#and. one of the new students supposedly went to the same school as my friend? who does NOT know i am trans. this should be. something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hugshughes · 2 months

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betty C. Bedard

Connor Bedard x fem!reader

synopsis - senior year starts, and Connor tries to fix everything after you were left torn to shreds after rumors all summer spread through your small town that Connor had a fling with someone all summer. a fling that supposedly began not long after the messy and unclear "end" of your relationship with him.

wc - 5k

contains - based off of Betty so... <\3. but not that bad because it's less James (Connor) being a douche and more teenagers love to spread rumors and misinformation!!!! crying, sadness, anger, shouting :( but also!!!! touching, hugging, kissing, making out a little bit. reader is 17, and her birthday isn't exactly clear but it's in september. Connor is a jealous teenage boy, and reader is a jealous teenage girl <\3. OH also my high school was 4 periods with over 2000 students and home room was just first period??? i know others are obvi different but that's just what im going off of!

an - hai!!! me when i cut lyrics like this when they don't exactly match how im writing the fic >_< i missed u people. i'm very genuinely sorry i've been gone but i genuinely have had one of the best summers of my life. IM SORRY A CHORUS GOT CUT IT WAS GONNA MAKE THIS HAVE TOO MUCH FILLER OKAY I DID THIS FOR US.

betty, i won't make assumptions, about why you switched your homeroom. but, i think it's 'cause of me.

Second day of senior year, you prayed it would be better than the first.

Yesterday, August 27th, you'd walked into homeroom, and your heart had dropped. Connor sat at a table in the back, laughing at something with his friends. Your Connor. You couldn't even call him that anymore. He wasn't yours. Apparently, he was another girl's, now. A girl from your town's rival school, Augustine, or something.

You sat through first period financial literacy with a weight in your chest. You sat at the very front table with a few friends, trying to smile and converse with them. They could tell something was wrong, and when your teacher said Connor's name during attendance they'd realized what.

You went to second period, feeling a bit better. Then, during lunch, you sped to the guidance office, begging your counselor to change your schedule. She was skeptical, having a feeling it had to do with something social, which she didn't believe called for a change. But when she noticed the tears that welled up in your eyes, she just smiled and clicked her mouse a few times, handing you a brand new paper for the classes you'd start the next morning.

To say Connor Bedard noticed you when you came into homeroom yesterday was the understatement of the year. The boy's smile dropped, his eyes locked on your figure as you shrugged your backpack off, smiling at your friend you sat next to. Yes, this class would be his chance to reconnect with you, fix and explain everything.

He walked into day 2 with a plan, a plan to somehow talk to you in first. He sat in the same seat he had yesterday, talking with his friends while his eyes never left your chair. He waited, and waited, and waited for you to walk in. You never did, you were in another classroom, first period AP Spanish, laughing with your best friend as you did icebreakers.

When the bell rang, he stopped the girl you sat next to the day before, awkwardly calling her name. He asked her where you were, and your friend faked confusion while she fought off laughter.

"Oh, she had her schedule switched, she has like Spanish now I think."

He nodded, mumbling a thank you as he swiftly exited the classroom, his friends shouting at him from the doorway.

As the school day went on, your day got significantly better while Connor's did the opposite. He got in his car after the final bell had rung, sitting in silence for just a minute before his friends piled in. Of course they'd all lived in your neighborhood, it being the most common one for your high school.

betty, one time, i was ridin' on my skateboard. when i passed your house, it's like i couldn't breathe.

He dropped them off at their respective homes, turning down your street to exit the neighborhood. He slowed down as he passed your house, your car was already in the driveway, you must've just got home. Last year Connor drove you to and from school almost every day, he missed that.

You two had broken up, if you could even call it that, in late May. The two of you were arguing about something both of you would now call dumb and you'd stupidly blocked his number after an angry phone call. Connor took that as you ending it, you took it as you were sick of arguing and couldn't speak to him in the moment. You were an emotional wreck when Connor had started ignoring you, still believing it was just all stupid misplaced emotions that needed to be talked through. You let him give you the silent treatment, knowing you were both still very upset.

About two weeks later, still nothing was resolved. School had been over for about a week, but you were miserable. Everything went to shit when you were tapping through Snapchat stories one night. One of your mutuals from school had posted a photo of her and her boyfriend, Connor, and another girl sitting next to each other on a bed in the background. They weren't cuddling, but their thighs were touching while they both looked at something on Connor's phone so basically your life was ruined.

You had over a dozen girls send you the story, asking what the fuck had happened. You had to tell them and yourself that you were broken up.

you heard the rumors from inez, you can't believe a word she says most times. but this time it was true.

It was extremely embarrassing for you once people that you barely even knew were telling others your business.

Connor knew he was royally fucked whenever a random girl he knew you were friends with had come up to him at a party during the summer and asked him about Augustine.

"Is she your new girlfriend?"

"What? No. I don't have a girlfriend."

"That's not what she thinks."

He almost asked who, but he knew who she was talking about. You. Everything was you. He couldn't get you out of his mind no matter how hard he had tried.

the worst thing that i ever did, was what i did to you.

Augustine didn't mean anything to him. His friend had tried to set him up with her because of how sad he'd been. But, he didn't have eyes for anyone but you, so she was just a friend of his.

All summer, he'd tried to find ways that put you two in the same place at the same time. Your town's annual Fourth of July fireworks? You were at the beach with family. Your mutual friend's huge 17th birthday bash? You were at young life camp with friends. The one time it could've worked was when you hosted a party, it was an open invite, but of course, it was the weekend Connor had his biggest hockey camp of the summer. It's like the universe wanted him miserable.

but if i just showed up at your party, would you have me?

You tried to erase Connor from your mind, but it was too hard. Living in a town where everything reminded you of the blonde boy sucked. And even if you were gone, you couldn't get away from him online, either. He was the guy to be watching for next year's NHL Draft. He was amazing, but he was also a very young and socially dumb boy.

You and Connor had gotten together towards the end of freshman year. It'd been about a month since your two year anniversary when the whole miscommunication and breakup took place. He was your first boyfriend, and you were his first girlfriend. Everyone at school knew about you two, even the people who didn't know you at all. It wasn't because you two were grossly comfortable with PDA at 8 am on a Wednesday.

You two weren't at all comfortable with your relationship being too on display to anyone, but the small and subtle things that made people silently root for the two. People saw just how you looked at each other, and how your moods changed with and without each other. They watched you two together at every event. Saw you as the loudest girl in the student section at hockey games. It was just sweet.

would you want me?

Connor was fucked. Although he couldn't confirm it, he was convinced your disappearance from first period was due to his presence. You changed your schedule to get away from him, that's how much he'd hurt you.

would you tell me to go fuck myself?

He wondered what you'd do if he just showed up at your house, or came up and asked to talk to you at school. Would you tell him to fuck off? Would you agree to talk, and listen to his apologies?

or lead me to the garden? in the garden, would you trust me, if i told you it was just a summer fling?

Connor had to speak with you, he couldn't contain himself any longer. When the final bell rang he sat in his car and waited for his friends, driving them home, through your neighborhood once again. He passed your house, only your car was in the driveway. He parked on the street, closing his car door gently behind him as he trekked up your driveway and to the front door.

He knocked softly, stepping back a few feet to wait. After thirty seconds the door opened a third of the way, your body coming into view. You were already in comfy clothes, you hated when your outside clothes touched your bed, Connor remembered. Your eyes widened, your brain sending panic signals through your body, your limbs freezing up.

"Oh my God. Uh, hi?"

You had no clue why Connor would be standing awkwardly on your front porch at 2:38 pm on a Tuesday.

"Hey. You can tell me to fuck right off and I will but, can we like, talk?"

i'm only seventeen, i don't know anythin'. but, i know i miss you.

You blinked a few times, the words taking a moment to register. Connor wanted to talk to you? About what? Did he need real closure after all the dumb shit that happened between you?

"Oh, yeah, sure. Come in."

You led him to your room, you weren't sure why you didn't just go to the living room, silently cursing yourself halfway up the stairs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Was it clean? Were there clothes on the floor? You were now mortified by the idea of Connor seeing a bra on your bedroom floor, something that wouldn't have crossed your mind five months ago.

Your room was fine, only some socks and a sweatshirt on the ground. You sat in the cushy chair in your corner, pulling your knees to your chest. Connor sat cautiously on the end of your bed, he was always the one person you'd let wear outside clothes on your bed because you didn't care as long as he was laying with you.

It was eerily silent for a few moments before Connor spoke up, your head snapping to him.

"Um, I've been wanting to talk for a really long time, seriously."

You nodded, your eyes leaving his, the air too tense.

"Me too."

Connor's eyes widened at that, seriously? You wanted to talk to him? That was what he'd been hoping for months.

"I can't really think of a better way to say this but, uh. I miss you, a fuckin' lot. And I know I royally fucked up but I really just want you in my life. I hate the tension and the fuckin' like, uncertainty between us."

What? You were so confused. He missed you? But you had people all damn summer nothing but happy to fill you in on all of the Connor and Augustine news. Connor took your silence as you expecting more from him, so he filled it.

"And I know that everything that happened was because I was being a jealous asshole. I'm really sorry and I will show you that."

betty, i know where it all went wrong. your favorite song was playing from, the far side of the gym.

Ah, yes, the fight that ruined it all. See, in May, Connor and the Regina Pats were fighting through the playoffs, and he had one of the biggest games of the season on the night of prom. It was your first prom, and you'd been so excited to go with your boyfriend, so you can imagine the disappointment when he told you he wasn't going to be able to make it. You were crushed, to say the least, and sulked the entire time.

i was nowhere to be found, i hate the crowds, you know that.

The only few minutes you had fun the whole night was when a group of your friends had gotten you to dance after hours of begging, and a photo was taken of you with an arm innocently and extremely appropriately around a guy friend of yours' shoulders. It was platonic, even another girl friend of yours was on the other side of him and had her arm over yours.

It was really not a big deal, but Connor had seen it and was extremely jealous, and felt guilty. He was envious but also beating himself up over not being there.

plus, i saw you dance with him.

"Connor, that wasn't all your fault. I was a crazy bitch and blocked you, even if it was for like forty minutes. I shouldn't have done that, it was stupid. All of it."

He nodded, both of you unsure of what to say next.

you heard the rumors from inez. you can't believe a word she says, most times. but this time, it was true.

"And, I don't know if you care or not. But, I know all sorts of people have been saying stuff about me and Augustine. I promise you that I hung out with her that one time with Adam and hated it. I told her that and we were just kind of friends I guess. I only saw her one other time all summer. I wasn't already moving on from you, 'm still not."

He'd be the death of you, you were sure of it. Did he know how badly you needed to hear that? Even if you were skeptical if it was true when it first came from his mouth, the moment of silent eye contact between you two spoke volumes. He wouldn't lie to you, he was the most honest person you ever knew.

"I think it's stupid for us not to be friends, Connor. We were best friends before and while we dated. I miss that with you."

the worst thing that i ever did, was what i did to you.

You also missed kissing him, and cuddling, and whispering sweet nothings, and holding hands under the table at dinner.

You might as well have dangled Connor's heart on a string in front of him then decided to stomp on it. Friends. That would have to be how it was, he knew he couldn't have none of you, and some of you would always be better than none of you.

"That'd be really good."

You both smiled, although in your minds you both wanted more, you were too scared to say it. You stood up, Connor right after. You just looked at him close up for the first time in a while and sighed happily. You hugged him without caution, arms around his waist and face in his chest. His came around your shoulders, squeezing tightly if only for a few seconds before you let go of what had to be a friendly hug.

You both walked downstairs, Connor opening the front door and stepping onto your porch.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Connie."

"Yeah, okay."

You shut the door with a smile, immediately freaking out as Connor did the same on the other side. You had no desire to be only friends with Connor, but it was the safest route to having him in your life without getting hurt.

i was walkin' home on broken cobblestones.

Connor sat in his car, staring through the windshield. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. He finally had his favorite girl back in his life, but not the way he wanted. That would have to be enough though, some of you would always be better than none of you.

He snapped back into it when he realized he'd been parked outside your house for multiple minutes and drove off. He went home and then later to hockey practice, and you never left his mind.

just thinkin' of you when she pulled up, like a figment of my worst intentions.

The next day at school you smiled at Connor in the hallway. He was teased for the rest of the day by his friends at the blush he possessed after it happened.

For the next month or so, you two danced around each other. You talked often and hung out together in group settings. At school, you'd talk and laugh, all of your friends demanding they could tell you were still in love. The both of you would insist that you were now just friends and happy about it, even though both of you were yearning to be so much more than that.

she said, "james get in, let's drive." those days turned into nights. slept next to her,

Your birthday was approaching, your 18th. You insisted you wanted something small, a dinner party with your favorite people. You'd invited over a dozen of your friends, receiving RSVPs of yes from all of them. There was still one more blonde boy you wanted to ask, though.

When the final bell rang, you ran out of school like every other teen with a car. Instead of going to yours, you found yourself walking up to Connor's black jeep, one you were oh so familiar with. He was on his phone but noticed you immediately as you were walking up.

He rolled his window down, a grin gracing his face.

"Hey, what's up?"

You lent your elbow against the window sill, resting your cheek against your hand.

"So, my birthday's on Saturday, and I'd really like if you came. It's just a small dinner party at my house, nothing crazy. You might be the only guy attending but I'd love if you could make it. I totally get if you can't though, it's a bit short notice."

Connor's eyebrows raised in shock. You wanted him at your birthday? This felt more intimate between the two of you than any other moment in the past couple weeks. Connor wasn't gonna let you down like he had at prom.

"I'll be there. Can't wait."

Connor wished he didn't love how your eyes instantly brightened, the corners crinkling to match the grin on your face.

"Great, awesome. I'll see you there Connie."

You brushed your hand over his shoulder as you said bye and turned to trek to your parking spot.

"Yeah, bye. I lo-"

I love you. Connor cut himself off before he could say he loved you. Holy shit, why did he almost say he loved you? He prayed you couldn't hear it, the way you kept walking didn't make it look like you did, but he couldn't see your face.

Your jaw dropped, hearing the first two syllables out of his mouth before he caught himself. Oh my God, Connor almost just told you he loved you. You kept on to your car, waiting until you were alone to freak out. Of course, you'd said it all the time while dating, but he hadn't told you that in months, you assumed he didn't feel that way about you anymore.

Connor had told you he couldn't wait for your party, and it was the truth. He had never been a patient boy, and waiting to see you all day on Saturday had him fidgety. He was wearing jeans and a navy Ralph Lauren quarter-zip, a white t-shirt peeking out from the unzipped section. He was wearing his cleanest sneakers and held a small gift bag in one hand, flowers in the other.

betty, i'm here on your doorstep. and, I planned it out for weeks.

He knocked on your door at 7:02, having been sitting in his car outside your house since 6:57, telling himself he could do this. You opened the door quickly, a gorgeous smile on your face. Your eyes widened when you saw what was in Connor's hands, wrapping your arms around his neck in what was too close to be a friendly hug. He wrapped his arms around you, careful to not dishevel the flowers.

"Hey, Connor. Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it. Happy birthday."

You pulled away after what felt like not long enough, leading Connor inside. He handed you the flowers, a moment of tension between you. Your mother greeted him, hugging him and taking the flowers from you to put in a vase.

Connor was first to arrive, followed shortly by your best friend, who silently made fun of you for how flustered you were. Everyone was in your house by 7:18, and you talked and mingled until around 8 when you decided it was time to eat. You sat next to Connor at your big dining table, earning a few teasing looks from your girl friends.

Dinner lasted a while, everyone talking and laughing. A little over an hour passed by before your mom came through the entrance of the room, holding a stand with a cake, 18 golden candles stuck in the pink and white frosting. Everyone sang as you awkwardly laughed. You closed your eyes and wished for Connor, he was all you could think of. You blew your candles out and everyone cheered, clapping and laughing.

You hung out for a while with everyone, another hour and a half passing before people's curfews started falling. Of course, Connor was the last person there, he'd always been the last one there when everyone else had gone.

but, it's finally sinkin' in.

You two sat on the couch, still awfully close even though everyone else was gone.

"You gonna open your gifts?"

You turned and looked at the small pile of boxes and bags, shrugging.

"My mom always said it was rude to open gifts in front of my guests."

"Am I just a guest to you?"

You laughed, shaking your head. You stood and grabbed all the gifts, laying them on your coffee table before you began opening things. Every gift was thoughtful and sweet, you left things in specific piles so you knew what to thank people for later. Connor's gift was last, and his stomach twisted when you grabbed the bag.

betty, right now is the last time, i can dream about what happens when, you see my face again.

Shit, this was when he was gonna tell you everything. You pulled at the neatly placed tissue paper, you could tell Mrs. Bedard had helped Connor out. The first piece came out and you saw the envelope sitting on the side of the bag. You grabbed it and Connor gently grabbed your wrist.

the only thing i wanna do,

"Can you read it after? I wanna see your reaction before."

"Okay."

Your eyebrows scrunched, but you didn't think too much of it. You pulled out the next piece of tissue paper and your jaw dropped. A small teal box sat wrapped in a bow. The color was unmistakable, the bow too. You looked up at Connor with wide eyes, already feeling tears prick your waterline.

"Connor you didn't."

is make it up to you.

"You don't even know what I did. Look at it."

You grabbed the box, pulling it out and gently untying the bow. You slip the lid off the box, your assumption proved correct, a beautiful white gold necklace lying pretty and perfect in the box. Two heart-shaped white gold pendants hung down, shiny and polished to perfection. Your eyes watered, no one had ever done something so kind for you.

"Connor, I can't even accept this. 'S too much."

"Well I'm not gonna wear it, and I'm not returning it either."

You lightly examined the necklace, light reflecting on the second heart causing something to catch your eye. You held the box closer to your face, squinting for just a second before your eyes widened. There was a small 98 engraved in the heart, your jaw dropping slightly.

so i showed up at your party. yeah, i showed up at your party.

"I've had it since June. I'd tried to order it for our two years but it took forever to ship."

You couldn't help but set the small box down and throw your arms around Connor, a huff of surprise leaving him at the impact. His arms wrapped around you, squeezing tightly.

"I love it, I love you."

You took a leap of faith as you pulled back just slightly and kissed your ex-boyfriend. His arms around you tightened, kissing back immediately. Your hands held his face as you kissed fervently. You were practically pulled into Connor's lap by the time you pulled away to catch your breath, chest heaving as you stared at each other. Connor grinned, extremely happy his girl was back in his arms.

yeah, i showed up at your party.

"I love you."

You giggled and leaned your forehead against his shoulder, still taking in what had just happened.

"Missed you so much."

You turned your head and left a kiss on his neck in response, your boy was back in your arms.

"Missed you more. You don't even know."

"I do know, all summer fuckin' sucked."

"Yeah! And your ass had dating rumors two weeks after we 'broke up'!"

"The key word there is rumors."

You both laughed, Connor kissing you again. You both smiled and giggled into the kiss, tingles running through your bodies.

"Hey, sweetheart! Did everyone leave?"

Your mom had gone upstairs to bed after cake, you thought she'd be asleep by now. You shushed Connor's giggling, pushing yourself off his lap and pulling him up with you.

will you have me?

"Almost mom! Connor's still here, he's leaving soon!"

"Alright, well goodnight you two!"

You both called goodnight to her, turning and smiling at each other.

"I guess that was you demanding I leave."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and pecking him a few times.

"Shut up! If I had only said that you were still here she'd probably be down here in her pajamas making sure we aren't getting at it on my couch."

Connor just laughed, kissing you again. You two sat back down and just sat together for a while. You both had missed just existing together so much. It was nearing midnight when Connor told you he had to go.

"I have practice at like 6 tomorrow."

"Connor! You're only gonna get like five hours of sleep. Go home."

He stood up, pulling you with him. You walked him out, very quietly opening the front door. Connor's arms wrapped around you again as you stood on the front porch of your home. You laid your head in the curve of his neck with your arms wrapped around his shoulders. You stood in silence for a few moments, before you interrupted the quiet.

"You know what I wished for?"

"No. What'd you wish for?"

"You."

will you kiss me on the porch, in front of all your stupid friends?

He grinned, kissing you sweetly. He held your face as your hands gripped at his quarter-zip. After a few moments, you pulled away, giggly and drunk in love. You didn't know but your Ring Doorbell was catching the whole thing on camera.

You two stood on your porch talking until ten after midnight when you cursed at yourself and insisted Connor needed to go get some rest.

"Walk me to my car?"

"Fine, princess."

if you kiss me, will it be just like i dreamed it?

He failed to fight his laughter as he told you to shut up. You held hands as you walked down your driveway, Connor's jeep parked on the side of the road.

