#Black Oak Clique

[mystellenia]

chapter 1: chit chat

summary: in the bustling atmosphere of the field, amidst sports activities and the warm october weather, you bond with phoebe, sharing gossip about school cliques and observing the dynamics of your fellow classmates. later, during spanish class, a chance encounter with Abby leads to an unexpected exchange, marking the beginning of a potential friendship

content warnings: none

now playing: chit chat by beach weather

(wc 3.8k) (read time 12-15 mins); bet on it masterlist

The field was bustling with noise, with yells and claps coming from cheer practice on one side of it, track runners stretching on the other, and the girls' soccer team doing drills in the middle. The sun had started its slow descent into the mountains, painting the clouds and everything below them a pink-orange color. Even though it was mid-October, it was still more than warm enough for shorts and tanks, overpowering the ocean chill of the Pacific. Thanks, global warming. 

You sat at the very top row of the bleachers with your books out, Phoebe by your side. She was new to Oak Ridge, and you took it upon yourself to make her comfortable after your meeting in Physics class. You were glad, to be honest, that you two became friends so quickly after a freshman and sophomore year of only surface-level friends. It was refreshing. 

The two of you waited at the field every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for Phoebe's twin brother, Theo, to finish basketball practice. After finding out you and Phoebe lived in neighborhoods connected by a park, you guys started carpooling to and from school, with Theo driving you all in his car. It's not that you couldn't drive, or that you didn't have a car—you could, and you did, but gas was expensive, damnit, so why not save money and mooch off of her brother? The righteous and honorable thing to do, obviously. 

"Okay, so you've already told me about track," Phoebe said. "How about the soccer girls?" 

Ever since you two started talking, you made it your mission to fill Phoebe in on everyone and their personalities and lives, telling her who was cool and who was an ass. 

"You see the brunette with the black and pink cleats? She has a red shirt on." She nods, so you continue. "That's Alyssa. Myers. She's super nice. She was my lab partner in Chem last year, but she got shit-faced drunk at a party in summer and made out with, like, three guys in the hour. All of whom had girlfriends. So overall, she's pretty liked, but the girlfriends of those guys she tongued hate her guts." 

"Oh, that's cute," she laughed, her voice laced with sarcasm. 

Your eyes trail to the girl next to her, a soccer ball ping-ponging between her legs as she shoots down the field. "Then, next to her, dribbling the ball, is Dylan Hernandez. Brown, curly hair in a bun. Bright blue shorts. You see her?" 

She scoffs as if she can't believe what she's seeing. "What do you mean, do I see her? Yeah, I see her, and she's hot." Phoebe drools over Dylan a little while longer before you start again. 

"She is the fuckboy of the soccer team. I've never seen someone pull so much. But everyone knows that right now she's messing around with Adri." 

"I don't know that," she argues, her brows furrowing in curiosity. "Who's Adri?" 

"Well, now we move on over to the cheerleaders. Adrienne Newport is a flyer—yes, the flyer who just went thirty feet up into the air. She's really sweet, actually. The nicest out of Lizzy's bitch pack, for sure." 

Phoebe just purses her lips into a tight line before you realize that she doesn't know any of these names. "Oh, sorry, sorry. Lizzy, Liz, Elizabeth—whatever you wanna call her—is the captain of the cheer team. She's the red head lying on the grass with that ice pack next to her. I bet you it was for her 'sprained ankle' that she so conveniently forgot about once she got the okay to sit out." 

"I have her in my geometry class," she hums. "God, that girl is dumb as a doornail when it comes to proofs. 

"Yep," you sigh, "that's Liz. Adri and Liz are friends, but they got into a huge fight last year when Adri got to be a flyer, but Liz was just a tumbler. I mean, Adri's probably flyer because she's 115 pounds soaking wet, but Liz just wasn't having it. She can be nice, but she prefers to be a brat. She threw a tantrum in front of Principal Grey, who is her dad's golf buddy. Well, another spot magically opened up, because they were both able to be flyers that year. Since her dad knows Woods, she's virtually untouchable here." 

"Ugh," Phoebe groans. "I hate mean girls." 

"No," you counter, "she's nice, she's just... catty." 

Phoebe squints and tilts her head. "So... just mean, then?" 

You chuckle. "Yeah, you're right. Just mean." 

"Wait..." Phoebe starts before trailing off. You follow her eyes to see what she was staring at. "Who's the blonde walking up to her, to Lizzy?" 

You finally spot who she was talking about. Toned, buff arms, short soccer shorts on her chiseled thighs, and one neat, blonde braid falling down the middle of her back. Abby Anderson.  

You admit, she was attractive. Anyone with eyes could see that. She just wasn't your type, and you were almost positive you weren't hers. She was popular and always surrounded by a big group of friends, while you kept to yourself most of the time, save for when you were with Phoebe.  

"Oh, that's Abby Anderson, captain of the soccer team. Abigail, but no one calls her that. Just Abby." 

You see Liz throw her arms around Abby's neck, pulling her down into a hug. Abby loops her arms loosely around Liz's waist before Dylan playfully slams into Abby's back, breaking them up. 

"Are Liz and Abby dating?" Phoebe questions. 

"Nope," you say, popping the p and grinning at her. You turn back to the field, your shoulders dropping in an inexplicable slouch. "Doesn't make sense with how tight they are. And Liz is supposedly straight, too, but then she goes and drapes herself over Abby and no one bats an eye. Like, it's so painfully obvious that you even noticed after seeing them for literally ten seconds." 

"Oh, you feel quite strongly about this," she pokes. "You jealous?" 

"Oh, please. I only have Abby in three classes, and I would rather kiss a toad than date Liz." 

Phoebe throws her head back in laughter, clapping her thighs and trying to calm down. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence for a moment until Phoebe turns to you to say something. 

"How do you know all of this about everyone, anyway?" she prods. 

You shrug. "Adri and I were friends for about three minutes in freshman year before I realized she was just using me for answers. Like I said, she's a brat."  

You squint down at Adri and the ponytail sitting tightly on the crown of her head, secured by a blue and black bow with a ram on it. "Two years later, and I don't even think she remembers it. Sure doesn't act like it." 

Phoebe hums and checks her phone. "It's almost five. Theo should be getting out soon." 

You start to pack your things and zip your Physics textbook into your bag, quietly laughing at how you two came to study but ended up gossiping the whole time. Playful shouting suddenly comes from the gym, and you look up to see who was there.  

A rowdy group of boys file out of the gym, whooping and still dribbling basketballs. Theo walks out talking to a teammate, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a towel draped over his head. You and Phoebe stand up with your bags and begin walking down the bleachers to meet him. 

Theo finishes up with his teammate, clapping him on the back before addressing you. "Hey, y'all ready?" 

"Hey," you respond. You think back to Phoebe checking her phone and realize there's still time to stop for food. Your lips curl up in a smirk, getting ready to nag Theo. "Wanna get us food?" you ask with a mischievous grin. 

"I was just about to ask—you're lucky I already wanted some. Practice was long today. How do you guys feel about In-N-Out?" 

Phoebe claps her hands together and shakes them, mirroring a prayer pose. "God, you're the best, Theo. Can I drive?" 

Theo immediately starts walking, responding with a "No" without looking back at Phoebe. 

Phoebe puffs her lip out in a pout, feigning disappointment and grumpily mumbling, "I take it back." 

The two of you follow Theo, walking past the end of the field where Abby, Dylan, Adri, and Liz stood and chatted. You felt someone's eyes boring into you, so you turn to their group to find Liz burning two holes into the side of your head. 

Liz has always been loud—be it from cheer or just her need to be the center of attention—so you overhear her statement as you walk by her. 

"Do you guys know those two girls walking with Theo? They've been staring at us all practice." Her voice fades out as you walk towards the parking lot. She pops her hip and crosses her arms tightly over her chest, listening to Dylan's indistinct response. 

"Dude, come on, where you at?" Phoebe asks, noticing your far-out stare. 

You shake your head and tell her it was nothing, and you all reach Theo's car and begin loading in. 

Soon enough, the three of you pull into the drive-thru, and you order what you always do—a plain double-double, fries, and a strawberry shake. After receiving your food, you, Theo, and Phoebe now sat in the parking lot, talking and eating your burgers with music blasting in the car. Phoebe and Theo were bickering about something in the front row—what it was, you didn't know. In these few months, you'd learned to tolerate their sibling catfights, zoning out or ignoring their jabs at each other. 

"Theo," you cut in. "Do you know Liz? Woods?" you ask, thinking back to her stare on the field and wondering the cause. 

"Yeah," he nods, "I have her in Physics. We sit next to each other." 

"Really?" you say surprised, looking at him through the rear-view window. 

"Yeah." He turns back to look at you, speaking around his bite. "Why do you ask?" 

"It's nothing," you brush off. Phoebe then turns to look at you, too, squinting her eyes in suspicion. "Okay, she just looked at me weird when we were leaving school. Like I said, nothing. I was just curious." 

Theo turns back to face the front, grabbing his Coke and taking a sip. "Liz has a staring problem," he dismisses. "She's always looking at me in Physics." 

"Yeah," Phoebe adds. "We have Student Aid together for first period, and every time I use the printer, she stares at me, no doubt." 

You stare out the windshield, thinking about what Phoebe and Theo said. You glance down and see 6:18 on the clock, the numbers blinking before the time changes. 

"Guys, it's getting late," you say, remembering the pile of Spanish homework you have waiting on your desk. "Let's go home." 

"You're right," Theo says, wiping his hands on his sweats to clean them and starting the car. 

He pulls out of the parking lot and starts towards the highway to your guys' neighborhoods. Putting your earbuds in, you shuffle your playlists, landing on an old Bruno Mars song and humming as you look out the window. 

San Diego was always busy, no matter the time or weather. If it was cold, club goers threw on jackets and danced through the night. In the early hours of the morning, teens skated through the streets, laughing and talking until the sun rose. 

You lift your head at the sound of the numbers of your gate code being punched in, the gate beeping as it swung open. Gathering your stuff, you unbuckle your seatbelt as Theo pulls up to your house, saying goodbye and telling you to let your mom know that he said hi. 

"I will," you promise, waving at Phoebe through the window while you pull your key out. 

Turning the key, you push the door open and are met by the TV still on, evening news discussing the week's weather. Your dad lay on the couch, passed out and softly snoring. Your mom was a banker and worked fairly late, so you figured she was still at work. 

Heading upstairs to your room, you open the door and drop your backpack next to it. Slipping off your school clothes, you change into an oversized shirt and shorts and plop into your desk chair with a heavy sigh. 

Your desk was messy with papers, worksheets from Spanish and English splayed across it. You cleared an open space to begin working on your Spanish work that was due tomorrow. 

Mrs. Ortiz, your Spanish teacher, was pretty chill, but she hated nothing more than late work. If your work is late, then my grading is late, too, she'd say.  

Luckily, late work wasn't an issue for you. Spanish had come easily to you, and it was always one of the easier classes you took.  

Your phone buzzes on your bed and you lean over to grab it. A notification from Instagram showed up on your screen, and you unlock your phone to see it: newp.adri03, who you may know, is on Instagram. 

Clicking on the notification, you open up Instagram and see that it was Adri's account, her feed filled with pictures of family vacations, beach trips with friends, and selfies. What a coincidence, you think, her account being recommended to you after what happened on the field today. 

A highlight called life!! catches your eye, and you tap on it to look at the pictures. You skip through them, tapping past a blur of colors, and you slow down to tap back and find a picture of girls in dresses.  

Adri, Dylan, Abby, and Liz all were dressed formally, and you recognize the date as this year's homecoming.  

Adri wore a corseted light green dress, her straight hair partially pulled up into a half-up half-down ponytail as she posed in a shrug. Dylan looked charming as ever, donning a black button down with the sleeves rolled up, her hand draped over Adri's shoulders with her hair pulled back into a braided bun. 

Abby stood next to the pair grinning with a thumbs-up, her hair cascading over her shoulder in a loose braid, wearing a white button up with a navy-blue suit vest overtop it. Liz leaned her head on Abby's shoulder, her eyes closed, and her lips lifted in a soft smile. She posed with a peace sign out in front of her for the camera, a pretty golden slip dress accentuating her hips. 

Your lips curled up in a smile at how cute the picture was, at how everyone seemed so happy.  

You noticed small tags over all the girls, quickly clicking on Abby's username. She only had two posts and one highlight up, all of them either about soccer, friends, or her volunteer work at the childrens' hospital.  

You knew she had parents in the medical field, and she always talked about her dream of getting into med school in Spanish class. 

The thought reminded you of the packet you have yet to complete. You flip it open, starting to fill in the past tense conjugation tables. Your eyelids quickly grow heavy, though, so you eventually set your head down on your arm and fall asleep. 

Your alarm goes off right in your ear, making you jump up and scramble to turn it off. Your phone reads 5:30 am, so you get up to start getting ready for school. 

Heading to the bathroom, you put your hair up to wash your face and brush your teeth, patting your face dry with a towel. Returning to your room, you sit down at your desk to put on makeup. You don't wear much—just some concealer under your eyes, blush on your cheeks and nose, and some mascara.  

As you start, you notice your Spanish packet open and about to fall off of your desk. You close it and place it on your backpack to make sure you won't forget it. 

Ten minutes later, you finish your makeup and quickly throw on a college crewneck and some jeans, packing your homework and throwing your bag over your shoulder. 

Theo texts you at six-oh-nine. 

theooo: We're outside 

theooo: You ready? 

You don't respond, instead just grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen and walking out to his car. "Hey, Theo," you say, opening the passenger door to sit down, putting your bag between your legs and buckling your seatbelt. 

"Hey," he responds. "How'd you sleep?" 

"I slept—" a loud and groggy groan from the backseat interrupts, "—well."  

You look over your shoulder at Phoebe laying down across the seats, a fluffy sleep mask covering her eyes. "It'stooearlypleasebequiet," she slurs, her voice still thick with sleep. If you looked up "not-a-morning-person" in the dictionary, you'd find a picture of a snoring Phoebe with drool dribbling down her chin.  

You listen to her and stop talking, turning the already inaudible music down. Instead, you take out your phone and see a notification from Clara. 

claire bear: it's snowing again. i hate new jersey weather :( 

You and Clara have been friends since elementary school when she stood up for you while a group of boys spat spitballs at you. Clara responded by saturating a ball of paper the size of her hand in gutter water and chucking it at a boy's head. Safe to say, they stopped immediately.  

The two of you were inseparable. Well, that was, until she moved to New Jersey in freshman year for her stepdad's job, and while she settled in well and made friends, she absolutely hates cold weather and is quite vocal about it. Two years later, you were still best friends and texted almost every day. 

you: haha sucker 

you: it's still 70 degrees here 

claire bear: enjoy your melting icecaps and deteriorating ozone layer 

you: whatever 

You scrolled through your feed until you got to school, Theo heading to his basketball buddies while you and Phoebe got breakfast and sat in the quad. Phoebe still didn't speak—she usually defrosted by the end of her first period, Student Aid, after running errands and texting you while she wasn't busy.  

You spot Abby and Dylan together laughing with the rest of the soccer team. Although school wasn't overly cliquey, all the sports teams usually stayed together. 

Liz and Adri lingered close by with the other cheerleaders, the other girls forming a semi-circle around Liz and Adri, intently listening to Liz talk about boys or another topic in her catalog of trivial issues and gossip. 

The bell rings, and everyone stands up to hurry to their class. You walk Phoebe to the library as you always do, then head to AP US History for first period. 

You go through the motions of the pledge, executing them almost robotically after ten years of practice. The morning announcements catch your attention, though, and you focus on trying to hear Mikey on the crappy intercom over the morning ruckus of the class. 

"...get into the Halloween spirit with Ram's boo grams! They will be sold on the stage during both lunches for just three dollars. Attached to the candy is a card—you can either leave your boo gram anonymous or write a spooky note for a special guy or ghoul. That's gonna be all for today's announcements. This is Mikey, your basketball team captain, signing out. Go Rams, Hoo-Rah!" 

The scrambled clicks of the office announcement phone trying to hang up rattle through the intercom before it cuts out with a click. 

Mr. Greyson stands up with a sigh to move to the front of the room. He fixes the cufflink of his perfectly pressed button up, then pushes his chestnut hair out of his face. He's one of Oak Ridge's younger teachers, and he's well-loved by students for his chill approach to teaching. 

After his short lecture, you open your laptop to complete today's even shorter assignment and set a reminder to do the reading he assigned. 

