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joshym · 30 days ago

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finally getting the chance to reblog the literal masterpiece that is the scout’s honor opening.

& this is only the beginning, ya’ll. the very beginning. scout’s honor is an incredible saga, a beautifully crafted story with the most addictive plot. seriously, guys — you’re going to adore this story. so many wonderful things coming. a true work of art created by the one & only @jakeyt. (my favorite author, & yours too. i know it, hehe🤍)

these two have the most precious story. childhood besties….yeah. that gets me. 🥺

PLEASE check out this tiny taste of what’s to come. like i said, it’s only the beginning. we’re in for a serious treat with this one. 🪶📖

Scout's Honor: Prologue

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Scout's Honor Summary:

They’ve always been the other’s constant. Their goals, only ever meant to align with the other's. The main necessity in their friendship: to be whatever type of support — whenever needed — for every circumstance life may throw their way.

So, considering the weight of their bond and the travesties of life, they made a spoken promise. A promise to never cross the line into romance, for fear it would shatter their rare connection.

Until one night.

Fueled by countless frustrations and failures in the dating world, they decide to explore something new. . . An arrangement meant to be harmless. . . a seemingly safe way to relieve any left over tension from the tumultuous cycles amidst life and dating.

Rather, this might very well be the thing that breaks every promise. Whether they be spoken or unspoken, oaths are struck down one by one.

Everything meant to protect the once-unshakable foundation of their bond, soon left in the shadows — as more than they ever expected is brought to light.

Warnings: 18+ (minors stay away); DEATH of parent; very sad feelings; GRIEF (in the mind of a child); angst; trauma/ptsd; bullying; etc. also. . . idk if this is a warning, but jake won't be famous in this lol *each chapter will include the warnings that you should be aware of as the reader*

Please enjoy the playlist as you read (i've decided to stop hiding my love for r&b on my blog, so there is quite a bit of that on there. each song i've chosen fits the theme of the story in some capacity. if you don't like this playlist, you don't have to listen, ofc <3)

Chapter Word Count: 7.1k

Scout's Honor Masterlist

a/n:

literally me to me this a.m.: what if i dropped the prologue today instead of monday......???

ANYWAYS. welcome to my newest brain child..... i hope you all fall in love with this story, just like i already have..... <3

to preface: this story is a sweet one, yes… but… you know me and you know it wouldn’t be me if this wasn’t some sort of emotional roller coaster… so, just you get ready for this fun journey

also. YES. you will meet Jake in this prologue…. his entrance occurs at the end…… and it’s definitely worth the wait <3

now, let me introduce you to our reader / y/n in the Scout’s Honor!verse…… (i love her so much, your honor)

-♾️♾️♾️-

January

2004

—

Life could change in an instant.

In the blink of an eye, everything that had once seemed so unshakable was suddenly rubble on trembling ground.

By the time you were nine years old, you knew. . . Life could be mishandled by anyone.

Loved ones were equal parts shatterproof and the most delicate glass, all at once.

—

“The three of us against the world, y/n,” was what Dad had begun to say, on a loop, as tears clogged his throat, hugging his little girl tightly to his heaving chest. The soft material of the Carhartt t-shirt against your wet cheek added reassurance and familiarity amidst the utterly traumatic and unfamiliar time. “You, me, and Amias. . . We will be okay, babygirl. We have to be.”

—

He was right.

It was now just you, Dad, and your little brother, Amias. Very freshly, only the three of you, against the world.

No more mom. That was your brand new reality. You’d lost your mom, so recently – so suddenly. . . in a most unjust fashion.

She’d been ripped from your life — stolen from you— too soon.

Your beautiful, vivacious mom – who’d been filled with unfathomable grit, light, and joy – had been the victim of a multiple car pile up on the highway. All because one person had been looking away. . . One person had started it. For the briefest moment, that person’s actions had affected the lives of many.

All it had taken was a single moment. A blip in time – yet, permanently marring the rest of forever for so many.

Careless behavior didn’t ever end in good. That was for certain.

—

Your mom died right before Amias turned two years old. . . His second birthday was the saddest in all of history, you were sure of it.

Three days after her death.

Thankfully, family had gathered around and Dad had plastered on a smile for a couple of hours for pictures that would stick around forever.

You had turned nine, roughly a month prior to losing your Mother. . . Mom had hardly known nine-year-old y/n.

—

The idea to move had been instantaneous.

You’d witnessed the decision happening at Amias’ birthday party, as you’d cut open the boxes to all of his new toys for him. Dad’s family had stopped to talk to Dad before they left for their home in Michigan. Dad’s home state.

The home you lived in in Glen Ellyn, Illinois was the same one that he and Mom had established prior to you being born. This was their home – the one that had belonged to a family-of-four that was no longer.

This wasn’t your home without her.

—

It took all but two days after the funeral proceedings had subsided for your Dad to announce that you were going to live in the same town he’d grown up in.

A town with a silly name, resembling a famed green monster with a block head.

Dad hadn’t taken time to fully grieve. Or, maybe he had. . . You still weren’t totally sure how he’d handled all of that, so smoothly, all on his own.

—

The winter day you moved into that little house at the end of the cul-de-sac in the teeny-tiny town of Frankenmuth, Michigan would forever be sealed with a feeling of fondness.

Frankenmuth, Michigan was a microtown.

It was what “small town” dreams were made of, with the quaint Main Street and town square. In pictures Dad had shown you, you saw the colorful, flowering plants and pretty architecture. . . Truly that of sweet tales in the little chapter books you’d grown to love at Forest Glen Elementary in Glen Ellyn.

—

Dad’s family had helped you unpack boxes at the beginning of the move.

It all happened in such a flurry of your Grandma’s perfume and endless words of wisdom for your Dad. Your PeePaw’s badly timed jokes, filling the air as you tried not to cry. . . Then, about two days into getting settled, your Aunt and Uncle and their loud kids had made an appearance.

They all lived in Bay City now, not making another stop for the rest of January. It granted you some reprieve before you had to go back to school.

Dad let you take the entire month of January off of school to adjust to the new reality of your life. And for that, you were grateful, yes. . .