Connor leaned you back against the driver's door and kissed you real good. You almost forgot it was nearing 12:20 am and you were in the middle of your street making out with your technically still ex-boyfriend.

will it patch your broken wings? i'm only seventeen, i don't know anything. but i know i miss you.

You snapped back to reality and pulled away from Connor.

"You need to stop kissing me while I'm trying to get you to go home."

He climbed into his jeep, rolling down the window and leaning his arms against the window frame. As much as you wanted him to go home and get some sleep, you also loved and missed him too much to give up this moment.

"You love it, though."

standin' in your cardigan.

You rolled your eyes and sighed playfully, tilting your head and giving him a smile.

"Might be a crazy question but are we together now?"

"We were never broken up in my mind."

"Cut the poetic shit Bedard. Am I your girlfriend or not?"

He laughed, that was his girl.

"You wanna be?"

You gave him a legitimate eye roll that time, he just laughed again.

"Yes, you're my girlfriend and I'm your boyfriend."

"Perfect, awesome. Have an amazing night. I will text you tomorrow morning whenever I wake up. Which is not gonna be around 5:30 like you."

He groaned thinking of morning practice but was back to smiling at you in less than a moment. You leaned forward, kissing him one more time.

kissin' in my car again. stopped at a streetlight.

You pulled back with a sleepy smile, your whole heart content.

"I love you, Connor."

"I love you."

“Drive safe.”

Connor watched you all the way up the driveway and into your house, waiting a few extra seconds for you to lock the door before he sped home.

Once you closed and locked the door, you were smiling and giggling to yourself. You put on your new necklace and cleaned up from your party.

The two of you slept soundly, you knowing you finally had your person back, and wouldn't lose him again anytime soon. Connor would've been okay with 20 minutes of sleep if that's how long you kept him. His girl was finally his again, and he wasn't going to lose her again.

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l0ves1ckf0ol · 2 years

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hiii! could u write a fic where reader and xavier are best friends and one day she notices those scratches on his neck so decides to ask him about it, but he snaps at her and they start fighting, and he says stuff he doesnt mean like he tells her that she's annoying cus she never leaves him alone blahlbah she feels bad then she leaves and after a few days they finally talk again and he apologizes and they kiss 😝

TALK | xavier thorpe x gn!reader

"y/n, please let's talk."

note: ill do you one better anon, theyre in a relationship now.

ever since wednesday addams made an appearance to the school, xavier acted strange. you for sure noticed that he has been hanging out more at the shed rather than with you, was it because of her? you were never the type to be jealous but ever since that girl enrolled this semester you couldn't shake off the feeling of how she unconsciously has a choke hold on your boyfriend.

it's been a couple days since you've visited the shed, there he was working away on a piece of art, hair tied up in a bun, eyebrows knitted together in a frown. he usually enjoys art, this was the first time you've seen him troubled. there was a unique pattern in the shed, supposedly. it appears that he has painted, sketched and created the same creature in different angles. you were beginning to think there's more to the story than wednesday herself. xavier wasn't the type to communicate unless asked to, so you did.

"what are you doing here?" his frown deepened, you hum, folding your arms. "you tell me, mr. thorpe. you haven't answered my calls, texted or even waited for me at the quad so i can walk you here." you told him, the tension rising as he puts his brush down. once he fully turns toward you, the cheep light bulb of the shed illuminates 3 small scars on his neck. you frowned, taking a step forward as you grab his chin to face another way to make the scar more exposed and visible to you. your hand falls to the side, "care to explain?" you ask him, raising an eyebrow. "look y/n, it's no big deal-"

you didn't listen to him at this point, no big deal? he wasn't even spending so much time with you, he was always chasing that interesting new student and now when you try and make things a little more clearer you find scratches on his neck. what part of a no big deal was that.

"xavier. you have been following that pigtailed magnet for trouble, i went here to talk to you about it, and see you've painted the same monster in about 13 artworks, and a scar on your fucking neck. please be honest with me and do not say that it's not a big deal. it is when you ignore your partner and run off in your tiny little shed rather than express your feelings towards me lately- hell you didn't even bother to let me walk you here." you ramble, silencing him in a heartbeat. frustration was evident in your face and xavier looks like he won't back down so fast.

"y/n, i already told you it's not serious. i'm fine. really. just-"

you scoff, the shed shivering and the groand grumbling, a sign of your anger. but you decided that there was a better time to destroy his shed, just not now. you took a deep breath and the rumbling stopped, "you wanna play this game xav? i'll beat you fucking to it." you mutter leaving the shed, slamming the wooden gate behind you, the temptation to let the earth swallow him for you was insane.

for the past few days not only you were avoiding him but also ignoring xavier's texts and calls, like what he was doing to you in the past days before. xavier huffs in frustration as he redialed your phone number for about 30 times now, he wanted to make things right, he misses you. he for sure didn't want to break your relationship just because of a stupid monster haunting his dreams. at the 34th time, you answered. he got up from his bed, "y/n? please let's talk." he mutters to the phone, knowing just how to make you surrender.

"where baby?" you answer, xavier would like to thank the heavens for your voice, he was so glad to hear you, with a sigh of relief he told you to meet him at his dorm.

once you arrived at his dorm, you knocked once and he already opens it. "y/n, i'm so so so so sorry about everything. lots of shit has been happening ever since wednesday arrived and i-i dont want that to ruin what we have." he tells you, his tone so desperate you'd think that your relationship was on thin ice and he was coming to rescue it. you wrap your arms around his shoulder and embraced him, inhaling his scent and hearing him breathe. you wouldn't admit it but you missed him too.

you pull away and you both sat down on his bed, he talks about everything. how wednesday shows up everywhere and how she was suspicious that he might be the creature rather, the- hyde. you listened to him, as the way he talks just makes you feel relieved. his eyes were darting every single corner in the room out of anxiety, so you placed a hand on his, rubbing the back of his palm with your thumb. once he finished, you smile at him. "see? it wasn't that hard was it?" you told him, caressing his cheek with your other hand. you lay down on his bed and he falls next to you, head burying into your shoulder and chest, his arms sneaking their way around your waist, "i missed you so much, i love you." xavier mumbled, you sigh in content, placing a peck on his head, "i love you too." you whisper as he cranes his neck backward to take a look at you, then your lips finally meet his, a warmth made its way in your body, feeling the most satisfactory relieg in human history.

#gn reader #xavier thorpe x reader #xu's fics #xavier thorpe x gn reader #xavier thorpe #wednesday addams netflix #xavier x you

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woniechronicles · 1 year

Text

mystery boy

context: the same man always shows up at your job during the week. comes at the same time, leaves right before closing. he doesn’t speak much, not until your one closing shift, that is.

pairings: shy student, figure skater! sunghoon x g.n. reader

word count: 3.3k

a/n: not proofread

every thursday to sunday night was the same: doing school work behind the counter of your minimum wage job at your local ice skating rink. people came and went, some regulars, some school field trips, some who come in every now and then to hang out with their friends. but there was one man who came in, supposedly, everyday to practice his skills. on your shifts, he would come in every day at the same time: 5PM. then he would leave at closing time and come back the very next day at the same time and do it all over again. every so often he would bring a friend or two but very rarely would he do so- maybe once or twice a month at most.

every so often you would peek through the glass and scan the ice rink. he always stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the families and younger crowd, even those who you assumed were his age. the way he moved so elegantly across the ice looked effortless to him, but when you imagined yourself even attempting to pull off a move such as one of his you knew you would fall flat on your ass within a matter of seconds. but you never lingered for long, your attention moving back to your school work or one of the other customers.

according to your coworkers, he doesn’t say much. everyone’s curiosity is strong with him in particular, especially the younger women who attempt to send him flirty eyes his way but are met with blank stares. even your manager elli, who co-owns the rink with her husband, has tried sparking up conversations with him before. but from what you’ve been told, he just answers in one word or short sentences with dead ends. half of the staff think of him as an asshole while some think of him as just shy or mysterious. you, on the other hand, didn’t care much to ponder about him.

during the last hour of work, elli comes in from the manager's office in a hurry with her purse and a worried look on her face that starts to match yours. “my granddaughter is in the hospital, i have to leave for the night.” she says in a rush, quickly looking around to make sure shes gathered all her items.

“will she be okay?” you ask, eyes widened with concern.

she nods, getting out from behind the counter and standing in front of you as she rummages through her purse for her car keys. “she’s fine, just a broken arm. but i’m still worried.” finally finding her keys, she turns to look at you. “would you mind closing up for the night?”

you shake your head, motioning for her to leave. “not at all, i got it covered. now go, i got everything covered, don't worry.” you smile at her reassuringly as she mouths a ‘thank you’, rushing out the door and leaving to her duties as a grandmother.

the next hour was slow, people were leaving and no new customers came within the last hour. every so often people would come to the counter next to for free hot chocolate as they left and said goodnight, but that was about it. five minutes before closing, you noticed the mystery skater still trying to nail a spin he’s been attempting for the past thirty minutes. normally he would be getting ready to leave by now, but he was still stuck on the move. being the only two in the rink, you decide to start locking the doors of the lobby and putting away any skates laying around as you allow him the extra time. by the time you finish cleaning up the lobby, it’s ten minutes after closing and he’s still going at it.

you quickly move into the manager's office and turn off the music to signal him it’s time to wrap up. once the music stops, he snaps back into reality and realizes that it’s probably closing time. walking off the rink, he moves towards the lobby and his eyes catch the time. he looks over at you with an apologetic look, rushing to take everything off so as to not inconvenience you.

chuckling, you start to pack your items up as you speak to him. “it’s okay, you don’t have to hurry.” you glance up at him, realizing he was already putting his sneakers on. “i gave you extra time since you looked like you needed some. it’s okay.”

you hear him mumble a quick ‘thank you’ before grabbing his bag and walking towards the door. before you could warn him that the doors were locked, you see him walk straight into the door as they don’t open for him. quickly covering your hand with your mouth with a gasp, you begin to walk towards him.

“are you okay?” you ask concerned, his head tilted downwards in embarrassment. “i was going to warn you but you walk really fast.”

he nods as he rubs his forehead. “i’m okay, sorry about that.”

shaking your head, you rush to grab your bag from the counter and the keys to lock up. “it’s fine, don’t apologize. as long as you’re okay that’s what matters.” you unlock the door and motion for him to walk out, following behind him as he does so.

as you lock up the doors you expect to hear him walk away, but in the corner of your eye you can see him standing still. as you finish locking every door, you turn around and see him looking at you blankly.

quickly realizing how creepy he was seeming, he speaks up for him. “sorry, i just realized it’s dark out and since it seems to be only you i didn’t want you to walk through the parking lot by yourself.”

you nod, smiling politely at him as you make your way towards your car. sure this man seemed harmless, just an awkward person, but you also were cautious. looking around the lot, you notice only one car in the lot. “where’s your car?”

he points at the bus stop across the lot, then realized you probably couldn’t see him motion towards it and mentally slapped himself. “i take the bus. my car is in the shop right now.” noticing his bus in the distance, he starts jogging to catch it but not before yelling to get some safe.

you watch as he gets on the bus, taking a seat in the back near the window. he takes his headphones out of his bag and slips them on, turning to his phone as the bus pulls off. from inside your car, you start to wonder about the awkward guy more.

xxxx

the next day is the same. you arrive at three, clock in, and begin doing your everyday tasks before sitting behind the counter and checking people in in between your class work. at five is when a taller figure approaches the counter, the voice deep and familiar.

“sorry again about yesterday.” he says, his deep voice causing your head to shoot up.

it’s him again, like clockwork. you shake your head in disagreement, taking the money that he slid on the counter and getting ready to give him his change back. “don’t apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for.” taking the change from the drawer, you start to count it over to make sure it’s the right amount. “i’m just glad you’re okay. and thank you for walking me to my car, i appreciate it.”

he holds out his hand for the change, taking it as you place the quarters and dimes in his rather large hands. you notice a shy smile on his face as he says ‘anytime’, a dimple popping out as he makes his way towards his signature locker and slips on his skates. you didn’t notice, but as you continued on with your work he kept glancing at you. he was curious about you, more than you were curious about him.

throughout the night, you would glance the mystery man’s way at times to see him practicing the same move as last night. occasionally he would move onto a different one, but not spending more than a couple of minutes on it and then going back to the previous one. as the last hour closed in, almost everyone seemed to leave except for him. just like the previous night, you allowed him to stay past time. you allowed him to finish up his move until you cleaned everything up, then turning off the music at fifteen minutes past closing to signal him it’s time to leave.

you see him let out a sigh, walking off of the ice and to the lobby to change back into his sneakers. as you shove your books into your bag, he goes to grab the lobby door until he realizes it’s locked again. looking up at the clock, he realizes the time and looks at you as you close everything up.

“you didn’t have to do that again, i-“

“feel bad?” you interrupt, turning around from locking up the skates to unlock the lobby door and let him through. “it’s fine, really. you get extra time to practice and i’m able to clean up everything. it’s a win-win situation.”

as he steps out, he sees his bus pull away and lets out a sigh. looking in his direction, you see a bus pull away and look at him. “was that your bus?” you question. when he nods, you automatically feel terrible. “i’m so sorry, i can give you a ride home? if you’d like? or does that make you uncomfortable? i’m so sorry that wasn’t my intention-“

he lets out laughter as he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “it’s okay, i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. i can just call an uber or something-“

“no no! let me drive you, it’s okay. just don’t kill me or anything and there won’t be an issue.” locking up the doors, you make sure it’s all secure and grab your car keys. as you look up at him apologetically, you start to plead more. “i’m so sorry i swear i was just trying-“

“it’s okay, it’s okay. if i accept your ride offer will you feel better?” seeing you nod, he smiles and agrees to the ride. the smile on your face makes his heart flutter, following beside you to your car.

the walk to the car is quiet as you rush to open the doors. you don’t know if he has a curfew or if his parents are expecting him so you don’t want to be the reason he gets in trouble. or if he even had plans and he could be missing or be late to them- that was your main worry. he notices you became quiet but says nothing, just slips into the passenger side and puts on the seatbelt as you begin to pull away.

as you wait for your turn onto the street, you ask him where he lives. “i’ll guide you.” is all he says as he tells you where and when to turn. the entire time you’re praying he doesn't take you to some creepy road with a malicious plan but as you turn down a road with large houses accompanied by even bigger pools with waterfalls, that negative cloud dissipates. when he says “here”, you pull into an empty driveway of a large home. it wasn’t a mansion, but it was definitely bigger than the studio apartment you were renting and even bigger than your childhood home. through the metal fence you can see a pool and a hot tub, both empty but very obvious.

noticing your awe expression, he chuckles and unbuckles his seatbelt. “thanks for the ride- i’m sorry i don’t know your name, i feel like i should.”

breaking out of your curiosity daze, you turn to him. “y/n. what’s yours, rich boy?” you tease, the smile on your lips playful.

his nose scrunches as he smiles, opening the door as he throws his legs over the door frame. “sunghoon. it’s nice to officially meet.”

xxxx

for the next week, a routine builds up between you two. he comes in at five, stays till after closing, and you drive him home. gradually you begin to learn more of each other. you learn how he’s practicing to become a professional figure skater while also taking a few college courses at the university across town to earn a degree in radiology. although still soft spoken, you can tell he’s opened his shell to you a bit.

during the week you can’t help but wonder how he is. while in classes, your mind wanders on how his classes are and if he’s learned this new spin he recently told you he wanted to learn. once thursday finally arrives again, you happily wait around for 5PM and smile up at sunghoon as he enters with his one friend you see every so often.

“long time, no see.” he speaks first, smiling at you as his friend just watches the interaction.

you greet his friend as well with a smile, taking his payment and giving him the remainder of the change. “you don’t need a ride tonight?”

he shakes his head as he puts the change in his wallet, telling his friend to start getting ready with his skates. “not tonight. but hey,” he looks around as he builds up courage for his next sentence. “i got my car back from the shop the other day and wanted to offer you a ride home tomorrow, if you’re okay with that. just, as a thank you for the past week.”

you nod, your smile widening. “sure, i don’t mind. thanks, sunghoon.”

throughout the night, whenever you looked over at sunghoon he was already looking over at you. when your eyes locked, he’d look away with a shy smile before following his friend around the rink. at the end of the night, sunghoon and his friend left right as elli was closing for the night and he waved goodbye to you.

when elli locked the doors, she turned to you with a curious grin. “what?” you said, holding back a smile from her. you knew where she was headed, but you didn’t want to give her the details just yet.

“are you seeing the mystery boy?” she asks in a teasing tone as she cleans up the empty cups and sprawled about napkins off the floor.

you shake your head, stuffing your items in your bag quickly before doing your closing routine. “not really. i’ve just been giving him rides and we’ve been bonding, i guess. just friendly stuff.”

she scoffs, making you turn your head to her direction. “not with the way he looks at you.” you raise a brow at her, motioning for her to continue her sentence. “the way he smiles at you from across the rink is telling enough. take it from me, i would know.”

you take her word for it but don’t ponder on it until your drive home. does he really look at you a certain way? does he really smile a lot around you? regardless, you try to not think too much about it but can’t help but imagine his face when you close your eyes. as you’re drifting to sleep, you can’t help but look forward to tomorrow.

xxxx

today you even finished your coursework early, meaning all you did was study and occasionally procrastinate. when five o’clock rolled around, in strolled sunghoon with his skates by himself this time. his face lit up upon seeing you, his nose scrunching up in this adorable way that causes his dimples to pop out at you. you would be lying if you said it didn’t cause a butterfly to flutter around in your stomach, especially after your conversation with elli last night.

“hey stranger.” you say, returning his smile. “fancy meeting you here.”

he hands you his money, chuckling at your greeting. “yeah the outside caught my attention so figured why not.” as you hand him his change, you lock eyes for a few moments before he continues. “the cutie behind the counter drew me in a bit, too.”

the blush spreading across your cheeks catch his attention, mentally making a note to flirt with you more. “just a bit?” you retort, catching him off guard.

“more than a bit, actually.” is the last thing he says before walking over to his locker and getting ready for the evening.

as the night comes to a close, elli leaves early again to attend to her granddaughter again since she is still healing from her injury. five minutes before closing and everyone is gone except you two, so you close up the lobby again and begin cleaning. but before you can turn off the music, sunghoon walks in and begins helping you clean up the empty cups and trash around the waste bin. when you notice this, you begin to protest but he shoo’s you away, insisting he helps you since you help him. you let him continue because at the end of the day, who are you to object to extra help? you both take your time cleaning, just talking with one another.

“how’s your routine coming along?” you ask as you clean up the last of the lobby, putting away the skates as sunghoon finally changes out of his own. “from what i saw it looks like it’s coming along great.”

“you’re watching me skate while at work?” he asks, making you glance at him with a grin. “how creepy.”

you laugh, throwing an empty paper cup at him as you come out from behind the counter with your bag on your shoulder. “and you stare too much.”

leaning against the counter, you watch as he grabs his bag and starts walking towards you. “it’s not my fault you’re so pretty.” he comments, making you roll your eyes with a tint of blush appearing on your cheeks.

you both are just mere inches apart, eyes staring into one another’s as the silence drowns out the world around you. his hand brushes against yours for a moment, sending a shiver up your spine as his eyes gaze from your eyes to your lips then back to eyes once more. taking this into notice, you do the same as to reciprocate his feelings. and luckily enough, he understands. bringing his hand up to your cheek, he cups it with a shy grin and leans his forehead against yours. bodies pressed together, he snakes his arm around your waist to pull you closer. for a few seconds you stay like this, waiting for someone to make the first move as your arm rests on his bicep and the other on his neck.

“so can you kiss me already?” you break the silence, laughter filling the room before his lips meets yours.

and once they do, you can feel those previous butterflies erupt into a zoo. it’s not long before you both are smiling into the kiss, lips molding perfectly together as they move in unison. as the kids deepens, you glide your tongue across his bottom lip for access and he happily allows you in. sunghoon tastes just like vanilla, making you want more of him. it isn’t until you momentarily snap back into reality when you realize where you are: at your job.

you pull away from sunghoon’s lips, both of you attempting to catch your breath as his thumb grazes the apples of your cheek. once you pull away from his forehead to take a look at him, you smile at the sight. his lips are plump, saliva at the corners of his mouth. you swipe away at them, cleaning it up with your thumb with a genuine smile. he watches you intently, catching you off guard by pecking your lips before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the exit.

you stop him in his tracks, making him turn around to face you. “so are we dating now?” you ask, taking a step forward.

he chuckles, pulling you towards him to press a small kiss to your forehead. “let me treat you to dinner first and then we can make it official.”

