wrath.

Flames again.

Maybe of the heart.

Maybe the source of the ash he always senses on the inside of his palms.

She’d allowed him into her drawers.

She’d allowed him to see, the one thing she hints at but never mentions, a flask as glaring in its presence as the disgust in her eyes whenever she’d looked at the sun and decided, today, today in particular I want you to burn me alive.

He likes it more when she wants to see the rest of the world burn instead.

She’s strong.

Stronger than him certainly, as he stands there and ignores the whispers of ants there where she touches him. And ignores the absolute ridiculousness of whatever the fuck was being suggested here.

He frowns, which seems understandable, at least from his point of view, shifting his weight to lean on one leg, while his hands busy themselves with his chest pocket, looking for cigarettes, a habit, a tick to look busier than his hurricane-like mind.

There’s a tightness to his throat as he gives up, patting down on nothing and ending the unsuccessful movements with a sigh. A tightness that he knows will make his voice seem odd, his words strained.

Would if he wasn’t used to feeling a little too much of everything around her.

He could go for something strong to shoot down his fucking throat right now.

“Jack,” he doesn’t use that name often. Too masculine, maybe? Nah, it wouldn’t bother, not him at least. Friendlier, though. Jackie fits her because she responds to it, because she doesn’t wrinkle her eyes in distaste (he’s never seen her, at least), because ‘Jacqueline’ is too formal and definitely not been chosen by her mother (or had it? Coerced or deliberately?).

‘Jack’ feels like the full stop to his sentence he needs.

He could address the nightgowns. He could mention how he most fucking definitely will not be putting his hands and face, his face, anywhere near something that has touched her skin in the privacy of her nights - which is a fucking thought of a thought as is.

But if he were to mention that, he’d have to explain why, most likely. She’s never let him get away with anything. That would mean, either the truth… or a lie so final it would kill whatever neither of them are adressing between them.

That particular ‘something’ they keep nudging and nudging back and forth until one of them breaks.

He runs a hand over his face.

He’s going to… ow fuck…

He gives her a long, hard look. Tries to convey what she’s doing to him and why he’s playing along, that this is exception, not a rule. He doesn’t have the habit of hiding in women’s closets. Or be in their bedroom, for that matter.

Or be worried about the implications of either.

He thinks about the way she’d laughed and the ease with which she’d allowed him to walk around her room and take her things, and-

“Just so ya know, though,” he rolls his shoulders, sighing again. “Ain’t much of a fan of tight spaces, so if I don’t fit, I don’t sits.”

Already on her bad side his ass.

It wasn’t a lie, actually. Which is something else he tries to convey. He doesn’t want to guilt her, doesn’t want to say, look what all I’m doing for you. Because he’s not. His motivations are as selfish as they come.

He wants to see her laugh like that.

He’s a fucking ass.

He takes a step closer. Then he turns his head to glance at her, lifting an eyebrow, a last silent question if she truly, really wanted him to do this.

The biggest curse of an all-red dress was how easily it could accentuate the blood rush to one's face. Whether it was a particularly cold day and Jackie's nose went as red as a cherry tomato, or she was so embarrassed that she blushed vigorously, the red fabric would only serve to highlight he face.

So, the way she blushed when Eddie called her "Jack" must have been extremely obvious.

But just like everything regarding this strange dance of theirs, if she pretended it didn't happen...he would pretend, too.

Why do they always pretend?

She literally told him to get in her closet with her nightgowns. He could make her laugh as if nothing was wrong with the world -- no, as if every fucking debauchery around them was a hilarious reason to be alive. He let her touch him, and she let him touch her with these stolen, feather-light movements. So...why do they always pretend?

Perhaps Jackie just wasn't ready for the showdown, the whirlwind that would consume her life once she decided she had feelings for Edward fucking Wilson. She wasn't as strong as she seemed; she might not be able to handle it. Plus, the moment she let herself become Eddie's lover would be the moment she begins to disappoint him more and more every day-- until he ends up resenting their relationship, or worse: her. And then he would disappear from her life, poof, like a figment of her imagination. Or a manifestation of her hysteria.

Fuck, what if there was no Eddie? What if Jacqueline's sick mind had made him up just so she could feel worthy of...anything?

No, stop. Stop it. Don't think that.

"What, you scared?" Raising an eyebrow at Eddie, she forced herself back into her body, into the present. "I would offer to come in with you, just to hold your hand through it, but...tight spaces, huh?"