But, you needed a distraction that wasn’t your obnoxious cousins. And you loved school. . . You missed it.

All your mind was filled with these days was images your mind had created based on the one mini headline you’d seen on a magazine. It had been stuck, in the front of your mind, since seeing it in a gas station on your way out of Glen Ellyn.

Glen Ellyn Woman’s Body Found In Pieces On Freeway Alongside Red Convertible

You needed school. You needed to get the flashes of images your mind had curated out of your head.

There was only so much your mind could take.

—

Within the month of moving to Frankenmuth, as a freshly nine-year-old girl, you decided you didn't want to ever let anyone else in.

There wasn’t a point. Life hurt people. Life took away the ones you loved. In life, there was death. One couldn’t have life without death. This was a vicious, disgustingly cruel cycle that every human was born to experience.

Besides, you had the world’s best dad and brother.

And, even if life had already begun to take good things, you still had them. . . Those two, your reassurance that even if you closed everyone else out for the rest of forever, they’d still be there. And, even if not. . .

Grief was now a brand new friend.

Grief now held you in the new, lonely moments. It would hold you, encompassing you with emotions, in a much more complex way than a nine year old should ever have to bear. But it was slightly comforting to take it on. . . Felt like a badge of honor in saying goodbye to your Mom.

The agonizing ache that now permanently resided in the innermost parts of your soul taught you that you could learn to cope with even the darkest of dark. And, even if you lost your dad or brother, grief would always be there.

Truly, you needed no one else.

Might life continue to take what you held most precious – your Father and brother– you had the lasting companion of grief. A close friend who would be there until you, too, lost to the game of life and death at the end of your days.

But, unfortunately, as your dad tucked you into your bed, on that Sunday night at the beginning of February, you knew you would have to escape the dark bubble.

The next day, you would be starting school at List Elementary. You would have to associate and come into contact with newness and unfamiliarity that didn’t resemble the tunnel you’d been stuck in.

You would be forced to surround yourself with people who didn’t understand that life could do bad things. People who only knew a perfect life. . . No death. Both parents, still alive. . . All normalcy.

Yet, what none of those people – the kids you’d be around at school the next day understood. . . . they didn’t understand that none of them were safe. They could lose normalcy in a heartbeat.

Safety was a lie.

Everything most precious could be yanked out from under you in a flash of a second, leaving you to land directly on hard ground as soon as something so fragile as ‘safety’ was given.

—

The first month of school at List Elementary was long, hard, exhausting, and emotional in ways it had never been before.

You made no friends.

Every day, you did have a hard plastic chair that was too cold through your leggings. And, you had a desk that was covered in scribbles, from kids of years’ past. Every day you walked the halls, the fluorescent lighting kept you company on your scheduled breaks with the school counselor.

You would watch your pink Skechers as they lifted and fell, guiding every step on the silver-speckled, white linoleum floors. The colors of red, black, and white, surrounding you.

In that first month of school, you didn’t make any new friends. Nor did you make friends in the second month. The counselor was your only ‘friend’ – Mrs. W.

And, as bright as you were, you didn't have the patience to try to learn Mrs. W’s full last name. Sure, it might’ve been considered rude to not learn it, but you didn’t have the time. And, the less you knew about people, the less attached you got. . .

What was the use in building new connections when life hurt so bad?

—

Soon, after living in a new town and getting used to life without your Mother, you learned your dad needed your help in ways he hadn’t ever before.

You had to step in to help care for Amias, who was barely two. And, as everyone knew, caring for a new toddler at the age of nine wasn’t ‘normal’. . . You didn’t get to do ‘kid’ things, because you proudly accepted the responsibility of helping your dad.

You loved your Dad. You’d always been a daddy’s girl. And, now, you were more proud of the title than ever before.

It was the least you could do for Dad – helping him at home. He was working himself to the bone, day in and day out. His shoe soles, worn thin from work on construction sites and hours on his feet in a hard laboring warehouse.

The sight of him, the tanned skin of his handsome face, filled with so many new lines of worry – that new, dim shade of overwhelming sadness that never seemed to leave his hunter green irises. . . He was balancing everything as the newly only parent, while also taking on two jobs while he waited for one that matched his past profession to become available.

All of this meant there was almost no time left to do anything you ‘wanted’ to do, at all. But, that was okay.

You still caught the Fairly Odd Parents on TV in the afternoons after school while you watched Amias. You still got to eat an Uncrustable and a Fruit By The Foot while watching your favorite cartoon, even if you were caring for a fussy toddler. You had enough of what you wanted.

Besides, the most important thing was having time for your homework. You’d learned in Mrs. Mim’s third grade classroom in Glen Ellyn, that third grade work was much more difficult than second grade work. And, in Frankenmuth, that didn’t change. In fact, it was a little worse. Because, on top of trying to catch up to where everyone else was, you were still learning more and more new, tricky material – just the same as you had been before. . . .

So, you had to make sure to prioritize your homework to stay on top of everything. No matter what life had handed you, you kept your nose to the grindstone.

—

You’d always done exceedingly well in school. Getting good grades were something more than satisfying to you. They had been from the time you got your first purple smiley face and ‘WOW!’ – both written with grape smelly marker, on a paper full of lines and letters in kindergarten.

It was an understatement to say you enjoyed learning. You thrived and glowed with pride when you got affirmation from a teacher that you were catching on quickly to material. When you left Forest Glen, there had never been a question that your grade card would hold only A’s. And, you intended to keep it that way in Frankenmuth.

And, by the time your dad got home at eight every weeknight, you were reassured that you could do this.

He made sure to take over everything by the time he got home, so you had a whole hour and a half to tackle all of your homework before you had to take a shower and wind down for bed. You wouldn’t even leave youroom to take a shower if you didn't feel confident in your ability to grasp the material.

And, by the second month of school in Frankenmuth, you’d made it a goal that by the time your dad would sit at your bedside to read you a chapter of Harry Potter every night, you would feel relieved and refreshed more than stressed.

He’d ask you how you were feeling, every night, with a kiss to your forehead. And, after talking through your day with you. You never told him too much about not having friends. . . didn’t want him to worry about you. But, you would talk to him about the tricky work and what you were learning. You’d even told him a bit of what Mrs. W had talked to you about, concerning the loss of a parent.