#☀︎ woniechronicles works #enhypen #enhyphen fluff #sunghoon #park sunghoon #park sunghoon fluff #enha #enha fluff #enha imagines #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff

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laddersofsweetmisery · 1 month

Text

Countdown to a Sunrise

In 2012, we were all supposed to die—maybe some of us did.

When the year 2012 came into existence at the drop of a ball, I was 13 years old. I savored the prime of adolescence, that first drop of reaching my teen years. Everything was new. I was finally old enough to feel things, but not so old that it was tainted with responsibility and consequence. When I would feel, it was always over trivial things—too much homework, not enough free time, too much gossip, not enough friends, too many vegetables, not enough candy in the drawer, too much this, not enough that. It was a balancing act of excess and absence; everything was either brimming to the point of a tantrum or lacked so heavily to the point of a tantrum—tantrum meaning slammed doors and stomped feet. I could feel, act out, then wake up with the same tired smile of any other middle school student with nothing to do and nothing to care for. Looking back, it was all nothing, at least when compared to the end of the world. The year 2012 was the only thing threatening to take away my prime.

When you are thirteen there is no such thing as a future, the only dread you have for the next day is on a Sunday night, a wired child restless under Mickey Mouse bed sheets savoring their last few moments of the weekend before school begins the following Monday. That was no longer the case when 2012 eased into the comfort of my narrow-visioned community. Turns out, the Mayans, an indigenous people of Mexico and Central America, created a calendar that supposedly predicted the world would end in 2012. This damn calendar promised the worst for all denim coated Americans—I say Americans only because at thirteen the rest of the world doesn’t exist yet. No one knew where, what, how, or why, but we knew something was coming. Suddenly, there was preparation as each day tick-tocked away prophesying the end of time. There was no longer the availability to live in the today because everyone was talking about the tomorrow. Yet, like every other midwestern family, when there’s a storm a’comin we run to the front porch, frantic and eager for a front seat of the destruction. We never prepared for anything; we’d rather watch it burn.

There are a variety of things one should put together when in preparation for doomsday scenarios. Aside from the more obvious idolized fallout shelter one should think to gather the following items:

Food Seeds and gardening tools Water A first-aid kit Long-term supplies of prescription drugs and other medications. Basic cooking equipment Fire-starting implements such as a lighter or matches Maps Money A knife Rope or twine Hand-crank-operated lights Duct tape

Unfortunately, I didn’t buy any of those things. Instead of a bunker, my family and I hunkered in Ohio onto a brown sectional stained from years of spilled drinks and dog hair, counting down the seconds until the end of time. When the ball dropped in the streets of New York City brought to us by that screen, that centerpiece of modern America, I imagined what it would be like if the big yellow ball in the sky were to do the same thing. Would there be a countdown, would we wait for it on the living room couch, would we just watch everything burn? Spoiler alert: the world didn’t end, at least not in the way I thought it would.

Four months after I thought I had survived, my home, along with the stained sectional, went up in flames. It was Easter Sunday. It took 20 minutes for the Fire Department to arrive. The Fire Department was a three-minute drive away. I watched them as they tore through the house, throwing our belongings out of the windows. We told them our dog and cat were still left behind, we told them the exact location of where they were hiding. They waited until the fire was gone to look for them and tell us they had died. Turns out the fire hadn’t even reached a variety of the other rooms, including the room of the dog and cat, the main issue was smoke damage. The animals died of suffocation; they couldn’t breathe anymore. No one ever came for them. My father still comments that the Fire Department hurt more than they helped. We never rebuilt. We never found a new home.

All of the house fire protocols we learn is to get out of the house immediately, call 911, and wait for the Fire Department to arrive. We did exactly what we were told to do. Thinking back, it seems we were always just watching things burn, even when we followed the rules.

The sun fell down that day. I wasn’t prepared.

Today, Google has become a verb, an action, something you do. I google everything I need to know. Most of those things I Google far too late, waiting until after the event has occurred to discover how to prevent it and what to do after it happens. Near the end, I had learned to become more prepared. I was no longer thirteen, no longer living day by day with tired smiles, no longer forgetting about the future. I was old enough to know that tomorrow would come and the same struggle of yesterday would follow me and while I didn’t know what to do, I was old enough to find an answer.

Google Search: how to protect yourself from sexual assault

I now carry mace and a small pocketknife hidden within a key. God forbid anything ever happen again, but preparation is vital in prevention. I remember when I met Byron, a robust man who could touch the ceiling without standing on the tips of his toes, at Dublin Springs Mental Hospital, a place I was admitted to after a string of bad decision making. Byron was loud and obnoxious, always entering the room trying too hard to be funny, his laugh echoing outside of the bulletproof glass, or at least it seemed that way. His jokes were often too personal and directly offensive, but he liked me, therefore I was never the spotlight for his humor.

Byron was diagnosed with schizophrenia. While he seemed loud to others, something to avoid, I kept him company as often as I could. I treated him with kindness. He was at least 6’5” in height and 3’ wide, an exaggeration within my malleable memory. It was intimidating, even grown men found themselves looking up to him. It was daunting to see something so massive in a single space. I felt like his personality was so loud because it needed to accommodate for his body mass. Byron was much more detailed when asked this question, although I didn’t even have to ask. He assumed I needed protection just from one look at my small frame. Without prompting, Byron recommended that I wear a box cutter around my neck. “You’re so sweet and pretty, someone’s gonna hurt you and you’ll need to know what to do,” he said. He proceeded his warning by telling a story he witnessed of a young woman who also wore a box cutter around her neck. He said she wasn’t much bigger than me, but she had a quick hand. This was present when he saw her swipe her box cutter necklace across the throat of an older gentleman sitting across from her. Apparently, the man had said something in reference to the woman's appearance that she found inappropriate enough to protect herself. Byron told me the woman didn’t even react to what she had done, as if this was a normal occurrence for her. She simply grabbed her purse and walked out without a care, her box cutter still swinging across her chest.

Of course, considering Byron’s illness, I have no idea if the story ever actually happened, but his words stuck with me—someone’s gonna hurt you. He didn’t know that someone already had, but he knew it was a possibility I should always be prepared for. I remember his story often, more so when I swipe my card at the local Speedway with the same quick hand of the woman with the box cutter.

Google Search: red flags of dating abuse

Google Search: how to leave an abusive relationship

Google Search: how to get a restraining order

There are so many red flags, but all of them are irrelevant. I say this because if you ever have to look this up for any reason it means you should already be gone.

Google Search: can you overdose on Benadryl

Google Search: how low does your blood pressure have to be to die

Google Search: how to kill yourself

Google will not give you a direct answer. Rather, it gives the inquirer a dose of hotlines they can call and a spoonful of blog posts telling the reader how beautiful and valuable they are to the rest of the world. Turns out, how to kill yourself 101 boils down to a single suggestion:

Don’t.

Christine Blasey Ford

Earned an undergraduate degree in experimental psychology

Received a master's degree in clinical psychology from Pepperdine University

Received a PhD in educational psychology from the University of Southern California

Earned a master's degree in epidemiology, with a focus on the subject of biostatistics, from Stanford University School of Medicine

American professor of psychology at Palo Alto University

Research psychologist at the Stanford University School of Medicine

Co-authored a book entitled "How Many Subjects? Statistical Power Analysis in Research"

Nominated for a University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill Distinguished Alumna award for "speaking truth to power"

Sexually assaulted in the early 1980s by Brett Kavanaugh

“Since coming forward with allegations of sexual assault against Kavanaugh, Ford has been unable to resume her teaching at Palo Alto University”

Christine caused quite a stir when she accused and testified against Brett Kavanaugh, a nominee for the Supreme Court. When she originally accused him, sending her story to the Washington Post, Christine requested that her identity be kept confidential, we see now by my ability to mention her by name that her anonymity didn’t hold up in court. Her identity wasn’t sold out to the public, rather it was her own decision to come forward, a form of empowerment as the world stared with eager eyes, some angrier than others. Her identity was blown across the nation, everyone asking who she was and why she decided now to speak up. Christine became a billboard, inciting others, specifically those in power to finally discuss sexual assault thoroughly. It was unique not only in her ability to stand against a man in power, but also in its creation of the question, “do sexual assault allegations have a time limit? Do they expire?”

It was in the early 1980s, when Christine was 15 and Kavanaugh was 17, that her story began. She confessed they were both in high school. According to Christine, Brett Kavanaugh and Mark Judge had cornered her in a bedroom during a house party in Maryland, before turning up the music as Kavanaugh pinned her to the bed. In her account, he groped her, ground against her, and tried to pull off her clothes, all while covering her mouth with his hand when she tried to scream. The music still filled the room. She believed he was going to rape her, she also said, “I thought he might inadvertently kill me.” Christine said she was able to escape when Mark Judge jumped on the bed and knocked everyone to the floor. Kavanaugh said he didn’t do it, many others joined him in his plea of innocence.

"I categorically and unequivocally deny this allegation. I did not do this back in high school or at any time." —Brett Kavanaugh

“Behaved honorably and treated women with respect.” —A letter signed by 65 women

"Judge Kavanaugh is one of the finest people that I've ever known. He's an outstanding intellect, an outstanding judge, respected by everybody. Never had even a little blemish on his record. The FBI has, I think, gone through a process six times with him over the years, where he went to higher and higher positions. He is somebody very special…Brett Kavanaugh is one of the finest human beings you will ever have the privilege of knowing or meeting." —Donald Trump, former President of the United States

Christine's therapist's notes were shortly revealed, the notes related to the alleged event and the psychological effects it had on her. Christine had insisted to her husband that they install a second front door. The notes state that Christine was assaulted by boys from an elitist boys school who grew up to be high-ranking members of Washington society. They didn’t outright mention Kavanaugh as the perpetrator. She also had taken a polygraph test; the results concluded her testament was true. Trump, along with his followers, still claimed that if the event had truly taken place then Christine would have informed law enforcement at the time of the attack.

Kavanaugh was sworn in as the 114th Justice of the Supreme Court on October 6, 2018 and became the first Supreme Court justice to hire an all-female team of law clerks.

“55% of Republicans thought he should be confirmed even if the allegations of sexual assault were true, compared to 28% of the whole sample and 13% of Democrats.” —YouGov/The Economist poll

Nikki Mae Howard

American student of English at Wittenberg University

Daughters of the American Revolution Good Citizen Award

Business Professionals of America Region 2 State Qualifier

Placed in John Stossel’s 2016 Free Speech Essay Competition

Creative Writing Outstanding Student Award

Placed in Ringling College Creative Awards Contest for Creative Writing

Participation in 8-day Residential Program on Full Scholarship at the Jonathan R. Reynolds Young Writers Workshop at Denison University

First Place in the Narrative and Poetry Categories in the Creative Chaos Competition

Awarded the Austin Prize for Most Promising Writer in 2020 Writing Awards of Wittenberg’s English Department

Awarded First Place for Non-Fiction Prose in 2018 Writing Awards of Wittenberg’s English Department

Awarded First Place for Poetry in 2019 Writing Awards of Wittenberg’s English Department

Sexually Assaulted in 2018 by NAME REDACTED

The girl who achieved those things no longer looks like me.

She is no longer safe.

There is a term I’ve coined, or at least I assume no one else has used it, as it is one of my stranger encounters with the opposite sex on a college campus. There’s a boy I know, his name irrelevant, for his actions are what truly struck me as odd. To put it simply: we platonically cuddled. Whether he had intentions is still unknown, but if he had, one would assume the boy would have acted upon them. At first it began as a drunken endeavor. He would slur out the words, “come over, chill for a bit,” and I’d hazily respond in agreeance. Then, suddenly, the same encounter would occur when we were both sober, both aware of his hands tightened around me and the body heat between us. I would always pretend to sleep, the same way a child pretends to sleep when their mother checks on them in the middle of the night. I was worried that if he knew I wasn’t sleeping, then he’d ask questions, he’d acknowledge my existence. I didn’t want acknowledgement, I just wanted someone next to me.

Normally, if I were to lay next to the opposite sex their hands would travel across my body, my small frame becoming a highway for hitchhikers to get to their destination merely by asking. Some would even jump into the vehicle without permission. This boy reacted differently. His hands reached around me, hovering over my supposedly sleeping body as if he were scared to touch me, scared to let anything happen. He knew I didn’t belong to him and that’s how I knew I was safe.

The more peculiar thing was the morning after. There was always a strange tension in the air, neither of us knowing what move to make next. I pretended to sleep until he would leave to go to the bathroom, too nervous to look at him with the eyes of a new day. I remember the one time I had opened my eyes and saw his staring back at me. I squeezed them shut again and turned over, pulling the blanket with me, hoping he didn’t notice the connection.

When he finally left the room, I took the opportunity to unwrap myself from the tension of warm blankets and stare outside of his dormitory window. Loose leaf sheets of poetry lined the wall above his bed, sticky notes skimmed the surface of his desk, and a wide world stared back at me through a tattered screen, except this time I couldn’t squeeze my eyes shut and turn away. I lost myself in the horizon, with only his voice coming through the room again to bring me back, “my room has a nice view.” He was right. It really did.

The boy is confident. I ask him what he thinks about the poetry on his wall and he says he is ahead of his time. He also admits he has a superiority complex. Even if the boy wanted anything else, there was little chance he would ever explore it. The boy is confident, but not so confident that he would ever take me against my will.

In the end, I still liked the company. Maybe I could have liked him, but I don’t think I could ever love him. Nor could he ever love me. I say this because when he walked into the room the boy didn’t say hello. He said, “my room has a nice view.” Maybe he was scared to make a move, or maybe he was just as lonely at night as I was. Afterall, enjoying a nice view is always better with someone next to you. Especially when that someone makes you feel safe.

A WOMAN FLEW THROUGH A TORNADO IN A BATHTUB, AND SURVIVED

The Washington Post, 24 January 2017

The Southern states have always suffered tragedy during the Tornado season. In this specific incident 19 people had been killed by a roaring tornado ripping through Texas and Louisiana. The twister was nearly 800 yards wide with winds reaching 130 mph. It had carved a 13-mile path through East Texas and into the border of Louisiana. The tornado wasn’t unique, people in the South are always huddling under the sound of tornado sirens, but one of the storm reports raised applause amongst the tragedy. Apparently, a woman who had heard the sirens decided to seek shelter in a bathtub, a common decision as it is often advised for people to take shelter in a bathtub for its heavy structure. It is well-secured with strong framing and pipes that hold them in place even in treacherous winds. The bathtub is typically anchored directly to the ground, often making them to be the only thing left when a tornado tears through someone’s home. In this story, the pipes and the heavy structure didn’t matter in holding the bathtub in place. When she was preparing for disaster, she didn’t have food, water, a first-aid kit, weapons, duct tape, or a slingshot, the woman had a bathtub. The tornado ripped the bathtub from its foundation with the woman still inside, whirled her and the porcelain bed into the air, and laid her down gently near some woods by her home. Jason Hansford, a senior meteorologist, mentioned that “she was uninjured but emotionally shaken.” It’s quite a feat to go through disaster and come out unscathed. The sun rose again despite her preparations.

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nancydrewwouldnever · 2 years

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Hi do you have the soroff on interview with Chris were he speaks about Sandra and salma

I love a morning where I can wake up and piss off Megan. No, Megan, this still exists! Try to wipe it out wherever you can, but it will never wholly disappear. So let's all revel in the absolute unfiltered, no-holds barred bro-ness that is 24 y.o. Chris. (And let's see if anyone else thinks he's talking like a totally single dude in this, when he was supposedly still with Jess Biel at this time. I think those two took a lot of breaks.)

IMPROPER BOSTONIAN, August 3-16, 2005 Issue

CHRIS EVANS

BY JONATHAN SOROFF

PHOTOGRAPH BY BILL STREICHER

Newly minted movie star Chris Evans, 24, was born in Boston, lived in Framingham, and moved to Sudbury when he was 12. After graduating from Lincoln-Sudbury High School, he signed with an agent in New York and almost immediately went to Los Angeles, where he was cast in the Fox sitcom Opposite Sex, a summer replacement series about three guys admitted to a formerly all-girls school. He also appeared on David E. Kelley’s Boston Public, as a disturbed student who holds a class hostage at gunpoint, and on CBS’ The Fugitive, as the rebellious son of a local sheriff. On film, he appeared in Not Another Teen Movie and The Perfect Score, and starred opposite Kim Basinger and William H. Macy in Cellular, playing a man who answers his cell phone to hear a woman desperately pleading with him to save her from kidnappers. Recently, he wrapped production on two films: Fierce People, opposite Diane Lane and Donald Sutherland, and The Orphan King. His biggest film to date, Fantastic Four, is based on the comic of the same name and was released last month. Evans lives in Los Angeles.

Jonathan Soroff: You started acting at 17. What happened to spending your adolescence lost and confused and aimless?

Chris Evans: It was still lost and confused and aimless, it was just in L.A. It really has been the school of life. It was great.

JS: You’re still too young to say that. All my friends agreed that you had the hottest body in People magazine’s “Best Beach Bodies," which we were looking at this morning. . .

CE: Really? I’ m a Serena Williams man myself. Jesus Christ, my God! She’s just unbelievable.

JS: My friend Joan wants to know if you’ll date her.

CE: Is she cute?

JS: Yeah.

CE: How old is she?

JS: Fortysomething.

CE: All right! She can teach me some things.

JS: So how do you get the washboard abs?

CE: [Laughs.] They shade it in.

JS: So it’s retouched?

CE: I’ m sure it is. I’m giving away all the secrets.

JS: One role you auditioned for but didn’t get and really, really wanted?

CE: Ooooooooh. I think it’s a movie called Jarhead that’s coming out with Jake Gyllenhall that Sam Mendes directed. I really wanted that part — not the one Jake has but the one I tried out for, and I will just harbor it for ever and ever...

JS: Jake Gyllenhall is also one of People’s “Best Beach Bodies,” so Sam Mendes could’ve had two hotties in the same movie. OK, name three famous people from Sudbury.

CE: Hmmm. Famous people from the ’Bury... All I know is Paula Poundstone. Who else is there? Believe me, there’s a picture of her up at L.S. [Lincoln-Sudbury High School], so I’d know if there were any others.

JS: Best thing about Sudbury ?

CE: Oh, man. What’s not to love about Sudbury? It’s relatively cliche, it’s your stereotypical, standard bedroom community, right out of the movies, but that’s what makes it so amazing.

JS: In Fantastic Four, you play the Torch. Does that mean you’re a flamer?

CE: That was a good one! That’s the first time I’ve heard that! That was real smart. You should write that in the interview!

JS: I intend to! Which parts of your suit did they have to pad out?

CE: Meaning for muscles?

JS: I don’t know. You tell me, Chris.

CE: They padded everything. We all wore muscle suits. All of us, except for [Jessica] Alba, ’cause, y’know...

JS: Her shit is tight! Another “Best Beach Bodies” winner. I’ll bet she could kick your ass.

CE: Without a doubt. But anyway, with all the padding, the codpiece was the thing that stood out.

JS: Did you enjoy wearing tights?

CE: Y’know, I think I’ve worn tights my whole life doing plays. I just got paid a lot more to do it this time around.

JS: How long did it take to get into costume every day?

CE: It was a bitch, but I’ve heard of worse. Maybe an hour. The muscle suit is a solo job. You do that on your own, with a big bottle of baby powder�� and some frustration. Then once that’s on, two or three wardrobe people come in and squeeze this blue aqua suit on you that’s just impossible to get on.

JS: Sounds miserable . So by the end of every day, had you lost like 10 pounds?

CE: We definitely did, but we were working with a trainer, so even if we trimmed down and weren’t eating enough on set, we’d wrap and go right to the gym.

JS: Sounds like Hell. On a different subject, namely Cellular, what advice do you have for someone who gets a call on their cell phone from a damsel in distress?

CE: Well, hopefully there are cameras rolling, because otherwise it won’t be a good movie. Other than that, I don’t know.

JS: If you had to save anyone in that situation, who would it be and why?

CE: Oh, I wish it would be Sandra Bullock. I wish there was some way I could save her from something. Isn’t that crazy? I remember being in seventh grade and seeing her in Speed, and just being like, “That’s it. She’s the one.” She’s a f— ing goddess. You should have seen the poster of her I had on my bedroom ceiling growing up — this massive, massive poster of her in, like, a bra.

JS: It was on the ceiling? That sort of begs a certain question. .

CE: [Laughs.] C’mon. My mother’s gonna read this interview.

JS: So what was your favorite comic book as a kid?