To be fair, she would hate being in a tight enclosure, too.

Unless it was a tight place with Eddie in it, and barely any space between them.

"Come on, go on in."

[annabethfuckingchase]

The Princess and the Half Bloods

It was eleven at night when the music started floating into Annabeth’s open window.

Fast-paced and loud, the punk music seemed to flow directly into her already throbbing head. Writing a four page paper on the demographics of the Confederate army during the Civil War this late at night will do that to you, especially when you have dyslexia. The cool, fresh air from the window was the only thing keeping her sane right now.

But the consistent beat and the screaming of the lyrics by the boy next door were working hard to undo all the relaxing that the night breeze was doing for her. There was no way she could focus on her work with all that noise not ten feet away from her. She kept her legs crossed under her laptop but let the top half of her body flop backwards on her bed, burying her head in her pillows. There was no doubt in her mind how the conversation was going to go, but she really needed to get this paper done.

Sighing, she sat back up and unfolded her legs, going over to the window. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, back to her, belting out the song and playing along with his guitar. He was singing and playing in a different key than the song, weaving his own sound into it. He was good, very good. Not that Annabeth would ever admit that to him. Especially when his window was wide open and that sound was keeping her from her work.

“Percy,” she called, leaning out part way out of the window. He didn’t hear her. She tried again. “Percy!” Nothing. She leaned out as far as she could without falling and yelled, “Perseus Jackson!” He hated his full name.

It worked. He looked behind him, frowning. He seemed annoyed to see her, which was fine as she was constantly annoyed to see him. 

'What?’ He approached his window and called over the music, 'What do you want?’

“Can you turn that music off? Or at least turn it down?”

“I can’t, I’m practicing. Besides, this is a great song!” he shouted to be heard.

“Well I have to write a paper and I can’t focus with it so loud. I have to get it done tonight because tomorrow is the football game and-” she started to explain, but he cut her off.

“Why don’t you just shut your window, then?” he rolled his eyes and started to turn from the window.

Annabeth could’ve tried explaining about the calming effect the open window had on her, but she suspected that wouldn’t get her very far. Though to be fair, the route she chose didn’t get her very far either. “Why don’t you?” she shot back. “It’s eleven PM, you shouldn’t be playing it that loud anyway. Some people are trying to sleep. What about your mom?”

He faced her again. “What is your problem tonight?” he asked exasperatedly.

“What yours?” she demanded. She was starting to get frustrated. “I’m just trying to write a paper. You don’t see me screeching at all hours of the night when you’re trying to do your homework. If you ever did any, that is.”

“You are my problem! My practicing is every bit as important as your paper.”

“How is your hobby as important as work I need to do for a class?”

“Just close your window! It’s not like the whole world is subject to your personal rules!” He was nearly screaming at her now, and she wasn’t sure if it was to be heard over the music or because he was growing increasingly upset.

“It’s not even a personal rule! It’s being polite! I have to do this work because I’m a productive member of society. You aren’t. You sit there, playing in your little band, not even making an effort to get out of your garage, not doing anything in school, not preparing for life at all! What are you going to do, Percy? Because you’re going nowhere fast!” Something that looked like hurt flashed in his eyes, but Annabeth blinked and it was gone, so fleeting it might not have been there at all.

They had both been leaning out of their respective windows, hands braced on the sills to keep from leaning out too far, but now Percy lifted one hand towards her, middle finger extended. “Sit and spin, Princess,” he snarled.

Annabeth growled and slammed her window closed, the glass shivering from the force. Percy slammed his right after, despite the fact that he had technically won the argument when she had closed hers. Idiot. She flounced onto her bed and crossed her arms angrily, glaring at her unfinished homework. She stayed in that position until her father came knocking to check on her.

“Hey. What was all that noise?” he asked, looking around for the damage.

“Me,” Annabeth responded curtly.

Her dad rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but I’d figured that out myself, funnily enough.”

She sighed. “It was the window. I slammed it.”

“Why?”

“Percy Jackson is a problem.”

He chuckled and leaned against her door jamb. “You two used to be so close. Couldn’t separate you for anything. Why do you have to go picking fights with him now?”

“I don’t!” Annabeth cried indignantly. She flung her finger toward the window. “He purposely antagonizes me.”

She glanced over into Percy’s room, where she could see that he was in the same predicament. Sally, his mother, had come to see what had happened and the conversation seemed to be going exactly the same as Annabeth’s, down to the finger pointing through the window at her. She quickly put her hand down.