After saying something wise or giving advice you always needed he’d pick up where you left off in Harry Potter the night before. In spite of having a day much longer than yours, he insisted on reading you a chapter of this newer series that your Mom had been dying to read with you.

As he’d read you tales of wizards and witches and fantastic beasts, you’d watch his expression light up in ways that gave you hope that everything was going to be okay. You knew you wouldn't trade what you were doing for him for the world. You loved helping your dad.

And you truly did like having the responsibility. Loved it, in fact.

Being in charge was fun for you. (You were a big sister – so, of course being in charge was fun.)

In whatever way you could, you felt as though you were thriving. . . Even if only just a little bit. But. . . you struggled with it feeling wrong and slightly disrespectful to your Mom. It didn’t always feel like it was okay to continue being ‘okay’ without your Mom there. . .But, you knew you had to do it.

Your Mom would have wanted you to pick yourself up. Your Dad currently wanted you to. And Amias was watching you, everyday, as an example.

—

Thankfully, before long, you felt the ‘school-focused version’ of yourself click back into place without issue.

It might’ve seemed like a small step to some, but it was a giant leap for you.

Even if you were crying yourself to sleep every night – choking, sobs racking your small body as you buried your face in your pillow – you at least felt like you knew what you were learning and doing in a new school. . .

And catching onto it very well, at that.

Maybe you would be okay.

At least a little.

Okay enough.

—

School, homework, and watching your brother after school.

By March, you and Dad both knew those were your priorities.

Dad took over all of the dishes and laundry, even with his double jobs. Though, some nights, you liked to surprise him by having them done by the time he got home late from work.

Life without Mom wasn’t what you wanted – ever. But, you couldn't deny how well you and Dad handled things together.

He’d always been your biggest fan and you were his.

And all you wanted to do was right by him.

—

The first day of counseling came as a sort of surprise.

You hadn’t thought you were being overly obvious with your emotions, but apparently you’d carried yourself poorly enough – and shed enough tears – in front of your dad that he’d found the ‘best counselor in the area’ for you.

Dad had decided to take off every Friday. And while yes, he’d done it to have time with Amias and to prepare the house to go into the weekend. . . . You had heard him on the phone, that first day, on the way to counseling – confirming that you ‘really did have the last available time slot.’

Your eyes had pricked with tears as he’d hung up, offering you a little wink and grin before he was turning up Led Zeppelin, just a bit more.

Amias, giggling, and kicking his feet in the backseat as you soaked up every minute with your dad.

And, as soon as you knew your Dad had gone out of his way to be available for your transport, you knew you’d take counseling as seriously as you could. . . If nothing else, you would get better for your Dad. For Amias.

For your Mom.

—

By mid April, it got to the point that every Friday afternoon, you were watching the clock for the ticks to meet two o’clock. Because, at two, the office would call down for you. At two, you got to experience one of your new favorite things.

The twenty minute drives to Saginaw for counseling at two thirty became an instantly positive, core memory.

It helped that your counselor, Sadie, was so incredible. In that small office on the side of a busy street in Saginaw, Michigan, Sadie Kruse helped you in ways that surpassed your mind’s wonders at nine.

The woman had worked in such a tiny office. . . but the healing that’d happened in those four walls was as big as the entire world, in your opinion.

(Even as you aged, Sadie’s strategies worked like such magic that you were sure – you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt – that you wouldn’t have survived without Sadie’s careful, guiding hand.)

Those Friday afternoons changed your heart and outlook on life for the best, as the years went by.

Two on the clock. Dad’s gold Toyota Camry. The roads to Saginaw. Dr. Sadie Kruse. And a McDonald’s McFlurry run, before stopping at the Bavarian Inn to grab two two-topping pizzas from Hungry Howie’s.

Dad had done his best to swoop in and save you.

Grief hadn’t been quite so daunting anymore. It had become less of a toxic friend and more of an acquaintance that offered sentimentality and healthy mourning rather than all-encompassing darkness.

Those Fridays had successfully saved you from the doom and detriment that had once threatened swallowing you whole. . . .

But, unfortunately, no amount of counseling or Fun Fridays (as Dad had penned them) could take away the tangle of fear that clung on naturally to most victims of PTSD and trauma.

—

Slowly but surely, your vibrance came back. Bit by bit, you glowed like you had when you’d had a Mom.

You began to shine like life had hope. . . Even when it was hard to believe that life could be okay again, you located a semblance of hope from your heart’s ability to be bright, even now.

It was a heart you’d inherited from two of the most incredible people you’d ever met and would ever meet. Your Mom and Dad, free-spirited and kind-hearted to a near fault. These two people, who hadn’t wanted anything but the best for your life.

So, you’d decided you would do your best to handle the life you’d been given with care. You needed to care for what you had left. . . .

Whatever life gave you, you would hold precious and not let it turn to dust in a too-tight grip. You would be smart. You would be kind. You would be careful.

—

It was Field Day.

The second-to-last day of school. A party day, of sorts, for List Elementary.

Your last school had held a Field Day, too. . .Better known as ‘the hottest day of the year, where the students were allowed to go crazy and teachers only assisted if they were absolutely needed’.

Kids, running everywhere. Outdoor games, galore. Ring tosses around cones. Hacky sacks, aimed at wooden boards with holes cut in them. Bright colored pop-up booths with face painting and stick-on tattoos, littering the playground. An intense tug of war fight that most of the sporty boys were partaking in. Water balloon fights, in the far parking lot.

Students, screaming with excitement; their pure laughter, filling the air. No cares in the world. Not tainted by anything unfair that life may have handed them. . . . At least, that was the bitter thought that went through your mind as you sat on a bench, all alone.

The teachers were sort of close by, at one edge of the playground. Some were standing, others were lounging in lawn chairs. They were keeping just enough of an eye on everything to not get fired from their job. . . but were mostly focusing on keeping conversation with one another.

Everyone was past done with the school year. Ready for it to be over. Ready for summertime.