CE: Aren’t comic books for geeks? Just kidding! I have to go to conventions, and they’ll string me up. The truth is, after getting the part and going out and buying every comic book I could get my hands on, I came to appreciate them. The stories and dialogue are complex. You’ve got eight-syllable words, supposedly for little kids. The art is amazing. So I think they actually are educational. If my kids want to read them, I’ll say, “Go ahead.”

JS: If you could have one superpower, what would it be and why?

CE: To fly. Hands down. No question.

JS: One superpower or extraordinary ability that you actually do have?

CE: [Laughs.] See, again, this is something my mother will read, so I can’t really answer that.

JS: I think you just did. So who was your superhero crush growing up?

CE: Man, that’s a good question. What other superhero girls are there?

JS: Wonder Woman was a big one.. .

CE: Nah. That’s a cliche. C’mon, I gotta think. There must be someone good out there.

JS: I personally had the hots for Aquaman.

CE: [Laughs.] Does Jessica Rabbit count? If so, that’s it. She goes above Sandra Bullock, just so Sandy knows. In case she reads this, just to take that feather outta her cap.

JS: Best actor you ever worked with?

CE: Bill [William H.] Macy. Not even a question. The guy’s just. . .he’s unstoppable,

JS: Actor you’d most like to do a love scene with ?

CE: I’ll say Salma Hayek. Sandy’s more the one you settle down with, set up shop with, take home to your mother. But Salma’s the one you yell, “Action!” and just go to town.

JS: I read in the Weekly World News that there’s a tribe in Africa that worships Salma Hayek’s breasts.

CE: [Laughs.] I believe that.

JS: Your show Opposite Sex. Was that basically a bad remake of Bosom Buddies?

CE: Whatever it was, it was a bad original of something. The bottom line is it was bad. We’ll leave it at that.

JS: Speaking of which: Not Another Teen Movie . Is that going to come back someday to haunt you?

CE: Oh, man, I don’t think I did anything too terrible. Did you hear that great line from Entourage : “Before Tom Cruise did Fourth of July, he did Top Gun. Before Tom Hanks was Forrest Gump, he fucked a fish.” So in my case, I had a banana in my ass. What are you gonna do?

JS: I never saw that movie.

CE: Neither has my Grandma, and I’m hoping to keep it that way.

JS: Diane Lane . Most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?

CE: She is f—ing gorgeous.

JS: Who would win in a Jell-O wrestling contest: Diane Lane or Kim Basinger ?

CE: Ooooh, Diane. She’s got it.

JS: You've got a thing for older women, don’t you?

CE: Well, y’know, I’m a student. I wanna learn.

JS: Last question. When you make the cover of Vanity Fair, what do you think you’ll be I wearing?

CE: I think I’m gonna go for the body paint thing, like Demi Moore.

#ask #interview #2005 #Soroff interview #chris evans

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meraki-yao · 8 months

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An exchange student from Canada saw me crying and gave me a tissue. We talked. He's really nice. I'm sane now.

This is going to be a full vent. This is my full story on this situation. Only read if you want to and if you're okay with it. Also warning, this is long as fuck, I really trauma dumped here.

tw: suicidal thoughts, self-harm

Backstory: High School

I was labelled as a jack of all trades, master of none. I'm naturally a more art/social science/emotion/humanities person, but I took STEM subjects in high school (Physics, Chemistry, Information & Technology/ Computer, and Calculus & Algebra), partly because these subjects had objective, standard answers, which supposedly makes getting marks in exams easier, partly because I felt like I had to as my parents are both PhD in engineering, and at that point I still thought I had to be "my parents' daughter".

So throughout high school, all my external achievements were humanities/arts related while my studies were STEM orientated. But I struggled a lot with my STEM subjects (except for Computer because a lot of that is just stuff you would know if you use one a lot), and I mean, a lot. As in failing quizzes, fucking up assignments. Thank God I had really kind teachers who cared more about my mental health than my grades and were willing to help and accommodate my needs. But there were many times when I straight up broke down during a lesson and ran off to the social worker's. I skipped several lessons because I just couldn't go to class and try to listen when voices in my head were all yelling at how much of a useless piece of shit I was. I would spend three hours on a single question, and still get it wrong. It always felt like no matter what I did, I would go nowhere. And it didn't help that when I asked for help from my parents, their response would always first be "How can you not know something so simple". By senior year I gave up and started asking my friends and the internet.

On the contrary, I thrived in my language classes and liberal studies class. Even if I initially sucked due to the change in the system, I asked, I studied, I worked and I improved. I got somewhere. Effort paid off in a fair ratio. I never needed to ask my parents anything about that. I never needed to ask anyone other than my teacher. I loved doing my homework in those subjects. My writings were printed out as examples for the whole class. It was great.

Backstory: College Selection

By the time college choices rolled around I had no idea what to choose. At the same time, my mother was also suggesting I go to mainland Chinese universities for my undergrad, and I didn't want that. Going to the States or the UK wasn't affordable for my family, so I opted to stay local, to the dismay of my whole extended family.

So in the mess of all of this and no parental support because they are Chinese stereotypes who think the only courses worth studying are doctor and lawyer, my school's career counsellor suggested Bachelor of Arts and Studies to me (here's their website) a new personalized interdisciplinary degree in HKU. And I was so happy. It felt right. It felt like putting a on tailored dress. And despite my parents' protest, I put that as my first choice.

College entrance exams came and went. Overall I did pretty well. Got top scores in Chinese, English, Liberal Studies, and Computer. Got average for Chemistry, Math and Physic despite spending most of my study leave on these subjects. Just passed Calculus.

So the way the local system works (it's called JUPAS if you wanna look it up) is that by the end of November, you need to submit your 20 university programme choices, but after the public exam result is released, you're assigned 24 hours to change your choices.

And this is where everything started going to hell for me.

My parents, who in the first round of selection, compromised and let me put what I wanted, looked at my marks, and my choices, and vetoed everything. They said I'm not gonna get a job with an interdisciplinary degree, there's no career path for psychology, that the arts and science degree was created because the art, social science and science faculty didn't have that many people.

A different advisor, one who didn't know me personally suggested my current programme: biomedical engineering, which basically combines medicine with engineering. They said it's a lucrative career since health service is in demand, and with my basis in STEM subject I would do well, and that it's easier to go from a science subject to humanities if I want to do something different in post-grad than vice versa. By this time I had 2 hours left before confirmation.

If we were to completely ignore me as an individual, they're right. This would be the logical choice.

But at that point, I already knew it felt wrong. But unfortunately for me, all I could say is it felt wrong, which isn't a strong rebuttal.

With no "logical" rebuttal, two yelling parents and a fucked up head, sobbing, I changed my first choice to this programme. I cut my arm with a cutter over the myriad of scars I gave myself over the years. I told my best friend who was asking if I was ok, that I'll give it a go, and if it doesn't work I'll find a way out. I told the rest of my close friends that my undergrad will be me paying a debt to my parents, and I'd figure out my own dream in the future.

I shouldn't have caved in.

Back Story: University

University started. Immediately it felt wrong. Save for my elective (HKU has this really cool thing called Common Core, look it up if you're interested but essentially it's compulsory electives) I felt so detached from my engineering courses. I couldn't explain, just an inherent feeling that I don't belong here.

It didn't help that it was at this time that I realized I straight-up don't like biology.

Managed through year 1 first semester with average grades. Semester 2 I didn't have any courses directly related to the programme save for a probability & stats course that I fucked my way through. The rest of my grades were pretty good, even got two A- s. The feeling that I didn't belong persisted but popped up a little less.

Now: Breaking

Year 2 came, and from the moment in August when I had to sign up for courses, the feeling of wrongness came back in full force, amplified, even. It felt all-consuming.

This is from my diary:

"I don't wanna be here. I don't want this degree. I don't want this career God I don't want it. It's doesn't fit. I don't fit in this space. This isn't mind. It feels like dysmorphia. It feels like tar, black and toxic and vicious, sticking to my skin, trying to mould my body into something I'm not, to seep into my skin and dye my blood a dull shade of grey. I wanna fucking run away. I wanna fucking die. I don't fucking know what to do."

You guys kind of know the rest, because that's when I met you guys and started feeling safer here than anywhere else, and vented here. But for reference

September

October

November

December

January, January, Fuck you January

I skipped class. I got antidepressants. I binge ate and became overweight. Failed three classes. Parents didn't find out anything until the grades came out. Then they lost their mind.

Now: Not Enough

They blamed me for not trying hard enough.

They said oh failures happen, you have to learn from your mistakes and try again.

I have to set up a proper routine. Dedicate all my time and energy to staying physically healthy and studying. Spent my "free time" thinking. I even got berated for listening to music with headphones on.

Dad asked me why did I fail biochemistry. I said it was hard, the pace was fast, and I don't like the subject. He said there's no point in not liking it.

Mom said I needed to get rid of the idea that this degree is against me and accept it, that I shouldn't dwell on what-ifs from the past, and all the reasons they convinced me to choose this still stands, that learning is a fun and interesting thing that I should take joy in, that I won't be able to handle being a psychiatrist, that I used to be such a star student what the fuck happened to me, that each path has their own difficulties and I'm already on this road so why won't I just keeping going for the next two years, that if I quit and start over I'll be older than my cohort and my friends will all graduate before me and why won't I just follow the normal path dammit

SO EVERYTHING IS MY FUCKING FAULT HUH??

I don't fucking know anymore.

Now: The present

The reason I was crying earlier, was that I went to have a meeting with an academic advisor to ask about the possibility of transferring to a different programme.

There are two ways.

One, apply for an internal transfer by June. But that requires exceptional grades, and I don't have that.

Two, quit university and re-apply with my college entrance exam results. But then none of the credits I earned in the past two years will be transferred. All will expire. I went through shit for nothing except to confirm my mistake is a mistake.

I might figure something out when I'm not crying my brains out but right now neither option sounds like an option to me.

I could barely ask anything intelligent afterwards because I was trying so hard to stop myself from breaking down immediately.

Now: How I feel

I'm not supposed to feel like this. This is not normal. This is not how my university life is supposed to go. It cannot be normal to want to die every day.

The moment I realised this was fundamentally wrong was when I looked at my high school friends' social media, and saw them living their best lives: dating, joining the committee of societies, getting awards and scholarships, jobs and internships, travelling, going to parties, everything a young person should be doing. My best friend is chasing her dreams to became an actress at NYU TISHC, already getting paids acting jobs at year 1, going to prominent events, maintaining a 3.9 GPA, goes out partying all while maintaining a long distance relationship with her athletes boyfriend who is the best of the best in Asian youth, handsome, and just a great guy in general.

I'm supposed to be on the same level as them.

I'm from an elite class of an elite school in an elite city. I've been on city radio four times and city-wide broadcast television once. I was on four department/society committees, two of which I was chairlady. I wrote and directed my own play. My name was followed by seven internal awards when it was my turn to get my diploma during the graduation ceremony. I aced my classes. My drawing and writing had been in my school's anthology and yearbook. I genuinely enjoyed learning.

I'm not supposed to be this.

I'm not supposed to be this depressed, overweight person who can't get out of bed and skips classes and fails courses. I'm not supposed to be this stagnant, I was always moving. I was always giving it my 100%. I'm not supposed to not make any friends and want to stay in my bed all the time. I'm not supposed to be insomniac, or sick, or depressed, or overweight.

I was always fighting.

I don't have any energy in me anymore to fight.

I'm not supposed to turn out like this. This isn't who I want to be/ I hate whoever I am now. This isn't right.

But I'm fucking stuck, I don't know what's the truth, I don't know how valid "I don't like this" is.

A lot of people tell me to just ignore what my parents say but it's really not that simple. I only realized they can hurt me despite loving me and it's not my fault last year. And even then it's hard to stay firm on this belief. Because truthfully, I don't know what's right, I only know what feels wrong.

Fuck this. I want to fast forward until the day I figure shit out. I want to live here on Tumblr.

Fuck everything.

#personal

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kristencsummerlin · 1 year

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More photos of my Nicktoons Unite Highschool AU. At least the Uniforms. Still working on the school itself on Sims 4.

Also good news I finished all the SpongeBob characters, at least those who are students and their uniforms. So now we can work on the Danny Phantom characters. I already have some done.

I believe I've stated before that I got the idea from Tiny Titans. That the school is run by villains as a way to monitor our heroes and torment them with high school. Plus while the heroes are at school our villains can perform villain acts. So the heroes have to either ditch school and get in trouble. They have to find a way to stop them.

Vlad is the Principle due to his wealth and popularity. Due to all the high schools throughout the city we're destroyed by terrorists. (Not really) Our villains built the school for everyone to go to for the time being. This was all planned out by Professor Calamitous.

Rosy Cheeks: Dark Blue and Blue

She's Sandy's older sister I believe and the mother is Sandy's three nieces. Whom due to changing characters ages aren't born yet. So yeah.

Earl Cheeks: Brown and Orange

Sandy's Cousin who is a Beaver.

Lincoln Jenkins: Dark Teal and Slime Green

Old Man Jenkins has a young grandson. He doesn't have a real name so I gave him one.

Gary Gulper: Dark Green and Slime Green

He's a villain in one of the SpongeBob games. Gotta include villains you know.

Same Star: Purple and Orange

Patrick's older sister. Supposedly has gone missing so. More than likely show up later on in my fics.

Danny Fenton: Slime Green and White

We're finally on Danny Phantom characters. Of course we had to start with the main character Danny himself.

Sam Manson: Purple and Slime Green

Sam is Danny's best friend and love interest. She went creative with her uniform. Vlad is forcing uniforms to annoy the students. So Sam is trying to fight back.

Tucker Foley: Orange and Yellow

Tucker is Danny's best friend and techo nerd. He ordered a basic uniform just to get it out of the way.

Jazz Fenton: Orange and Teal

Jazz is Danny's older sister. This is her last year of high school.

Dash Baxter: Red and Blue

Dash is Danny's bully. However he's based on Flash Thompson so I have some plans for him.

The last two for now at least.

Paulina Sanchez: Pink and Slime Green

The popular girl in school. She has a lot going on with her outfit. But it's cute.

Ember McLain: Black and Blue

Hear me out. She tries to gain her popularity and power by being the most popular student. Win the Prom Queen contests. So her uniform is here because at some point she has it.

#nicktoons unite highschool au #nickelodeon #nicktoons unite #nicktoons #spongebob squarepants #danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #dash baxter #paulina sanchez #ember mclain

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aliceinclockland · 9 months

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(cardcaptor high school au drabble)

akiho & kaito's first day in crystal high would be their scary (and kinda awkward) introductions to section cosmos— reasons being:

1. they transferred in the middle of the school year (the school rarely allows those type of transfers), and

2. they had not-so-good experiences with the previous schools they were enrolled in.

but at the end they went home happy :)

kaito actually attended school 3 days after because he wasn't sure if they'll be accepted by their classmates or they'll be the "odd ones" again, just like the past schools.

on akiho's first day, he really didn't want her to go, but akiho assured him that she can handle herself, and added that if he's really worried, he can go with her anytime (after all, lilie enrolled BOTH of them and it's supposedly his first day too). in the end, he denied the offer and chose to anxiously wait for her to be home.

after hearing akiho telling lots of stories after her first day, he became curious. it was rare to see akiho telling school stories while smiling, so he wanted to see the section for himself.

he went with her on the third day. it was a wednesday. new students typically get introduced at the beginning of the week, but there he was, standing by the board. silently waiting for their teacher's cue for him to introduce himself to the class.

"good day, everyone. my name is kaito." he says as he looks for akiho's face in the crowd.

his face remains emotionless as the class looks at him curiously.

"i just transferred here, and i live with akiho's family. that is all." he says as he looked over to where akiho is seated and saw two girls talking to her. from what he remembers from her first day stories, these two must be the students named sakura and tomoyo.

the teacher assigned the seat behind akiho, but before he sat there he wanted to introduce himself to the girls who made akiho happy on her first day.

tomoyo was intrigued by his mannerisms while sakura tells him it's alright to be informal with them. kaito told them they both learned how to speak their language in a formal manner so it's hard to change it. tomoyo joked that she finally have "formal-speaking buddies".

during lunch break, the three girls invited him to eat lunch with the entire group, where he met the rest of them.

naoko and chiharu shared some gossip they've heard about kaito— mainly how "mysterious" he is and how many girls are interested in him. he was worried that he might've done something bad to be within the radar of any student here. the two assures him that what they've heard about him has been mostly positive.

kaito and akiho then opened their lunch box, and everyone marveled at how cute every dish looks. akiho proudly commented that kaito made all of it himself. kaito swore that he could see sparkles in everyone's eyes when they looked at him, probably out of curiosity.

not used to all this attention, he blurted out that he learned how to cook at a very young age. rika, who just arrived (she had to run some errands for a teacher), said that she had to do the same thing too.

that's when they got reminded that everyone haven't introduced themselves properly to kaito yet, so they did.

rika volunteered to be first, since she talked last in the most recent conversation, then yamazaki followed suit. he was about to give a random trivia before chiharu cuts him out with her introduction. naoko followed after, and then syaoran was next.

last to introduce themselves were sakura and tomoyo. after they introduced, kaito honestly confessed that he has heard a lot about the group, and he thanked all of them for taking care of akiho on her first two days.

sakura then told him that akiho is their friend, and that she and kaito can join the group anytime.

the rest of the day was a breeze, and kaito was more than happy that they both ended up in section cosmos.

it's almost as if fate decided that him and akiho will meet sakura's friend group because it knows that they'll be warmly welcomed by them.

for the first time, he looks forward in going to school with akiho.

=====

and cut!

my brain is having too much thoughts rn so this might not be as coherent but the plot outline in my head is:

kaito and akiho's first day. akiho went to school first, kaito went on their 3rd day, was welcomed by everyone despite his fear of them being treated like they're different taking over, and he's never been happier to go to school with akiho after he met sakura's group.

still remained a man of few words, though.

I'd like to believe that him and syaoran actually became close bc they share some similarities 😁

i think that's it? good night 😴

#cardcaptor high #cardcaptor au #yunaaki first day #of course kaito was the sketchy one #he just wants her girl to be happy #precious akiho

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bruins35 · 1 month

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Overnight Diary Entry 3

This is the same night, as I came back from my walk during my break at work. I decided I needed to talk about things that lead to my depression being so bad in Florida. For me to do that, I need to talk a bit about me first.

At a very young age, I believe I was Four years old, maybe Five, I was diagnosis with ADHD, and thrown into Special Education from there on out. You're probably wondering what that has to do with this, well for starters this was the early 90s, and well picture being with other kids that might have a worse learning disability than you, it stagnates your mental age. So going into high school, I told my doctor I wanted off my ADHD medication, and they put me in normal classes with one period for me to be able to get my homework done because I was slow with tests and getting essays done. So now imagine yourself being tossed in high school with your whole peer group and higher grade's when you were just constantly in the class with same students every year, it's jarring. You don't know how to talk to these other kids, you don't know how socialize with all these cliques and groups.

Now I move on to community college where I'm now if i had to give what my mental age was at, I was probably just entering High school for my Mental age. Thankfully I found friends that accepted me, until... half the group didn't after they all made up a lie to ruin a potential relationship because most of them all like this girl too, but she was into me. So, I lost a steady group of friends, but thankfully found more. I found one that to this day is one of my closest friends, and hope she's ready for when we turn 35 because we made a pact to marry each other, might be little jarring for her since I'm a guy and she's into women lol.

Anyways, while I'm still community college, I decided I want to do the DCP (Disney College Program) and pretty much start my life over. I move down there, meet my girlfriend at the time, and then go into whole new fucking world (no pun intended there). I'm probably finally catching up to the correct mental age until now I'm working with "adults" and other college age kids.

Now time to talk about stuff that honestly made my life a living fucking hell. I worked at my all time favorite attraction, and I wouldn't trade that in for the world. Honestly, if it was still their today, I'd probably be back working there. That's how much I loved that attraction and working it everyday. The issue was, I made some "really close friends" there that I thought we all understood each other. Well one friend apparently said I made an inappropriate joke. Now from what I know of this person from friends we have in common, she says some of the most inappropriate and dirty jokes. So they went to management on me, and i was never told the joke i supposedly said. So, no evidence nothing, but people believe them.

Another person, said I constantly hit on them and tried to get them to go out when they have boyfriend. Let me tell you, the first thing this person ever told me was they had BF, I never once flirted with her especially when she told me that. I respect peoples relationships, I won't interfere unless that person is a piece of shit and is abusing or cheating on them. So anyways, this person also apparently went to management, but was never brought to my attention, which makes me think management realized it was all lies.