“Okay, kid, whatever you say. Just keep it down and try not to break anything,” her father said, turning back to his home office.

“I’ll break him and his stupid speakers,” she muttered under her breath. She looked at her mostly finished paper and sighed. It’d be fine for tonight, she could do it in the morning. Coffee and quiet were what she needed now.

In the Chase household, there was nearly always a fresh pot of coffee either made or brewing. She wanted to stomp the whole way, but instead Annabeth crept into the kitchen, wary of her father’s warning and her stepbrothers sleeping. She returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug, holding it closely with both hands.

As soon as the door was closed, she locked it and went to her closet, pulling up the little rug that decorated the floor. A little square, two feet by two feet, lay underneath. A little indentation just big enough for her fingers was carved out as a handle and she pulled it up. Hidden there was a vertical tunnel that went down for a while, ending well below ground. A rusty old ladder was attached to one of the walls, and Annabeth slid herself into the tunnel until her feet rested on one of the rungs. She carefully lowered herself down with one hand on the ladder and her back braced against the opposite wall, desperately trying not to spill her coffee.

She reached the bottom- without spilling a drop of coffee she noted smugly- and walked down the hallway to the metal door at the end. There had been a handle on it once, on both doors, that wouldn’t unlock without a key but Sally had taken them off long ago so the kids could play in the bunker beyond.

The Jackson’s and the Chase’s had been close as far back as anybody could remember. Her great- times whatever- grandfather and Percy’s great- times whatever- grandfather had built these houses themselves over a hundred and fifty years ago. During the Cold War, Annabeth and Percy’s grandparents had built the bunker together, preparing for the possibility of a nuclear war. When Percy and Annabeth were five, their parents had shown them the bunker and allowed them to turn it into their private fortress, complete with an arsenal of nerf guns and makeshift nuclear missiles for playing war and some old furniture that was no longer needed in the houses above. The toy weapons still sat collecting dust in a toy box in the corner.

It had been years since Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase had been friends. It started as a normal drifting apart, as friends do. It hadn’t turned openly hostile until Annabeth had started dating Luke in the eighth grade. He was a senior in high school at the time, and Percy had said one day that it was inappropriate. He was right, of course, but she hadn’t seen it that way at the time. She’d accused him of being jealous and things had spiralled from there.

The funny part was that Annabeth had actually been the jealous one, when he started dating Rachel. Or maybe it wasn’t actually all that funny.

Annabeth sat down on the torn up couch with her feet curled under her and sipped on her coffee as she got lost the past. She had come for some quiet, and she had certainly gotten it. It was almost too much. The silence was ringing in her ears.

She leaned over and turned on the old CD player that sat on the little table next to the couch. A song was just ending and ‘She’ started to blast out from the speakers, way too loud, but it didn’t really matter now that she wasn’t writing. Annabeth leaned her head back on the armrest, closed her eyes, and began singing along.

“She, she screams in silence, a sullen riot penetrating through her mind.”

“Waiting for a sign, to smash the silence with the brick of self-control.”

Annabeth shot up from her relaxed position, a little bit of her coffee sloshing out of the mug and landing on the concrete floor. She hadn’t even heard Percy come in through the door that led to his own room. She narrowed her eyes but still sang the next line. “Are you locked up in a world that’s been planned out for you?”

“Are you feeling like a social tool without a use?”

“Scream at me until my ears bleed!”

“I’m taking heed just for you.” Percy came over and lowered the volume on the CD player before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “I didn’t know you liked that kind of music.

She scowled but answered quietly, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. What are you doing down here?”

“I come down here a lot at night, actually,” he replied at the same volume.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and spoke in a normal voice. “Yeah, I know.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “How?”

Annabeth gestured to the CD player. “You change the cd every couple days.” Then she pointed to the corner, where a recliner sat. “Sometimes you leave your jacket on the chair when you fall asleep in here. Which I know you do because I’ve walked in on you crashed on the couch. I come in here in the mornings.”

Percy nodded. “I know. You leave coffee cups.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t realized Percy ever noticed her early morning escapes. He’d never mentioned it. Then again, she’d never said anything about him coming down here either.

“But what are you doing down here now? I thought you were listening to music in your room,” she pushed, looking up at him and hating that she had to look up. For most of their childhood, she’d been taller. Only in the last couple years had he hit a series of growth spurts that put him above her.