Once you finish the assignment, you open Netflix and watch your show, occasionally stopping to text Phoebe. APUSH always goes by fast, so you're not surprised when the bell rings. You quickly pack up and head down the hall to Mrs. Ortiz's room for Spanish.  

You notice Abby slouched in her chair, tapping away on her phone and bobbing her head to a song playing through her over-ear headphones. You walk past her desk to sit at your own, one desk forward and to the right of hers. 

Your feet stop as you pass her desk, looking back at it to confirm. Her completed conjugation packet sat on top of her folder, her neat script filling the page. 

Rushing to your seat, you rummage through your bag and pull your folder out with the packet. You must've fallen asleep before you finished it. Great. 

You glance over at Mrs. Ortiz at her desk. She was still putting attendance in, so you had a little time before she came and collected the packets. 

You flip to the second page and start scribbling down answers, another page behind it that you still had to do. 

A silvery voice fills your ears, asking, "Do you need the packet?" 

You look over your shoulder and see Abby Anderson staring back at you, her eyebrows raised in expectance. Her eyes flick between your own, clocking your panicked stare as you look back at her. Her gaze falters a bit, jumping from your eyes to your cheeks and nose, then back up to your eyes. 

You stumble over your words, finally ekeing out, "Yes. Yes, thank you." 

She hands the packet to you, and you thank her again and start copying her work down. You finish just in time, turning back to return her packet just as Mrs. Ortiz claps her hands and stands up. 

"Hola, chicos. ¿Cómo están?" she addresses, nodding at everyone's half-assed biens. "Have your packets out, I'm collecting them now." 

She collects all the packets from the first row, then passes you and Abby to grab both of yours. 

You turn back to Abby and notice her fidgeting with a piece of hair above her ear that must've fallen from her braid. "Thanks again for the packet." 

"No worries," she replies, shaking her head and curling her lips into an upside-down smile.  

You introduce yourself, and she extends her hand for you to shake, making you snort at the gesture as you accept it. 

Your eyes lock onto her forearm, noticing her muscles rippling as her hand clasps around yours.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Abby." 

yayyyy chapter one done!! i hope u guys like it :))

@picklesarenice69 @naoblack87

click before scrolling! takes 10 seconds :)

[darksxder]

surprisingly enough

pairing: wednesday addams x fem! outcast! reader, implied! tyler galpin x reader 

summary: you don’t make a beautiful corpse, to wednesday's utter surprise

warnings/tags: wednesday being wednesday, gore, coma mentions, allusions to murder and serious injury, hypothetical corpses, quite literally no dialogue, short, wednesday being very gay,  lmk if i missed anything

word count: 0.9k

You weren’t beautiful when you were unconscious.

Which was surprisingly enough an odd thing to think in accordance with you. As you were always beautiful. Terribly so. In every way.

In the soft ways where you tucked your hair behind your ear when it fell in front of your face when reading at the dark oak dining table, or the small smile you’d let slip when Enid told a good joke or let her dramatics run herself up a metaphorical tree.

You were so kind as well. It was sickening how much. But still, you proved to be fierce. You were an outcast since birth, just like everyone else at Nevermore, and everyone knew that, but you were still a mystery. No one knew what type of outcast you were exactly, and you certainly didn’t fit in with any clique.

Most thought you were a siren, even without the telltale white-blue eyes and sharp, fair features. It was the restrained grace in your movements and the sultry way you spoke when teasing your friends or presenting facts about a plant to Ms.Thornhill. That was what made them suspicious. 

The grace, the allure.

It was something that affected even her. Like your looks at her through your eyelashes that set Wednesday's hair on end as if she had been shocked by thousands of volts. Again. And she could never tell if the pleasurable afterburn of heat was the same type.

She thinks of every time your voice came out in a purr unconsciously or any time when you placed a soft hand on her uniform jacket-clad back, leading her through a crowd. It was unnecessary. People parted like the plague for her, but she never told you to stop.

Regardless, you were graceless now. Still and lifeless, or relatively lifeless.

She had once thought you would make a lovely corpse and had mused about it many times when deep into her writing of her novel.

The scene of Viper Del La Muerte finding a corpse, once unnamed and faceless became a Renaissance painting and the bright and ugly smeared colours looked like you. 

A true masterpiece. 

Lips agape,  your perfect shape and colour, just paler with dead cold. Eyes wide but still the beautiful colour she wondered at when she spoke to you in the sun before classes or at lunch outdoors. Hair soft and spread around you like a halo, splattered in blood, a perfect shade for your skin. 

Beautiful.

But with the reality here she wasn’t sure she had mused correctly. You were drained of colour, covered in black and blue bruises, the worst part being the fresh claw mark sliced through your face ranging from the very edge of your perfect lower lip across the bridge of your nose and stopping just short of your eye. It was raised and a violent red. Long since treated with disinfectant, and thoroughly stitched, but all of them knew it would scar. Enid seemed to cry more about that fact than the initial injury. She just thought you were 'too pretty'. It didn't make much sense to Wednesday. She knew the scar would heal, you would wake up and continue to be your mysterious ingenue self.

She just wanted to hear your voice again, no matter if the unconscious silky cadence was there or not. Wanted to see your eyes in the sun, splaying fractures of light across your face as you smiled over the dining hall at Enid, in the perfect position of the rising sun. She wanted you to read her books. Had been too nervous when you asked ages ago, too embarrassed having read your books for years under your pen name. But she wanted your thoughts on it now, all of it. 

She knew you would rip her and her work to shreds. By finding the truth of it she tried to ignore day in and day out. You would hang up her buried corpses, leaning on their graves as your Oxford shoes shoved at the piles of upturned dirt, wiping at the smell of rot gathered under your nose with your sleeve.

She had almost seen you like that in the last fight. Before she got you here to this sterile hospital room.You were covered in dirt and blood.

You weren't anymore, but something about the stench of sterile gauze and barely restrained death in tandem still clung to you. It was too bright here, and she knew you would hate it. If you’d wake up that is. But you wouldn’t. Hadn’t.

Not for five days, six hours and forty-three minutes at least.

Wednesday was keeping track just so she could berate you specifically for making her wait on you and for no other reason.

She had seen you sleeping once. It wasn't like this. You had been beautiful then. Like you always were. The staggering sort that made her feel like she had been punched in the stomach with a mace-like her brother used to do. Breathless, with panic seizing her every vein. It was wondrous.

Her father described looking at Morticia the same way on most occasions she could stand being in the same room as them for more than five seconds before they were all over each other.

You were the type of beautiful that would have even her mother up to her high cheekbones in competition. If you were at school at the same time that is.

You taught Wednesday that beauty was not only a tool or a fact as her mother knew, but also a danger.

It's what got you in a coma in the first place.

Loving the wrong person.

Tyler Galpin.

And trusting the wrong person.

Wednesday Addams. 

[rosemaidenvixen]

If you still need some more prompts how abouttt. “I… i think I have fangs.” for Mary, Darci & Claire.

And

“Is that really red syrup? Please tell me it’s syrup.” For all five of the kids (Jim, Toby, Mary, Darci and Claire) or if that’s too many just Toby & Jim.

First prompt answered here

Urban Legend

Ao3

“Dude I think that was a dead rat,”

“That was just plastic, now focus,”

“Tobes I’m pretty sure that one was real,”

“Jim we passed a silicone zombie, two fake giant spiders, and no fewer than four killer clowns who did not in fact kill us. The rat was fake now get your head in the game,”

Jim glared up at him, the furious look on his face still visible even though the only light came from spotty moonlight “Why did you drag me here again?”

Toby inclined his head to the trio walking ten feet ahead of them “To impress the ladies, that’s why,”

The official popular clique at Arcadia Oaks High had a very specific initiation ritual. The upperclassmen would bring any freshmen that wanted to join to a sewer tunnel, with a map and detailed instructions on how to make it to the other end. Anyone who finished the gauntlet was in.

Of course there were dozens of rumors about people going missing and monsters living in the sewer tunnels, but everyone above the age of thirteen knew those were just urban legends bolstered by the rumor mill and the Halloween decorations the seniors put down there to scare the pledges.

Toby happened to strike gold when he’d overheard Regina briefing Mary, Darci, and Claire on the date and time of their initiation. Knowing a once in a lifetime opportunity when he saw one, he’d jumped in and asked if he and Jim could come along. To his delight Regina had agreed.

Well her actual words were ‘I guess you can tag along but that doesn't mean you dweebs are in’ which was fine with him. If Toby ever became popular it would be on his terms and no one else's, even if that meant he never was part of the ‘in’ crowd. He knew he and Jim were cool, and hopefully by the end of the night Mary, Darci, and Claire would to.

Sure they had to slog through a river of muck, and the sewers smelled like the bottom of a dumpster mixed with low tide, but it would be worth it.

“I’m not sure getting my socks soaked through with sewage is worth getting Claire to notice me,”

“First off, that's just rainwater, black water runs in a completely different line. Second I think what you meant to say was ‘Thank you Toby for the opportunity to talk to Claire Nuñez, who I have a very obvious crush on, without interruptions’,”

The gloom of the tunnel did nothing to hide the bright red of Jim’s face “I’ll…I’ll talk to Claire when I’m ready,”

Toby held back a deep groan, knowing Jim ‘When he was ready’ would end up being his eightieth birthday. Time to shove the baby bird out of the nest and watch them fly. 

“One day you’ll thank me for this,” grasping his friend by the elbow, Toby yanked him along forward as he jogged ahead.

“Wait Tobes don–”

“Good evening ladies,” Toby greeted as they caught up to the trio “How are you enjoying Arcadia’s finest sewer?”

Claire and Darci gave him questioning looks while Mary just rolled her eyes “It’s nasty as hell, thanks for asking. And if you’re here to protect us from the big bad sewer monsters don’t bother,”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, I just wanted to see what kind of mannequins the seniors managed to stash down here. Although if a sewer monster did show up I’m confident you three could handle him,”

Trying to be the big tough knight in shining armor was a rookie mistake. These girls were absolute queens and they knew it. They didn’t need a guy to protect them, they could do that themselves thankyouverymuch. What they needed was a guy who appreciated how awesome they were, standing by with a shield while they chopped off the monster’s head themselves.

Mary narrowed her eyes and said nothing, Claire looked neutral but Darci actually giggled a bit. 

They had their opening.

“I mean look at that guy,”

Toby gestured towards a dummy dressed as a businessman, plastic axe buried in his head surrounded by fake blood “I mean who wears business casual into the sewers? And that blood, totally not realistic, Jim remind me what the recipe for fake blood is?”

Still flushed, Jim managed to stutter out an answer “You do it by mixing corn syrup, corn starch, water, and red food coloring. Although I think for the fake blood on Mister Business the just used red food coloring without adding any other colors,”

Mary’s eyebrows rumpled “Wait I thought blood was supposed to be red?”

“It is, but adding just a hint of other colors adds contrast that makes the red hue richer,”

“Yeah Jim’s pretty much a genius in the kitchen,” Toby patted his friend’s back “He makes a mean cordon bleu,”

“What about you?” Darci elbowed him with a grin “What exactly does Toby Domzalski bring to the table?”

“I’m a man of many talents. Geology whiz, legendary DM, anime expert, and I’m no chef Jimbo but I do make a mean green bean casserole,”

“Speaking of food check out the blood on this guy,” Claire walked over to a small side tunnel where another mannequin was laying sprawled against the wall “They definitely went the extra mile on the blood,”

The rest of them followed her, gathering around the small side tunnel and the body inside.

This one was definitely a cut above the others. It looked like a scruffy white guy dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with impressively realistic looking dirt and grime. A nasty gouge cut out of his neck with blood running down his front and smeared along the tunnel wall, even congealed in some pl–

Wait…how exactly did they get corn syrup to congeal?

Come to think of it, how exactly had the seniors managed to get a mannequin this good, it almost looked like…

Something cold settled in Toby’s chest, an idea too awful or horrifying to even consider so he didn’t let it fully form.

After all there’s no way this could actually–

“Is that red syrup?” Mary whispered, voice tight, prodding Jim with her elbow “Please tell me that’s syrup?” 

Jim didn’t say anything, but his chalky face and gaunt expression did all the talking for him.

Claire stepped forward and gently reached out to tap the mannequin’s–

It was a mannequin it had to be a mannequin 

Cheek with a single finger.

The instant it made contact Claire whipped it away, a scream choked into a strangled cry escaping her throat.

Toby’s heartbeat boomed in his ears as the thought he’d been desperately trying not to think about blasted to the front of his mind.

“Guys that’s…that’s not a mannequin,”

No one said anything but the silence that filled the tunnel spoke volumes.

Suddenly Toby was very aware that he was in a dark sewer tunnel in the middle of the night, no one knew where he was and no one would hear if they screamed.

“We need to get out of here, now.” Darci said, voice low and serious.

Toby agreed wholeheartedly, and was about to join the others in hauling ass out of this sewer when Claire actually took a step down the side tunnel.

“I think we should check this out,” 

“What!? You want us to go down the spooky tunnel with the dead body in it!?” Mary hissed.

“Yeah that’s basic horror movie 101, you do not go down the dark spooky tunnel with an actual human corpse in it!” Toby was psyching himself up to start grabbing shoulders and dragging, but before he could do anything Jim stepped up to Claire’s side.

“Someone else could be hurt or stuck, and if they are, we need to help them,”

Whatever objections Toby had died in his throat. Going forward was still a boneheaded idea, but deep down he knew Jim was right. Maybe it was a stupid move, but if someone was there and in trouble they couldn’t just walk on by.

“Ok but let's be smart about this, we need people watching our front, back, and sides at all time,”

“I’ll take front,” Jim and Claire said simultaneously, glancing at each other.

“I’ll watch our backs,” Mary added.

Toby looked towards Darci “You ok with watching right while I watch left?”

Her expression was gaunt but she still gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement.

“Then let’s go,”

The five of them made their way down the narrow tunnel, scant moonlight gone, lit only by the light of their phones, the smell even more intense in the small space, following the streaks of rusty red along the wall.

After a few minutes of walking the red along the wall curved away into an even smaller passage. The five of them having to go single file, cautiously creeping inside a small chamber at the end.

For a second Toby forgot about the very real dead body they’d just passed and thought that the seniors must have set up some kind of fake mad science lab. The room they found themselves in was cluttered with bubbling beakers over smoldering burners, lit by the cool glow of fluorescent lanterns. 

Then the smell hit him and he realized this was anything but.

“Guys this is a meth lab we need to get out of here now,”

Claire whipped around towards him “How the heck do you know what a meth lab looks like!?”

“Watching Breaking Bad how else!? We need to go before–”

“You brats aren’t going anywhere,”

They all froze at the sound, Toby’s heart shooting straight up into his throat, turning to see a guy who looked just as scruffy as the dead guy pointing a handgun at them.

“I wouldn’t let Jason narc on me, and I won’t let some random brats–”

Whatever else the guy had to say was lost when Mary threw a boiling beaker full of something in his face. Whatever it was making a nasty hissing sound when it made contact with his skin. He howled in pain, dropping the gun and pawing at his face, and the five of them booked it out the room.

The five of them sprinted down the dark tunnel, not even seeing where they were going. Pain flared in his knees and elbows as Toby banged into the walls in his mad sprint but he didn’t slow down. They were so frantic in their running Toby didn’t notice until too late that they’d made a wrong turn at the small tunnel.

“Guys I think we’re lost,”

They came to a halt at a crossroads, whipping around at the various tunnels surrounding them,  Claire pulling out her map.

“Any…” Jim pulled in a deep shuddering breath “Aanyone know the way out?”.

“That way…I think,” Claire looked up from the map and pointed down a side tunnel, this one with a very real rat crawling along–

A thunderous boom and the rat vanished in an instant, the concrete behind it spattered in red.

Toby whirled to see scruffy, splotchy red burns covering his face and a shotgun tightly gripped in both hands. At the sight his entire body went cold all over. A handgun was bad but a single bullet could easily be dodged, but a shotgun in this small a space–

Oh god they were going to die.

“No one’s going anywhere!” Scruffy barked “I’ve worked too long and too hard to let it get screwed up by–”

There was another skittering sound to their side, Scruffy whipped the gun around and fired.

Toby stared at the spot, but to his surprise instead of the red spatter of another rat this was green…and thick looking, stray arms and legs still twitching.

What the fu–

The cocking of the shotgun pulled his attention back to scruffy.

“Now all of you against the wall before I–”

“Waka chaka….”

The voice, so low and raspy, for a second Toby thought he imagined it, echoed from behind scruffy. Along with the clicking of claws on stone.