But, you sat on the lone bench next to the grassy area, where the tug of war took place. You weren’t ready for summer. It would be day after day, Amias’ growing attitude and newfound love for screaming, being your only distraction from the loss of your Mom.

There wouldn’t be any school to help keep your mind busy. So, most of summer would be spent in thoughts surrounding the fact that you didn’t have a Mom around to spend it with.

No more lazy evenings, driving around in Mom’s convertible. (The thought of the car, making you sick to your tummy. . . It hadn’t been able to be saved – 'in pieces' – right along with your Mom, as that taunting article had put it.) There would be no family vacations that Mom had spent the past several months preparing for your family of four. No homemade popsicles, lemonade, or long hours spent at her store, reading a book, as you watched her fit client after client in the most beautiful clothes. . .

You knew Dad would do his best to provide the best summer possible. He’d already mentioned it and your Dad was always true to his word. But, he was busy with work. He had finally landed one solid job at a big construction company in Bay City. He was back to leading projects, just like he had in Illinois. No longer the hardest working laborer on the lot, but a leader.

It was easy to be proud of your Dad.

You’d made up your mind that you would start new traditions of sorts, with Amias. . . You would do your best to help him grow up with amazing summer memories – just like your Mom had provided for you, all eight of the summers you’d spent with her. You already had plans, but you were dreading having to do any of it without your Momma nearby.

Sweat was dripping down the back of your neck, temporarily distracting you from your thoughts. It was a hot day and you felt the way your cheeks burned from the sun’s rays. You’d forgotten sunscreen this morning. In years’ past, your Mom had never let you go a summer day without lathering your face with sunscreen – until you were greasy from the lotion.

You watched with timid curiosity at the field in front of you, feeling like you were interfering with the game, simply by existing. No one that you watched ahead of you was a friend. No one on the field, playground, or parking lot. No one around you was a friend. . . . It had been this way all year.

It was hard to make friends in your circumstance.

For one: you had not been fully yourself when you’d started school here.

In fact, you hadn’t shown these kids yourself at all – even in the later months. The only part of you that had translated in school from Illinois to Michigan, with no problem at all, had been your academics. And, now that you’d officially ended this year with all A’s after working hard to get those grades, you were at a loss.

For what it was worth, your teacher loved you. For the less-than a half year you’d been in his class, Mr. Barthow had become quite the fan of your big brain and hard work.

Other kids just hadn’t been accepting enough of you to be your friends. They’d given you dirty looks for being a ‘suck up��, a ‘goody-two-shoes’, a ‘teacher's pet’. . . You were sure you’d heard just about every negative thing known to man that one could say to insult an unassuming kid who minded their business and tried hard at school. . . Truly, you’d harmed no one, but you were being shunned like you’d offended the entire student body.

Frankenmuth was such a tiny town that you not only continued to feel completely out of place, you knew you weren’t included in anything. . . On purpose. It was absolutely no accident. Since your first day in February, you’d watched as groups of kids in third grade sidestepped you and whispered to each other while eyeing you skeptically.

And, when all of the name calling had started after only a couple of months, it had solidified that no one would be pursuing your friendship. . . No one wanted to associate with the weirdo new kid. And you knew much better than to think that would change anytime soon. You saw the way the rest of third grade gawked and giggled at you with judgemental eyes.

The laughing behind the hands and occasional pointing was not something you wanted to get used to, but you were afraid that was your future. . . until you managed to prove yourself to the microtown. You knew that because you hadn’t been born in this town, you were no good to all of the kids who’d grown up together. . . . . And, until someone made a real problem, you’d suck it up. . . You had much more important matters to deal with.

Like the fact that this was the first grade you’d completed without your Momma.

You had a feeling if you pointed at a random kid on this playground right now, chances were, they would be going home to two parents tonight. And, that made you so completely envious. It wasn’t hard to admit. You’d proudly admit to that envy. You would scream of that envy from the roof of the school if you could. . . . .

Because. . . well. It wasn’t fair. Not at all. Not a bit.

And all you wanted at this moment was your Mom.

Reaching into your jean shorts, you pulled out the 4x6 photo you’d been folding to slip into your pocket for the past couple of weeks.

It felt nice to have it with you. A photo of your Mom – right there, whenever you might need it. Even if it made you sad to look at her, you’d finally warmed up to looking at her face again.

And right now, all you wanted was to look into her hazel eyes – the flecks of green that would appear in certain light, the same exact color as the green in your Dad’s eyes. . . . Meant to be. Yet, where was she? And why did he have to be here without her? Why was he being forced to suffer?

You wanted to scream until your lungs were raw and red – airless. You wanted to rid them of all their air and force them to scrape the sides of your ribs for relief. . . . Surely it would hurt less than the way you needed your Mom’s arms around you.

Feeling overwhelmingness starting to creep in, you followed some of Sadie’s advice. You brought your thighs up to your chest, tucked your knees under your chin, and you pressed the front of your thighs to your chest. Pressure. You needed pressure.

‘Applying pressure to the chest is a great way to calm down,’ Sadie had advised, having hugged her arms around herself for reference. ‘However is most convenient at a given moment. . . Just apply pressure if the stress begins to feel like too much.’

As soon as you laid your eyes on the picture of you and your Mom, your chest tightened with new emotion and relaxed with familiarity all at the same time. Your thighs squeezed tighter to your ribs.

You loved this photo. It was a sweet one Dad had taken on a disposable camera a few months before Amias had been born. You could remember the day it was taken. The details of the pink and teal ice cream parlor you’d been sitting in – an older one in Chicago.

This had been one of those day trips that the three of you had taken after a long week for Mom at her boutique and a taxing week for Dad at a site. You had just been the lucky recipient of the additional time and love from your parents. They’d loved to spoil you to make themselves feel relaxed and at ease. . . Crazy. Selfless.

You saw your smile in your Mom’s. Your Mom’s nose, the same as the one on your own face. . . The curve of your brow, almost replicating Mom’s.

It was odd. . . because, while it hurt so badly, it healed you even more to remember and memorize every feature of her face. . . Every freckle on your Mom’s pretty face, reminded you that there was inexplicably more you had to conquer on this planet to make your Momma proud.