“And I thought you were writing a paper in yours,” he countered. “I came to just… get away for a little while.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sorry. About what I said earlier, “ he said nervously after a long pause, picking at a frayed part of the couch. “The, you know, sitting and spinning part.”

“Yes, thank you for clarifying.” A small smile lifted her face and he returned it. “And I’m sorry about what I said about your future. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t be,” he sighed. “You were right. We’re never getting out of Jason’s garage.”

“You just need to start playing some small gigs first. Parties, bars, that sort of thing. Maybe get some recording time and make a demo to hand out to people. You’re… actually very good,” she forced out.

Percy’s smile grew. “You think I’m good?”

“When you aren’t interrupting my schoolwork, you definitely are. I haven’t heard the rest of your band but if they’re half as good as when you were playing earlier, I’m sure you could get anywhere you want to go.”

“Thanks, Annabeth.” He put his hand over hers on her knee and stared off in the distance, thinking. She didn’t move her hand and neither did he. “We have recorded a demo, actually. Christmas gift from Jason’s mom. But we don’t really have any recording execs to give it to. We mostly hand them out for free to anybody that seems interested. Which is mostly just family and some friends. Grover and his girlfriend Juniper are probably our biggest fans.”

Annabeth looked at him, contemplating for a moment. Then she looked down at her lap. “Look, I don’t know if this will help much, but The Big House is a kind of bar slash music venue in the city. Sometimes industry execs hang out there, looking for new bands to sign.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Percy said. He still hadn’t taken his hand back and it was warm where it touched hers.

“Well, I kind of know the owner. Actually, I work there semi regularly. I could set something up for you. And maybe we could start selling your CDs. You know, assuming you guys are any good,” she offered, throwing in the barb in case she was getting too friendly with him. He didn’t answer for a minute and she glanced back up at him. He was staring at her, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“You’d do that? Really?” He looked like he couldn’t believe she’d do something kind for him. Which, she mused, shouldn’t have surprised her. It had been a long time since she and Percy had been kind to each other. 

“Well sure. It’s a win-win.” She took her hand back and put on a haughty air, conscious of Rachel. She probably shouldn’t be holding hands with another girl’s boyfriend, even if it was warm and comfortable, familiar. She shook her head to clear it. “You get to play for other people and maybe one day get signed, and Chiron- the owner- loves me for bringing him new talent that might bring in more customers. If you’re willing to play regularly, that is.”

It took him a minute to formulate an answer but then he was enthusiastically babbling. “Yes, yes, of course. We’d love to play there regularly. I mean I’d have to talk it over with the band, but I’m positive they’ll be in. And that’s such a good idea, selling the CDs there. I just- thank you.” She found herself wrapped up in Percy’s arms, getting squeezed just slightly too hard. “Thank you so much.”

“Any time, Percy,” Annabeth laughed when he let up enough for her to breathe.

He pulled back and it was his turn to contemplate her. “Really? You mean that?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not, right?” she shrugged, a smile still on her face.

“Well then, you’re hired.”

“What?”

“You’re hired. You’re going to get us a gig and a place to sell our demo, you more than deserve it,” he grinned. 

Annabeth paused for a moment, considering. “Yeah, I could do that. Actually, I’d be great at that.”

“Don’t I know it. Looks like we’re going somewhere after all, Princess.”

[unadulteratedfandomtrash]

Clint Barton x Telekinetic!Teen!Reader ~ Tips and Tricks

[My Marvel Masterlist]

Word Count: 994

Life-sized mannequins wielding mock weaponry carved from wood charge at (Y/n) as she practices using her abilities, concentrating on warping and controlling their metallic composition in order to eliminate each target. Miscellaneous parts of the machinery rain down around the youngest member of the Avengers, adding on to the collection of scratches and indentations, some of which can possibly be classified as craters, in the concrete flooring of the training compound.

From the spacious tunnels of the building's vents, Clint Barton observes with keen eyes. He analyzes (Y/n)'s movements, taking notice of the smallest of details that the other team members overlooked during their previous group training session. The archer watches as (Y/n) waves her arms animatedly to dismantle the sparring bots, breaking into a sweat after only ten minutes into the training exercise.

"She's over exerting herself," Clint mumbles to himself with the shake of his head.