Scruffy whirled around, allowing the others to see the creature.

It was green, about the size of a cat, round fat body with spindly limbs, pointy ears and wide frog-like mouth lined with large teeth.

The creature hissed at Scruffy, who yelped and fired the shotgun again. Turning the creature into a green puddle with a loud blast.

“Waka chaka…”

Another identical green creature crawling in from a side tunnel, Toby and the others dove for cover as scruffy blasted it away to.

“Waka chaka…”

“Waka chaka…”

“Waka chaka..”

More and more green creatures poured in from all around them, seemingly endless, scruffy firing this way and that. The deafening booms echoing in the small space. But for every creature he blew away two more took its place. Soon the entire space was swarming with green creatures, all of them streaming towards scruffy as he struggled to keep them at bay with his shotgun.

And Scruffy pulled the trigger only to hear the gun click harmlessly.

He bellowed and started batting away creatures with the butt of the gun, but then one jumped on top of his head, another two on his back, and a third on his chest sent him toppling to the ground.

Scruffy vanished in an instant as the creatures swarmed over him with various cries of ‘Waka chaka’ his shouts of alarm turning to howls of pain.

It was horrible but Toby couldn’t look away, staring at the writhing mass of green creatures while scruffy screeched in agony underneath them.

A tug on his elbow startled him, whipping around to see Darci, face a mask of desperation, pulling him in the direction of a side tunnel. The others already standing outside it poised to run.

Right, this wasn’t time to stop and stare. They had to get out while the getting was good. Toby hurried after her, filing into the tunnel with the others, sparing the writhing green mass that concealed scruffy one final glance before it vanished from sight.

But his screams followed them as they went down the tunnel, getting softer and softer before abruptly cutting off in a wet gurgle.

Toby forced himself to not think about what that meant and kept running.

Finally, he felt the cool breeze of fresh air on his face as the five of them staggered outside. Darkness of the tunnel giving way to swaying trees beneath a starry sky.

“What…” Mary managed to gasp out between panted breaths, sinking down on her hands and knees in the dirt “What were those things?”

They all shared a tense look but no one said anything.

Frankly Toby had no idea what those things were. And he knew that later, after the adrenaline faded and he actually had time to process what the hell they’d just seen, he would question everything he thought he knew about their town, the world they lived in, and the creatures they shared it with.

But right now he was just grateful to be alive.

[roulette-strategy-software]

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[destructiveurges]

“We Are All Going To Die” by Black Oak Clique (USA)

An open letter and anti-manifesto to Climate Offensive, Extinction Rebellion, Earth Strike, and other nonviolent movements

When the world ends, people come out of their apartments and meet their neighbors for the first time; they share food, stories, companionship. No one has to go to work or the laundromat; nobody remembers to check the mirror or scale or email account before leaving the house. Graffiti artists surge into the streets; strangers embrace, sobbing and laughing. Every moment possesses an immediacy formerly spread out across months. Burdens fall away, people confess secrets and grant forgiveness, the stars come out over New York City...and nine months later, a new generation is born.

(CrimethInc.)

We’re going to die?

"The Earth is not dying, it is being killed, and those who are killing it have names and addresses." But us – me, you, even those who are killing the earth? We’re going to die.

In the worst case scenario, you drown, you starve, or you succumb to heat stroke. Not figuratively. You will drown, you will starve, you will succumb to heat stroke. Perhaps there’s the small chance that you will survive the mass migration to the last reaches of habitable land in and around the poles.

Perhaps.

But let’s be realistic here: In all likelihood, you’re going to die. A slow, horrible, excruciating death at that. We would like to say this is the future we’re hurtling towards at an ever-increasing rate. But it isn’t: it’s the present, the material, graspable present. Islands are sinking into the ocean. The poverty-stricken are freezing to death on the streets. People are burning to death in gigantic wildfires. The collapse is not to be a single event. It’s a process, and it’s currently underway. In the best case scenario, death is liberation. Perhaps the real “you” – your body, your consciousness, your soul, what have you – won’t die, per se: instead, the abstract “you” – your way of life, your social relationships under capitalism, your system of meaning that’s been drilled into your head since day one – will die.

Can’t we reform the system?

No. We can’t. The system is the problem, and the system runs deep. The problem isn’t just capitalism. It’s also the state, but it also isn’t just the state. It’s the ideology of consumption itself: that beings – plants, animals (including humans deemed to be subhuman), fungi, even inanimate natural “resources” – are objects to be bought, sold, and eventually, consumed. This ideology is perhaps the deepest ideology we have. It permeates every form of knowledge: from science, to art, to politics. It seeps through our language (one must think how often we refer to feeling, living beings – ones with the capacity to suffer – as “it.”) It permeates our relationships. It is the very basis of our societies, if it cannot be deemed our “society” itself – the group of capital-h Humans deemed to be worthy enough to be circumscribed by the abstract Community, that constructs itself in opposition to literally everything else.

Your favorite pet politician isn’t immune to this. Not Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, not Bernie Sanders, not Jill Stein. Not the Democratic Socialists, not the Green Party, not the CPUSA, and not anyone else, either. Perhaps their hearts are in the right place – but sadly, that isn’t enough. To quote the amazing piece Anarchy Works by Peter Gelderloos:

Some people oppose capitalism on environmental grounds, but think some sort of state is necessary to prevent ecocide. But the state is itself a tool for the exploitation of nature. Socialist states such as the Soviet Union and People’s Republic of China have been among the most ecocidal regimes imaginable. That these two societies never escaped the dynamics of capitalism is itself a feature of the state structure — it necessitates hierarchical, exploitative economic relationships of control and command, and once you start playing that game nothing beats capitalism.

What about nonviolence?

Concerning nonviolence: it is criminal to teach a man not to defend himself when he is the constant victim of brutal attacks.

(Malcolm X)

The struggle against ecocide was never nonviolent, and it never will be, because it cannot be. That’s because ecocide is violence: violence against me and you, against animals (wild and domestic,) against the trees and the grass and the water and the mountains. Climate insurrection is self-defense. Strict adherence to nonviolence – that is, the rejection of violence – is complicity in the face of ecological destruction. It is not “offensive,” it is not “rebellion,” and it’s not a “strike” at climate change. Many of us do not have the privilege of being nonviolent – namely, those of us who already marginalized. We will be the first to go. We’re the rural farm workers and their families being sprayed with pesticides. We’re the houseless freezing to death in polar vortices. We’re the indigenous peoples whose homes are being swallowed by the sea. We’re the poor who will not have the capital necessary to complete the long trek north to the last remaining habitable lands. If we aren’t violent – if we don’t rebel against the system that oppresses us – we will be crushed. Don’t be complicit in our death, in your death.

What’s climate insurrection?

Perhaps the only hope me or you have. It’s destroying that which destroys us - by any means possible.

Wouldn’t that hurt the movement?

No. A better question would be: what has “nonviolent” protest won us in the long run? The answer: absolutely nothing. Many supposedly “nonviolent” movements, such as the Civil Rights Movement, were incredibly violent. There were hundreds of riots throughout the United States, and of course, the existence of armed paramilitary groups such as the Black Panthers, or the Brown Berets. One could make the argument that this narrative of nonviolence is pushed by the very people whose power would be threatened by violence, because violence means (perhaps immediate) change. Hence: why those in the US celebrate Martin Luther King Day, a federally recognized holiday; but not Malcolm X Day. Even the most-oft example of nonviolent resistance, the Indian independence movement, was not so. Bhagat Singh, who after his execution became a folk hero of the cause, was inspired by French anarchist Auguste Vaillant to bomb the British Raj’s Central Legislative Assembly. Less than a year before, he had assassinated a British police officer in retaliation for the death of the nationalist leader Lala Lajpat Rai.

Wouldn’t it be counterproductive?

Counterproductive to what? Getting meaningless reforms passed? Getting empty pyrrhic victories in the legal circuit? Performing impotent marches through major cities that don’t achieve anything other than receiving lukewarm press from second-rate newspapers? Ask the battery hen liberated from cramped cages by animal activists, or the old-growth forest protected indefinitely by logging saboteurs (and all the animals who call those forest home): is direct action productive?

Anarchist action— patient, hidden, tenacious, involving individuals, eating away at institutions like a worm eats away at fruit, as termites undermine majestic trees — such action does not lend itself to the theatrical effects of those who wish to draw attention to themselves.

To quote the great illusionist Georges Méliès, "I must say, to my great regret, the cheapest tricks have the greatest impact."

If insurrection is so great, how come people aren’t doing it now?

They are. You just haven’t heard of it because the media is smart enough to hide it. Hearing about the heroic stories of those who fight back would be too dangerous for most to hear – it runs the risk of radicalizing them. Movements like the Animal and Earth Liberation Fronts, have been waging war against ecocide since the 1970s.

I don’t want to go to prison.

We dream of a world without prisons.

I’m scared.

We’re scared too, friend. We should be, but we should be

strong, too

What can we do?

We’ll let the great animal activist Keith Mann speak for us.

Labs raided, locks glued, products spiked, depots ransacked, windows smashed, construction halted, mink set free, fences torn down, cabs burnt out, officesin flames, car tires slashed, cages emptied, phone lines severed, slogans daubed, muck spread, damage done, electrics cut, site flooded, hunt dogs stolen, fur coats slashed, buildings destroyed, foxes freed, kennels attacked, businesses burgled, uproar, anger, outrage, balaclava clad thugs.

What if I don’t have the ability to fight?

You do, even if you can’t physically. Despite the tone of this letter, we aren’t totally opposed to above-ground action. In fact, in some cases, we think it’s necessary. Groups like the Earth Liberation Prisoners Support Group and the Animal Liberation Front Supporters Group are active in representing and advocating for operatives. As Sinn Féin, the Irish political party once associated with the militant IRA has been described:

Both Sinn Féin and the IRA play different but converging roles in the war of national liberation. The Irish Republican Army wages an armed campaign... Sinn Féin maintains the propaganda war and is the public and political voice of the movement.

What happens next?

We don’t know. But with any luck, we’ve laid out our options.

(via Heresy Distro)

[papergirllife]

Down The Rabbit Hole

Xiao De Jun (M)

🎃Happy Halloween,everyone.🎃

*gif credits to owner

*masterlist is pinned at blog.

warnings : unprotected sex, high sex, choking.

Alice in distress,

may the Cheshire cat be blessed.

Community service your mom said, it’ll be great for publicity, which is all she cares about. Your mom is the part of the community of your neighborhood, and let’s just say she loves fulfilling her duties so much that it’s become an obsession of hers to be seen on the local papers for the activities she attend, something like a minor celebrity. Sadly, the moms here all love her, your mom wanted to work a reputation up, since your father left her for someone younger, your mother needed something else to fill the emptiness and lack of accomplishment she’s felt because of him. Hence why you’re trekking in the forest of your town, trying to pick up as much rubbish as you could that were thrown by irresponsible hikers.

“This is all you fault Y/N, if it weren’t for you, we won’t be stuck in this shitty hike in such a cold weather.”

Becca was part of the so called ‘friend group’ of this neighborhood of yours that your mom forced you to make friends with just because she was friends with her mom. You don’t bother answering her nor the deathly glares from her clique to you, you didn’t have any real friends in this town, other than one or two boys you played games with.

It was until the middle of the hike when your mom called for a break, the community members all started to sit down and have a picnic.

“Remember to clean up after yourselves,” your mom said.

You chewed on a sandwich you packed begrudgingly, wishing you had hot food instead, cursing at yourself for not packing food into a thermos. When you finished, you decided to venture further away on your own, unable to stand the not so silent whispers behind your back. You decided to sit underneath a sturdy looking oak tree that looked older than any other tree here. Once you leant back, your back started falling, for some reason, the stem of the tree opened up and swallowed you in, the hole you fell in closing as you fell deeper into the hole. You didn’t scream, you were too scared, you knew you would be dead once you hit ground, so you closed your eyes and waited.

Instead of hitting ground, you fell into something that felt softer than cotton, with a blue glow like the clouds on the sky. Were you dead? You looked around, you were still in the forest, but the forest looked different here. Were these the unexplored parts of the hill?

“How graceful, Alice has nothing on you, sweetheart.”

You screamed, trying to get out of the ‘cloud’, but all you could do was trash in it because of how it’s too soft and big.

“Easy, don’t panic. I’m right here.”

Suddenly, a man around your age appeared next to you, his smile bright and somewhat familiar looking. That’s when the memory came back to you.

“You’re just like the Cheshire cat in Wonderland. Where am I? And who are you?”

“You’re in the other side of the forest, or the whole world, depends on how you see your position geographically. I’m Xiao De Jun, but you can call me Xiao Jun, and I’m a fairy. Oh and another detail? I eat humans.”

“Wait what? What do you mean the other side? What do you mean fairies eat humans?”

“Well, let’s just say fairies aren’t all Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella, those stories are told just to induce naive humans like you to fall in our traps. But you’re a pretty one, and you didn’t scream like a darned banshee just now, I might just keep you.”

“Keep me? Get us out of this thing, who said I was an object?!”

“I’ll get us out once we reach my palace, now hold on tight sweetheart, and please don’t scream like a mad woman, or I’ll eat you up in a gulp like the others.”

Xiao Jun booped your nose with his index finger before he leant back with an cynical smile on his face. The cloud floated up high, letting you see the scenery below you clearly. There were cities just like the human world, but instead of metal and blocks, these were held up by wood and magic, because there was no way a building as tall as the Eiffel Tower require no bolts and nuts, and you doubt its transparent like bubble had any glass panes.

"It’s beautiful.”

“It’s nothing compared to the beautiful lady beside me.”

You could feel your cheeks heating up at his flirty remarks. You quickly thought up of something to divert the topic, not being used to receiving compliments out of the blue.

“You said you have a palace? Are you a prince?”

“I’m a king, my father just passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Xiao Jun.”

“For a human you’re quite sentimental, cleaning the forest, not threatening to kill me even though you have a knife in your pocket, and not screaming at me like a mad woman. You’re quite different from what I expected.”

“What do you...

“That’s our stop, less chatter and get a move on, or no mint chocolate ice cream for you.”

Calling Xiao Jun weird would be an understatement, his personality was like a cross of between Marry Poppins and Willy Wonka, and his palace was nothing far from that either, fortress painted with pastel tones, and that fountain was definitely chocolate, the windows looked like panes of thin candy, while the draw bridge was shaped like a milk cracker. The swimming pool at the back looked like it was filled with different flavours of fanta.

“Are you the witch from Hansel and Gretel?”

“Do I look like an old hag?”

Instead of entering from the main entrance, the cloud took you to the back of the castle where there was a balcony which overlooked the pool and the garden. Once you landed, the cloud disappeared beneath you, but Xiao Jun’s quick reflexes caught you before you fell on your butt.

“Welcome to my chambers. I forgot to ask for your name sweetheart.”

“Y/N,” you said as breathlessly, still in shock from your near fall.

Xiao Jun’s room was huge, the walls were mint green while the furniture were all made of dark oak with gold accents, just like his favourite ice cream flavour. You looked up to see a beautiful chandelier that defied the laws of gravity. The candles as well as the whole structure of the chandelier was shaped like an overturned tiered cake, each tier turning at its own pace with different colours flickering on the candles. The bed was just like the cloud you travelled on, just bigger and in a shade of pastel pink that made it look like cotton candy.

“You must really like your sweets.”

“The only human food that actually tastes good. Make yourself comfortable, it’s not like you’re leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m keeping you.”

“You can’t do that! I don’t belong to you!”

“It’s written in the stars that you’ll be my queen, and I don’t have to force you. You’re going to stay.”

“Why would you know that?”

“Because I’ve been watching you and your fate in our stars, you lead an unhappy life in the mortal world, living like a balloon which lost its string, wandering aimlessly, slowly deflating just like your personality. When was the last time you truly enjoyed yourself without your mother giving you disapproving looks? What happened to your dream of being a writer? What happened when you said you wanted to go out for your birthday? What happened when you told her about your anxiety? Oh right, she called you a freak.”

Xiao Jun wasn’t shouting the words in your face, in fact it was gentle like an angel’s singing, yet what he said drizzled into your heart like sweet poison. You let out a chocked sob, you felt naked under his scrutinisation. Xiao Jun observed your life under a microscope, knowing you better than yourself.

“How do you know all of this?”

“I’ll show you.”

Xiao Jun wiped your tears with his expensive button up, the tears making the blue silk turn inky black. He then took your hand in his, guiding you out of his room into a room down the same hallway. Compared to the other odd looking fancy doors, this was bare of any jewels or gold. Xiao Jun turned the knob and led you in the dimly lit room, the room only had a large mirror with red candles on its sides.