Now this is when the REAL fucked up shit happens, now for some reason if i do have people reading this, well remember night one/part one the girl I was talking about that finally unblocked me on Facebook, but her now ex who was a "real close" friend of mine didn't unblock me? Well let's give them some fake names because this is where the story is going and I don't want to say she/her, and him/he the whole time. So she will be called Lexi, he will called Richard, and one other girl will be called Connie.

All right, so, Lexi and I used to be FWB, but we both agreed that if we wanted to see other people or hook up with other people we will end things. I held up our end of the deal, and well I soon found out she didn't. Lexi knew about my past relationship, she knew the emotional abuse my ex put me through, so I wasn't ready for commitment yet. Apparently everyone we worked with was wondering when we were to become official, but I honestly was too scared. Well, when i finally thought I was ready to make a commitment to relationship, imagine my surprise when on her Facebook it shows Lexi is now in a relationship with Richard.

I was shocked, hurt, and honestly just tired. Lexi and I connected so much, and had a lot in common that I was finally opening eyes that maybe this could be the one. So, it hurt, and it sucked. I hid my feelings though and congratulated the new couple. Well, I started to date Connie, Connie and I also had a lot in common, maybe even more so then Lexi and I did. But I messed up that relationship, mainly because I didn't really do clubs and she wanted me to go to them, but the real reason I didn't go out was because I was so fucking poor. Disney didn't pay well, I was working so much fucking overtime I barely had time to sleep to pay off my bills. I also at the time cared waaaaaay too much about what my family thought I should date and I stupidly brought I don't think my family would like her so idk if we could be together long term. That's when the relationship truly ended and one of my biggest regrets in my life.

One night Richard and I were on the phone, and honestly all my close guy friends back home we talk about our sex lives. So, I didn't think it was going to be an issue, but I made stupid ass comment about he doesn't need to tell me about his because I know how Lexi was in bed. Like I said dumb fucking ass comment.

Well, after this moment, Richard decided to spread the worst fucking possible thing you can spread. He got a couple other people to help spread that I supposedly raped Connie. Which wasn't true at all, I brought it up to management that these people were spreading this, and then eventually Connie and I had to confront these people about it. Unfortunately the damage was already done. I now had a stigma following me that I'm supposedly a rapist. Connie and I to this day are still good friends, and at one point best friends.

Connie don't be mad at the next part, since I'm sending you link to this.

Connie and I even after we ended things still did almost everything together, either going to cast parties together, going out for food with our fellow cast members, going to the parks with others, or just going to concerts. During all this we still held hands, we were just each others safety net. TBH she still is mine, but we are kind of distant with each other because last year or two years ago my best friend, her friend, and I noticed that her bf of 5 years is giving off some really weird vibes. I was really worried and my friend and her friend thought it felt like abuse potentially happened/happening. I know Connie's history and past relationships, I also know her and G had some really bad arguments. so I texted her our worries and well she told him, and since then we haven't been as close which sucks and I get it, the last thing you want to do is being accused of abuse. I just want you to see it from my point of view Connie. I love you, and I'm sorry I brought up my concerns, just know it was out of goodness of my heart because I care and love ya.

Anyways I think I will end this here, and I might discuss the other stuff that lead me to potential committing suicide, but right now I don't think I'm strong enough to type that out at all.

#journal #diary #depression #feelings #love

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rosemary130 · 3 months

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The Salt Man's Curse

In Stevensville, everything was always good; nothing bad ever happened. I was the one girl in every small town who would always double-check everything was good before I even went down my driveway. I loved the outdoors, but being a scaredy cat with OCD in a small town didn't mix well. There was no reason for me to be scared, but I always felt like even though nothing happens, something could. It was like watching a TV show—you know nothing is going to happen yet, but something will happen later.

I had a strong case of OCD and had to check that every window was locked. Every room had nobody in it except my parents. I made sure everything was in its proper place, not moved, before I went to school. As usual, everything was excellent.

I then started my small walk to school. When I got to school, I waited with my best friend Thomas by the entry with the other fifteen students. It was a pretty small high school. Thomas was the one student who would wear shorts even when it was super cold out. He always said that if he wanted to go on a hike, he was ready.

"All is good, I saw another robin this morning," Thomas said, grinning. He was the kind of person who thought every day you see something new.

I always thought that school was interesting. At least during school, you hear something new at the very least. Thomas and I were discussing what we were going to do during the weekend.

"I thought of going through the Pinecone Trail again. Do you want to come?" he asked.

I agreed. Pinecone Trail was one of the oldest trails that the town could remember. It was one of the only respected trails that nobody covered in trash. The reason why it was respected, I still don't know. After lunch, we went to our remaining two classes, math and history. Those were the two classes I was actually good at.

Although we learned relatively the same history every year, today was different. Today our teacher, Mr. Red, told us the history of legends and how they could affect a person or a town. One particular legend he told us was about the Salt Man.

He told us that the Salt Man used to be a boss at a salt-making factory, which was supposedly popular around the 80s. One day, the boss, named Mr. Garfield, and one of his workers got into an argument and Mr. Garfield died. The worker hid him in one of the storage containers for the leftover salt that was made. Weeks later, the police found his body, and nobody ever found out who killed him. It was said that the ghost of Mr. Garfield scared the worker so badly that he died of a heart attack.

Strangely enough, nobody has ever seen the factory in years and still believes the story of the Salt Man. I thought to myself, if this were real, where were the witnesses? Didn't the factory have footage of the murder happening? If so, what happened to it?

Thomas walked down to my house with me so we could ask my parents if we could hike the Pinecone Trail. They said yes. "Just make sure you come back before it gets dark."

My hiking clothes were in my closet, and while I was getting my clothes on, I always wondered how the history teacher found out about that legend. Maybe he found it off of Wikipedia since some of the stories he told us were usually from that website or just made up.

Before we went on our hike, I started my usual routine before I left the house. I checked to see if the windows were locked, the doors closed, and even checked to see if someone took our money jar that went towards our vacation.

"Let's head out." We started the small walk to our favorite hiking trail. When we got to the entrance of the Pinecone Trail, something felt off. Maybe it was the wind. The smell in the air. Or it must be Thomas's new cologne that he bought to impress one of my girlfriends at school.

We started our hike, which was about five miles long. When we reached the halfway point of the trail, there was something white in the road. Like I said, nobody dropped their trash on the trail, and seeing something on the trail threw me off.

"Let's take a look," Thomas said.

We walked about nine feet and saw the mysterious white pile. I picked some up with my hands and moved my finger around the white substance. It almost felt like sand. I took a risk and put some of the substance on my tongue. It was salt. Why would there be salt in the middle of the woods?

"What is it?" Thomas asked.

I told him it was salt.

"That's weird. Who would put salt in the middle of one of the most respected places in Stevensville?"

"Maybe for a prank? I don't know."

As we got to the end of the trail, we saw more small piles of salt. This is getting a little weird, I thought. We both decided that we would follow the salt trail to see where it led, just not tonight.

After Thomas went home and I was getting ready to eat dinner with my family, I kept wondering who would put salt in it. Out of all things on the trail.

"Anything interesting happen today?" my mom asked.

I told her that we learned about the legend of the Salt Man and how nobody found the boss's body. "That's a little scary," she said.

After we ate and said goodnight to each other, I went to my room and laid out some jeans, a white T-shirt, and a green jacket for my hiking clothes. Even with my OCD, I was particularly concerned about what my clothes were.

Before I fell asleep, I kept repeating the same memory of us finding the salt. I kept thinking about whether the person would admit to what he or she did.

The next morning, I got my clothes on and grabbed a few other things. Obviously, I grabbed my phone to take pictures of the evidence. A pair of binoculars and a small pocket knife. I went down into the dining room and ate a small bowl of cereal. Then my father came into the kitchen to see who was up.

"I see you're in a hurry today, princess." I told him that I needed to go down the Pinecone Trail again for a nature assignment about different kinds of trees. I didn't want to tell him that we were investigating a trail of salt. "I'll allow it, just make sure after you're done with your hike to come back." I thanked my dad and checked the house again for any intruders. All was good.

I started the small walk to the trail to meet up with Thomas to follow the salt trail. While I waited for him, I texted my mom and dad to let them know where I was, just to be safe.

When Thomas arrived, he was wearing shorts again and his favorite T-shirt, which featured a picture of a small deer. "I'm ready to go," he said.

What he brought with him were small ziplock bags to store some of the salt we found, like small evidence bags.

We walked down the familiar trail we had walked down for years and saw the same salt pile that we saw yesterday. Thomas went up to the salt and collected some of it. "For evidence," he said. I took a picture of the pile and we moved on.

When we got to the end of the trail, the same trail of salt was there. Nothing had changed. I used my binoculars to see how long the salt went, and it seemed endless.

"It's now or never, Thomas." We started walking somewhat new to what might seem to lead to nowhere. I checked the time, and it was nine-thirty. We had been walking the trail for an hour.

We stopped to take a short break. I told my friend that I was going to see if this trail was going to stop. I grabbed my binoculars, and what I saw was shocking. A factory was there.

I walked back to Thomas and told him what I saw. He thought I was joking. "Maybe you imagined it; there hasn't been a factory in this town for years." If he was right, then what did I see?

We began to investigate the trail again and saw more things than just salt. Old screwdrivers were lying in the bushes, newspapers scattered everywhere, and a sign saying "SALT MAKERS." I couldn't believe it. No factories, and yet there was one right here. Looks like our history teacher was telling the truth.

"Should we look inside?" Since I was a scaredy cat and going somewhere I didn't know terrified me. But I still wanted to know why this was here. I wanted to trust my gut and run back to the safety of my parents. But I really wanted to know what was inside. I then told Thomas, "Let's head in." When we headed to the entrance of the factory, it had a lock on it and a no-trespassing sign. I was partially glad that we couldn't get in.

But then Thomas grabbed one of the old bricks and broke the lock. I thought I was going to pass out. "You okay?" I nodded my head.

I took a deep breath, and we pushed the door open. The inside seemed to be pretty empty. The few things that were inside were big machines that I assumed made salt.

Thomas went over to the machines and said, "Was this the same place Mr. Red told us about?"

Come to think of it, maybe it was. We knew our teacher to tell stories that were not true. Then why was this one coming true?

We looked around some more and saw another room that was destined to be opened. "Want to do the honors?" Every bone in my body told me not to do it, but I didn't trust the feelings I had anyway. I wanted to know

more about that room.

I grabbed an old pipe and broke off the lock. When I opened the door, I didn't feel safe. The room was covered in big round containers with metal lids on them. The room smelt of salt and something rotten. "Look at this," Thomas said.

I went over to the far end of the room to see what he was looking at, and what he showed me made me want to gag. There was dried-up blood all over the big container and an old note saying "DO NOT OPEN." I did my best not to shake and took a picture of the container. "Let's get out of here, Thomas." I wanted to run out of the old factory. I wanted to tell the police what I saw and show them the evidence. But before I left the room, Thomas was still staring at the container. "Thomas, let's go!"

As I kept telling him this, he grabbed the lid and slowly removed it. Then he screamed. I speed-walked to him and saw the thing that made him scream. It was the body of our teacher, Mr. Red. I then grabbed Thomas by the shoulders and said, "It's time to go!"

Thomas and I ran as fast as we could out of the room. Then we heard the old salt falling to the ground.

We could not move. As much as we wanted to leave, our bodies wouldn't let us. I couldn't even grab out my pocket knife. Then Mr. Red looked at us and screamed. We didn't know if we were being chased by our teacher who was now dead. As we ran farther away from the factory, we heard him scream once more. We were so scared that he ran with me to tell my parents what we saw.

To this day, nobody believed us. The police investigated the trail and saw nothing. Despite showing them the evidence we had, they thought we were crazy.

I still had no idea what happened to the factory or Mr. Red, but each time I checked the house before I went to sleep, I always found small piles of salt.

One day later, after the incident, I was walking home from school and had a strange feeling. I thought Mr. Red was maybe alive. I had gone too far. Maybe I did go crazy. But I took a deep breath and gained my sanity back. Maybe I did see something.

That night I had a nightmare of Mr. Red. His body still looked decomposed, but he was teaching us more about the Salt Man. "The one thing you don't want to do is remove the lids of the containers where Mr. Garfield died." The next thing he said chilled me, "Whoever does will die." I woke up with sweat all over my body. My hair felt like I just came out of the shower. What Mr. Red said in my dream must have been true. Maybe the reason why he told us the legend was to warn us. We didn't listen.

I believed the Salt Man is now going to kill me and my best friend for disturbing Mr. Garfield's everlasting slumber. We're both going to die at the hands of the Salt Man.

#short story #horror #myths #legends #relationship

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mez-rperez · 1 year

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Sites for Learning About Black History in South Texas

This list of sites came about when I was hosting a friend over the summer when I was visiting my home in the Rio Grande Valley! It all started when we went to the new HEB-sponsored wing of the Harlingen Arts and Heritage Museum, where they have exhibits on the development of Harlingen (the city I was raised in). In their section on the schools of the city, they had a small tribute to the Black-only school that operated from the 1930-50s until Harlingen High School (my alma mater) de-segregated.

Image: Museum exhibit featuring some of the Black students of Booker T. Washington School. There is a caption that reads "In 1934 the Booker T. Washington School was erected to serve Harlingen's African American children in the 800 block of W. Filmore. Harlingen integrated its schools in 1959. Circa 1955. Photos courtesy of Lonnie Davis, information courtesy of Harlingen's First 100 years, 1910-2010."

Admittedly, when I had planned her visit originally I focused on the Mexican American history and heritage that are already prominently displayed across the Valley. So, reading this set in motion our attempts to visit as many sites that make visible the Black history of South Texas as possible!

This is obviously an incomplete list, so I've added some resources at the end to help direct you to other resources if you are interested!

Callandret Black History Museum - San Benito, TX

Image: Black sign with white letters reading: "Callandret Black History Museum." The sign stands on a corner by an empty street.

Our first stop was the Callandret Black History Museum in San Benito. It is named after Joe Callandret, whose family is known for starting the Callandret school which educated the Black community, who weren't allowed to attend schools with White or Latinx people, in San Benito. It had many different locations until it opened up where it is to this day in the El Jardin neighborhood. When we visited, we saw a video about how this museum came about to begin with, which highlighted the efforts of members of the community to preserve and educate people about the history of the Black community, the operation of the school, and the Callandret family.

Booker T. Washington School - Harlingen, TX

Image: Behind a chain link fence is the plaque commemorating the Booker T. Washington School. The plaque reads: "Booker T. Washington School 1934 / The Booker T. Washington School, named after the great civil rights leader and educator, opened up in 1934, serving African-American students until 1959, when the Harlingen schools became integrated. / Born into slavery April 5, 1856, Booker T. Washington was a dominant figure of African-American public affairs during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He worked toward equalizing public education opportunities for African Americans, and in 1881 Washington founded Tuskegee Institute, now known as Tuskegee University. Washington remained influential in civil matters until his death on November 14, 1915."

This stop was supposed to be our first, but when we drove around looking for the building supposedly on the 800 block of W. Filmore in Harlingen, we didn't see anything obvious. At the time, we didn't know about the plaque, just that the building existed. Luckily, we were staying close enough that we decided to try again after doing some more research. We found that the building has been repurposed as a head start center and that there had been efforts to create a commemorative plaque for the history of the building. One of the same community members involved in the Callandret museum, Lonnie Davis, was also spearheading this effort.

Littles-Martin House - Corpus Christi, TX

I wanted to show my friend different cities across South Texas, so naturally Corpus Christi was our next stop up north. Here, we attempted to visit the Littles-Martin house, the home of one of the first Black families in Corpus Christi. It currently sits in Heritage Park, where there are multiple historic houses that now house museums or information centers. I'm not sure if it is open for public visiting, but even being able to walk around and see the park was very fun. The Littles-Martin building currently houses the NAACP chapter of Corpus Christi.

San Antonio African American Community Archive and Museum - San Antonio, TX

Our last stop was in San Antonio, where we visited the San Antonio African American Community Archive and Museum in La Villita. While it's a small space, it contains multiple different histories of Black people in San Antonio more widely in Texas and the United States. When we went, they had a special exhibit on a historic Black magazine active in San Antonio. On our visit, I even learned something new about the school my dad, his brother, and their mom (my grandma) had gone to. See, my grandma went to the original Brackenridge High School in San Antonio's south side, which in the 70s changed name and location to Phillis Wheatley High School, after the famous African-American poet. At the SAAACAM, I learned about the original Phillis Wheatley school, which served as San Antonio's all-Black school from the 1930s on (I'm not sure when it would have been dissolved as a segregated school). It's now Phillis Wheatley Middle School, at the same location where it originally served as an all-Black school.

So, these were the places that we visited in South Texas that surface the Black history of the region! I hope this can be helpful for other people from the RGV looking to understand the lesser-known history.

Extra Resources on Black History in the Valley

Blackness (and Anti-Blackness) in the Borderlands Words by Nat M, edited by Gisela Zuniga

UTRGV Special Collections & University Archives: African American History & Heritage

Black History in the RGV by Pamela Morales, on a presentation given by Jillian Glantz

African American Heritage Sites of Interest by Village in the Valley

SAAACAM Green Book for Negro Motorists

#black history #texas #south texas

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aviolentindustrialcomplex · 2 years

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Norma, Normality, and the Ability to Rebuke It

Online shopping is the bane of my existence (after doctors, who I hate more than most things). When I go to shop for clothing online I am constantly wondering where that skirt will pinch, if that shirt will sit on me like it does on that model, if those pants will have enough room for my dump truck ass? Does the size guide on the website really tell the truth?

If it feels like your clothes don't fit, you’re right, they don't. They fit Norma, a 1940s plaster cast of the supposedly normal, average woman’s body. Norma and her counterpart, Norman, were the creation of a eugenicist, gynecologist named Robert Latou Dickinson and an artist named Abram Belskie because of “a government employee's quest to create sizing for women,” (Zavarise). Norma and Norman are the plaster statues pictured below.

When it came to creating the perfectly average man, it was relatively easy because male sizing data already existed in military records. There was a demand for the standardization of women’s sizing, so an army of “measuring squads” were deployed to women’s homes to take their measurements (Zavarise). Of course, because a eugenicist was at the forefront of this project, “In the case of Norma, the minds that collated her measurements were enthusiastic eugenicists, motivated by a desire to effectively eradicate insufficiently white, disabled, and queer people,” says Heather Radke, author of the book Butts, A Backstory.

Norma has a 29-inch-across butt. Her breasts are perky, she is free of pubic hair (Norman has public hair), and has rock-hard abs (or rather plaster-hard abs haha).

When it came to the scientists working with Norma, “They were openly attempting to engineer a race of perfectly normal Americans, equating full citizenship with having this decisively average, yet demonstrably unattainable, body,” (Zavarise). They even held a competition to find the most average woman in Ohio, but the woman who came the closest, Martha Skidmore, looked quite different from Norma herself (Anupam). Norma’s hips and thighs are narrower, her head is smaller. If Norma were alive, I doubt anyone would mistake them for sisters.

Normal is a fallacy, a false ideal that everyone finds themselves trying to meet or exceed at high costs. I have never met a single person who ever truly felt normal in their body. Normal is supposed to be the quality of most-average, but it feels more like an ambiguous quality that exists in limbo. Normal is paradoxically a quality that is strived for and rebuked. To be normal is to fit in, to be liked, understood, and simple. But to be normal is also to be unexceptional, to go with the crowd and make little impact.

Middle school feels like the quintessential experience of “normal.” I had a fairly negative middle school experience: I was friends with people I didn’t truly care about and who cared about me even less, I was part of a basketball team with a creepy coach, I was a stellar student and felt out of place in almost every way. It is impossible to feel normal when no one else will talk about the fact that they are experiencing all of the same things you are.

It wasn’t until I got to high school that I began to understand the value of abnormality. Being normal was a survival tactic in middle school, but I went to a high school with all new people, and that meant I could reinvent myself or, rather, be true to myself. That was pretty cool, especially because it is impossibly boring to be normal. By rebuking normality towards the end of high school and the beginning of college, I was able to be honest about my likes and dislikes and set firmer boundaries that I had in the past. Being abnormal means that I get to define myself by my own values, not those I perceive others to have. I’m really proud of myself for being able to do that, being able to continue to deny the impulse to conform. I’m not perfect at it, but I am definitely learning.

Anupam. “The Quest for Norma.” Observations, 10 Mar. 2022, https://anupamobserved.com/2022/03/10/the-quest-for-norma/.

Zavarise, Isabella. “A 1930s Eugenics Experiment Is the Reason Women’s Clothing Sizes Are so Damn Frustrating.” Business Insider, https://www.businessinsider.com/eugenics-experiment-set-the-course-for-womens-clothing-sizes-2022-11. Accessed 4 Mar. 2023.