With a plan coming to fruition, the archer retreats into the deeper ends of the vents, heading back to his floor to finalize his plan on paper. Different methods of executing (Y/n)'s abilities play before Clint's eyes, but none prove to be the most efficient. Just as Clint begins to brainstorm for simple methods that start at the beginner level, an upbeat tune echoing from the direction of Bucky's floor catches his attention.

Bear crawling all the way, Clint peers through the barred vent gate to see the former Winter Soldier cleaning a large sniper rifle. Bucky wipes down the individual parts with precise strokes, his wrist flicking in time with the long, sharp sweeping motions of his arms. In less than two minutes, the barrel of the weapon finds itself resting in a velvet-lined carrying case with a polished surface clean enough to act as a mirror, despite its dark color.

"Hmm...Interesting..."

Clint reroutes his crawling to head back to his floor, this time, a better, feasible idea forming.

---

"Hey, (Y/n)," Clint calls out to the young girl, waving his arm to gesture towards the training compound. "C'mere, I wanna have a chat."

"Umm, okay..." Eyeing the archer warily, (Y/n) follows him into the room. "So, whatcha wanna talk about? Is it something bad?"

"Oh, no, no, no. You're not in trouble or anything, kid. I just wanna to help."

"Help? With what? Not to be rude or anything, but I don't remember asking for anyone's help on anything."

"I was watching you train the other day, and I have a few pointers that'll help you improve on the battlefield."

"Oh, okay," agrees (Y/n). She looks up at Clint a sparkle in her eyes that warms the archer's heart, reminding him of the times when he taught his children how to use a bow an arrow -- they were fake, of course.

"Well, first things first: You don't need to move your arms to dramatically," the archer points out while demonstrating with his own arms in a silly manner, eliciting a giggle from the teen before him. "All you really need is a flick of the wrist. That's it. Just a short, quick, snapping motion and you'll fling your enemies away just as far as you've been doing, only this time, you won't tire yourself out right away. Try it out on that deactivated dummy over there."

Following her mentor's instructions, (Y/n) only uses a slight flick her wrists to separate the sparring bot in half. The young Avenger's cheers resonate across the entire training compound and Clint grins proudly.

"Okay, now, instead of pulling your arms from the top of your head down towards the ground, you can try something else that might be a bit more effective. Keep your arms above your head like before, only this time, I want you to try and throw the bots at a forty-five degree angle away from you. You're still slamming the enemy down while crouching, but this method should leave you still standing upright. You'll be able to fight the next target at a much faster rate since your recovery time has just shortened."

Just like with the first move, (Y/n) plays out the technique Clint has set for her, making sure to not exaggerate her movements like she has been doing prior to these lessons. Shrapnel from the sparring bot flies in all directions upon hitting the ground, instilling pride in the archer once again.

"Awesome! You'll be able to perfect it in no time, kid."

---

HYDRA agents surround Clint and Steve, aiming their weapons at the two heros. Steve's vibranium shield had been kicked aside during a scuffle, and only two arrows remain in Clint's quiver.

"What's the plan, Cap? How are we doing this," Clint whispers frantically.

"Uh...I-I...I don't know," stutters the super soldier.

"Well, you better come up with something fast. Their numbers are growing and I don't like the look that guy is giving me."

A canister of tear gas lands with a soft thud at the center of the congregation of HYDRA agents, releasing the irritating chemicals within seconds of hitting the ground. Steve and Clint shield their eyes, though such an action does nothing to prevent exposure to their face. The two bend over with their heads tucked in as bodies begin to drop. (Y/n) utilizes the techniques Clint introduced to her several months back, flinging agents left and right with little effort exerted.

"Heya, guys! What's up?"

"Well, apparently those guys," Clint replies with a finger pointing at the five unconscious HYDRA agents draped in the trees. He follows Steve's example, wiping away the tears from his stinging eyes before regaining his composure. "You did good, kid."

"Thanks! I had a little help from a certain archer."

"Well," Clint chuckles, playing along with her joke, "please thank this mysterious archer for me the next time you see him. He must have been a good teacher."

"Yeah, he is. He'll always be my teacher."