“Show me, Lee Hyenji.”

That was your mother’s name.

The mirror flickered a few times before showing you the image of your mother.

“Where is that dumb girl? Always day dreaming and never getting things done. Wandering on her own, I’m just waiting for the day she leaves me like that useless father of hers.”

“Show me Becca Park.”

“I’m soo glad she’s lost, we don’t need to deal with her just to make our mothers happy anymore. She didn’t like hanging out with us anyways.”

Xiao Jun’s eyes flickered to yours to see your reaction, instead of holding sadness like he thought it would’ve been, your eyes were empty, the images on the mirror reflecting in your eyes like shadows in a murky lake.

“Why aren’t you angry?”

“Because they’re right.”

“No, they’re not. Mirror, show me Saved Memories.”

The mirror played images of you working on your short stories, snippets of you singing along your favourite song, as well as videos of you learning a dance.

“You shine like the brightest star in the galaxy sweetheart. Don’t let ducks call a swan ugly. They’re not even in your league, darling.”

“Am I?”

“You don’t need my confirmation, you can see it as well, maybe a flicker here and there, but those little flickers will grow into a  flame if you leave that life of yours. Don’t think too much about it, come, have a shower, I’ll show you to your room.”

Xiao Jun took you down the hall into your room, which was in front of his.

“I made it just like the bedroom in your world, so there shouldn’t be a problem with figuring out the shower. That laptop is yours, as well as those books, they’re the ones you already have and ones that you always wanted to read. The internet’s password is your birthday, yes we have internet access here. I painted the walls with the shade of blue you love, the bed is lilac, since you love that colour as well. There’s clothes from your own wardrobe as well as our clothes, it might be a bit fancy, but you might like it.”

Xiao Jun turned into such a sucker for you, the ‘I eat humans’ was such a front, you couldn’t help but smile at his dorkiness.

True to what Xiao Jun said, the shower was just like a regular shower, and the clothes in the wardrobe were nicely prepared to fit your size, making you wonder how he knew even these little details.

You went out and knocked on his door, Xiao Jun was out by the third knock, his hair now in yellow curls.

“What’s with the hair?”

“This is my natural hair colour, didn’t want to scare you too much just now. Though we really do eat humans, just the hearts, the hearts taste exquisite, according to the old fairies, and only if they threaten to develop that piece of forest. We used to eat humans all the time, until my father put a ban on it, didn’t want to look suspicious.”

There was a look of horror on your face.

“Trust me, only the old fairies eat humans, we prefer animals most times.”

You let out the breath of air you were holding in.

“This is my own private dining room, and tonight we would be having steak and ox tail soup, no humans.”

You manage to let out a laugh at his odd humour, starting to feel more at ease in his presence.

The two of you ate and drank wine, talking about his life as a royalty in his fairy kingdom.

“My mom told me I would have wings, I was so scared I checked my back every night before I slept, until I realised no one had wings and that it was just something made up in the tales.”

After dinner, the two of you danced ungracefully, the wine making your head light and footsteps a mess, giggling at each other’s mistake. After the two of you got tired, Xiao Jun carried you into his room.

He placed you on top of a couch, taking a seat beside you to admire the beautiful stars in the clear night sky.

“Would you like to try fairy dust?’

“It makes you fly? Like Peter Pan?”

“That is only one usage of fairy dust, we eat it as well. Wait let me show you.”

Xiao Jun took your hand and led you to his walk in wardrobe, it was just as big as the room he gave you, but what caught your attention was a mini pool, but instead of liquid, it was filled with swirling sparkling dust.

“Oh my god.”

Since you were drunk, you did the dumbest yet most logical thing ever, jumping into the pool. The dust made you bounce on an invisible force.

“Why am I not flying?”

“You have to give directions in your head, but I wouldn’t recommend doing that, I wouldn’t want to call medic when you hit your head.”

“Right...Jump in, join me!”

Xiao Jun shook his head in disbelief, but jumped in with a smile on his face regardless. Xiao Jun walked to your direction, stopping right in front of you.

“Breath it in.”

You did as he said, the fairy dust making you feel happy and free, as well as a warm feeling in your stomach that you can’t put your finger on once you look at Xiao Jun,, your eyes scanning his beautiful physique. Xiao Jun breathed in the dust after you, his eyes diluting into a darker shade of brown, his senses picking up little things about you that he didn’t before, like the plump of your lips, the curve of your hips under that tight skirt.

“Y/N, I want you.”

Xiao Jun kissed you with fervour, his tongue dipping into your welcoming mouth. Instead of pushing him away like he thought, you kissed him with just as much passion, your hands starting to linger under his shirt. Xiao Jun started to unbutton your top, throwing it out of the pool.

“No bra?”

“This isn’t the mortal world, there aren’t any sex predators here.”

“What about me?”

“This is for you, my king.”

Xiao Jun didn’t know whether this was you talking, or the fairy dust in your system. Xiao Jun marked up the length of your neck, purple flowers blooming in his wake as you started taking off his shirt and pants.

“Why the rush, love?”

“I need you, please.”

The amount of slick flowing onto your legs was too much to be normal, you didn’t know what side effects the dust has, but you just needed relief, and only Xiao Jun could give that to you. Xiao Jun took off your skirt and panties, smiling at that pretty piece of ruined silk in his hands.

“Wonderful.”

Xiao Jun let his hands travel southwards as his lips engulf your breast in his mouth, nibbling and sucking away like a new born, as well as leaving a mark near your nipple, the slight possessiveness sending shivers down your back. Your hands curl in Xiao Jun’s soft locks as he pushes a finger into you, when he could feel how wet you were, he decided to push two more in, curling his fingers at your sweet spot, making you cry out his name breathlessly. 

“Xiao Jun, more please. I need you inside me.”

You grinded onto his bare cock, his pre cum smearing over your slit, egging him to slide inside you.

Xiao Jun, pushed inside you in one go, your wet walls welcoming him. The action made both of you moaning in sync, lust filled relief washing over the both of you, making both of you crave for more. He started moving once you adjusted to his length, you could feel every vein and curve of his length as he bottoms out inside of you. Xiao Jun pushed himself closer to you, feeling you nipples against his own as he thrusted inside of you, the friction making your head spin from pleasure. Xiao Jun couldn’t believe it, after so many years of waiting, he finally had you in his arms, withering under his pleasurable touch. Xiao Jun slides a hand from your hips down to your clit, rubbing quick circles over it. Whimpers of his name fall from your lips like a beautiful piece of music, you were nearing your high as you felt the build up of an orgasm as your toes start to curl, your legs wrapped tighter around Xiao Jun’s waist as your head falls onto his shoulder, the overwhelming pleasure binding your body with his as he continues his thrusts, pace quickening once he felt you nearing the edge. Xiao Jun lifts you higher to thrust into you at a better angle, his tip hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, making you scream his name as your nails dug down his back, the pain mixing with the pleasure fuels Xiao Jun’s desire to absolutely ruin you under his touch.

“Cum for me, Y/N. I know you’re close.”

When you didn’t answer his request, Xiao Jun snapped his hips against yours at an even quicker pace, the speed of his thrusts inhuman, making your head swirl in pleasure as little bits of saliva drip from your lips down your throat as you throw you head back, the sight of the marks Xiao Jun left behind from earlier pushing his need for release. Once Xiao Jun wrapped a hand around your beautiful neck, you lost it. You couldn’t even scream as the pleasure was overwhelming all your senses, blinding white light behind your closed lids, your mind chanting his name like a mantra. Xiao Jun let out a beautiful moan once he felt your walls closing around his length in a vice grip, sending him over the edge as he paints your walls a milky white, his pearly white teeth biting down your shoulder to muffle his noises.

Once your orgasm subsides, you collapsed into Xiao Jun’s arms, energy drained completely by the handsome fairy. Xiao Jun carried you into his bed with the assistance of fairy dust, glad that he didn’t need to wobble into bed supporting your weight as well as his. He adjusted the pillows and blanket to accommodate your comfort, slipping in beside you once he was done, taking you into his warm embrace. Only one thought in his head.

‘You’re going to be with me for eternity, and nothing is going to take you away from me, my love, just like what the stars told me.’

[coffeecakefanfics]

The 1,001 Clichés of A Teenage Romance (Peter Parker x Fem!Reader)

Studying with Ned was nothing new to Peter, but actually stopping by ‘Kay’s Coffee and bakery’ for coffee was.  The coffee shop sat two buildings down from his apartment and Aunt May would stop in before work every morning.  With her day off she asked Peter and Ned to run and get her a coffee and whatever they’d like.  

It was a typical coffee shop, the walls were painted a muted cream and the tables were a beautiful sturdy oak.  There were pictures of New York plastered on the wall along with a big picture of the “Kay” family.  Behind the counter was a menue board along with a black board with the desserts of the day scribbled in pink and yellow chalk.  

“Good morning, welcome to Kay’s Coffee and Bakery where every cup is brewed fresh and every baked good is homemade how can I help yo- Oh hey I know you two from school,”  The girl stood behind the counter.  She had a smile on her face.  She wore a plain black long sleeve with a small Kay’s logo on the left breast.  The half apron she wore was black and the name tag was pinned to the top ‘Y/N’

“We have Calc, bio, and english together and im pretty sure we share a lunch break too,” she beamed.

“Oh yeah you’re in drama and on the volleyball team right?” Ned kind of lit up.

“Yup, and i’m in knowledge bowl, student council, and they’re trying to get me to join prom planning,” she kind of laughed. Peter recognized her alright, she was the top hitter on the volleyball team, he remembers watching her last season with MJ. 

“You stay busy then?” Peter piped up this time.

“Well I mean between school, clubs, and work i’m surprised I have time for anything else,” She took a deep breath at that. “So, what can I get you guys?”

“I need an,” Peter looked at the text May had sent him, “Iced French Vanilla with Extra Extra Cream and white chocolate syrup and a coffee cake muffin” he finished and peeked up at the girl who was already brewing the drink. 

“So you’re the famous nephew huh?” she teased as she poured the creamer into the cup. Peters face went flush and he started to stutter

“I-well I uh”

“It’s fine, I think it’s sweet.  She tells me how good you take care of her and the trouble you get in to.  It’s honestly one of my favorite parts of my morning.  Everyone else is suuuch a drag,” She laughed and slid the drink and muffin across the counter. “Anything else?”

“We don’t really drink coffee,” Peter turned to Ned. “do you want anything?”

“Yeah can I have a hot chocolate?”  He asked.

“Of course, plain or with extras, extras are free of charge except espresso shots”

“However you like it is fine”

“alright that’ll be $8.27 thank you,” she took the cash, gave them change and went to making the drink. 

“May We’re back” Peter called into the apartment.  May came almost running from the couch to grab her coffee. 

“You are a life saver,” she kissed the top of his head.

“Come oonn” he gently pushed her back.

“Where’s Ned?”

“He had to go home, something about a new episode of a show, I don’t know” He flopped onto the chair cockeyed to the couch.

“She’s cute right?” May smirked and set her drink down.

“I mean yeah, She’s pretty, but she’s also popular,” he shrugged. 

“Peter, baby, she has a job and a full ride to MIT, not to mention she likes a lot of the same dorky stuff you do,” she shifted and looked at him. “You haven’t been on a date in years Pete, why not go now?” she poked.

“She probably already has someone, I mean she is popular, remember?”

“I think you should go for it, get out of the house,” The conversation ended there. Peter laid in bed that night thinking about how he’d spot her in class or in the halls.  She was pretty, but she was also busy, he didn’t want to mess with her schedule. 

Lunch rooms are the devil, they’re clique filled and loud, but the only time he can actually talk to his friends. 

“Come on you KNOW that padme just lost the will to live,” How the topic started none of them new all they new was Peter and Ned were going at it again and MJ wanted out. “Dude she just gave up, her husband joined the darkside, face the facts”

“Actually, Palpatine took her life force for Anakin, Padme was a strong woman who fought for what was right, she wouldn’t just leave her babies alone,” Y/n jumped in and sat next to MJ. Ned and Peter looked at each other and back at the girl.

“What i’m popular not uncultured,” she laughed. “Okay MJ I need some serious help with knowledge bowl studying”

“Y/n, I love you, I do, but I’m busy this week, I have a ton of homework because Mr. Braun decided to be a dick, I’m sorry,” MJ spoke remorsefully.

“My meet is monday, it’s going to decide who goes to state, is there no way you can help,” Y/n pleaded with her friend.

“I’m sorry, I am, but I can’t fail this class”

“You’re right I’m sorry, if you need help studying or doing homework i’ll help you” She smiled and went to stand. 

“Peter can help,” Ned blurted

“I can?” Peter turned his head sharply.

“He can, he has a stark internship until 6 but after that he’s free,” Ned motioned with his eyes from Peter to the Girl.  

“I-uh-I, yeah I can help,” he stuttered and flushed.

“Peter you really don’t have to,” she gave him a sympathetic look.

“Yeah no, it’s uh, no problem,” he smiled awkwardly.

“You just saved my life, I owe you.  I’ll meet you at the coffee shop and we can go to my place after okay?” she beamed.  Peter liked her smile, it was bright. 

“Of course” he grinned. 

“Y/N, Game plan!” One of the other girls called.

“Sorry, I have to go but tonight at 6,” she lit up as she grabbed her tray and jogged over to her friends.

“What the fuck?” peter turned to Ned.

“I saw how you looked at her at the coffee shop, and you haven’t been on a date in years. it’s my job as a wing man to help you get dates,” Ned shrugged and took a bite of the sandwich in front of him. Peter sighed and pulled his phone out.

P:Hey May, I’m helping a friend study I won’t be home till late

M:You’re not patrolling are you?

P:No, I’m seriously helping a friend study

M:Stay safe, I sent you $10 for dinner <3

The streets were dim when Peter walked up to the shop.  She stood locking the door.

“Hey” He called.

“Peter Hi,” she grinned and waved. 

“So um, y-your place?” he tugged at his straps. 

“Yeah, I live in those apartments right there,” she nodded at the building two doors down.

“Wait, what? so do I, how come I never see you?” he turns to her. 

“I usually take the fire escape home, I hate walking through the lobby, and I can sneak in without having to talk to my family,” she laughed. “Not that they’re bad people, I just get over worked and don’t want to take it out on them” they walked into the lobby and got in the elevator.

“Don’t worry about them being home, I live with my dad and he’s on a business trip,” she unlocked the door and let Peter walk in.  It was cleanly decorated with neutral greys, whites and blacks. 

“This is nice,” he lets his eyes wander the apartment.

“Yeah, it’s how my mom liked it,” she smiled sadly.  Peter remembers it happening, it was one of the attacks on New York, The avengers couldn’t get everyone out in time, 3 people had died that day.

“I’m sorry for your loss”

“I’m not, she’s why I do what I do” The girl smiles and kicks her shoes off, “my room is back here, it’s way cooler than this,” she laughs and drags him to her room.  Warm LED lights illuminate the room.  Peter spins and looks at all the posters and figurines scattered around the room.  The walls are decorated with posters of various animes and shows. He turns to the tv stand and sees shelves full of games. 

“Told you I’m cultured,” she teases and sits on the bed. Peter sits next to her.  She pulls out her laptop and plugs a flash drive into it. 

“So this will give you questions and the answer, I get a point if I get it right,” she smiles and spins the screen to him. “thanks for doing this, by the way,” she adjusts and holds a decorative pillow to her chest.

They had been at this for nearly two hours she was growing frustrated and uneasy.

“Who wrote A farewell to Arms?”

“Hemmingway” she looed pleadingly

“Yes,” he beamed and went to click next.

“I can’t anymore, I’m done,” she flopped back on the bed. “This sucks” she yells muffled by her pillow.

“Then why keep doing it?” he closes the laptop. She sits up and pushes her hair out of her face. 

“That is a topic for a different level of friendship,” she smirks and looks him over.  She had had a crush on him forever, and by forever she means since last year.  She admired how his eyes kind of drifted around the room. 

“Do you need to go home yet?” she asked. His eyes jumped back to her and locked. 

“No, I live two floors down so it’ll only take a minute to get home”

“Do you want to play a game or watch a movie?” she asked, getting up and grabbing the controller. His face kind of flushed. “A-a movie is fine”

“What? scared I’ll kicked your ass or something?” she smirked.

“No way I just don’t want to make you cry when I beat you,” he joked cockily with her.