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longlivefanfic-net · 2 years

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What Dreams May Come

Summary: Your new friend Chrissy introduces you to Eddie Munson. Eddie introduces you to his interests (weed and D&D). You introduce Eddie to your body. Eddie x reader

Content/Warnings: First times, marijuana, fingering, blood, spit, penetrative sex, begging, Dom!Eddie maybe??

Word Count: 7.8k

A/N: This is a heavily edited version of my earlier fic, It's Nobler to Live. I wanted to add more begging/ordering and blood so....yeah. Sorry for the Hamlet references but I really think maybe willy shakes got a few things right so! Also my Eddie Munson playlist is included at the bottom but not referenced in this one :) You can find this version on AO3 by Heaven_of_Hell (yeah another shakespeare reference and what of it)

The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead are going to burn a hole through the puréed mush that used to be your brain. Mrs. Smith, the senior English teacher at Hawkins High, has spent the last forty seven minutes—forty seven minutes—of her own life standing in front of the dry chalk board, outlining the character development of Hamlet. “Hamlet, as you know, dies in the end,” Mrs. Smith says, “and the theme of mortality is a constant in this play.” Does she even catch the irony anymore?, you wonder. Another student from your school went “missing” a month ago, now presumed dead; they’re all presumed dead now. When Will Byers disappeared, died, was buried, and then somehow showed up in the hospital, everyone thought Hawkins, Indiana was a place where miracles happened. But that older girl, Barbara—she never showed back up. She ran off, supposedly, but what about the others who had disappeared right around the same time? How many people in one tiny town would run away in the same month? Then there was the fire in the mall. So many people died there, and so many people seemed to have already moved on. Mrs. Smith is talking about the scene with Yorrick’s skull now. Her voice drills faintly across your nerves as you consider what it would mean to hold a human skull in your hands like Hamlet—not just any skull, but the skull of someone you had known, someone you had loved. To hold in your hands the skull of one of the students no one in this classroom thinks will ever come back. “To be or not to be? That is the question,” Mrs. Smith recites, eyes glinting with her own self-satisfaction. English teachers always leave out the best part of that soliloquy—the teacher at your school two years ago did, at least, and so did the one before that—when Hamlet says “for in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.” What dreams, post-coil, did your classmates have? Were they nice dreams? Or did they, like you, still feel their heart race before jolting straight up in bed every night with the sound of a grandfather clock echoing?

When Mrs. Smith dismisses you for your next class–fuck, did you do your math homework?—the girl in the desk next to you leans over the aisle. “You don’t take notes, huh?” she asks, ponytail bobbing gently as she smiles to make it clear her curiosity is genuine. “No,” you answer, “I did Hamlet sophomore year. At my old school.” “Oh!” she says, eyes lighting up, “so you already know the whole thing!” Yes, you know the whole thing (unfortunately), you say, anticipating her next question. “Well, since you already know all of it, I wondered if you might help me with my essay? I think I want to write about Ophelia—something about how she dies when she’s at her lowest so you really feel for her. Does that sound like a good paper to you?” She asks, eyes narrowing slightly while she waits for your approval. You give it, agreeing to read a finished draft, though adding that you’re not sure what you can do to help her. You’ve only been at Hawkins for a little under two years, but everyone knows Chrissy, cheerleading captain, basketball star’s girlfriend, prettiest girl in school, future prom queen, and, probably, valedictorian, is one of the smartest girls in the class. Hell, she’s not just the smartest girl—she’s the smartest. Still, if she wants your help on the paper you should give it to her; maybe she’ll help you make some friends (finally). Just as your mouth opens to suggest that Chrissy expand her topic, a black shadow moves in your peripheral vision.

You freeze on instinct—you have learned to be still when you see these sudden movements because you’re still not sure if they can see you. However, this one moves differently. In fact, it moves languidly, rolling and bounding through each step with a sense of confidence—hell, a sense of ownership—as it makes its way towards you. You turn your head ever so slightly and realize that the “shadow” is, in fact, a boy. No, not a boy; he doesn’t look like the other students you’ve seen a thousand times walking the halls of Hawkins High. He stands a little straighter, a little leaner, like his body has already begun to edge away from the last dregs of childhood that are clinging to the frames of the other students. His dark, wavy hair falls around his shoulders, a way for him to signify that he is different, he is strange, compared to the other boys in this school. You notice that he is wearing a denim vest over a leather jacket over a t-shirt—a different look, noticeably, from the other boys in the classroom who wear collared polo shirts and ring necked t shirts—and the vest is covered in patches obviously sewn on by someone incompetent with needle and thread. The bulky, uneven stitches, however, give shape to him, to his personality. It’s almost laughable, this menagerie of ways he has clearly made efforts to stand out from the other Hawkins students, but something about his demeanor stops you. In the seconds it takes you to take in his form, you assume that he is the one doing the sewing, that he takes pride in being unlike these other students, that he is, always, himself, even when it’s as offensive to the suburban moms of Hawkins as the lyrics from the bands he covers himself in. He takes himself seriously, clearly, and it makes you take him seriously too. He doesn’t see you, yet, eyes intent on something in his hands. He is scribbling furiously, a black pen leaving ink smears on his fingertips as they drag across the too-thin paper that sounds like it is on the verge of shredding under his enthusiasm. Chrissy has been chattering in your ear, making plans to swap essays to proofread next week, when you turn your head back to her and meet her eyes. You dart your eyes back to the young man walking down the aisle, universal code for “who is that?” and she giggles, swinging her bag up onto her back. “Eddie,” she says.

The man’s head snaps up, comically fast, as if under the smooth, taut skin of his neck there may be a coiled spring. “What.” He barks. Then he notices Chrissy, and his face softens just a touch. “Yes, miss Chrissy?” He asks playfully, cocking his head to the side. When she smiles at him, the edges of his eyes soften and the very edge of his mouth tilts up, resisting the smile he wants to mirror from her face. “Have you met our new student?” Chrissy asks, waving towards you. Inexplicably, you feel burning red heat wash through your body. “Not new-new,” you say. “I’ve been here two years now.” “New to me, then,” this man, this Eddie, says, meeting your eyes for the first time. Is it your imagination (yes) or do his eyes seem to cloud over when he looks at yours? “It’s been my senior year for the last two years, and I don’t see much of the normal lower classmen in this place.” You feel your eyebrows shift before you can rein yourself in. “Yeah,” he laughs, “I’m a high school-can’t-graduate,” he says, emphasizing the can’t. “That’s what happens when you take the phrase high school too literally. Not that you would know anything about that, huh Chrissy? Chrissy’s friend?” His eyes pierce yours suddenly—this feels like a test. Quickly: you have to prove you’re cool, you have to say you love drugs or something like that before you lose this beautiful man’s attention. Your lips start to form around the words you haven’t chosen when Chrissy grabs your hand. “Ugh, Eddie. Have a good class. We’re going,” she says, this last bit directed at you with a meaningful glance and a wrist tug. “Bye,” you gasp out as Chrissy—surprisingly strong for such a small thing—physically pries you away from the desk and out of the classroom. You can feel his eyes on you right until you pass through the doorway.

The rest of the day slips by. Teachers talk at the front of their rooms, most students ignore you, and, in the crowded, white cinder block hallway, Chrissy passes you a note with her phone number written—in cheerleader perfect handwriting—on it.

That night, you pull the heavy plastic of the phone off the wall. You told your parents you were going to call “a friend” and tried to ignore the way their eyes lit up—your mom clearly heard “friend” and started picturing you as some sort of sports team captain, some sort of honor student, some sort of…normal kid. None of the kids in Hawkins are truly normal, you think, pressing the soft pads of your fingers into the rounded plastic of each number for Chrissy’s phone. You’ve already rehearsed what you’ll tell her parents—“I’m helping Chrissy with her essay for English because I already read the story.” Instead, a man’s voice answers the phone with a laugh. “Chrissy’s private line,” he says, the sound of a grin on his mouth. “Oh,” you say, “is, uh, Chrissy there?” “One sec, sweetheart,” the voice says, and you hear a giggle in the background with the muffled sound of the receiver being passed back and forth. “Tracy?” Chrissy’s voice asks. “Um, no,” you say. “It’s me, from your Engl—“ “Oh hey!” She says. “Please don’t tell me you’re calling about the essay already.” “No,” you say, hurriedly, hoping to hold on to whatever had made Chrissy turn to you that afternoon, “I just wanted to…talk, I guess.” She giggles across the static of the phone lines. “Talk, huh? Any specific freak show you’re calling to talk about?”

“What?“ You ask, confusion creasing the space between your eyebrows. “Munson, obviously….Eddie? The long haired dude you went heart eyed over after class today?” “Oh,” you sigh, “well. Yeah. I guess.” Chrissy laughed loudly, and the boys voice from earlier grumbles in the background about “fucking freak Munson.” “He’s single, if that’s what you’re asking.” A disgusted grumble meets Chrissy’s words on her side of the phone and she giggles again in the way that tells you the giggle isn’t for you. “I’m not asking that,” you say quickly. “I’m just curious about why he’s still in school.” “He doesn’t care enough to graduate,” Chrissy sighs. “He shows up and then doesn’t even try. One of my friends had to do a group project with him and she said it was like pulling teeth.” Chrissy, perfect Chrissy, clearly can’t understand the feeling of struggling with school work. “Yeah, but I mean, he was writing when he came in. Like an essay or something,” you say, voice leading. “Oh my God!” Chrissy exclaims. “It’s Hellfire club. He’s writing his little game that he plays with those underclassmen toddlers.” “Oh,” you say, like you know what the fuck a “Hellfire club” is. “Listen,” Chrissy asks, suddenly serious. You can just picture her sitting up straight in bed, pushing that basketball star off of her with the suddenness of her idea. “Come over to my place. Wear something hot. I’ll do your hair and we can go to this party, out in the woods by the trailer park. Eddie’s always there selling…well, you know,” she says, then whispers, “marijuana.” You blink at her whispered tone. Here’s the high school perfect prom queen, talking about the drugs she was supposed to “dare to say no to.” Inadvertently, you let out a little giggle. Chrissy laughs in return, and you feel a kinship in your heart with this girl. Maybe she’s not perfect either, you think. “Okay,” you say suddenly. “Okay.”

You walk into Chrissy’s room, chauffeured by her mother who says “have fun girls!” and passes a stern look on to Chrissy before disappearing down the hall, closing the door of the room behind her. You hear a sewing machine start up a second later, but Chrissy’s not paying attention to that anymore. “Wow,” she says. “Is this how you dress? Outside of school?” “Why?” you ask, a note of fear embarrassingly showing your nerves. You dressed out tonight—something like in those magazines girls like Chrissy are always reading. The blouse you’re wearing is almost see-through, and you had to wear your jacket buttoned over it when you rushed past your parents, saying you were “going to study.” “You look great,” Chrissy says. “It’s a little bold, but it’s great. Let me do your hair,” she says, pulling the round brush and can of hairspray off her vanity mirror. Her fingers graze the back of your neck as she pulls your hair up, and you watch her face in the reflection of the vanity. She is focused, completely zoned in—but her eyes look hard. You wonder where her boyfriend has gone to, if he’s the reason for the cold behind her focus right now. When she glances into the mirror and sees you staring at her, she smiles at you before your eyes can flinch away. Ten minutes later, you barely recognize yourself in her mirror. You clash, hard, with the pink and bows of her bedroom. “Munson’s going to freak—well, more than he already does.” “I’m not dressed for him,” you say, hurriedly. “Of course not,” she giggles, applying a mascara wand over her eyelashes. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to write you into his weird game. You’ll probably be the damsel he has to rescue, the princess in the tower, or some weird shit like that.” You laugh, but secretly, in your heart, you’re thinking how having someone to save you might not be such a bad thing.

The woods are dark. Chrissy walks beside you, asking, “do you want to find him

immediately? I don’t think Eddie’s going to understand playing it cool, if you know what I mean,” when you feel a tingle down your spine. Your too tall shoes trip over a root, and you reach your hand out as you stumble, bracing your hand against a tree and feeling the burn of scraped skin. “Careful there, princess,” says a voice behind you. A large, calloused hand wraps around your wrist pulling you back up. “Wouldn’t want you to rip those pretty clothes.” His voice is even, the sound of a too-wide, crooked grin rolling through it. “Munson!” Chrissy exclaims. “We were looking for you.” “Little old me?” He says, turning his warm, brown eyes to Chrissy. “What would the prom queen want from the freak?” He laughs, but it sounds almost bitter. “Not me,” Chrissy says. Her eyes slide to you, a soft grin playing over her lips. “Anyway. See you at the car in…an hour, maybe?” You nod, throat too tight to answer her. Eddie’s eyes are back on you. As Chrissy walks on, heading towards the distant sounds of teenage revelry—beer bottles clinking, too loud laughter, the very light strums of one of those hair-bands girls like Chrissy listen to tinny out of some boom box. “So,” Eddie says, eyes sliding over your body. God, you wonder, can he see your heart beat pulsing in your throat? “What did you need from me?” You panic. You hadn’t thought about this. What do you need from him? How do you tell this strange man that you got one glimpse of him and wanted to beg him to stay with you forever, that you wanted to feel the lean muscles of his thighs next to you in bed the next time a clock woke you up in the middle of the night, that you’re convinced that if someone’s going to save you from whatever shuffles teenagers in this town off of Hamlet’s mortal coil it’s going to be him? “Chrissy said you sell weed,” you blurt out. His eyes snap to yours. “You cool?” he asks, a note of his suspicion in his voice as his nostrils flare. “I’m—I’m cool.” You can’t stop a laugh from coming out of your throat. “Why are you laughing?” he asks, a twist of his lips like he’s already in on the joke. “I’m not cool,” you breathe, “but I’m not a snitch, I mean.” Eddie laughs, loud and sharp in the silence of the trees. “Me neither,” he says. “Let’s go to my car.”

Can he hear your heart racing? You have no idea what you’re doing. How are you supposed to talk to him? How are you supposed to walk next to him? Your breath is racing in and out of your dry throat, and all you can think about is how good his ass looks in the worn jeans he’s wearing, a little too loose to be in fashion. All you can think about is his ass—and your stupid shoes. Why did you wear these? Your mom bought them for you months ago, saying you could wear them to “go out” and now you’re here, out, and you shouldn’t have worn these stupid shoes. Eyes on the ground, careful not to walk over a root, you suddenly collide into the soft cotton of Eddie’s chest. “You okay, princess? You seem…freaked,” he says, voice betraying concern for you. “I’m fine,” you say. You had put your arms up instinctively when you walked into him, unthinking, and as you pull your hand back you cringe. “I uh, got blood on your shirt,” you mutter. He looks down in surprise. “Not the first time that’s happened,” he mutters. “You okay? You’re not…scared, right? I know you’re new, or not new, or whatever, but I’m not the devil worshiper Chrissy told you I am.” “No,” you say, quickly, “not scared.” “Good,” he smiles, “I’m not planning on sacrificing you to satan, no matter what those little boys who play with their balls say.” He laughs.

His laugh is infectious, startling, and wonderful. You laugh too and his smile widens. Oh god, you think, you made him smile. The back door of his car swings open, revealing a small set up of pillows, a beat up walkman, his notebook, and a six pack. “So,” you say, forcing conversation. “You, um,” you glance around hurriedly, “write?” “Oh, I’m sure Chrissy already told you about that,” Eddie says, scoffing as he turns around to sit down on the back bumper. “It’s Hellfire club. Dungeons and dragons? The defining tabletop game of our generation?” He looks so serious—you almost feel guilty when you shake your head with no recognition. “It’s like…roleplay sort of.” A hint of a blush creeps up his neck at the word. “I’m the dungeon master, so I write the game. I tell them what to do, basically.” “You like telling people what to do?” you ask. His eyes flick to yours, hard, then away. Blood rushes into your cheeks as you hear what you just said reverberate in your head. Jesus christ, you think, can I have at least one fully functioning brain cell around this guy? “I mean, you like, um, telling the club what to do,” you say. “Yeah,” Eddie says, warm, brown eyes sliding back to yours slowly. “I like telling people what to do.”

His hands reach into the dark of the back of his car, and you hear the sharp clang of the large silver rings he wears on metal as he pulls a small box into his lap. “So,” he says, grinning at you. “It’s $20, usually, but since it’s your first time buying from me I’ll give it to you for $15.” Right, you think. I’m buying weed from this guy. Not thinking about him telling me what to do. Focus. “Okay,” you say, pulling a small wad of crumpled bills out of your front pocket.

You go to hand him the $15, and his calloused fingers brush over your palm. Wincing, you hiss a sharp breath through your teeth. “Whoa, princess,” he says. “Is your hand still bleeding?” He sets the money down and flips your hand up toward the soft yellow glow of the trailer park lights behind you. Yes, there’s still a thin trail of blood on your palm. It doesn’t look bad, you think, but Eddie grimaces. “We should put something on that,” he says, “blood gives Hawkins a bad name.” He grins. This is the closest anyone has come to naming the inescapable sense of dread you’ve felt in your chest since the moment the tires of your mom’s wood paneled station wagon crossed city limits for the first time. The first time someone has said anything other than to “pray for the missing students.” “What’s that about?” You ask. “The missing people.” “Oh, we don’t talk about that here,” Eddie whispers, a grin creeping over his features making you feel like you’re in on a secret. “See, I can sell weed, play satanic games, OR talk about missing kids, but the mommies around town would never let me get away with all three.”

His face is nerve-wrackingly close to your bleeding palm, and he breaks eye contact with you to say “don’t be weird” before dipping his head down to your hand. Something thick, warm, wet slides over the burning scrapes. “Did you just fucking lick my hand?!” “Saliva. It stops bleeding. At least, that’s what my uncle always says.” Eddie drops your hand suddenly, and you carefully lower it without wiping it on your skirt. “Your uncle?” You ask. “Yeah, I live with him,” he replies, eyes still on your damp palm resting at your side. “Parents aren’t really…in the picture. Haven’t been for a while.” A huff of breath escapes your throat. Life may suck, but at least you have your mom—how is this guy surviving without his? Who does he talk to when things are hard? Is he completely alone? “Anyway,” he says, hands darting back to his side in a too quick motion, “you want your weed?” “No. Yes. I mean,” you sputter, “I do, yeah, but I don’t…I don’t know what to do with it.” “Oh ho ho,” Eddie laughs, over the top in his delight. His eyes light up in the yellow glow of the lights leaking over the treetops. “A virgin.” You flinch, for a second, and his smile flickers, but the heat of the blush on your face, so hot he can probably feel it, brings it back. “Don’t worry, princess,” he says. “I’ll roll for you this time.”

As you sit next to him, he shakes something that looks like murky green chunks into a thin piece of paper, twisting it between his fingers, while you watch. His hands should be too big for this, too thick of fingers for such delicate work, but he does the job with speed and accuracy. His tongue pokes out between his lips in concentration, and you can’t take your eyes off that narrow tip of soft pink—that tongue that had just scraped across your palm—and he raises the joint to his mouth and applies the paper to his tongue. “Hope you don’t mind a little freak spit,” he laughs, “although if you did, you probably would have already slapped me.” “Was I supposed to slap you?” You laugh. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings if you did.” He hands you the slender joint, finely rolled, with a wink. “I made it small for your first time.” You thank him and promptly hold it away from your body like you’re scared it’s going to give you a disease. “You know, it works best if you actually smoke it.” He’s laughing now, but it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at you so much as he’s laughing with you. “Do you have to do anything special? Or like…do you light it and just, I don’t know, go?” His laugh sparkles across the night, lighting up like stars. “Light it and go, princess.” He holds out a silver lighter to you. “Where are my manners?” he says, pulling back. He flicks the lighter open and the soft flame glows between the two of you. His hair casts shadows around his face but not the kind you’ve been running from—these ones make the sharp planes of his face soft. “Between your lips,” Eddie says, voice soft. “What?” “Put the joint in your mouth, between your lips.” You do as he says. “Now hold it to the light and breathe in through it.” You do your best to do what he says. The smoke fills your mouth and he says “pull it down, into your chest” and you try to do that too. Suddenly, you’re spluttering, coughing like fire lit up your chest. “Oh my god,” you choke out. “What the fuck.” Eddie’s laugh cackles out.