[livingmybestfictionallife]

The Other Harrington--Damn Horny Teenagers

Warnings: language, violence

Previous Chapters:

The Other Harrington

Hawkins high school was nothing more or less then the expectation I had for it. Bland yet cliquey, it was all of the stereotypes the teen movies were presenting high school as nowadays. Though my other schools were no different, the boundaries between social groups were more pronounced and definitive here than anywhere else. I could remember what role my cousin had always played in school. Even though we hadn’t really spoken to one another in over twelve years, any time I was in a bind at another school, or forcing my father to uproot his life and move me again, he would always complain about how I should be more like Steve: successful on the basketball court and with his peers. He was “a leader if anyone had ever heard of one,” according to my father. I also knew what role I would assume, it was the same one students in every school I’d been to placed on me as soon as the learned about my past, but I wasn’t going to let myself be tormented about the fact that I was a milk carton kid.

I didn’t want to taint his reputation, but I sure as shit didn’t want to fall into whatever hierarchal category he was placed in. I needed to make a name for myself here, and since everyone would immediately hear ‘Harrington’ and think ‘Steve,’ I knew I needed to separate myself from him in the beginning. I managed to get out of the car and wander away from Steve in a momentary attempt to escape being seen with him before he hurriedly cut me off from entering the school and cornered me by a light pole just outside of the front doors. “Damn, Stevie,” I commented as a small group of students passed us and entered the school. “Looks like you’ve gotten more athletic since you’ve grown into those Sasquatch feet.”

“Very funny,” he sneered as he handed me a pencil and a list of classroom numbers.

“This will come in very handy when I’m trying to carve equations into the palm of my hand,” I muttered with a smirk on my face.

“After all these years, you’d think your sense of humor would improve,” he snickered in reply. I let out a smile as Steve pulled an unused notebook out of his backpack and handed it to me. “If you’re alone at lunch, find me. I’ve already looked at your schedule. We have third and sixth periods together–well, technically your sixth period is phys. ed. and mine is sports, but we’re both in the gym.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t show you up in front of your friends,” I smirked while nudging his arm with my elbow. He rolled his eyes at me before he continued his explanation.

“That’s the last class of the day. We can leave from there and I can either take you back to my house or you can come with me. Okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I replied, folded the piece of paper he gave me, and slid it into my back pocket. As quickly as he had stopped me, he was gone and disappeared among the other bodies floating into the school. I took a moment to allow the bitter air to pierce my skin before stepping into the halls and being overwhelmed with the number of people passing through. By now I was used to the quizzical looks and buzzes of accusations that circulated as I passed people during the first few days of being at a new school. For the most part, I held my head high and ignored the comments. As students clamored into classrooms, most began to say rushed goodbyes to their significant others, and others decided to take this moment as an opportunity to test the new kid’s tolerance level.

I rounded a corner only to find myself being knocked backwards by two preppy looking bitches—one had perfectly bouncy auburn hair and the other had dark, shoulder length brown hair with curled bangs. I reached back and tried to turn my body in an attempt to catch myself before I hit the floor, but instead my fingertips grazed over what felt like denim and my body collided against another. A pair of hands instinctively lurched toward my forearms and I couldn’t help but clutch onto the material between my fingers.

“You might want to watch where you’re going,” a low, male voice grumbled. I looked up to meet a pair of dark blue eyes hooded by dark brown eyebrows hovering over them like storm clouds.

“Wasn’t intentional,” I muttered as I pushed myself away from the boy before I and released my grip on the hem of his denim jacket.

“Yeah, well not too many people are as nice as me.” Even though I had knelt down to pick up the notebook I had dropped, I could hear the arrogance oozing from his voice and had decided it was best to tell off whatever preppy, jock, prick was trying to hit on me. After gathering my things, I pulled myself back into an upright position, my hair inadvertently flipping over my right shoulder as I stood face to face with the stranger before me.

“I can tell,” I muttered as my eyes glared after the silhouettes of the two girls who had knocked me over, “but it’s not like you were intentionallyhelping me,” I corrected him. “You just happened to be there.” His thin lips curled into a smirk but his nostrils flared; the boy’s face gave away the internal conflict he had with me challenging his dominance.

“Well,” he sighed with a shrug and circled where I stood, never once breaking his eye contact, “right place, right time, I guess.” With his last comment, the mystery boy sauntered off down the hall, making sure to strut incase I was watching. I hated the fact that I was.

The hallways were quickly emptying their contents into adjoining rooms, and I was practically alone in the labyrinth of Hawkins school pride as I followed the gradually increasing numbers on doors until they matched the first ones on my class list. Thankfully, the teacher hadn’t shown up yet and I took that as an opportunity to attempt to blend into the room as best as I could in order to not be singled out as the new kid. I knew I was peculiar enough, and that the cuts and bruises on my face, along with the slightly busted lip didn’t help. I certainly didn’t need any help in accumulating a reputation of oddity and rumors, nor did I want to stand out against the rest of the students around me, but when had life ever given me what I wanted.