“Oh you’re on Parker, Injustice 2?” she looked back at him and he nodded.

“Black Canary is way to OP this is bullshit,” Peter throws his hands up. Y/N laid laughing at him.  His phone cut the laughter short.

“it’s May sorry,” he picked up the phone. “Peter it’s 10 pm where are you?!” she called into the line.

“there’s no way it’s-” he looked at his watch. “Oh shit, May I’m sorry i’m coming down now,” he hung up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize how late it is,” he scrambled to grab his stuff. 

“Fire escape is faster than the lobby, there’s a window to the hallway if you go to the right” she grabbed his phone and bag for him. 

“i had fun,” he smiled at her.

“I did too, especially since I kicked your ass at injustice,” she smirked.

“I’ll see you at school monday?” he asked.

“Um, I’m free saturday if you want to come over, we can play games or watch a movie or something? I’ll get us pizza or-” she trailed off.

“I’d love to,” he blushed.

“It’s a date,” she smiled and opened her window. Peter stepped out onto the landing. 

“Hey peter?” she called and he turned to her.  She leaned out and kissed his cheek. “A little something for the road,” she held something wrapped in white paper to him. He shut the door to his apartment. 

“There you are, I was worried sick,” May scolded.

“I was upstairs with a friend, I’m sorry we lost track of time.  He set the paper on the counter and opened it.  A fresh coffee cake was sitting in a small box with a note

‘For May and Peter’ 

[chiseler]

Downward Christian Soldiers

Father Charles Coughlin, 1930s

On January 14 1940, the FBI arrested 18 men in New York City accused of plotting the overthrow of the U.S. government. Fourteen were snatched up in their homes in Brooklyn, the others in The Bronx and Queens. Searches yielded more than a dozen Springfield rifles, a shotgun, some handguns, thousands of rounds of ammunition, and the materials for homemade bombs. J. Edgar Hoover said they were plotting a terrorist campaign targeting transportation, power, and communications facilities; their goal was to rouse the military into staging a coup, placing a strong dictator like Hitler or Mussolini in power, and cleansing the country of Jews.  

The men were mostly of German or Irish descent, and ranged in age from 18 to 38. If employed (a few weren’t), they held low-end jobs, including an elevator mechanic, a telephone lineman, a chauffeur, a couple of salesmen, a couple of office clerks. The 18-year-old was a student. Most troubling was the fact that six of them were National Guardsmen.

They were all followers of a Father Coughlin-inspired movement called the Christian Front. In his mid-1930s heyday, Coughlin was arguably the most powerful pro-Fascist voice in America. An Irish Catholic originally from Canada, he had first turned to radio in the 1920s simply as a way to expand his ministry beyond his tiny congregation in Royal Oaks. He had a strong radio voice, and when CBS started syndicating his weekly sermons in 1929 it was an instant success. The crash and start of the Depression politicized him. His condemnations of Wall Street and President Hoover brought him tens of thousands of fan letters a week, and his high praises for Hoover’s opponent FDR surely had an impact on the 1932 elections. Then, when the invitation he craved to sit among President Roosevelt’s circle of advisors didn’t come, he turned bitter as a jilted lover. He began denouncing Roosevelt, his New Deal, his Jew York advisors, and his friends in the labor movement as all facets of an international Jewish-Communist conspiracy to destroy Christianity and democracy. He also praised Franco, Mussolini, and Hitler for defending their people against this spreading evil.

Coughlin’s call for a “Christian Front” to combat the Communists’ mid-1930s Popular Front coalition with other groups on the left resonated with the Depression-driven anger and paranoia of many Americans, especially in cities like Boston and New York with large communities of lower- and lower-middle class Irish Catholics, who tended to be shut out of other right-wing movements precisely because they were Irish and Catholic. At his peak, Coughlin had tens of millions of listeners to his Sunday radio sermons, a million readers of his weekly magazine Social Justice, and received millions of dollars in small donations.

By 1938, rabid anti-Semitism had become the centerpiece of Coughlin’s message. That year, at a Christian Front rally in The Bronx, he allegedly gave the Nazi salute and declared, “When we get through with the Jews in America, they’ll think the treatment they received in Germany was nothing.” In Social Justice he reprinted the anti-Semitic hoax The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, which also topped Henry Ford’s list of favorite reading. In the autumn of 1938, when Coughlin said the Jews had brought Kristallnacht on themselves, radio stations, including WMCA in New York, dropped him. Several thousand Fronters “picketed the station, its advertisers, and Jewish-owned stores throughout the city,” historian Robert A. Rosenbaum writes. “The pickets returned every Sunday afternoon for many months. In the meantime, gangs of Christian Fronters roamed the streets and subways, peddling copies of Social Justice, distributing anti-Semitic leaflets, and orating on street corners, while harassing and assaulting people they took to be Jewish.” The city’s police force, which was nearly two-thirds Irish, turned a blind eye; some number of them were Christian Frontiers themselves.

The Front thrived in parishes in all of New York City’s boroughs. Some of the first Front meetings took place in a church hall near Columbus Circle, and some of the most frequent and well-attended were in The Bronx. In Brooklyn, Father Francis Joseph Healy, the pastor of the St. Joseph’s parish in Prospect Heights, was also the editor of the Brooklyn diocese’s weekly paper, The Tablet, which he made a platform for extremely anti-Communist, pro-Fascist, and pro-Coughlin thought. After Father Healy’s death in 1940, his managing editor Patrick Scanlan continued the paper’s reactionary slant. Scanlan ran Coughlin’s rants on the front page. Healy’s successor at St. Joseph’s, Father Edward Curran, was also a major supporter of Father Coughlin and other pro-Fascist and isolationist groups. During the war in Spain Father Curran wrote dozens of pro-Franco columns for arch-conservative publications around the country.

By 1939 small cells of Fronters in Manhattan and Brooklyn were calling themselves “sports clubs,” though the only sport they practiced was target shooting at rifle ranges. The Guardsmen in the group evidently pilfered the rifles and ammo from their posts, and trained other Frontiers in how to use them. 


Along with the cops and Guardsmen, the Front cells were also peppered with spies. The FBI had informants keeping tabs on them. Two independent investigators would write very successful books in which they claimed to have infiltrated the Front as well, and dozens of other underground hate groups. Richard Rollins’ I Find Treason would be published by William Morrow in 1941; John Roy Carlson’s similar Under Cover would be a runaway bestseller for E. P. Dutton two years later, galloping through 16 printings in its first six months. Both writers used pseudonyms. Carlson was actually Arthur Derounian, an Armenian immigrant. Rollins was apparently Isidore Rothberg, an investigator for Congressman Samuel Dickstein of the House Special Committee on Un-American Activities. Partly because the writers used pseudonyms while naming scores of individuals they claimed were pro-Hitler and pro-Fascist, both books were widely denounced on the right as fabrications and smear campaigns.


Derounian wrote that he was riding the subway one day in 1938 when he picked up a leaflet of “bitterly anti-Semitic quotations” published by something called the Nationalist Press Association on East 116th Street in Italian East Harlem. He decided to research, and found himself exploring a vast underground world of wannabe Hitlers and Mussolinis, society matron super-patriots, racists, Anglophobes, White Russians, and assorted conspiracy theorists and kooks.
 Born in 1909, Derounian had grown up in another world of hate. After struggling to stay alive as Armenians in Greece at a time of chaos and slaughter in the Balkans, his family fled to New York in 1921. Arthur learned English and earned a degree in journalism at NYU in 1926. In 1933 he learned that the turmoil in the Balkans had followed him across the ocean, when the archbishop of New York’s Armenian Orthodox Catholics, while serving Christmas Mass in his Washington Heights church, was stabbed to death by radical Armenian nationalists opposed to his politics.

So when Derounian read that hate sheet on the subway in 1938, he was primed to follow up. The 116th Street address was an old tenement with a barber shop on the ground floor. The Nationalist Press “office” was a dingy back room stacked to the stained ceiling with right-wing books, newspapers and pamphlets. Poking around in the gloom were a few Italian men and Peter Stahrenberg, a tall blond Aryan type “with blunt features and a coarse-lipped, brutal mouth,” who wore a khaki shirt and a black tie with a pearl-studded swastika tie tack. Stahrenberg was the publisher of the National American, a pro-Hitler newspaper whose striking logo was an American Indian giving the Nazi salute before a large swastika. He was also the head of the American National-Socialist Party. Derounian, calling himself George Pagnanelli and expressing interest in the “patriotic movement,” wormed his way into Stahrenberg’s confidence.

As he explored Stahrenberg’s twilight world, Derounian claimed, he found pro-Nazis and pro-Fascists all over New York City, holding meetings and rallies in every borough. It was a topsy-turvy world where street thugs from the city’s poorest neighborhoods mingled with wealthy Park Avenue crackpots, and Irish Catholic Fronters convinced that Communism was an international Jewish plot sat in the same meetings with Protestant zealots convinced that the Vatican was a Jewish front. He met rabidly anti-Communist D.A.R. socialites, and retired military officers who were certain that FDR and the Jew Dealers were leading the nation to ruin. He met the prominent conservative organizer Catherine Curtis, introducing himself as George Pagnanelli; she kept calling him Mr. Pagliacci. He even found black pro-Nazis in Harlem. Some were attracted by Hitler’s anti-Semitism; others simply cheered the idea of a white man making trouble for other whites.

When the Christian Front clique was arraigned in Brooklyn’s federal courthouse in February, they all pleaded not guilty to charges of conspiracy and theft of government property. The lawyer for 12 of them was Leo Healy – Father Healy’s brother. A crowd jeered and booed as they were perp-walked into the courthouse. Winchell and La Guardia both derided them as “bums,” La Guardia adding that if they were the best the enemies of democracy could muster, no one need lose any sleep. But the defendants also had their sympathizers. Father Curran was the keynote speaker at a large rally in Prospect Hall to express support for them.  

Fourteen defendants were left when the trial began in April; one of the original 18 had committed suicide, and charges against three others were dropped. As the trial sputtered along through May, it began to appear that the FBI and prosecutors hadn’t built a very strong case. When the proceedings stumbled to a close on Monday June 24, the jury acquitted nine of the defendants and pronounced themselves hung on the other five.


It was a major embarrassment for Hoover. The Front and their supporters cheered it as a great victory, and would continue to spread hate and violence well into the war years. Through 1942 and 1943 there would be numerous reports in the press of roving gangs of young men, mostly identified as Irish and affiliated with the Front, beating and sometimes even knifing Jews in neighborhoods like Flatbush, Washington Heights and the South Bronx, where Irish and Jewish communities abutted. Many shops, synagogues and cemeteries were vandalized. Jewish leaders pleaded with Mayor La Guardia and Police Commissioner Valentine, but they took little action.

Coughlin would rant on into 1942, when the federal government shut down Social Justice as a seditious publication, and the Archbishop of Detroit finally ordered him to stop all political activity. Father Curran, however, continued undeterred, making anti-Semitic, anti-war speeches to Frontiers and others through the entire war.

by John Strausbaugh

[starcloaked]

Laurel: If you could write the books, what changes would you make?

okay it’d be a Lot of them.... i haven’t particularly thought it through too much but i think anyone could right the books better than the erins

okay first series additions.... make princess have a larger role. she does nothing but have babies and is there sometimes & i like her so she is a cool supportive big sister now. joining the clans would be lame but she could be the Voice of Reason w all the stupid clan rules and give her brother advice

umm make redtail b alive longer so his death isn’t just a random plot device. introduce rusty to the clans and have everything be peachy for even like a day before his murder where he gets a taste of the danger that all of them r constantly in. more impact

this is going to sound crazy but hear me out okay. i want sandstorm to take the role of graystripe and be fire’s pal from day one. she could still have the ‘lol ur weak lmao <3’ thing but whitestorm is a good mentor and she warms up to him quicker. make More conflict with gray and darkstripe being half brothers and have him be friends with dustpaw instead. he uses jokes to mask his own feelings but internal,y he is conflicted over wanting to be friends with firestar or disappointing his clique of clanmates

okay okay hear me out but silverstream & sandstorm. they r dating !! sandstorm doesn’t have any canonical parents here so she leaves for riverclan with her and they have a litter with the help of some guy idk. silverstream still dies in childbirth and sandstorm, wracked with grief eventually leaves the clans with her kits when tensions with thunderclan start to get high. stay with me here but she eventually joins bloodclan w her kits because that would make feather and storm a Lot more interesting

uhh back at home bluestar should have a closer bond with tigerstar. remember her taking in whitekit n stuff? do That with bluestar and just have her like kits a lot. would make more cents with the oak heart stuff idk!! they are pals but he is evil so on and so forth

i like ravenpaw for the most part but he should be the main one who pulls graystripe from his clique bc fire is kinda out of touch when it comes to serious emotion. he leaves afterward and the two bond <3 i don’t really have any idea of who fire should be mates with here to be honest but either sand Or gray is cool. wait a second if sandstorm graystripe can she be mates with millie?? never thought of that before it’s cute. she can still be the surrogate mother of leaf & squirrel too

OH scourge. to be honest i never really found the appeal of having the brother revelation not being known by either fire or him sooo. up the tensions a little here!! scourge should live ofc by idk maybe princess stops fire from killing him?? something like That and here’s my great idea guys instead of having poor barley be alive at the end of graystripes vow make it scourge. just some crusty old man telling warriors cats roleplayers stories of old and really wishing he were a ghost rn

neeew prophecy uhh . uhhhhhh feather and storm move back to riverclan and have Cool backstory now yahoo!! squirrelflight lesbian i like her and tawnypelt together <3 nightleaf cannon make her sad cause she has stupid crowfeather as a mate and run away w leafpool. she has the kits (we r going to Ignore the fact that they would all be black furred because of reincarnation bullshit) and so on. um i don’t know how to fix the mess that is brambleclaw but honestly i think he should keep his characterization from the first book and just be Some Guy like brackenfur or whatever. squirrelflight is like his sister in law so his later descent into Bad territory still has the weird power balance nepotism thing + he can still be alder and sparks dad

assfur?? keep him the same ig people seem to like the fire scene but make him a lot more of a loser. cinderholly cannon umm lionblaze has a more interesting character arc where he struggles with his powers leaving him a possible danger to others. make jayfeather hate him and other disabled warriors less dear god and have him decide to be a med on his own after training under brightheart for a while. night and leaf can have a messy breakup and get back together in starclan (as a treat ❤️) and breezepelt has parent drama because neither of his parents truly love one another and are still caught up on lovers from the past. make him regret his actions more and give him a proper redemption arc pwease thank youuu

my brain is pretty fried rn but that’s like.., all i’ve got for ideas atm so there u go!! uh last additions rootshadow real have briss look more like hawkfrost to tie into brambles trust in her and you know what give that bitch rabies and then have him be possessed. good night

[ndcicic]

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[gayllamafromspace]

Embrace Your Chaos

(Tissaia De Vries/Reader)

Chapter 8: Lessons In The Library

The newfound friendship with Rita had been an unexpected, but not unwelcome, development. Oftentimes we'd find ourselves lazing about in each other's rooms, wandering the halls, or goofing around in class. Rita, as I've learned, has no restraint and the impulsiveness of a puppy. I'm more than willing to tag a long on her whims, within reason. Our first night together was eventful, and the rest of the days we spend together aren't any less so. Our friendship is no secret from the other girls, and at this point the rectoress is well aware of it too. Our pranks aren't subtle, as Tissaia and her clique know on an intimate level.

These pranks consist of terrorizing the other 6 girls while Margarita and I laugh our asses off. Roan, who was our first victim, had ended up with the frog in the bodice of one of her dresses. Her scream made it all the way down the hall and to Rita's room that morning. Sonata got her hair chopped off, why? Because she was especially mean to Veblen one day, and I simply wasn't having it. Rita had agreed with that sentiment. The main person we torture though is Tissaia, she is painfully easy to piss off and annoy. Rita, who is somehow still kind of accepted by the girls, does most of the dirty work.

She will subtly wrinkle up Tissaia's sleeves and initiate pointless physical contact, which Tissaia hates with a passion. Eveytime Rita lets her have some air, Tissaia fixes the imperfections on her dress and tries to create distance between herself and Rita. That is entirely pointless, because Rita is always right back at it again. Tissaia's eye would twitch every now and then, clearly in her effort not to explode. Eventually she realized what Rita was doing, so now Rita can't sit by her anymore.