On the same hand, it was like Mom was still here every time you looked at a picture of her. Every minute you spent actively remembering her, the more it felt like there was hope just around the corner. . . Like she was waiting, just around the corner with said hope.

“Hey, Newbie.”

You blinked tears away that you hadn’t even realized had gathered in your doe eyes. Your chin lifted from your knees, but you kept your legs tucked under you. You were planning to ignore the person in front of you.

It was a mean voice. . . .The voice of this raven haired jock boy from your class. Mr. Barthow’s least appreciative student. The guy who had a comment about everything. The type of kid who knew he was smart, but rather than using it for good, he used it to insult and hurt people.

Lucas Grady.

“I’m talking to you, Goody Two,” Lucas tried again, a snarl in his voice that you really didn’t want to acknowledge. “Little Miss y/n. . . .”

And, you would have continued to ignore him if he hadn’t kicked the bottom of your flip flop to get your attention. The action nearly made your knees come into contact with your chin forcefully. Your thighs, once leaning restfully against your chest, were no longer comforting. Instead, now they were delivering their own harsh blow. Your body, working against you to assist this bully.

“Ow!” You blurted, pain shooting up your tanned calf. You wrinkled your brow before looking up at the boy in front of you. Lucas Grady wasn’t super tall, but he wasn’t short. And, he was already so strong for his age. His face was almost always posed with a mocking smile. And when you held your hand over your eyes to block out the sun behind him, you saw he already had a sarcastic grin on his face. “What, Lucas?”

“Oh. . . She knows my name?” He grinned, the smatter of freckles on his cheeks seeming to darken with the harshness in his eyes. “I didn’t even know you knew anything about us, Goody Two. . . All you seem to know about is school. No friends. Just work, work, work. Huh, Goody?”

The nickname alone was making your cheeks flame, but you decided to be the bigger person and not say anything in response. You just clamped your jaw and narrowed your eyes at him. Thankfully, he was alone and not surrounded by his normal posse. It was a small comfort in this otherwise uncomfortable and unfortunate moment.

“Do you only respond to your name?” He asked, practically spitting the word ‘name’ at you.

At that point, you had decided enough was enough – that you could and would move. You didn’t have to stay on that bench and be humiliated by this boy.

So, very quickly, you were removing your legs from your upper body and slapping your flip flops on the ground in a sort of statement. You needed to move. . .before he decided to be any more hateful than he was already offering.

It seemed he knew your plan, though, as he was coming up closer to you to stop your movements. His smelly, sweaty body was blocking you from moving any further than a step. His black hair, looking like a barcode against his forehead. Stuck to his skin with the gross amount of sweat coating his face from the tug of war game he’d participated in.

Your nose turned up at him, your mouth snarling. You flicked your lashes at him, emphasizing your annoyance and disgust before you spoke. “Move, Grady.”

“Don’t you call me by my last name, Goody Two,” he corrected you, moving a hand much more quickly than you could calculate, managing to grab the photo that you were trying to slyly slip back into your back pocket.

No.

“Hey! Give that back!” Your chest heated in fury. Everything on the playground, turning as red as your heated cheeks. No longer, was there only sunburn painting your cheeks. The anger that ignited in your veins, reflecting in the tone of your skin.

“Not until you,” he waved the photo in front of your face, “apologize for calling me something I don’t want to be called.”

“No! Because you keep calling me things I don’t want to be called and fair’s fair, Grady,” you spit, saliva actually landing on his face. Trying a move, you decided to step around his body to grab the photo from the back while distracting him.

But, he was quick, and noticed you doing it immediately. And as soon as your flip flop had made two steps, he was stepping on the back of the foam of your left sandal. You didn’t notice in time, and instead of gaining what you wanted, you were toppling to the ground. Your knees, scuffed, the gravel of the playground pressing into the young, soft skin of your legs. You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. Because, still. There were worse things than Lucas Grady in this world.

Even if he sucked – so bad. He was small. Unimportant.

Speaking of unimportant, you looked to see if anyone had noticed the situation happening with you and Lucas. And, to no surprise, all of the adults were stuck in conversation with each other. And, any of the kids who hung with Lucas were off doing their own thing, leaving him to this task of his.

The boy continued to laugh, obnoxiously, down at you while fanning his face with the picture of your Mom.

You were about to succumb to the tears at the thought of your Mom being dead and being used as a face fan for this boy’s disgusting, sweaty face. It didn’t help that the pain of the gravel was quickly becoming very real and you saw blood accumulating in a big cut at your knee. Subtly, you noticed the big, jagged rock that had caused such offense, beside your knee.

Without even considering anything, not caring if it made your Mom or Dad or little Amias proud or not, you were grabbing for the rock in one tight fist.

But, just as you were about to look back up at Lucas to throw the sharp rock, you saw a pair of small, black and white checkered Vans sidle up beside you. In all of your time studying the kids in the third grade, you hadn’t noticed one kid who wore these shoes. And you’d done a lot of watching. . . You’d had no friends to talk to, only eyes to wander and people watch. You were sure you’d seen almost every pair of shoes and this hadn’t been one of the pairs.

Who was this? Someone else, coming to pick on you?

But. . . timidly, you realized the vans weren’t facing you. No, they were facing Lucas.

“What could you want, Kiszka?” Lucas barked, sneering at the new addition to the group.

‘Kiszka’?

Yeah, you definitely hadn’t heard that name. . . You’d remember that one.

Gaining some bravery, you looked up from where your tawny, lanky legs were splayed out underneath you.

And the first thing you saw was shaggy hair. A lot of long, brown, unkempt hair. And, briefly, a boyish face was looking down at you with concern before he was looking back at Lucas with drawn brows. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to look him in the eyes before he was addressing Lucas.

“What are you doing, Lucas?” The voice was light and raspy, yet tough for a kid. The way he snarled Lucas’ name made your heart rate increase. . . . Because, well, he didn’t seem to like Lucas either.

And he was coming to help you? There hadn’t been one person like this kid in your entire time being here.

Who was this ‘Kiszka’?