“Hey stranger,” a boy with short brown hair wearing a red polo called as he sat on the top of his desk. “Where’ve you been hiding?” he asked. An aggravated smirk fell across my face as my tongue quickly jutted out over my dry lips before I held the bottom one between my teeth, and turned my attention toward the boy who spoke.

“Honestly, how often does that work for you?” I asked. “I mean, really, tell me the success rate on that cheap ass pick-up line.” After speaking, I tried to make my way to an open desk but found myself stopped by fingernails digging into my shoulder as a hand forced the left side of my body downward.

“Oh, well if you like it straight forward, I’ll cut the bullshit,” the guy said. “Meet me in the gym after school and we can settle the cause of all this…tension,” he stated after his eyes lingered over my chest. I wasted no time in swatting away his grasp and turning to face him. My hand grasped at the two white buttons at the top of his stupid polo shirt as I balled my fist up and brought his face to mine.

“Since we’re cutting the bullshit,” I replied coldly, “learn when someone wants nothing to do with you, and walk away before you become even more humiliated an emasculated than you should already feel.” I let go of his shirt and lightly shoved against him–not enough for him to fall, but enough to put distance between us as I tried to make my way towards any empty desk.

“You bitch,” the guy called while reaching out and grasping my arm–his fingers folded harshly over my wrist and curled around my bones without concern. This cocky asshole and I were standing at the front of the class now and, thankfully, the scene only had the attention of the few other perverted assholes he was associating with. I turned my wrist over to where I broke his hold, and then maintained my own grasp on his arm. I slipped my foot behind his, pulled his arm behind his back, and then shoved his face against the chalkboard.

“Shit,” a familiar voice groaned just after the classroom door clicked closed. Just as soon as I pinned the guy against wall, I felt a pair of arms wrap around me and lift me up, pulling me away from the guy who grabbed my wrist. I writhed against whoever held me; my back was pressed against their chest, and my spine dug into something curved and metal.

“Let go,” I snapped only to see the blue-eyed, denim-clad boy from earlier holding his hands up as I jammed my fists angrily into my jacket pockets. Although a lot of the people in this town looked unbearably cookie-cutter, this boy stood out. His thick eyebrows accented his dark blue eyes, dirty blonde curls fell around his face and shoulders in a mullet, and a barely there pencil mustache completed his ‘bad boy’ persona.

“Are you shitting me?” mullet guy demanded as I pursed my lips. “Are you trying to get kicked out on day one?” I glared down my pointed nose at him as I pulled the collar of my shirt over to reveal the indentions of the other boy’s nails in my shoulder and the quickly darkening bruises on my wrist.

“His face wouldn’t be shoved against the chalkboard if he kept his damn hands to himself,” I growled, more toward the first asshole that had the nerve to put hands on me. Again, I could feel the stranger’s hands gently grasp at me to hold me back after I took another lunge toward Mr. Red Polo Shirt. The guy restraining me positioned himself between me and the person I had it out for, and beyond his figure I could see the door open one more time just as the guy who failed in flirting with me tried to cat-call me.

“Reed, I hope you’re giving our newest student a big Hawkins welcome,” a woman in her fifties said in an overly chipper voice to hide her obvious annoyance.

“The biggest,” the kid she called Reed smirked as he settled back into his seat.

“It’s nice to see you’ve made it to class today, Billy,” she added while looking to the boy who stood beside me. Reed and one of his friends snorted at the teacher’s comment and she quickly turned her attention away from them and to the rest of the class. “If you haven’t already, please welcome our new peer, Judith Harrington.” A few students started whispering and I could hear glimpses of my last name being exchanged in hushed tones while the group of assholes at the back of the class continued with their wolf whistles. “That’s enough, Reed, Tommy,” the teacher silenced the group. Faintly, I could hear a begrudging complaint circulating in the woman’s mind: damn horny teenagers. I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped my lips and the teacher was quick to question whether she’d said what she was thinking out loud or not. “Um, Judith, please take a seat,” she said sternly as I snickered at her comment. Just when I thought I was about to get on her bad side, her eyes met the figure of the boy still standing beside me. “Mr. Hargrove, why aren’t you at your desk already? You know what,” she quickly interrupted him, “whatever excuse you have doesn’t matter. Just prepare for class.”