Our new scheme is to disrupt her perfectly organized desk. Being Tissaia, she has an obsession with keeping herself and her space tidy and organized, which is why this is perfect. It's not malevolent… Well, maybe not to me and Rita, but it's enough to tick her off. So that brings us to where we are, sitting through a lecture from Rectoress Phobe Del-Lana, and moving Tissaia's quill slightly to the left every time she straightens it on her desk. It takes about 4 times before Tissaia realizes that it is, in fact, not her OCD making her think it's not straight. It's when she looks back at Rita in an accusatory fashion that things get mildly more interesting.

"Miss De Vries, it's not often that you choose not to pay attention. Why now?" The Rectoress says, eyebrows raised. Tissaia is quick to turn back to the front of the class, a slight blush on her cheeks. 'Ooh she's embarrassed~' I think to myself, smiling slightly. This is a mistake, because Rectoress Del-Lana is quick to turn her attention to me.

"And you Miss (Y/N). This behavior is to be expected from someone like you, but is it truly necessary to sully Tissaia's reputation along with your own?" I can hear some of the girls snickering behind us. Of course they'll laugh at me and not miss perfect. I glance over at Tissaia, to find her glaring at me. I should be used to this, she's not shy about her disdain for me, but she ordinarily shows it by ignoring my existence. It's painful really. To think that after everything that had happened months prior, she still hates me. We learned a lot then, and I thought we could've been friends after she healed. I was hoping so at least. It was foolish to think that. I'm the reason she was injured, I'm the reason she's had to work so hard to gain the Rectoresses favor, and I'm about to ruin it for her again.

"My apologies Rectoress, I was bothering her for my own entertainment, she's not at fault." I say, my head bowed. If I'm going to salvage any friendship we could have had, this is the best way I can do it. The Rectoress, who I'm sure already knew this, nods and returns to the large water basin on her desk. We had been learning about water bending before I caused this pointless distraction.

"Well, since you're so adept in chaos that you'd waste your energy pestering a fellow student, I believe you should be the one to give us a demonstration of water bending." This was not a request, nothing the Rectoress ever says is. So I get up from my desk and go over to the bowl. The bowl is made of a dark brown mahogany, and it's filled halfway with water. From where I'm standing I can see the slightest gleam of amusement on Tissaia's face. Rita, who had been silently watching the whole interaction, gives me a thumbs up and a small smile.

Looking down at the water and taking a deep breath in, I focus on the clear liquid sitting still in the basin. I let it out softly through my mouth and clear my mind. Focusing my intent on the water, I envision small ripples and waves on its surface. I say the elder word - softly and with reverence, letting myself relax and allowing chaos to flow through me. I can feel a rush of smooth energy within me, making my skin tingle pleasantly. The water moves, a lulling pattern of soft ripples spreading and colliding with the walls of the water basin. With the energy I feel in myself, I direct my chaos to the water, letting myself feel as one with it.

With conviction I enunciate the word again, projecting it so that everyone in the room can hear it. Willing the water in the bowl to form a ball, I manipulate the chaos surrounding it and lift the liquid from the bowl. A few droplets fall from the sphere, but I pay them no mind. I glance out to the rest of the girls, and find that they are all in shock. I can't blame them, I'm normally the one who slacks off a good bit of the time, but it's almost insulting that they think I don't do the work at all. I procrastinate, sure, but I still do as I'm told… most of the time.

Rita dearest is wearing a wide grin. Roan, who sits behind her, looks dumbfounded (which is nothing new), but her yellowish face seems to have paled into a light sandy color. Her black eyes are wide with shock. Annita, ever the excessive horror, has her jaw dropped practically to her knees and her brows furrowed a fair bit too much to be natural. She seems almost appalled by my magical capability. Lida, Sanota, and Veblen actually look impressed. Rectoress Del-Lana regards me with minimal interest - which isn't so surprising.

Tissaia though, her face is schooled into a perfectly impassive expression. She betrays nothing but vague acknowledgment… but her eyes, I can see a thousand thoughts swirling behind them. I've tried not to look her in the eyes, I didn't want to be weird, but now I realize that they show everything that her face does not. A glint of wonder hides behind them, but I catch it right before she turns her attention to the rectoress.

"Well, it appears you do have talent after all. Go and take a seat (Y/N)." The rectoress says. I bow my head in her direction and quickly return to my seat. The rest of the day proceeds as it normally would. After our trial with Del-Lana, we are dismissed to our rooms. None of us ever stay in our rooms of course, we are granted relative free-reign of the school. Most days me and Rita will sneak off to the kitchens and snag some snacks, courtesy of lady Gwendolyn. Today though, Rita has decided to do some spy work for the two of us. Aka, she's going to hang out with the rest of the girls and fill me in on any preposterous rumors so that we can laugh at how ridiculous they are.

So for today I will be spending my evening in the library. I'm not entirely sure if any of the other novices know where it is, seeing as how I was led to it by a friend in the staff. The library itself is wondrous. The shelves reach high and are made of dark oak, and there are a few windows that let the sun shine into the room for most of the day.

Currently, I am reading a book on herbology. This one particularly goes over where you can find the herbs and the best conditions to keep them in once harvested. Mandrake root, for example, is meant to be kept in a sealed container so that the small particles released from it when exposed to oxygen don't float in the air. If inhaled, it can cause you to hallucinate and pass out, you could die from it as well. Sadly, the most interesting herbs were the rarest, but that much is to be expected. Nothing interesting is ever too easy to find.

My peaceful reading is interrupted by someone sitting on the small sofa across from me. When I look up, I realize exactly who has intruded in on my "secret" place. Tissaia, ever prim and proper, is seated on the edge of the cushion and looking right at me. I look right back at her for a second before closing my book and placing it carefully beside me. That is when Tissaia starts talking.

"First of all, I do not appreciate you distracting me while in session with Rectoress Del-Lana." She says curtly.

"But I can't exactly blame you, Rita is a horrible influence. It really is a shame that someone of your clear magical talent would resolve to do something so childish." This earns Tissaia an irritated look.

"If you came here to fuss at me for bugging you, there's no need. I learned my lesson." I say, tapping the cushion impatiently. Personally, I'd rather not have to deal with Tissaia's scrutiny right now. She doesn't leave though, and continues to talk.

"That's not all I came for (Y/N). Clearly you have been spending a lot of time practicing your magic. I'd say that as of now, the amount of control that you have may rival my own…" Tissaia says. I tilt my head slightly and give her a puzzled expression.

"What exactly have you been doing that helps you to maintain so much balance and control? It can't be anything the Rectoress is teaching us." Tissaia continues. I give her a smile and slide down to the rug between us. It has simple patterns, it's woven with threads of multiple shades of red and yellow. I gesture for her to mimic my position. She hesitates of course, clearly not wanting to dirty her skirts by sitting on the floor. But eventually Tissaia does lower herself to the floor.

"Meditation and grounding." I say softly,

"They aren't exactly the same, but they are similar." A crease forms between Tissaia's brows as I say this. I can't help but smile, it's kind of cute when she does that. She urges me to go on regardless.

"When you're grounding yourself, you are focusing on your connection to the world around you. It's helpful before and after spell work. It's really just you taking a moment to focus on the sensations around you, and letting yourself rest and your mind feel at ease. Be sure to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth" I explain. I place my hand on the rug.

"Think of the rough texture of the carpet. The smell of paper and candles. The sounds of pages turning and quills on paper." I say. Tissaia closes her eyes and appears to be listening to the small sounds in the library. There's barely anyone here when I am, but the librarian is always here, always flipping through books and taking notes on certain things.

"What about meditation?" Tissaia asks, her eyes now open and looking at me as if I'm the most interesting person in the room. That look makes my heart feel heavy but also light at the same time. I push the feeling away and continue on with my little lesson.

"Meditation is when you focus on yourself and try to block out the outside world. Most people clear their heads and try to think of nothing, but I like to imagine that I'm somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful. I believe it's called a mindscape, but don't quote me on that." I say, a small laugh escaping me. Tissaia's lips turn upwards slightly and she shakes her head a little.

"I assume that we're supposed to breath the same right? In through the nose out through the mouth?" She asks. I nod and demonstrate, taking a deep breath in and holding it for 3 seconds before letting it out slowly. She copies me and I give her an approving smile.

We sit in silence, the only sounds around us are the in and outs of our synchronized breathing. It's pleasant to have her here with me, clearly interested in what I have to share with her and in sharing my company. At some point I find myself drifting off to the time she and I had spent together only a month or so ago. It feels like so long since then, since her cold demeanor had changed to be a little kinder. Sadly, she was never truly being kind for the sake of it, Gwendolyn had informed me that Tissaia was using her kindness to manipulate me. Tissaia wanted out, I can understand that, but it's still kind of painful to think about. Maybe now, with some time and communication, we could learn to call each other friends.

Our meetings in the library became a daily thing. We spent an hour everyday together meditating and grounding ourselves after lessons. She had mentioned that she felt a lot more energized after our sessions. She asked questions and on the 4th day she brought a journal with her. Now whenever I say something of interest, she writes it down. On the 5th day, she asked me what my mindscape looked like. I told her of course, and I asked her what hers looked like. She didn't want to tell me though, so I left it alone.

But one day she just stopped coming. She had said she would be here, but she's running very late. She's never late. I give her 10 more minutes and then leave, walking down the hall to my rooms. She was probably busy, maybe she had homework? It doesn't matter, just because she missed one day doesn't mean she won't come around again. And on my way down the stone corridor I held on to that thought. Then I see Rita come around the corner and walk right to me. She seems almost frantic, but also shocked, and angry. I stop in my tracks and give her a concerned look.

"What's wrong Rita? Did something happen?" I ask her worriedly. She grabs me gently by the arms and looks me in the eyes. There's fear in her eyes.

"Is it true (Y/N)?" She asks me.

"What do you mean? That's not much to go on Rita." I answer, now increasingly worried.

"You don't know… oh geez," Rita bites at her lip before continuing.

"Tissaia just told everyone that you're a homosexual." Rita says quietly. She frantically adds that she doesn't mind and that she herself has been questioning. But I don't have the will to care. I can't care about that, not right now.

"Tissaia outed me?" I say, practically seething with rage. I feel betrayed to say the least. 5 days I spent helping her and supposedly bonding with her, and this is what I get? I'm not just angry, no, I am livid. Rita has held the sense to give me some space.

That night during dinner, Rita and I snuck into Tissaia's room and trashed it. We flipped her bed, broke her inkwells, and snapped her quills. Rita took a few of Tissaia's dresses and the sheets from her bed and dumped ink all over it. I took her meditation journal and pocketed it, no use in her having my help if she's going to treat me like shit. Though it hurt me a lot to do it, I tore all of her books from the shelf and threw them around the room. Eventually Rita said it was time to go and we booked it to our rooms. We did not celebrate that night. No, I spent the night crying and angrily telling Rita everything. From the beginning of mine and Tissaia's relationship, to now. And Rita, being the best friend that she is, held me and listened to everything.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hello, I hope you’re doing well, I wanted to know if there is any Sterek fic where Stiles has a twin please ? Like « Cool story, bro » by drunktuesdays ?

So many, @sakuraoiwr! - Anastasia

cool story, bro by drunktuesdays

(1/1 | 13,087 | Explicit)

Based on a truly ridiculous conversation with Kalpurna about a hypothetical Stilinski Twins situation that ended up sounding something like:

“FUUUUUUCK, is it a sweet valley high situation where Stiles is very aware that his twin is way more attractive and confident than he is, EVEN THOUGH THEY’RE IDENTICAL, and he always ends up with the hotter significant others and more friends and Stiles guesses that’s why he’s attracted to the pack at first, because it’s something that’s just his, not his twin’s too. But of course, Stiles’s twin gets bit and now he’s part of Derek’s pack, and Derek doesn’t snap at him like he snaps at Stiles, never slams him into things, fucking FIGURES, STILES’S TWIN GETS EVERYTHIIIIIIIING.”

***

Awesome isn't Genetic by rarepairenabler

(1/1 I 943 I General)

Stiles' brother 'worries' Derek might break his heart.

and i thought it only a dream by bleep0bleep

(1/1 I 1,501 I General)

Derek only started getting the dreams a few years ago, and he knows what it means, his soulmate is younger than him. Laura teases him incessantly about it, but Derek doesn’t pay her any mind. The dreams are fuzzy at best, he only has a fleeting glimpse of plaid shirts and laughter and a pink mouth.

As Laura and he start on their roadtrip back to California from New York, the dreams start to get clearer. Every state they cross, Derek can see the outline of his soulmate get more defined, knows that he has brown eyes, a gorgeous smile and fluffy hair that looks soft to touch.

seeing double by redhoodedwolf

(1/1 I 5,767 I Teen)

When he was six years old, Miles Stilinski asked his mother why she chose to give his twin brother a weird name. 

Cobwebs and Flies Come Out by AlmostSilent

(2/2 I 7,979 I Teen)

Stiles has had his whole life to get used to the fact that Mikołaj, his non-identical twin brother, is just better than him. He’s also kind of a dick and loves rubbing Stiles’ face in how much better he is at everything.

Or, the one where Stiles has a twin, and a massive crush on Derek, these two things conspire to ruin his life, but maybe everything will work out for the best. Still, he has high school drama and a winter formal to get through.

Season of the Witch by StupidGenius

(1/1 I 9,025 I Teen)

"Derek!" Laura calls, right when he bumps into something.

Or someone.

Someone wearing a comically large black sun hat.

"I'm so sorry -" he starts. A hand lands on his shoulder, the person steadying themselves, and then it's like a jolt of electricity goes through him.

"Oh, it's okay. I should watch where I'm going, next time." Stiles laughs, cheeks pink.

---

Witches and magic shouldn't be real, and yet, Derek gets the feeling something Not Normal™ is happening in this town.

Anything for Charity by Rehfan

(9/9 I 19,536 I Explicit I Sterek)

A date with Derek Hale is on the hospital charity auction block.And Stiles Stilinski has his twin brother's credit card and a plan to finally get Derek alone.But will he have the courage to pull it off?

Double Trouble: Stilinski Style by teamfreedicks 

(9/? | 20,471 | Mature)

Stiles has a twin named Genim. After their mother died he moved to live with their aunt so their dad wouldn’t be overwhelmed with raising two rambunctious little boys on his own. Scott, having grown up with the both of them, knows about all the shit they get up to because of their combined smarts. Of course no one expects Genim to suddenly return to spend the summer catching up with Stiles. In which shenanigans and pranks ensue and for once everyone but Scott is confused.

Shadows We Make by Alwaysdreaming95

(13/? I 33,433 I Teen)

After Defeating the Nogistune Stiles twin, Jada, ends up coming back to Beacon Hills after living in Ireland. The only problem in this family reunion is abondoment and the trouble that follows her home. She tries to deal with her past traumas and her nightmares. This is a story that follows Jada in her journey to deal with the alpha and his pack that wants her dea and her new... old life in Beacon Hills.

Against All Odds by silveritas

(16/16 I 37,236 I Teen)

It is a universally acknowledged truth that a single alpha in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a mate.

Ain't nobody fresher than this motherfucking clique by graveltotempo

(1/1 I 38,999 I Not Rated)

Derek had somewhat entertained the idea that the school council was some kind of high rank which made the five of them inaccessible to anyone else. Instead of a supreme table with golden cutlery and high chairs, they were just sitting on table similar to the one he was sitting on himself.

Allison Argent, with her cute dimples and flawless aim.

Lydia Martin, with her incredible genius and terrifying presence.

Scott McCall, with his big puppy eyes and his natural leadership.

Jackson Whittemore, with his annoying attitude and fierce protectiveness.

And Stiles Stilinski with his joy of life and guarded eyes.

One thing Derek was certain of? Heather was messing with the wrong group of people.

Madness and Magnetism by theinspiredginger 

(13/? | 66,812 | Teen)

A hunter!AU were Stiles is born into the Argent family, and does not live up to the hunting prowess of his older twin, Allison. In an attempt to prove himself to his family, Stiles sets out take down the most vicious alpha of the area, Derek Hale. Through Stiles’ bumbling attempts to kill Derek, and Derek’s mocking banter, the hunt turns to a game and enemies turn to something more.

I Hunt For You With Bloody Feet by CharWright5

(26/26 I 200,462 I Explicit)

“Mates don't always mean happy ever after.”

When twenty-year-old born omega werewolf Stiles Stilinski received that cryptic email from his twin brother—who'd been missing for two years exactly—in a language the two of them had made up, his drive to find Stuart is doubled. The search leads him to Oak Creek, the most secured and heavily fortified city in all of California, where he finds that not only is his brother dead, but also the literal alpha of his Dreams in Derek Hale—who just happens to be his twin's Mate and the main suspect in Stiles' eyes. Despite an agreement to fight mutual feelings, the two are still drawn to each other as they try to solve the case themselves, uncovering a plot that goes deeper than the murder of just one wolf.