“It’s fine,” he says, “gets easier, I promise.” “Did I do it right?” “Is that what you’re worried about, princess? Doing it right?” “Yeah,” you cough out. “Bit of a perfectionist. Would you…would you show me? What it looks like when you do it?” You feel so awkward, so nervous, but you want to look cool the next time you pull down a breath of this thick smoke and you know Eddie Munson is going to look cool when he smokes. “You want to share a joint with me?” Eddie says, grin cocking his lips up. “How sweet.” He takes it out of your hand and pulls a quick breath down. You watch as his chest expands, the slight muscles under his ring spun shirt expanding. He holds the breath for a second and then pushes it out, and you look at his face. His eyes have watched you watch him this whole time. You think you should be embarrassed, but for some reason you’re not. “Why didn’t you cough?” You ask, feeling vaguely stupid but wildly curious. “Practice makes perfect, princess.”

“Why do you keep calling me princess?” His eyes stare into yours. “Look at you,” he says. “You’re definitely the princess, and I’m definitely the freak.” “Not a princess,” you mutter, casting your eyes down. “You look like one to me.” “Like in your game? Your club thing?” “Sure,” Eddie laughs, “like in my club thing. You want to try to smoke again?” He holds out the faint glow of the joint to you. “It burned really bad,” you confess. “Is that normal?” “Don’t ask me about normal,” he says, chuckling low and honey-voiced, “but I could shotgun it for you. Might be easier that way.” “What does that mean?” Eddie’s eyes dart away from you, looking into the empty trees around the car. “Basically, I smoke it but then I breathe the smoke into your mouth. You’d have to be okay with more freak spit.” He plays with his hair, fingers almost nervously tugging on his ends as he pulls it over his face. “Yeah,” you say. “I want to do that.” He takes a heavy drag on the joint and leans over towards you. You’re staring at him, holding your breath as he does, and his hand carefully reaches up to your face. The thick pads of his fingers gently, softly touch your chin, squeezing slightly as your jaw drops. Eyes wide, he leans in to you, head tilted and—his lips don’t touch yours. Smoke suddenly pours into your mouth and you gasp it down. This is better, you think, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the smoke or his fingers. “Easier, right?” he asks, leaning back. “Yeah,” you say. “Way better.” “Do you feel it yet?” he asks. You take stock of your body—the first time you’ve noticed your body in a few minutes. Your heart rate feels…normal. You’re not watching the shadows. Your limbs are a little heavy, like when you’re half asleep. You don’t know if it’s from the tiny bit of weed you’ve smoked or just being around him. “Maybe,” you say, slowly. “You want more?” He asks. “I want you to shotgun it again.” It’s so strange to speak to this man like this, with no fear. He laughs lightly. “Anything you want, princess.”

And then he’s leaning over you again, and you realize at some point you laid down in the back of his car, and there’s another lungful of smoke in your mouth, but this time when you breathe it out he’s still close to your mouth. You can smell the tobacco still lingering on his fingertips and the dust settled into the car’s upholstery, and you try to keep your eyes focused on his but they keep drifting down to his mouth. “So,” he says, face dangerously close to yours. “You don’t mind the freak spit?” “No.” “You didn’t wipe your hand off when I licked it.” “No.” This wasn’t a question, but you answer it anyway. “Are you going to take it home?” Eddie asks as his eyes drift slowly to fixate on your neck, “and keep it as a souvenir?” You place your hand—the one still stinging with scrapes—on the side of your neck he’s fixated on. “Yeah,” you say, dreamily. “A souvenir.” You like the idea of that–a souvenir of Eddie Munson, the little traces of him from his saliva ingrained into your skin. “Or maybe,” Eddie whispers, “You were going to do something the mommies wouldn’t like. Maybe you’re a bad girl,” he says, still staring at your neck and now your hand, “who was going to rub herself with the freaks spit on your hand.” Your breath hitches in your chest. “Maybe I was,” you say, drawing your finger down the slope of your neck. “What about it?” “I’ll send you home with something better than a joint and a licked hand, princess.” His eyes meet yours, foggy with a mix of inebriation and lust. “Just say the words.” Instinctively, you know what he wants to hear. “Please, Eddie.”

Immediately, quickly, almost too fast to see, his head burrows into the soft space between your collarbone and your chin. His mouth is greedy across your throat, sucking hungrily over the places you just rubbed with the last traces of your blood and his saliva. A gasp sneaks out of your mouth and you can’t stop your hands from fisting in his long hair. “You like that?” Eddie murmurs into the soft skin over your heartbeat. “God, yes,” you moan back. His mouth travels slowly up your throat, and works his way down your jaw. He kisses your chin once, pressing his mouth fiercely against your skin. Pulling back, Eddie looks into your eyes. “This is okay?” “Yes,” you say, fingers trailing down through his hair. “Tell me…tell me you want me,” he mumbles, eyes on your lips. “What?” You’re confused. Of course you want him–you came to this stupid party, smoked weed, because you want him. You already know that you would do anything he told you if it kept you with him–how does he not see that? “Tell me that you want me,” he repeats himself, a slight blush burning the space between your skin and his. “I need to know that this is what you want or I’m going to stop.” His eyes are drilling into yours as he says this, and you feel a slight shiver creep down your spine. He feels it too—the light shake reverberating through his hands—and grins. “I want you,” you say, quietly. “I want you. Please don’t stop, Eddie.” He moves quickly again, head dipping over yours, and presses his lips against yours for the first time. They’re surprisingly soft, but not gentle, as he pushes your mouth open with his own. His tongue is in your mouth, sweeping inside of you, and you taste the mixture of the joint you shared and what you think must have been a beer he had earlier. As your hands grip the taught muscles of his shoulders, you scratch a nail down the side of his neck. His gasp comes out in your mouth, making your chest tighten. “More,” he says. “More of that.” You smile, and you feel, rather than see, his lips still pressed against yours match your smile in a soft, almost lazy upturn.

You scratch your nails down the side of his neck and he moans softly. “Harder for me, princess.” You scratch him harder, like you’re trying to draw blood. You want, so badly, to prove to him that you may be his princess but you can do this too—you can make him moan and bleed and gasp. “Shirts,” Eddie pants. “Off. Now.” You sit up slightly as he pulls back, straddling your hips with his thighs and yanks his shirt over his head by the collar. Thankfully, he appears to have left his other layers of jackets at home. For the first time, you see the dark lines he’s covered himself in and reach out a gentle finger to trace the one over his chest. “You like my tatties?” he asks, laughing. “Mmhm,” you mumble. His hands are suddenly on your waist, tugging your shirt up. “Yeah,” you breathe, “please.” He pulls your blouse over your head and pauses. “You’re not going to get pissed about some wrinkles, right, princess?” He asks. You’re not sure if he’s joking; you lean over, pull the clean white fabric out of his hands and toss it out the back of the car, into the dirt. “I want you,” you say again as his face lights up with delight, following the arc of the fabric into the darkness. “Tell me what to do.” “Undo your bra for me, princess.” You do, automatically, tossing it after the blouse. “That’s my good girl,” he says, voice hungry with desire, and your breath catches in your throat. He notices the tiny gasp. “You like that?” He asks, grinning sharply, “You like being a good girl for me?” He looks at you like you imagine a starving wolf would look at prey—but you’re not scared. The animalistic sharpness that has entered his eyes doesn’t scare you. If you are his prey, you are going willingly—so fucking willingly—into the belly of the beast. You might be the rabbit this wolf is chasing, but you’re offering yourself up, desperate to be consumed by him.

His hands move to the soft skin of your breasts, gently cupping the smooth skin. Your nipples pucker ever so slightly at the cool metal of his rings rubbing across them as he starts to knead your skin, rubbing his thumbs in circles over your nipples. A whimper works its way out of your throat; his head snaps up from his intense concentration on your breasts and he bites his lower lip. “Good?” He asks. “Good,” you whisper, your core turning molten at the slight puncture in his lip, and his head dips to the skin dancing below your collarbone to press his lips lightly—so fucking lightly it makes you feel dizzy—in little feather touches down to your nipples. His tongue slides around your now-perked nipple, circling it again and again. “Good,” you say again, fingers wrapping in his long hair and scratching his scalp. He groans against your skin, and you feel the scrape of his teeth against your nipple, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You can’t stop the moan that comes out of your mouth, low pitched and long. “Do you want more of me, princess, or is this enough to remember the night by?” More, you think, you need more of him, God, you need him pressed against or on or into every part of your body where your skin is bristling and begging to be touched, tasted, stroked by him, but all you say is “Please.”

“Use your words,” he growls, teeth still hovering dangerously close to your nipple. “More, please, Eddie, more.” “Keep going,” he growls, fingers hesitating just over your skin and burning you with desire. “I want more of you, Eddie, and I want you in me, and I want you to fuck me,” you spit out, jaw clenching around the words in fear that he’ll reject you. “Good girl,” he murmurs, moving his fingers down to the hem of your skirt. You put this stupid skirt on tonight, trying to look like Chrissy, hoping it would make you look normal in your blouse and your jacket and your “going out” shoes that have somehow slipped off your feet at some point. You regretted the skirt, at first, because—in your opinion—you looked stupid, but now you are willing to sing praises to whatever compelled you to put something on that would allow Eddie Munson to slide his wide hands up your thigh, slide his fingers all the way up to your hip to poke his finger under the strap of your underwear and hook his finger around it, yanking down. “More,” you say again at the slight hesitation in his taut body, reassuring him that you want him. “Lie back down,” he orders and you comply. Both of his hands slide up your thighs and his fingers grab around your underwear, sliding them down as you lift your hips for him.

“All the way off?” He asks. “What do you mean?” “If you want my hands, I can leave your panties at your knees. If you want more, I’m going to want them off.” You hesitate for a moment, a split second of indecision crossing your mind. “Off, please.” Eddie makes a low noise, deep in his chest as he pulls your underwear off—out into the woods they go—and then starts to pull your skirt down to follow it. “Hold on,” you say. His hands instantly freeze, burning on your hips. “Take your pants off first,” you say, confusion creasing your brows as to why he’s still partially clothed. His laugh is loud, sharp, but he says “anything for you, princess,” before undoing his belt. You let him pull his own pants off, watching how his hips writhe to remove the worn denim in the tight space of the back of his car. He pulls his underwear off with his pants, giving you what you were too scared to ask for.

For a moment, you stop and admire him in the phosphorescent glow of the nearby trailer park lights. His skin is pale, dark hair curling down his chest and over his lightly muscled thighs, as well as the spaces between you don’t dare let him see you looking at. You swallow, hard, as you examine his body. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he commands. “You’re beautiful,” you say immediately, either the weed or the lust dulling the part of your brain that should be embarrassed to say this. “I saw these statues, once, from the Romans or some shit like that, and the men all had these long, thin thighs and round asses, and soft looking arms, right, but they’re marble, so you know they’re not really soft because that’s a rock, but I thought ‘Hey, men's bodies can’t really look like this’ and then you just look like that but with these tattoos and it’s just…so beautiful.” That sentence felt like it took twenty minutes to say, but Eddie hasn’t looked away from your eyes yet. You stare back at him, blinking slowly. “What?” You finally ask. “Skirt. Off.” You wriggle your hips, slowly, trying to push the fabric down, and his hands suddenly grab your hips and stop you, lighting sparks where his fingers brush the bare skin of your waist. Quickly, deftly, he grabs the zipper and yanks, pulling his hands back suddenly. “Take it off for me.” Your skirt glides over your feet and out the door.

Sitting back, you lean on your forearms, preparing to lay down on your back while Eddie stares at you. “Wait,” he suddenly barks. “I dont—I don’t have condoms or any shit like that. Fuck. I—do you want me to—“ You cut him off. “I’m on the pill,” you say. “Oh. Okay, great. Um, but, the other stuff—“ “I’m a virgin,” you say. There’s no lingering feelings of the earlier shame when he said this word himself. “Me too,” he says. You almost laugh—the idea of this man with no one panting after him like you are right now is genuinely funny to you—but don’t dare risk hurting his feelings. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently on the neck, then bite the same place, hard. He gasps and you roll your tongue over the mark, laughing a little against his damp skin. “More, please,” you say again, lowering yourself down to your back. One of his hands grabs your waist while the other dips between your legs, briefly, sliding in. You gasp and he freezes, but your smile reassures him and he continues to push his thick finger deeper into you, sliding back and forth. “More,” you moan, and his breath catches before sliding a second finger inside. His fingers are moving slowly, occasionally dipping out to draw slow, languid circles over your clit. “Faster,” you whisper as your need for him inside of you grows. “Where are your manners, princess?” He growls. “Someone like you should know better.” “Please,” you moan, writhing your hips against the flat palm of his hand pressing down on you, creating friction while he tries to withhold it. “Faster, please.” “Good girl,” he whispers in your ear before moving his mouth back along your jawline.

He’s nipping your skin after every kiss and it feels like your body might implode suddenly, shimmering off into the starlight that’s dancing over the top of his head as he pulls back to meet your eyes. “Do you want to cum now? Or do you want me inside of you?” What a stupid fucking question. “Inside of me. Please.” His fingers draw back, leaving you feeling hollow and swollen. His hands, slick with you, brush down the insides of your thighs as he pushes them farther open. Positioning his hips at your entrance, he says one more time: “Tell me you want me.” “Eddie,” you whimper, “I want you. Plea—“ he interrupts you with a thrust and the word catches in your throat. “Is this…is this good?” he asks, eyes searching your face and face scrunched with concern. “Yes,” you say, reaching a hand up to cradle his face, “I want you.” You suddenly remember Hamlet, holding the skull of a loved one in his hand and contemplating death and, for the first time since you came to Hawkins, you contemplate what it means to live. A shock wave of relief passes over his face at your desire for him and he lets out a breath.

“Can I—“ He starts to ask. “I want you,” you say again. A soft smile flickers dangerously at the corners of his mouth. “Beg.” “Please.” “No, beg me. Beg me or I’ll stop.” “Don’t!” You gasp. “Don’t stop, please, Eddie, I need you. More, please. I need you all the way in, please. God, Eddie, I want you to fuck me. I want you to cum with me, please, I’m begging you.” With each word he thrusts into you and you reach your hands up for his shoulders, scratching your nails deep, deep into the soft skin of his back. “Good…girl…” he huffs as you whimper against him. “Make me bleed, princess.” You scratch down his chest, feeling skin raise under your hands. You scratch him again, pressing even harder, and his gasp turns into a moan. There are bright red beads of blood under his collarbones, and you lift yourself up slightly. You lock eyes for a moment, then dip your face to lick the crimson blots off his skin. He is wordless as you lean back again, meeting his eyes as you wipe a hand over your mouth and then place your hands over his shoulders again. His thrusts increase in speed, his face tightening, and he is biting his lip again as he pants over you, the tiniest moan working it’s way up from his throat until it breaks free of his mouth. “Oh, God, Eddie,” you whimper, and he moans again. Suddenly, you feel yourself tighten and know you’re not going to last much longer. You’ve been waiting for this too long, and your body refuses to wait anymore.

“Eddie,” you gasp, “I’m going to—“ “Fuck—“ he groans. Your walls tighten and release around him, pulling him deeper into you as he twitches and fills you with the proof of his satisfaction. Your face contorts as you moan, loudly, clawing into his back and lifting your hips together. Your body releases suddenly and you drop back, exhausted. Slowly, Eddie lowers himself on top of your bare skin. “Holy fuck,” he says. You whimper in response. His hand caresses your chin, rough fingers against your skin, turning your face to look at him. “You okay, princess?” “Yes,” you whisper. He kisses you again, slow this time and deep. “Good thing you don’t mind freak spit,” he laughs. Slowly, he pulls out of you, sending more minor shock waves through your body. He climbs out of the car, lithe form collecting pieces of clothing from the ground. You sit up, feeling heat dripping down between your legs, as he hands you your clothes. “You don’t have to get dressed,” he says, “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he grins. “But I don’t want you to feel…on display out here,” he says, gesturing to the woods. “Oh my god,” you gasp. “Someone could have come out here looking for you! Oh holy shit,” you start laughing. Eddie joins you, your laughs twisting together in the night to meet the stars. “Don’t worry, princess, no one has to know you fucked the freak,” he says, still laughing, but turns his back to you as he hops his jeans over his hips. “Eddie,” you say, “was this supposed to be a secret?” “I wouldn’t want your reputation ruined,” he murmurs, almost as if he doesn’t want you to hear him, while leaning down to pick up his shirt. He pulls it over his head, accidentally settling a stray leaf into his curls. You reach out from the back of the car, pulling the leaf out. “The thing is, I kind of already told Chrissy I was going to fuck Eddie Munson tonight. Can’t leave her disappointed.” He turns to you and his face is radiant for a moment before relaxing into skeptical eyes and a soft smile. “You did not,” he laughs. “Okay, I didn’t, but I’m going to. The only reputation I want in this town is as Eddie Munson’s princess.” You laugh as he picks up your hand, holding it reverently, and places a gentle kiss to the scraped inside of your palm while holding your eyes with his. “If that’s what my princess wants—and she uses her manners—that’s what my princess gets.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie the freak munson #Eddie fic #fanfic #Eddie Munson fic #eddie x reader #feral for him #my fic #Spotify #feral fics

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panda-writes-kpop · 3 years

Text

Dreamcatcher High School AU! (Troublemaker Ver.) - They Show A Different Side To You

A/N: Hi guys, girls, and non-binary pearls! I hope you’re having a good day today. I always noticed that there were these bad boy high school AUs, so I decided to make one of my own for my girls. Let me know what you think of it!

TW: Mentions of violence, people being scared of the girls

JiU:

JiU wasn’t anything like people told you. They said that she was mean and cruel. As the “ringleader” of the troublemakers in the school, JiU was supposed to be rude and manipulative.

...But you didn’t see any of those traits in your sweet girlfriend.

You had a hard time believing that the girl who supposedly beat up students for looking at her is the same girl who lets you feed her sweets after school.

JiU loved hugging you whenever she could, and she always had her arm around you when you walked down the hallway together. You didn’t see the death glares that people got, but you knew that people left you alone when you were with JiU.

Some alarm bells went off in your head when JiU wouldn’t let you meet her friends, but you didn’t really care.

JiU made you happy, and you weren’t going to let anyone ruin that happiness for you.

SuA:

“Babe!” You yell happily as you run towards SuA’s figure in the distance.

“Hey, baby. How was class?” SuA asks when you approach her.

“Fine. It’s boring when you skip class.” You sigh as you let SuA give you a hug.

“I know. I had some… problems to deal with.”

“You didn’t beat anyone up, right?” You ask innocently.

“Of course not!” SuA reassures you. “Those days are far behind me. I’m looking towards the future now.”

You pull back from SuA’s embrace and look her in the eyes.

I hope she’s not lying to me.

“Good.” You give her a bright smile as you drag her down the hallway.

“Yah! Where are you taking me, Y/N?” SuA asks nervously.

“To the lunchroom, silly! You may be able to skip class, but you can’t skip lunch with me!” You say happily as SuA catches up to your brisk walking pace.

“Then you’ve gotta beat me there!” SuA declares as she sprints down the hallway.

Her mind goes back to your earlier question, and she internally sighs in relief.

Thank goodness that Y/N doesn’t use the left-wing bathrooms.

Siyeon:

Siyeon hums softly to the radio station playing in your car.

“Could you sing for me, wolfie? I love the sound of your voice.” You squeeze Siyeon’s hand as you stop at a red light.

“Of course, babe. Anything for you.” Siyeon squeezes your hand back before you have to let go and continue driving.

Siyeon’s powerful voice fills your car, and you find yourself turning down the radio just so you can hear her sing. Siyeon doesn’t seem to mind as she continues to smile and sing along with the radio.

The two of you continue like this for a while until you see a familiar figure in the distance.

“Hey, isn’t that one of your friends? We should pull over and say hi.” You point to them as you slow the car down.

“Keep driving.” Siyeon hisses. “I don’t want to talk to them.”

“Okay, then.” You mumble as you start driving fast again.

An awkward silence consumes the ride to Siyeon’s house as you think to yourself.

She’s never acted like that to me before. Why wouldn’t she want to talk to her friend?

“I’m sorry,” Siyeon blurts out randomly, “but you have to understand that I don’t act the same way around you as I do around my friends. I can be gentle and sweet with you, but not with them.”

“Why not get new friends that’ll accept you for who you are?” You ask after a moment of silence.

“Those friends have been with me through the rough parts of my life. I can’t afford to lose my support system.”

You nod in agreement.

“Just promise me that you’ll always be yourself around me, okay? You don’t have to hide around me.” You look at Siyeon for an answer.

“I promise, baby.”

Handong:

Not again!

You sigh in disappointment as your locker refuses to open.

Please don’t tell them that they messed with it.

You try your locker combination again, and the locker opens without hassle.

Thank god.

You look inside and notice a different interior in your locker. The once neat locker has been completely trashed with crumpled papers, gum wrappers, and wads of gum. Your things have been thrown all over the locker.