You looked back at his legs as you noticed him take a brave step toward Lucas. His Vans became clearer in your sight. They were torn up, messy. Covered in black scuffs and dirt. His calves, scraped to high heaven and bruised worse. This kid wasn’t one to mess around with and that much could be gathered from the gutsy nerve in his tone and the way he looked alone.

“She’s a freak!” Lucas squawked with a laugh. “I’m teaching her what we’re all about here in Muth.”

“I’m going to give you the next thirty seconds to apologize to her,” the ‘Kiszka’ kid said again, pushing the sole of his shoe into the gravel.

“What makes you think you’re so scary, Kiszka?” Lucas joked. At the same moment, you noticed ‘Kiszka’’s shoes push against the concrete towards you, sliding back with a bit of force. Lucas had shoved him. But, still. He stepped towards the bully again, his steps even steadier than before. And this time, the shoes did turn to face you. Just the slightest bit. Then, there was a tan hand reaching down for you.

You looked at the hand, tentatively, for a few seconds. It was small, like yours – only slightly bigger. And, rough where yours was soft. This kid was definitely trouble.

But, it seemed to you like he was the ‘good guy’ in this situation, so you grabbed his hand with a trust you didn’t realize you had anymore. And, in no time, he was pulling you to stand beside him. He was the same height as you, shorter than Lucas, but not by much.

When you were at full height, you looked at his face, his hair shaggy in front of his eyes before he tossed his hair to the side. You caught the slightest glimpse of his brown eyes. They were very kind, with dark circles underneath them just beyond the long hair dusting the top of his face.

But, his jaw wasn’t so kind. He was still tense. His shoulders, squared to show the seriousness behind his stance. And, when you glanced between your hip and his, you noticed his fists were tightening – ready to punch.

Soon, he was looking away from you and back to Lucas. “It’s been thirty seconds, Grady.”

“Don’t threaten me, K–.” ‘Kiszka’’s feet took one serious stomp towards Lucas and the words stopped on Lucas’ tongue before he was pushing forward, too. Almost chest to chest with this boy beside you. ‘Kiszka’. “Watch out, little kid. I will not be embarrassed by a second grader in front of this loser new gir–.”

But, Lucas’ words were cut short when this ‘Kiszka’ kid you’d just seen for the first time less than three minutes ago, landed a sharp fist to the front of the raven haired boy’s jaw. Lucas’ mouth hung open, before he looked to the side, dramatically. The show Lucas was making with his reaction was like a movie, even spitting to the side before sizing the kid beside you up, once more.

Though, his plan only worked briefly before this shaggy haired kid was drawing a quick and pointed fist, hitting Lucas’ cheek, up and under the jaw this time.

Lucas only looked back in your direction briefly, looking dazed with wrinkled, confused brows. And, from your peripheral, you noticed the picture fall from his dirty fingertips. Using the moment he was down for the count to your advantage, you leaned down to grab the picture. Then, you heard another crack.

And, above your bent form, you heard Lucas gurgle an ‘o–oh!’ sound, the noise tumbling with shock, out of his mouth.

And then, there was a wail.

Quickly, you were straightening, getting up from the ground just as Lucas fell to the same spot, grabbing his swollen, bleeding nose in pain.

“Help! Help!” He screamed, crying like the baby he was as blood poured from between his fingers, onto his face and the dark gray concrete. “Teachers! Please!”

You looked at the kid with the unruly hair beside you, hastily – you were anxious to thank him before he (surely) got in trouble. This was the first time anyone had been kind to you (besides a teacher) in this tiny town. You would always owe this mystery ‘Kiszka’ person who’d punched Lucas Grady in the face for you.

“Thank you–.”

“You okay?” He asked first, his tone full of genuine concern as he took a step closer to check on you. Yet, just as he was coming closer to speak to you, teachers began rushing to Lucas’ aid.

“Y-yes! I– thank–thank you, I don’t know how to– What’s your name?” You hurriedly asked, the words jittery and toppling off your tongue.

And at the same moment he was opening his mouth to answer you, the principal was coming up behind him, grabbing roughly at this ‘Kiszka’ kid’s bicep.

“How many times does this have to happen, Mr. Kiszka?” Mr. Hibbs was disappointed, there was no question about that. Your own cheeks flushed at the exasperated anger in the older man’s tone. But, ‘Kiszka’ just pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.

You couldn’t help the little smile that reached your lips at his reaction to Mr. H’s words.

“Why must you react like this, kid?” Mr. Hibbs continued to question, desperate for answers you were sure he wouldn’t find from the young kid.

Even with Hibbs taking a firmer grip around the kid’s bicep, beginning to pull him, you stood firm on needing to know his name. Your eyes searched the kid’s face frantically, hoping for an answer.

“It’s Jake,” the shaggy haired kid said, nonchalant as he grinned at you.

You remained worried for him, but he was unphased. This was obviously a normal occurrence for him. But, you knew he wasn’t ‘bad.’ Because, the gentle grin that continued to grow on his lips spoke louder than any words you’d heard from anyone else in this school so far. Your heart warmed.

Maybe, just maybe, you finally had a friend here.

Even as Mr. Hibbs dragged him away, Jake was still speaking. The words, raspy and flying past his lips to get to you. “My name–it’s Jake. Jake Kiszka.”

—

a/n: he's jake.... jake kiszka <3 hehehe

........and they're about to have the most incredible story together eeeeee *heart eyes*

----

I will also be posting this to Wattpad, so here is the link for that <3

For this fic, I'm going to do my best to have a posting schedule. It is already completely outlined, so I'm hoping this can go as planned! Every other Monday is my goal. <3

-----

taglist:

@joshym, @builtbybrokenbells, @alwaysonthemend, @gretavangroupie, @gretavanmoon, @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface, @jaketlover, @ohgodthefeeling-gvf, @starcatcher-jake, @anythingforjtk, @lucimoo, @indigostreakmorgan, @gretavanbear, @katelynn-gvf,@aintthatapity, @bowievanfleet, @fwzco, @takenbythemadness, @cherry-icecreamsmile, @laneygvf, @hi-hi-hello11, @sinarainbows, @jakesbarbarian, @mybussyinchrist, @becinabubblegvf, @heckingfrick, @danigvf, @pinkandsleepy1934, @derrangeddumpsterfire, @klarxtr, @josh-iamyour-mama, @abby-gvf, @cassyface, @gretavansabotage, @sacredtheslay, @alienobsever, @hollyco, @age0fwagner, @raceb14, @stardustcatcher, @styles-canvas, @ladywhimsymoon, @earthgrlsreasy, @peaceloveunitygvf