[literature-islit]

Donna Tartt - The Secret History (1992)

Sometimes, I think the happiest times of my life were the two months I spent living without a TV or wifi in a small country town. 

gather round children... 

My housemate had just moved out, and I was going to move out two months later, and the internet was in his name, and I couldn't really be bothered going through the hassle of making my own internet account, etc, so I just figured I’d make do. And it’s funny, like, at first it was at times a little boring and a little scary. Sometimes, I just wanted a comforting noise to have on in the evenings when the sun was down and things were quiet. 

So, I lived old school.

fun for the whole family

I listened to the radio... I read magazines... I played mp3s from my iTunes... and sometimes I just stared at the ceiling in silence. And, you know what? It actually was incredibly peaceful. I did all the stuff I had to use wifi for at work, and once I got home I dedicated myself to just... emptying my mind and chilling out. 

GPOY

I was obviously frothing to get back to 21st century life but even still now, the world of instantaneous communication at my fingertips, and zoom chats to attend and so on - I think back about my life without these technologies and I feel a little nostalgic. Because, don’t you think, sometimes the pressure of always being on and available gets a little much?

You know. Zoom chats are awkward, because u can’t read body language so you’re either talking over each other or trying to judge if the gap is long enough to speak. And, with the option of sending an interstate friend a text or FB message, it feels like there’s too much pressure to... I don't know. Stay engaged in a conversation. Whereas, sometimes I just wonder if I’d have a better quality of discussion if I reverted to writing letters?

I am, once again, in danger of going full Luddite.

There’s something I like to do, when I want to delve deeper into my nostalgia for the past and step deeply inside an all-encompassing retro reverie. When I want to feel the textures of telephone conversations and notes hastily scrawled and dropped in pigeon holes. A time when study meant libraries, and old books and handwriting (not jstor), when you had to walk hungover to get food (no UberEats), when you could go to your college dining hall and enjoy a cigarette with your black coffee (ok, just joking about that one)...

In other words, I step into the world in between the covers of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History.

Donna Tartt is so cool. She went to Bennington College with my (extremely problematic) fav writer Bret Easton Ellis, and while he scrawled his Valium-drenched numbed-out hip-lit Less Than Zero, she was passing him chapter after chapter of the novel that would eventually (she takes her time writing - as you should - can’t rush perfection) become her first bestseller. 

the epitome of cool

Anyway, the story goes something like this: Californian outsider from blue collar family attends arts school in wintry Vermont and becomes intrigued by a group of outsiders who spend their school days studying Ancient Greek with an impressive, passionate teacher with sparkling blue eyes. Eventually, they invite him to the periphery of their clique. As he slowly gets to know them, he becomes aware of a secret - they spend odd hours of the night whispering in secret, there are unexplained tensions and injuries and stains on the sheets...

Also, from the novel’s opening, you are aware that one member of the group will soon die. 

anyone who’s read the book - would this celeb couple not be perfect to play the role of the twins if they were (which they should) to make some kind of netflix miniseries of the novel?

Suspense and intrigue ensues. There is the most vivid depiction of a cold winter I’ve ever read in a book, which had me shivering and clutching at my doona even at the peak of summer. As someone who has lived at a college, the richly textured depiction of college life sent me immediately back to the oak fittings and heavy, stuck windows of my first year dorm room. THIS IS A BOOK TO SAVOUR. 

you also might learn a little something about the ancient greeks. 

Anyway i read this Good Reads review of it where the reader was criticising the story because the characters were “pretentious” and it felt all like some kind of humble-brag about how “alternative” a group of friends might be and etc, and while I respect the review author’s POV i have to say I disagree totally. You know, most American novels about college-aged students tend to focus around the high-jinks and shenanigans they get up to, that is to say - they focus around the popular groups

ok, not quite college, but you know what I mean

And so i found it really refreshing that the main characters in The Secret History were certainly not cool (not cool in the sense of going to college parties to drink and hook up kind of cool) (not cool in the Bret Easton Ellis Less Than Zero way, which reads as if it were set in the same universe as this novel (probably kind of is) but about the ‘cool’ kids and makes for interesting parallel comparison); Tartt’s characters are extremely eccentric and, like, flawed in their own personal ways - but somehow painted with such a vivid brush that you could really imagine their appearances, idiosyncrasies, and etc...

Okay, okay, maybe it is slightly elitist. But a guilty pleasure kind of elitist for me! Step back into the roaring late 80s to 90s era, when college kids got the traditional liberal education for free - and totally took it for granted! Without their phones tracking their every move, the crushing pressure to learn the latest tik tok dances and the distracting void of scrolling through memes - it was a recent history but one that has irrevocably past. Read this book to savour it! 

you don't know what you got til its gone...

[wildeycs]

for the mess, forever entwined / @livwriteshere

i.

felix broke his first bone when he was five, a fibula fracture on his left. it took him three months to be able to run again. there was a big oak tree in the backyard behind his mansion, he climbed up all the way up there whenever his parents started to shout. sometimes in the middle of 3am, pulling him from a deep slumber under darkened skies. sometimes in broad daylight, when the bickering turned into a full-blown squabble a few walls away from his study. there’s a blemish on his knee that reminded him of the roughness of the fall, but he knew even then it was a fraction of the pain his mother suffered every day stuck in this house.

he was so used to running, stumbling and falling again. his mother was always the one to patch him up in their dimly lit living room, too penitent to tell anyone she neglected her only son enough to let him burden himself with such injuries. 

he never knew if it was love his mother harboured for him or something else. maybe the woman hated him with her whole heart. he was a mistake followed by another lifelong, lethal mistake much worse than the last. the reason why she was trapped playing a role she’d never asked for. their manor was a dollhouse — everything they owned was exquisite, every smile they wore fraudulent and inside every doll a sheer hollow.

what was love anyway? love was the long quietude before another smash. screams and slamming door, bruised cheeks and handprints on his mother’s neck. love was a lie followed by another, it’s say it again and please let go. love was the black smoke in his lungs, his tiny body curled under the dining seat, a quiet breath trembling with fear of being found guilty of eavesdropping, of knowing too much about what he shouldn’t know. love was a bloodied wound, forever open.

ii.

the first time felix felt anything close to love was in third year. august flew too close to the tree and landed right on the ground in the middle of a legendary quidditch game mid-summer. some gasped with a hand on their chest, some laughed while leaning forward for a closer look, felix wasn’t sure how to react with this newfound feeling in his chest. it wasn’t love the way sonnets and plays described it, more not wanting to see the other hurt — not wanting it to happen ever. 

august was just the boy who fought with him on every single thing in each class. the family friend who always hung around as the clique of purebloods did, feet dangling off the edge of their seats as they watched with bored eyes as their parents mingled and argued for the hundredth time whose son was more triumphant. 

something changed one summer. august became the clandestine kiss in the brooms’ closet, the hungry stares in a crowded hall, the one person that frequented feverish dreams from which he woke up a sweltering, unraveling mess, terrified by the depths of his longing.

it was now fifth year, august was still the only itch he couldn’t shake.

the bubblegum stuck under his shoe, the scar on his knee that refused to leave, that exasperating tune that wouldn’t stop haunting him.

fuck, he wished there’s a doctor he could see for delusions like this.

iii.

“you look like shit, august.” a dry laugh, another sizzling remark, a lopsided smile from the wounded boy and there’s this strange tug in felix’s heart again. he hated everything about this, loathed how august was the first and only one who could make him feel the way he did. quietly, felix’s hand traced the curve of the blackened cheek before he picked up his wand from the concrete, muttering the same healing charm he had used countless times before.

“how are you so good at this?” felix could tell it was a mistake from the regret on august’s face, a thought that slipped from his mind, voiced aloud without permission and for the first time in forever, felix couldn’t find the right words to explain. 

it was all his nights spent sprinting in the woods until his lungs gave up and ending up with wounds that he wanted no eyes to decipher, his mother healing him when he’s perched on the edge of his bed with his lips pursed in a mulish line, the number of times he had to perform it to hide a mark on her body still searing and trembling from wrath. but things like this weren’t meant to be spoken of and they weren’t the type to share. 

as far as the world knew, the two were nemesis, not friends, not even anything at all.

the wound was almost gone now under the tip of his wand, dark pigment draining from august’s cheek and his eyes darted back up to meet the boy. he hated how even with a cut-lip and his hair all ruffled up, august still looked so utterly kissable. it wasn’t the first time that realisation hit, still everything about this made him restless. the stillness in the air, the almost tenderness, how august was the only person those teeth he ached to knock out, whose lips he wished to remain forever against his.

it was treacherous, unnerving. 

it was something that he’s never going to tell a soul about. 

“how come being all duffed up get you in such a bootlicking mood?” felix said instead, the same annoying smirk on his lips that august itched to slap away. his hand parted from august’s cheek and he scorned the desire for his hand to stay there instead. he rose from the floor of the prefects’ bathroom, dusting his robes with the impatience of someone who couldn’t wait to get out of here. his work here was done and he had a famished stomach to tend to. august still looked like shit and it was startling, just how much felix still craved to pin him against the wall. “better think twice the next time you decide to nark a guy twice your size, huh?”

[wildefiction]

Focus

WORD COUNT: 2,100

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Reader takes Kim up on her offer of attending the SNS after party.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Drinking, kissing, and…feeeeeeelings

A/N: Here it is folks, chapter 10!

TEN

As the discussion about drinks and where everyone was hanging for the night began to filter around the group, you realized the relationship they all had with each other was like that of a family. Just like Chris had said. There were no cliques, no gossip, and everyone truly seemed to enjoy everyone else’s company. Moving to grab your camera bag, and seeing it open and empty, a bolt of dread lanced through your body. Remembering suddenly that you’d set in down backstage in your haste to catch Chris earlier you slipped out the door as Misha walked into the room, making a beeline for the stage entrance. Never had you been so careless with your camera. Silently berating yourself as you almost ran down the narrow hallway, you sighed in relief when it was sitting on the same table you’d left it on earlier.

Taking a moment, you had to remind yourself that, while this was a new experience and the people all seemed amazingly welcoming - you were here to work. Leaving your equipment unattended in an unfamiliar environment was asking for trouble, and if it was lost or stolen? You shuddered to think what would happen.

Returning to the greenroom and carefully ensuring your bag was packed and put under one of the tables, you turned to find Kim approaching, a beer in each hand and that same infectious smile on her face.

Handing you one of the chilled bottles, she motioned for you to follow as she wandered out into the hallway.

“So, [Y/F/N] - how’s your weekend been so far? Enjoying yourself?" 

Taking a swallow of her beer, you could see the mischievous gleam in her dark eyes as she awaited your answer.

"Kim, I don’t take you for someone who skirts around what you really mean to say." 

Grinning at the woman, you watched as she pressed the call button for the elevator. 

Shrugging, she dipped her head and nodded as the two of you stepped into the lift, heavy steel doors closing after you with a soft chime.

"Touche. I was trying to hold back, can’t have you running screaming already can we? What with Chris and Rob following you around like lost puppies.”

Scoffing, you followed behind her as she pressed a plastic keycard to the lock on a set of double doors at the end of the long corridor. Several blinking lights and a faint buzzing sounded, the woman pushing on the heavy doors and leading you inside.

If you thought the green room was big, nothing prepared you for the enormity of the space you walked into.

The suite was easily a thousand square feet. A large stone fireplace divided the sitting area into two sections, groups of overstuffed armchairs framed long leather couches that were arranged on each side. A cheerful fire provided warmth and a soft light to the living space. Another set of large double doors were set into the wall just ahead, massive sheets of glass framed in dark iron leading to a private balcony.

Turning, you noted the room also had a large alcove lined in glass shelves, every conceivable type of liquor arranged within. A wide, six-inch thick slab of oak topped the bar, the dark stain highlighting the natural textures of the wood. 

“Wow, they really get you guys the best huh?” “This some kind of Penthouse?" 

You’d only ever seen rooms like these in magazines and movies - nothing about your salary could afford you a stay in a place like this.

"Yeah, Creation shells out top dollar for Jared and Jensen.” 

Kim said it like it was obvious, but with zero hint of jealousy.

Eyebrows shooting up into your hairline, you were suddenly feeling a little intimidated. 

"I’m pretty sure my entire house would fit in this room alone." 

The sentence was a mumble to yourself, and while everyone had been nothing but welcoming, you were reminded that most of the people around you lived a very different lifestyle.

“Yeah, me too.” “C’mon, let’s go take advantage of that wet bar, shall we?”

A short glass tumbler gripped in your right hand, pomegranate juice and vodka swirled together with edible glitter was mesmerizing. Fancier than you were used to, sure, but delicious all the same. 

“So, you gonna tell me about what’s going on with Chris and Rob or do I have to keep dropping hints and waiting?” Leaning into the edge of the couch on which she sat, Kim sipped her drink, the look on her face stating there was no room for anything but acquiescence.

Shrugging, you went on to tell the woman about the dinner with Chris, and how you’d thought it was just going to be a casual thing. When you mentioned the kiss and how strange it was to have him act like nothing had happened afterwards, you could see she was intrigued. Telling her about how both men kept asking about your relationship with the other, and how Chris had been oddly possessive of you all weekend, you weren’t surprised to hear her laughing by the end.

“Oh, [Y/F/N], they’ve got it bad, don’t they?” “It’s obvious Chris is into you, especially with his behavior. What’s strange is that he’s being so coy about it. See, Rob is good at unintentionally worming his way into your heart. Chris? Not so much. He tells it like it is, I’ve never seen him hint at anything and hope someone will figure out what he means.”

“So, what are you going to do?” When you merely shrugged, she emptied her glass, and, standing from the chair, leaned over to look you in the eyes. Bracing one hand on the edge of the couch, she gave you the best advice she could under the circumstances. 

“You can’t just ignore the issue and hope it’ll magically fix itself. You need to talk to them.” “But hey, have some fun, ya know? This is supposed to be a party - c’mon, do you want another drink?”

Smiling at her frank advice, you realized she was right. You didn’t have to decide anything right this second. In fact, you didn’t have to commit to anything at all. With that thought came some semblance of relief. And suddenly, you decided to worry about potential relationships later and just focus on enjoying your Saturday night.

As midnight came and wore on into early morning, you found yourself wandering out onto the balcony, sweat beading at your temples from the exertion of dancing with the girls. The air was unseasonably warm, a light breeze bringing with it the smell of pine from the trees surrounding the hotel. When the voices inside grew louder for a split second, you turned to see Chris had followed you outside.

“Hey.” A small smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he approached the railing you leaned against. 

“Hey Chris, what’s up?” 

“Apparently we need to have a talk.” Turning to look back over his shoulder, you leaned around his lanky frame to see Kim waving through the window. When the man had turned back to face you, it was to see you rolling your eyes at the woman winking from the other side of the glass.

“Sure Chris, let’s talk.” The several drinks flowing through your bloodstream brought with it a certain bluntness you only possessed during such times.

Crossing arms under your breasts and staring up at the man who’d stopped only a few inches in front of you, you wondered if he’d gotten that close purposely or if, like you, he was a few drinks in and incapable of judging his distance. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. How I have no right to be upset at you for dating Rob…and, you’re right.” “But, I–”

“I know I’m right, Chris - there’s never been an–”

The way the man looked at you just then had the sentence dying on your lips before you could finish the words. Clearly there was more he wanted to say. The smallest drop of moisture landed on your upturned cheek then, several others falling from the sky to land on the fabric of your dress. The breeze picked up then, a gentle gust dancing through the tendrils of your hair, sending the strands playing across your shoulders and back. 

Far from one to let a little rain dissuade you, you returned your attention to Chris, waiting for him to continue. When he stood there staring at you instead of talking, you tried to prompt him.

“But, what Chris?” “You’ve never had a hard time telling me exactly what you’re thinking. I mean, hell, it was your tough love that made me realize I didn’t need anyone’s approval on my work. It’s how I found my style, and it’s how I stopped waiting around for the people in my life to give me their blessing on how I should live in general.”

The moisture fell in heavier drops now, the wetness collecting on your shoulders and staining your dress a red so dark it was nearly black. Brushing the hair from your face, you waited to see if he’d say anything at all, or if he’d simply continue to stare at you.