“After you,” the guy beside me, Billy, said as he gestured toward the two open seats at the back, left corner of the classroom. I lead the way, aware of the piercing feeling of his eyes bearing into my back and trailing over my hips. When I got to the first of the two open desks, I turned back to him and snapped under my breath, “I’d appreciate you not ogle my ass.”

“Sorry princess,” he sneered. “I was just making sure those shits weren’t being—”

“Shits?” I finished. “How chivalrous,” I sneered at him again, “but I don’t see how you staring at my ass keeps them from being assholes.”

“Well, doll face, guys sometimes don’t hit on girls they think are taken.” I could feel my stomach twist with uncertainty and uneasiness. I looked into the guy’s face and the tension and pressure that spread across my chest was mixed with aggravation.

“Thanks, but I had it under control,” I said sharply.

“I could tell,” he huffed. I pressed my lips together tightly as he let his tongue wag out of his mouth and slide along his lower lip. I tried to ignore his obvious hints of flirting and the pounding of my heart as I refrained from attacking him for just checking me out when I was really still mad at the stupid Reed and Tommy kids. I knew the fragility of masculinity and didn’t want to contribute to whatever purpose he had for feeling the need to protect whatever damsel he deemed was in distress—translation, I didn’t want to make it toxic. Just as the teacher began passing around an assignment, I felt something bounce off the back of my arm but refused to give the assailants my attention. I’d been picked on because of my peculiarity, and mostly because a lot of the kids at my other schools figured out what had happened to me from ages seven to twelve, but never because assholes thought they were entitled to my affection.

“Find a partner and finish this worksheet over quadrilateral equations and graphing which we discussed before the break,” the teacher explained. I could feel Billy’s hot breath on my neck and I turned to face him.

“So we’re partners?” I asked him as he leaned back in his seat and smirked at me with a cocked eyebrow and his arms folded over his chest.

“Depends,” he muttered as I pulled my feet into my seat and leaned my chest against my knees. “Are you good at algebra?”

“This is an advanced algebra class,” I informed him.

“I know,” he replied before folding himself over the desk, locking his eyes with mine, and whispering, “but I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Fine,” I grumbled and rolled my eyes, “I’m good at algebra.”

“Then yes, we can be partners.” He leaned back slowly with a small, cocky grin growing on his lips

“But for the record, your ‘reputation’ is compromised by having this class on your schedule,” I informed him as I wrote each of our names at the top of the work sheet. I started to work through the first few questions while he watched on. I could feel his eyes shift from me to somewhere else, and I can only imagine he was glaring at the jerks who were pestering me earlier.

“Judith Harrington, Billy Hargrove,” she heard Tommy read their names while looking over her and Billy’s shoulders. “Damn Hargrove, I thought you liked being on top.”

“Keep the shit talking to a minimum, Tommy,” Billy smirked, “we both know you’re just compensating.” I couldn’t help the smirk that curled over my lips. After a moment of reassurance that Reed and Tommy would leave me alone, I turned my attention back to the worksheet.

“If you can do the work, I need you to at least do part of it,” I stated while looking up at Billy as he breathed his cigarette stained breath against the desk. “I can’t get my self thrown out of this school.”

“Well, I’d hate to be the one to tell you that you’re doing a poor as shit job at that,” he stated before taking my pencil and scribbling through the next three problems. “So are you going to tell me why you’re suddenly needing this shitty school or am I going to have to guess?”

“It’s complicated,” I returned.

“I’m sure it’s not that hard to explain,” Billy pestered.

“It’s pretty hard,” I said while raising my eyebrow and allowing a smirk to come across my face.

“About as hard as I am?” Reed began to harass me again, but more as an attempt to get under Billy’s skin than to annoy me.

“You look pretty easy to me,” I shot back quickly.

“Look who you’re sitting with,” he sneered at me as Billy clenched his hands into fists. My eyes drifted toward the boy in front of me: his jaw was tight, his eyes sharp as daggers, and his features as cold and rigid as stone. I wanted to intervene, but something told me I would only make matters worse. This was not doubt a power struggle between alpha males and I just happened to be an omega they were fighting about, but I couldn’t tell if I was in the crossfire or the crosshairs. The class continued in tension until the bell rang and I quickly jumped at the opportunity to turn in my assignment and leave Tommy, Reed, and even Billy’s presence.

Continued Chapters:

TBA