You see a note taped to the back of the inside of the locker. You don’t bother to read it as you crumple it up and throw it with the rest of the papers in your locker.

You hang your head in shame as you hear a group of people burst out laughing.

“Yah, Y/N!” They holler at you.

You’re silent as you try to pick up the papers and junk in your locker.

“Hey, we were talking to you.” One of the bullies slams their hand on a nearby locker, and you jump back in response.

“I’m sorry, but who in the world do you think you’re talking to?” A familiar yet stern voice comes from behind you.

“Dongie!” You exclaim before rushing into her arms.

“I-I was ju-just… we were….” The bully pauses as they look into Handong’s eyes.

“Getting out of our way?” Handong finishes their sentence, and they nod eagerly.

“Absolutely! Sorry for bugging you, Handong!” The group clears out the hallways which leaves you and Handong alone for the time being.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were being bullied?” Handong asks softly as you pull away from her.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” You stare at the floor while Handong looks at you.

She then takes her hand and places it on your shoulder. “I’ll teach you how to fight back, Y/N. Consider it a thank you for all that you’ve done for me.”

“You’re the best!” You give Handong another tight hug before walking off to class together.

Yoohyeon:

“You look beautiful today, Yooh!”

“Yah, Yoohyeon, I love you so much!”

“Can I sit with you at lunch today? I noticed that one of the people that you normally sit with isn't here today!”

Yoohyeon’s classmates continue to call after her as she walks down the halls.

Yooh is known as one of the kinder members of her group. While the others used physical force and their wits to scare their classmates, Yoohyeon liked using her popularity to manipulate the student body to do her bidding.

She had to thank them because without her classmates’ support, Yoohyeon wouldn’t have met you.

As a widely feared and respected person, Yoohyeon was given a spot on the Student Council because of her peers voting her in.

You, on the other hand, had been nominated because of your teachers. They believed that you would make an excellent addition to the Student Council.

On that fateful day of the first Student Council meeting, Yoohyeon was seated next to you.

She, nor you, knew how that day would change your lives forever.

Two people that would’ve never interacted before became close friends, and eventually, lovers.

You were aware of Yoohyeon’s connections with the less tasteful members of the student body, but you didn’t mind.

Yoohyeon was herself around you. She didn’t have to put on that mask like she did at school. You often joked around with Yooh, and you went on a lot of sweet dates.

Although Yoohyeon was wanted and loved by the school, she only ever wanted one person by her side: You.

Dami:

“Dami!” You squeal as you brush her hand off of your thigh.

Dami smirks before responding, “What? I wasn’t doing anything bad.”

“Yeah, sure.” You roll your eyes before refocusing on your homework.

You had thought that being in the school library would’ve warded off Dami’s advances. Studying at either her house or yours had quickly led to the both of you getting off-topic from the homework that was assigned. Apparently, sitting in the back corner of the library still wouldn’t fix the issue at hand.

You manage to get a few more problems done in peace. You’re stumped by the last one, so you set your pencil down and then rub your temples in frustration.

Why does homework have to be this hard? There’s simply no need for it to be this way!

“Need some help?” You look up at the voice that is speaking to you.

That most certainly isn’t my girlfriend.

A girl around your age stands in front of your table. The heavy blush on her face indicates that she’s interested in more than studying with you.

“Umm…” You look over at Dami for help, but she’s pulled out a book and is deeply invested in it.

Whatever. I could use the help anyways if Dami isn’t going to help.

“Sure.” You answer as the girl excitedly sits next to you.

She grabs your pencil and begins to explain the problem to you.

Ah, that makes way more sense now.

“Thank you!” You give the girl a warm smile as she sits up.

“You’re so welcome! In fact,” She trails off as she glances to your left, “IhopeyouhaveanicedayandI’msorryforbuggingyouandyourgirlfriend.”

Her quick words leave you confused as she hastily walks away from you.

Okay, then.

“I’m done with my homework now.” You tell your girlfriend as you turn to face her.

“Good.” She mumbles softly before pulling you into her arms.

“I love you.”

“I love you too!” You give her a tight hug before gathering your things and leaving the school for the night.

Gahyeon:

“Yeah! That’s my girl!” You cheer from the stands as your girlfriend slams the volleyball onto the other team’s court.

They’re unable to save it as the ball falls to the ground. The buzzer sounds as the end of the game is announced.

We did it! Another win for our amazing volleyball team.

No one really expected Gahyeon to be on the volleyball team, let alone any sort of school event. She was always skipping class and had late work from the beginning of the year still due. That all changed when you caught her eye.

You weren’t anything like the other people that she dated. You stayed in class and did your work for the most part. You were involved in school activities, and you tried to make a few games for every sports team.

Gahyeon decided that in order to catch your eye, she needed to change as well. She started attending class and working to get her grades back up. She tried out and made the volleyball team. All of her family was shocked by this abrupt change in Gahyeon’s behavior. What would cause her to act like this?

As fate would have it, you noticed Gahyeon right after she started going to class again. You rarely saw the girl before then, and you didn’t know who exactly she was. Little by little, you found yourself falling for the girl with dreamy eyes and pretty hair.

“Good job, babe! Way to carry the game today.” You call out to Gahyeon as soon as you exit the bleacher.

“It’s all thanks to you, Y/N! I wouldn’t be playing if it wasn’t for your support.” She calls back before heading into the locker rooms.

You didn’t realize the weight and truth behind Gahyeon’s words, but you waved them off as a way for her to flirt with you.

But, Gahyeon meant every word that she said. She owed all of her newfound respect and power to you. Even if she still did hang out with her old group of friends, she still changed for the better when she met you.

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todoscript · 3 years

Text

how he would ask you out

request: pls some headcanons of how the boys (shinsou/tamaki/shouto) would ask the girl they like out 🥺

characters: shinsou hitoshi, amajiki tamaki, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff

word count: 3.3k+ total, 900-1200 per character

tags: pining, confessions, fem!reader

author’s notes: sorry if this sounds rushed?? i can’t write

SHINSOU HITOSHI

two years after his enrollment into the hero course, shinsou had finally came to terms with the feelings he’s been holding for you for quite some time now.

what began as just friendly encounters and kind gestures felt like something more to him. after all, you were one of the key people that led him to transition smoothly into the class, with your helpful demeanor and coming to his aid whenever he was stressed and troubled by the new environment.

you went out of your way to organize study sessions and small arrangements to mingle and get to know the other students better.

you reiterated to him that if he ever had any questions about anything, he could always come to you.

initially, shinsou thought he was being a burden—that he was just heavy baggage that tied you down.

however, you assured he was anything but, and stated that you were more than happy to help him, even going to say you enjoyed spending time and getting to learn more about him.

at your response, shinsou was appalled at how genuine you were.

appalled… but also very grateful.

eventually, there came a point when he realized there was no mistaking the affection he felt for you—not when he subconsciously noted every one of your habits and intricacies, able to tell whatever emotions were running through you at a simple glance, or when he would stop to admire the way you decided to style your hair differently or changed your look, thinking you seemed even more charming that day by the confidence you exude.

no, at that point, he’s sure it was painfully obvious. so obvious, in fact, that kaminari and mina had chosen to skip today’s group study session in favor of letting the two of you have your “alone time”. whatever that could mean.

shinsou had grimaced over their excuse of “being too busy that day” when you had told him the reasoning they gave you over text, despite knowing their next exam was only a couple days away. recalling just how nosy and enthusiastic they could get when involved in these kinds of affairs, he had an inkling of what exactly those two were planning. you, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to their schemes.

however, what did latch onto your mind was the thought of spending the day with only shinsou, in his very room, sitting across from each other with your textbooks open in front of you. though you should be more attentive to your studies, you couldn’t help the palpitations beating loudly in your chest and your wandering eyes that snuck glances at him after every question you answered.

unbeknownst to you, shinsou mirrored your actions all the same, reciprocating the flustered behavior, albeit a bit more subtly.

keep calm, hitoshi. why are you getting all worked up? he would say to himself, putting on his usual facade.

although he came off as relatively calm and collected on the outside, it’s difficult to keep his emotions in check when actions never lie.

that was especially true as he reached his hand out for the eraser you two were sharing between each other. with his eyes continuing to gander down at his notes, he hadn’t noticed that you were lunging for the same thing—not until your fingers had suddenly touched and you both pulled away at a speed equivalent to making contact with fire.

his stare unfaltering, shinsou was surprised to discern the embarrassed look on your face that immediately fixed itself as you rummaged through your pencil pouch. a second later, you pulled out another eraser, one that was notably smaller than the one you were sharing.

“um.. i’ll just use this,” you offered, and shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, the whole situation more awkward than it needed to be considering you never had any trouble sharing your supplies with each other before.

through some examination of your demeanor, shinsou had made a… bold enough claim, thinking that maybe—just maybe—you held the same kind of affections for him as he did for you.

it’s like he recalled earlier—actions never lie—and shinsou didn’t let the quiver of your lips or the intense concentration at your work to avoid meeting his gaze go past his head. that’s what spurred him to finally act on his desires.

without warning, he leaned forward on his seat to lay his hand over yours that caught your attention. you met his eyes, astonished to say the least, but more so concerned by how your eyes widened before you were about to open your mouth to ask him what was wrong.

the violet-haired male beats you to your words, voice resonating firmly, “y/n.”

you blinked. “y-yeah..?”

“i know this might be a bit late coming from me, but,” you could feel his hand tighten atop yours, “after exams, do you want to catch a movie together? just the two of us?”

shinsou fought the urge to look away, bashful at how he made his declaration for your time. the warmth surging under his skin was alleviated at the smile that slowly curled on your lips as you rotate your wrist, your palm touching his. the expression washing over your features told him you’ve been waiting for him to ask you this for a while now.

“i’d love to.”

AMAJIKI TAMAKI

ever a shy and introverted individual, tamaki has never had the heart to ask you out despite years of harboring a crush on you.

every time the thought had crossed his mind, he’d reason poorly with himself that you wouldn’t be interested in him in that way.

it didn’t help that his low self-esteem only deepened that thought that had now rooted itself in his brain.

at such a prestigious school like u.a., you were bound to find someone far more compelling than him—someone with guts, confidence, and great social skills. not a guy like him who conjures the image of potatoes at every anxiety-inducing encounter he comes across.

he was relieved enough to settle himself comfortably as just your friend—a title that allowed him to stay close and keep within your circle, all the while subjecting him to simply admiring you from afar.

but his eyes that held a hidden longing for more weren’t overlooked by a fellow student of his. or to be precise, the ever curious and free-spirited, hadou nejire.

always aware of his surroundings, it was hard not to notice that peculiar stare she’d aim at him during moments where he might’ve just finished speaking to you, or when you’d pass by and his head would naturally drift in your direction.

it was like she was picking apart every detail laid on him and it made tamaki absolutely restless.

tamaki’s suspicions and anxiety were later raised during one instance at the lunch table. he was at his usual seat next to his other big three companions, mirio and the aforementioned nejire, who was eyeing him with a gleam in her eye.

even with his self-consciousness, tamaki did his best not to pay any mind to the undesired attention and munched on his plate of takoyaki—the octopus nestled in the batter sure to come in handy later in training that day.

to his dismay, you passed by their table with your tray of food in hand, and nejire did not waste any time calling you over in that cheery tone of hers.

she invited you to sit down with them. you gave her invitation some thought before ultimately placing yourself in the free spot next to mirio, with nejire and tamaki already seated across from you.

the girl was all smiles and hums while tamaki was in a state of distress, both at his friend’s odd behavior, which was starting to spell trouble, to having you pulled into all of this. mirio was just being mirio, welcoming as always.

you greeted everyone at the table, making eye contact with mirio and nejire, but tamaki evaded your line of sight. he simply waved his reply without breaking away from his balls of takoyaki.

luckily for him, you didn’t give his lack of words much thought and started digging into your own lunch. it was then that nejire found it appropriate to start up a conversation.

“y’know, y/n, i’ve been meaning to ask you this, from one girl to another,” she mused, finger waving around playfully, “are you interested in anyone here?”

upon hearing her question, tamaki almost choked on his bonito flakes, his cheeks puffed and eyes blown. meanwhile, your chewing slowed as you gave your answer some thought.

“uh… well–”

“i’d say fujita from class d is quite the looker! think you’d be interested in them?”

after swallowing the food in his mouth, tamaki began to subconsciously listen in on the conversation. he paid close attention to your responses with bated breath, a small part of him anticipating your answer highly.

“fujita’s nice and all, but i don’t think we’d really get along as a couple.”

tamaki mentally sighed, relief evident all over his face. it was then that mirio had started fitting the pieces together after watching his close friend’s brow wrinkle throughout the entire exchange before finally relaxing at your words. crossing his eyes with nejire’s only confirmed his suspicions as the girl sent him a wink.

as a friend, mirio wasn’t about to let nejire’s operations fall flat. getting up from his seat, he motioned tamaki to come with him.

“i heard they have extra yakisoba bread right now! we should go check it out!” he said as a guise to give the other two time to themselves, free from tamaki’s prying ears.

unaware that mirio had caught on so quickly, tamaki didn’t object to tagging along with him. mostly because he thought of this as an opportunity to get some fresh air and calm his racing heart, finally feeling the effects of the blood rushing to his face.

with tamaki supposedly out of earshot, nejire was free to go about her questions however she wanted.

“okay then, if not fujita, then who? there has to be someone, right?” the girl scooted further in her seat out of pure curiosity. “tell me, is it perhaps someone in our class?”

it was your turn to be stricken by her boldness. you tried picking at your food, stuffing it into your mouth to avoid answering, but nejire’s tenacity outmatched you.

finishing your lunch, you opened your mouth to speak, “actually, the person i’m interested in is pretty close to you…”

nejire feigned ignorance, innocently placing a finger under her chin. “who? mirio?”

“ah no, it’s tamaki, alright?!” you ended up blurting, voice hushed but frantic.

bingo. hearing exactly what she wanted, nejire returned to her original position, a triumphant grin plastered on her lips. replaying what you said out loud in your head, you buried your warm face in your hands.

unbeknownst to you, tamaki had ended up hearing the whole exchange around the corner coming back to their table as mirio lightly snickered at his revelation of an expression.

the blond patted his shoulder. “go on then, you know what to do.” he threw tamaki an encouraging thumbs-up.

the boy gulped in response before inhaling a deep breath of air to prepare himself for what would arguably be the most important yet stress-inducing moment of his life so far.

noticing you getting up to discard your tray, tamaki—through a final push from mirio—went to make his move.

hearing him suddenly call out to you, you were caught off-guard. after admitting to your crush on tamaki to nejire, you felt your cheeks get hot just seeing his face right afterward.

“oh hey, did you get your hands on those yakisoba breads?” you scraped up a way to start the conversation.

“right... that… mirio managed to get the last one in the cafeteria,” he answered. then he brought his hand to rub his elbow, fidgeting in his spot as he found it difficult to look you in the eyes again.

“tamaki? something wrong? are you upset that he got the last yakisoba bread?”

he shook his head. “no, i… it’s just… i’ve been meaning to ask you this for a long time now, but never had the courage to say it to you because i didn’t think you ever liked me that way. but…” he finally mustered the determination to face you head-on. “would you go out with me, y/n?”

at first, you were speechless—absent of words as you relayed his request in your mind over and over again. then, your eyes softened, lips easing into a smile as you reached out for his hand.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

TODOROKI SHOUTO

it’s no surprise to many that when it came to asking someone out, todoroki didn’t exactly know the first thing to do.

mostly because he’s never asked anyone out to begin with.

you were the first person he’s ever felt these kinds of emotions for, and to be frank, he wasn’t sure what to make of everything that had been going through him when that root of infatuation had started to bloom inside him.

rather than sulk or contemplate on his thoughts for too long, he surmised it was best to simply come clean and ask for advice.

but when he confessed to what had been on his mind lately, he wasn’t expecting such a vigorous response from his friends.

“i’ve been thinking about asking y/n out.”

there was a layer of uncomfortable silence amongst the group before all hell eventually broke loose.

midoriya, uraraka, and iida immediately sprung from their seats in the common room, yelling “what?!” in unison. tsuyu and her frog-like mannerisms were more idle, but still surprised nonetheless.

todoroki was unfazed by their reactions, actually expecting it to go that way considering he’s never brought up any topics of that nature before. at the very least, he’s thankful he decided to say this when it was just the five of them. compared to what the whole class’s reaction would have been like, this was incredibly tame.

todoroki was used to always listening to what others had to say and never being the subject of the conversation when it came to dating.

but now things were different. he was openly admitting to them that he was regarding someone romantically. that he possibly sought a relationship with this someone—wanting to be committed to them and become the very best person he could be right next to them. to the four, this was coming completely out of left field.

after everyone simmered down and let the news sink in, the dual-haired boy resumed his thought,

“but i’m not sure how to do it.”

though the entirety of the group never had any experiences when it came to dating, they knew enough from media and pop culture to get an idea on how to help him. more than todoroki could imagine on his own anyway.

“i know! how about we go with the romantic and suave approach!” uraraka suggested. the rest asked her to elaborate.

“it’s simple! it starts by you leaving a note on her desk right before class, saying to meet you on the rooftop of the school! before the designated time, you should wait there for her with a bouquet of flowers, and then when she arrives, confess your feelings and ask her out!”

midoriya rubbed a finger against his cheek, skeptical. “i don’t think that sounds as simple as you’re making it out to be.”

tsuyu chimed in beside him. “those kinds of ideas usually only work well in books, ochako.”

pursing her lips, uraraka gave her plan a once-over, and realized it did seem a bit more involved and out of character than what todoroki was used to.

despite sharing a few more ideas with one another, they couldn’t narrow it down to any perfect one.

that was when iida clapped his hand, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“alright, i think we’re starting to blow this whole ‘operation’ way out of proportion,” he said.

“if you’re honest about the way you feel about her and show it sincerely, i’m sure she’ll consider your feelings. you don’t have to do anything extravagant when it comes to asking someone out.”

listening throughout every word, todoroki nodded. meanwhile the other three were astonished that their class representative could be so whimsical when it came to romance, which in turn, iida was conflicted by. however, at the very least he was glad they could help out a friend. and so, todoroki went about his day with their discussion in mind.

he found that in many occurrences, whenever he crossed by you and thought of it as a chance to ask you out, there would always be someone to come in and take your time away. leaving him to stand there awkwardly before dismissing the fated question for later.

eventually, the sky dimmed and evening arrived, and by then, the whole class was already back at their dormitory and about to have dinner.

through some rather convenient circumstances, you two were actually assigned on kitchen duty that night.

“it’s been getting pretty cold lately so i was thinking we should cook up a hot pot for everyone.” you gave your idea to him as you pulled out some ingredients from the fridge, waiting for his reply, but it came a few seconds later than you were expecting.

“right. sounds like a good idea,” todoroki answered a tad late. upon realizing it was only going to be the two of you making dinner tonight, his mind was occupied by what he and his friends spoke about earlier.

that was when he started overthinking the situation and absentmindedly half-assed his work.

“todoroki, the cut on the tofu is slightly uneven.” you reviewed his cutting board. looking down, he saw the inconsistent slices of tofu limp in front of him. if bakugou were the executive chef for the evening, he would’ve had to hear an earful from him.

“sorry…” he apologized quietly, reaching out for another cube of tofu to cut.

“is everything okay? i know you’re still learning how to cook, but i’ve seen you show some significant improvement on your knife skills recently.” you voiced your concern for him.

the white and red-haired boy stared at the white bean curd while hearing your worried tone and couldn’t find it within himself to continue the task. it was now or never he thought. he laid the knife flat on the cutting board.

“actually, i wanted to ask you something.” he turned toward you. “do you… want to go out with me?”

nothing but the sound of the fire running on the stove could be heard in the kitchen. todoroki didn’t move his eyes away from you, watching you nearly drop the plate of siu choy and shiitake mushrooms out of shock as your mouth was hanging open.

when you caught onto your bearings, you let out a small laugh. “oh… i… wasn’t expecting that,” you admitted honestly, placing the ingredients on the counter safely.

the boy furrowed his brows. “is that a no?”

“n-no! i mean that isn’t my answer! i–” you fumbled with your words, cheeks warming up now that his confession had finally sunk in. in the meantime, todoroki found your reaction quite amusing. the corner of his lip quirked into a grin.

“what i mean to say is that yes, i’d love to go out with you.” you accepted the offer wholeheartedly. todoroki would be lying if his heart wasn’t throbbing from anticipation. he’s glad he’s able to rest and put that aside.

“now let’s continue making this hot pot together!” you cheered, smiling widely and he found comfort in your words before resuming slicing the tofu.

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