@torniturntomyarrow , @joshsbonnet, @llrosee, @starshine-gvf , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmarge , @creadliz98, @mackalah , @lek-gvf , @carlyfleet, @profitofthedune, @mefiorini , @welllauragvf , @highway-tuna , @dont-go-home-without-me , @sarah-gvf01 , @polemicandcontent , @ageofbajabule , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jennyraye20, @stardustjake, @indigostreaksolo , @tripthelightfantastix, @kiszkas-canvas , @jakebrainrot, @anthemheatwave@chichi610, @freyjalw , @scoreofinfantryvines , @stonecoldmo , @divapadam@hailthegodsong@fleetingjake@demolitiondanchipsversion@stardustsamm@blankvz@mikiepeach,@demolitiondanchipsversion, @lipstickitty, @gracev0609

please make sure you’re filling out my Google Form if you would like to be tagged and aren’t already on the taglist!

#jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fic rec #oh &#if you’re a fan of to kill a mockingbird….#& if you have a literature loving heart as i do #you simply MUST dive into this #one of my fave things about it #🤍🤍🤍

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joshym · 1 month ago

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If you read the fic, leave the kudos. Leave a comment too, if possible. Just do it. It takes a few seconds of your time and it means the world to the writer.

Sincerely, me who just got told that my writing feels like watching a blockbuster movie. I don't care if they were sincere or not, I'll be thinking about that comment for the rest of my life and every time I feel bad about my art, I'll remember that someone once liked it.

#i remember each & every comment #& i often go back to them when i'm feeling down or insecure🥺#🤍🤍🤍

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joshym · 1 month ago

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taglist continued:

@jazzyfigz @smoking-jakelane @hernameis-heaven @peaceloveunitygvf @gvfpal @dannys-dream @mlioravanfleet @josh-iamyour-mama @hollyco @edgingthedarkness @earthgrlsreasy @sacredtheslay @mefiorini @takenbythemadness @jakebrainrot @do-it-jakey-baby @musicspeaks @flightofseams @electricgoldtendercare @indigostreaksolo @brinlygvf @rosabellagvf @ilovestevienickssss @gretavanbrie @sacredtheslay @anythingforjtk @gvf-luna @sunnykiszka @samfkiszkaswife @fleetingjake @onlyangels-things @scoreofinfantryvines @dancingcarbon @allof--mylove @dannysankletattoo @peaceloveandotherstuff @starcatcher-jake @builtbybrokenbells @cheers-danny @sacredsparrow @divapadam @gvfstuddedmajesty @sacredthethreadgvf @josh-iamyour-mama @jakekiszmyass @joshylanefleet @vanfleeter @allisonlol @gretavanhockey

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 7 (teaser)

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

this is a snippet of a conversation held the morning after the grad party. if you know...

enjoy, & i'll see you all soon. 🤍

warnings: essentially a break up, (ugh) implications of an eating disorder/body dysmorphia & the stimgas associated with a career in modeling

“I know that your passions have never had anything to do with ending up on the cover of a magazine.”

“So this is it, then…?” His hands hover in the narrow space between you, a small, uncertain gesture toward the both of you. “It’s just over? Just like that?”

“You’re not exactly giving this much of a chance. I don’t know what you expected me to do, Jake, but going to London isn’t possible.”

That tiny space, closed in all the more as his body leans in towards yours. His breath, blowing gently against your tousled bangs. “You’ve still not given me a reason why you won’t come.”

A reason…

Moving across the world for a man you’ve known no longer than a few months sounds rather absurd.

But, you know better than to limit the person standing before you to just some man. Jake is different. He’s always been different. That pull toward him – it’s never made sense. Never needed to. It just is. Even when he acted as though you were the last person in the universe he’d want to be around.

You thought you were over that. Over his aversion to you without any good rationale.

But.

What if that was the truth? What if he was never pretending? What if you were just something convenient for him? Something temporary?

Did he make you fall for him – give him the deepest parts of your heart – only to crush them when he decided you weren’t enough to stay for? And now he has the audacity to ask you to go to him?

Well, he’s asking you to do the impossible. And at this point, it’s offensive that he’d do so. He knows you can’t do that. Why torment you further? And why does he think you’d move across the globe for him, when there are plenty of opportunities right here in the states for you? It’s not all about him. You are just as much a part of this equation as he is. And, in your mind, even more so.

You’ve not made the decision yet. Haven't given yourself enough time to give it the proper amount of consideration. But if it’s a reason that he wants…

“I’m going to L.A.”

His response is only in his eyes – pupils widening, lips parting slightly. But no words come through.

So, you will fill the silence.

“After – after I graduate, I’m going to L.A. to pursue this, this modeling thing. It’s…it’s what I want, Jake. I want to do this.”

Still, no words dare to leave his plush lips. Instead, a silent echo of despair plays across his features. Looking down at you, his lips now closed in a tight line. Questions in abundance are written in his eyes, yet he still doesn’t ask them. The air, tense and heavy, is now suffocating.

But, why? Why would he be so full of disillusionment when he won’t even be here to see you leave, like you will be forced to do when he leaves?

It’s not entirely the truth. You don’t know if you’ll actually go through with this. But that isn’t the point. Right now, it’s the only thing keeping you from giving in.

This isn’t just about him.

The silence grows unbearable. You can practically hear his heartbeat in your own ears. You feel this urge to explain yourself, though you know you don’t owe him a thing. Still, your heart is working overtime to keep your walls up. And, looking into his whiskey toned eyes, your heart is begging to be placed on your sleeve.

“I just…” Your voice, weighted and hardly louder than a whisper. “I’m graduating earlier than I thought. This May, actually. And I wanted to –,”

He lets out a sharp exhale, making you stop.

Your words barely make sense in your own mind. Saying them out loud only makes them sound more absurd.