*****

She was waiting for him to explain himself, and, as he stared down at her, he desperately wished he could. He wanted to be able to tell her that he thought about her all the time. He wanted to be able to tell her that he didn’t like her dating Rob, not because he was a bad man or that he was jealous, but because he desperately wanted to keep her all to himself. And he wanted to tell her that his interest in her had begun that fateful day all those years ago when she’d knocked him flat on his ass. But how did you tell one of your best friends that you were essentially in love with them, especially when she was intrigued by this other man. He knew Rob would be good for her, even if he told her he wasn’t. He wanted to say all of that, and yet, the words simply didn’t come. 

He was un-surprised when she sighed, realizing in that moment that as much as he said they should talk, that he either wouldn’t or couldn’t. Stepping around her friend, she was several feet away when his hand closed around her wrist, spinning the woman back into his very solid chest. Tipping her chin up with one hand, his lips were on hers before she knew how to react.

*****

Tensing, the kiss was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. Your hands exploring his chest as his lips roved over yours. Crushing your body against his warmth, he put all of the words he wanted to say into that kiss. Starting gentle, the intensity deepening with each passing moment, he brought his other hand up to join the first in cradling your face. When he stepped back a few moments later his eyebrows knit together in confusion when you laughed to yourself. 

“If that wasn’t the most cliche thing I’ve ever experienced…” Your eyes were bright with mirth as you tried to explain. Trouble was, that had been some kiss. Truth was, you were a little breathless, and maybe a little wanting more of the same. 

Pulling you into a spine-crushing hug, his scent washed over you again and you inhaled, closing your eyes and just absorbing the moment. With a reluctant sigh, you pulled away. This complicated things. While the two of you still needed to talk, you were pretty sure you knew exactly what he had to say. 

Rejoining the party, it appeared as though people had started drifting off to their own rooms, as the conversations had quieted and broken off into small clusters. Lowering yourself back onto the couch, the flames still crackled along a half-burned log, red embers glowing at their base. 

Looking around the room, you noted Clif laughing with a very inebriated Jensen and Misha. Briana, Kim and Ruth sat across from the pair with their own drinks, the conversation still flowing even as it approached two in the morning. Kicking off your shoes, you curled your feet up under your body, smoothing the dress over your legs. Eyes sliding out of focus as Chris’ kiss replayed in your mind, you startled when a set of calloused hands landed on your shoulders. Rob massaged the tense muscles for a moment before leaning over your shoulder to press a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“Hey beautiful.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TAGS: @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven @natasha-cole

[the-canary]

Irreplaceable - B.B (1/2)

Summary:  It’s not even about not noticing what’s in front of you. At this point, it was plain idiocy on both your parts. (Modern/Childhood AU!Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Prompt: “You know that feeling when you’re not your favourite person’s favourite person, and it kind of feels like you’re constantly swallowing sand?”  

A/N: This is for @writingcroissant 2k writing challenge. hello, people i was in the mood for a trashy cliches so i put them all together and you guys get this. not the best, but enjoy the mess! 

Masterlist

Feedback is always welcomed.

August.

In the summer between elementary and middle school, little James Buchanan Barnes is supposed to move from the only city he has ever known, New York City, to a little no-place on the map called Shelbyville, Indiana. He and his sisters had been told their mother had gotten a large inheritance from her grandaunt (someone they had never met before), things needed to be watched over so they were going back -- little Bucky being reminded that he had been born there, but he didn’t know such a place. All he had ever known was New York -- Brooklyn was where he had spent 10 years playing and learning, it was where Steve was at.

With a hug and Steve’s information safely placed in his luggage, James Barnes and his family make the drive. A sour look on his face the entire time as his sisters seemed excited over the change, but maybe it might be over the fact they might get horses and have seen pictures of the old estate they will be living on -- just like things out of their picture books.

Twelve hours later, he’s in a completely new area -- there is green grass everywhere and tall homes with white fences around them. The new Barnes’ home was painted is dark green hues that mixed in with the large oak woods that surrounded it. The movers are bringing things out, as he looks around in momentary awe compared to the small apartment that cramped in the 6 family members. It’s while he’s looking around that he sees two adults walking up to his parents. George Barnes calls out to all his children to meet their new neighbors.

“This is James, he’s twelve and starting middle school,” his father explains, as he notices something move behind the tall woman as the slightly shorter man speaks.

“Our daughter is the same age!” he declares, as he pulls on the figure and brings her into the spotlight. She gives her name and welcomes the large family. Her eyes meets Bucky’s blue ones and she gives him a nervous smile. Little James’ heart speeds up for a moment before his sisters drag her away into the grassy front lawn.

Bucky Barnes, years later, swears it was love at first sight.    

September.

There is a lack of children on your block before the Barnes came into your life and you happily accept all of them.

For James, it’s like Brooklyn all over again but with you instead of Stevie, though he doesn’t enjoy the fact that he has to share you with his sisters from time to time. You remind him of Stevie (he even shows you the letters the blond sends him) sometimes because while you are quiet, there is a strong core at your center -- you’re stubborn when you want to be and that often leads to small spats here and there when you want to do something (usually something quiet and indoors) and he had something else in mind (something loud and outdoors).

Like tonight, when he knows that he shouldn’t have ditched you for all those new kids he had meet in school. Everyone had ganged up on him as the new kid from New York and Bucky couldn’t say no to the attention, even if it had pushed you away from him -- he only saw your sad face before you disappeared into the main building with a blonde girl, and he couldn’t exactly apologize when you didn’t have any classes together

Clink! Clink!

You hear something tap at your window after dinnertime, while you’re trying your best to finish the math homework that had already been assigned. However, it’s too boring and dreadful that the first noise you hear catches your attention, as you walk over to the window and look out to the joined backyard your family and the Barnes share, that where you see him -- James standing there with handful of rocks in his hand. You frown.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” you huff out feeling all the anger from today raising within, as you call him all the bad words you can think in your 12-year-old head, but Bucky takes it all with a smile and a soft look in his blue eyes. He waits until you stop, out of breathe but much calmer than before.

“I’m sorry,” he says before pulling out a daisy chain, Rebecca probably made it, from his pocket. You stare at him for a long time and he is sure you’re going just ignore him, but you just nod and say okay.

“--But you owe me ice cream,” you say as an afterthought and he can’t help but grin.

The years are spent like that -- James, or as everyone else calls him “Bucky”, going into different cliques here and there -- one day he’s hanging out with the jocks, another he’s with the artists, and let’s not talk about those “alternative” and emo phases he went through, though somehow he always manages to have some of the highest grades in all of the school. James is always trying to find somewhere to belong as his sisters make friends and drift apart with age and you find your own things to be busy with, such as sports and student government. However, at the start of summer there is always that one rock thrown at your window -- all pretenses, false friends, and temporary girlfriends forgotten-- at you ran to your door to see a boyish smile and bright blue eyes.

Every summer you’re temporary James Barnes’ favorite person, and you cling onto that desperately for the rest of the year -- the memories making that nostalgia sweeter as he runs away to play a different person, thus ignoring you entirely.    

Because you’ve known for a long time that he’ll always be yours.

Too bad the winter of your junior year finally makes you see the truth and how stupidly naive you were.

December.

Winter break is a short thing that you usually spent at home, enjoying the winter weather of your hometown by staying inside. You were old enough that your parents let you do your own thing now, as they went to banquets for your father’s affairs and later on the West Coast to visit family. The Barnes usually headed back to New York, though one or two sisters stayed as they got older -- James always went to visit Steve. So in your lonesome, you watch old movies, read anything you can get your hands on, and sleep for hours -- a true teenaged paradise.

Snuggling in your bed fort with some Hot Pockets and old movies until you hear a knock at the door, though due to the time of night you decide to stay in your cave, that’s until you hear that familiar clink, clink. You get up and rush to the window to have a cheeky looking James Barnes looking at you -- wearing a black leather jacket and a lip piercing. You couldn’t help but at admit that it did look in part of that outfit.

“What do ya want, James?” you yell as he lifts his hand to show you a black box, which just confuses you even more, so he decides to explain.

“I need some help dyeing my hair!” he yells back since he knows that you parents aren’t there, though Rebecca and Lizzie are probably at home, though you are wondering why he hadn’t gone to see Steve instead of staying here. He doesn’t wait for your answer, as he is already climbing up that vine wall on the side of your window -- like he had started doing since 8th grade. You yelp as he pushes his way through window.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly as you can’t help but shake your head for the moment. You shake your head before leading him to the bathroom at the side of your room since you know he won’t leave when his mind is already made up on something.

He sits on the toilet seat, taking off his jacket to reveal a short-sleeved band shirt that you aren’t quite so familiar with. He gives you the box as you start reading it. James hums a little tune as you start opening the box.

“So why exactly are you trying to dye your hair again?” you ask remembering the bright red he had for Halloween a few years back for a pretty girl to win a costume contest.

“I lost a bet with some punks in Rumlow’s group,” James shrugs like it’s nothing, as you can’t help but let out a hum of disapproval, while putting on the gloves that come with the box and making sure that everything is ready.        

“Why are you trying to hangout with Rumlow, James?” you ask, as you take the bleach filled container and begin to run it through his hair. He looks up at you for a moment, blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“He’s cool, his parties are pretty wicked too,” he answers back as you frown, only for you to pull his head back down and keep going with the process as described on the back of the box.

“He’s dangerous,” you add, remembering what you had heard of Rumlow’s gang and the things his stepfather was good at hiding due to his connections to the affluent people of the city. It was on open secret and only the rowdy and stupid kind of folk fell into his schemes -- them and Bucky, you try to compromise in your head.  

“Not everything ya daddy says is dangerous is, doll,” he chuckles, pressing his forehead against your shirt and you give silent thanks that it’s an old band shirt instead of  something your mother would kill you over if it got a bleach stain on it. You finish and let him sit there for the color to sink it. You grab a plastic hair net and put it around his head with a smile.  

“Just be safe,” you plea, dragging him up just a little so you can place a kiss on his cheek, “Please.”

You try to go back to a standing position, but a hand on your wrist drags you back. Blue eyes are smoldering with something you had never seen before, at least never in your direction, as he goes from looking at your face and straight at your lips. The air is heavy with anticipation as he bites his bottom lips for a moment, leaning it little by little -- giving you enough room to break this, whatever is happening. However, you looking at his own lips gives him all the motivation he needs to move in until---

There’s a knock and then the welcome yell of your father as your parents come back from their banquet earlier than usual. The moment passes and you’re out the door, to welcome them, as James lets out of curse of defeat, though not exactly sure of what the hell happened and questioning why his heart is racing so fast with you compared to all those other girls he had been with. Bucky knows he needs to leave and process everything that had just happened.  

He goes out through the window of your bedroom, having done it several times before, not knowing that this was the last time you would really talk to each other.

January.

You don’t see James after the bathroom incident since you and your parents had traveled to the West Coast to visit family and work friends. You have long forgotten the incident  and shoved it to the back of your head until the last possible minute when it all comes crashing back to you the night before school starts once more. You think about blond hair, bright blue eyes, and that laughter that never seems to be directed your way and for once it is. And you aren’t sure if you’ll ever be able to forget it.

You want to ask James a lot of things, want to know what he would have done if your parents’ hadn’t come back home earlier than promised, if he felt the same way you did. You’re all sweaty palms and a beating heart on the way to school -- it’s a new semester, but it could also potential lead to something else. You know that you and James hadn’t always had the best relationship, but then what the hell was he doing just about to kiss you?

“Good morning,” Sharon smiles as you enter the building and head to that old familiar locker, “Guess what I heard!”

“What?” you ask with a pitch too high, thinking that your closest friend has found out the only thing you haven’t told her. She raises an eyebrow at your strange attitude before going back to what she was talking about.

“Bucky and Dot eloped!” Sharon squeals like it’s some time of forbidden romance when it’s just two stupid teenagers doing stupid things (as your father would say later on about the event), “Went all the way to Indianapolis, and now their parents are trying to bring them back!”

You remember badly dyed blond hair and bright blue eyes -- and you let it die.

“Good for them, I guess,” you shrug, unable to say anything else. Sharon agrees, deciding not to say anything about your current attitude as the bells rings to signal the start of first period.

February.

James and Dolores come back towards start of the month, embarrassed and guilty with rumors running wild from her being pregnant to money being involved. It’s too crazy for the redhead that her parents eventually send to out of the city, to where you don’t know and James -- well, you don’t care about that. You are too busy with badminton, student council, and your high-level courses. It gets to the point that the counselor tells you that you could graduate a year early.

That wasn’t your plan of action, you wanted to enjoy senior year but you weren’t going to have it be in Shelbyville, as you informed your parents that you wanted to move to the West Coast to live with your favorite aunt -- as a way to prepare yourself for college since all your choices were there.

They agree with your level headedness, though with some rules placed here and there. They make you wait until the start of summer for one and you agree with a sigh. At least it’s only a couple of more months, is all you can think.

March - May.

He swears that he tries talking to you, tries to catch your eye when you’re walking down the hall or when you walking back to the school bus. Bucky is an idiot and he needs to explain a lot of things, but after the incident with Dot, nobody wants to listen to him. His parents barely let him out of their watchful eyes, but he doesn’t blame them. His friends look at him like he’s a different person, unsure of who the real Bucky Barnes is. Hell, he doesn’t know anymore either. The school only lets him back in because of his grades, though the principal watches him and tell him not to run afoul.

His sisters are the only ones that have his back. The only people that listened to his side of the story and it was only until the end, when Rebecca finally talks that he realizes the truth about the whole matter.

“ Jamie, are you in love with our next door neighbor ?” she asks and it was like a firecracker sparked in front of him. He had been in love with you since 6th grade when you walked alongside a very nervous him to school. Even though he pushed you away whenever the spotlight was on him, you were always there with a soft smile on your face waiting in the background, waiting underneath that starry backdrop after he hit your bedroom window with that first rock.

Now, he had lost you. However, Bucky has always been stubborn, especially when it came to you.      

He tries throwing a rock on your window one chilly May morning, he gets no response on the first, second, or third try. On the fourth, he sees something move from the inside. The air in his lungs freeze in anticipation only for his heart to stop instead when he sees the curtains close for the first time in years.

That’s the point that he confirmed that he had lost you.

June.

June marches in without notice as you prep the last bit of your items for the move. Your aunt having already received the major things over the last couple of weeks, now all that was left was a duffel bag and you ready to be sent the airport. All the goodbyes --to Sharon, to the Barnes sisters-- had been said and you were ready to move on and even though the bottom your throat ached at the thought of a certain boy -- you knew you were better than this. You couldn’t be stuck on Bucky Barnes forever.

Your mother gives you a hug and promises to visit you during the annual summer events the company has, as you promise to call her every other day. Your father is waiting in the front seat of the old car as you notice Rebecca Barnes, barely awake and in her pajamas, waiting near her home.

“We’ll miss ya,” she says with a sad smile as you pull her in for a hug. You promise to call or write when you can, but the little hiccup in your voice makes her realize that you are lying -- you’ll cut all ties to be a stronger person, that’s the type of person that she knows that you are. She wants to tell you that her older brother is in love with you, that he’s been a mess since the last time you had seen him.

“Take care of him,” is all you manage to whisper as she lets out a small sob because even with all the hurt you had felt over the years, over these past couple of months -- you still felt something. You just didn’t plan on ever acting up on it. Rebecca wanted to slap both of you over your heads, but it was too late.

She waves as you get into the car and drive away -- it’s like when she and her family first came here to find you. She just never thought she would see the day you would be leaving before them -- you always been a part of their lives and now she could only wonder how they would all deal without you. She gives your mother one last smile before heading back inside. She just didn’t expect to see Bucky waiting for her midway through the staircase, dressed and waiting for something to finally happen. Well, it had -- just not in the way he was expecting it to.

“Becca, why were you outside?” Bucky’s sleepy voice is hopeful from his position on the stairs. Maybe, his younger sister had finally been successful in being the mediator in this rough patch between the two of you. However, that happy thought is soon snuffed out at the sight of her sad blue eyes and scowl.

“I was saying goodbye,” she remarks as Bucky gets confused over her statement, “She left to the airport just now, going to Cali.”

“Like a trip?” Bucky asks. You and your parents had always gone these little trips during winter and summer breaks, which he had always hated since you left him all alone -- now he knew why. Rebecca shakes her head and Bucky’s heart stops.

He curses and hits the wall next to him with all his fury and anguish before heading back to his room. Bucky Barnes goes back and doesn’t come out for the next 3 months -- why would he?

You had taken the golden rays of summer with you and the world became a colorless afterthought.  

Part 2