What the fuck are you even saying?

This reason is beginning to feel more like an excuse. And, what Jake doesn’t know is that you’ve already applied to Oxford. And yeah, you did it mostly because of the persuasion from Dr. Movack. But, your professor isn’t the only reason you did so.

You should be excited to tell Jake about it. But instead, you’re lying to his face to prove a point. A point that has become lost within his eyes.

If he found out – if he knew you’d already considered choosing London – what would he think about this?

You’ve dug yourself a goddamn hole. And at this point, you can no longer see any glimmer of sunlight at the top.

He takes a step back from you, to which you feel the coldness in the air at his absence. Only a step, but a pronounced step. Enough that you’ve lost his warmth.

He scoffs. A sharp, bitter sound. That callous smirk plays at his lips, agitating you to no end. “And what exactly are you going to L.A. for?”

Excuse me? Have you seriously forgotten, or are you just trying to piss me off?

You tilt your chin up, defensive. “Stardust, Jake. The agency that wants me to model for them. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

He laughs. Dry, disbelieving. “A good opportunity for what, exactly?”

The uncontrolled huff of sharp breath that passes your lips is nearly matching his own mockery, the muscles in your jaw tightening and clenching. “For my future. I want to do this. I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

If you don’t believe what you’re saying, you know he doesn’t, either. But you’re not giving this up. If he can have his thing, so can you.

“That is bullshit, y/n. And you know it just as well as I do.”

He steps forward again, closer this time, forcing you to meet his gaze. His stern, serious glare that’s making any air from your lungs catch in your throat before it can reach your lips. His voice drops, intense. “Since when do you care about modeling? Since when is that something you’ve ever wanted?”

Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you steel yourself, firm. “People change.”

“No.” He exhales, frustrated, shaking his head. “People lie to themselves when they’re trying to prove a point, when they’re trying to be unauthentic and deny who they are.”

How dare he…

“That’s what you’re doing, right?” His voice is razor-sharp, but his eyes soften. “Trying to prove a point to me? Because I don’t know what you’re doing, y/n, but I know you’re not doing this because you want to.”

The muscles in your jaw clench once again, to a near painful degree. Your heart beats angrily in your chest, slamming against your ribs. “Why do you care so much about what I do? You don’t know everything, Jake. You don’t know everything about me.”

His lips part slightly, but he doesn’t speak.

Then, softer – quieter – he says, “I do know you.”

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath, gaze locked onto yours. “And I know that your passions have never had anything to do with ending up on the cover of a magazine.”

He leans in just enough to make you catch your breath. His voice is raw, almost pleading.

“It’s late nights buried in stories, dissecting them until you’ve found every possible hidden meaning. Studying until your eyes are too heavy to stay open. It’s m –,”

He swallows hard. Shuts his eyes for a second. When they open again, they’re softer.

“It’s literature, y/n. The lore you’ve fallen in love with won’t be there when you’re posing behind a camera.”

Your stomach twists. A lump rises in your throat.

You want to be angry. You want to tell him he’s wrong.

But he’s not.

He’s dead fucking on.

And he knows it.

But you’re not backing down.

“I can do this, Jake. I am doing this.” Your voice shakes, yet you keep your chin held high. “This is for me to decide, not you.”

“I’m not trying to decide anything. I just — it’s dangerous, y/n. Dangerous for someone like you –,”

“Someone like me?”

Realization begins its dawn, and every silent second that passes winds you up like a tightening wire, tension creeping up your spine the longer he doesn’t speak. Though the fear that exists in relation to his next words is incredibly pronounced, you do wish he’d just say something.

You can decipher one thing within his silence – he didn’t mean to go this route. And it’s evident that he isn’t prepared for such a conversion.

And neither are you.

“I just mean –,” he tries, though your own mouth seems to be moving much faster than his with words that can’t help but spill.

“You really think I’m not strong enough, is that it? Think I can’t handle it?”

“Y/n –,”

“You think I’ll fall apart.”

His lips are pressed in a thin, firm line. Not quite a frown, not soft. The corners of his mouth are twitching just slightly, betraying the tension on his jaw. A heavy gaze cast upon you, loaded with concern, unwavering. Like he’s holding back something.

He doesn’t confirm, nor is he denying.

It’s true. It’s exactly what he thinks.

You shake your head as you look away, as it’s becoming increasingly difficult to look at him any longer. To see those eyes, watching you is if you’ll break at any second. “I’m not some fragile thing, Jake. I can take care of myself.”

“I never said you weren’t strong,” he murmurs, a pause. Then, carefully, you feel his fingers brush under your jaw, guiding your gaze back to his. “But you’re not invincible, either.”

Those words…they sit in the air for a moment, weighted. They echo through your mind, hearing his voice repeat them over and over on a loop. They only go silent when his hand cups your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek bone as he takes a deep breath.

“I’m leaving, y/n. I’m leaving soon. And I’m begging you…” He leans in just a spell, yet enough that his lips are daring to touch yours. “Please consider chasing after what you love.”

What I love.

He means literature. He means books, stories. Lore that you’ve become lost within more times than you have your own, real life. The very thing that has been the only constant, the world that remained stable for you when yours fell apart.

Yes, that is what he means.

But one thing you’ve realized you love even more than literature…

If you were to choose London, if you decide to go to school at Oxford University, to chase after what you love…

You’d be chasing after him.

And you can’t. You can’t do that. Not this time.

Not for the sake of love.

As his lips press into yours, you let yourself feel them. Kissing him it’s…it’s the most painful kind of bliss you’ve ever known.

But before the kiss can linger any longer, you pull away. And it hurts. The pain, physical, pressing into your ribs. This choice isn’t easy.

But it’s right.

“And what if I don’t, Jake?”

His eyes flicker with something raw, something close to breaking. He looks away. Runs a stiff hand through his chestnut locks.

Then, quietly, finally…

“Then, I guess this…has to be over.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

the rest will be yours soon. 🤍

& i promise, this chapter won't be nearly as long as the last one. 😅

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @devilat-thedoor @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 1 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @joshskittytickler @aflameforgoinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @ninas-tearsofrain @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @kiszkas-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy

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