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lettersinscarlet · 4 years

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Skater Boy (Jake Webber Imagine)

Hey everyone! It’s me. I’ve been working on this for a few days and I finally got it finished! I’m bouncing back and forth between this blog and the requests I get for my other blog, but I’m finally getting back into the swing of things. Anyway, my requests are open, so you can send them in if you have them! I do the Trap House boys on this blog, but everything else I would write for on my side blog with @multi-fandom-chik as the title. So I hope you guys enjoy this!!

Request: We need more Jake content out there he makes me soft 🥺 could I possibly request something with him and reader admitting feelings for each other?

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You smiled at the boys, positioning the camera the way you wanted it to be. “Are you ready, guys?”

“You should be in the intro with us!” Corey whined, and you chuckled.

“I’m good to be behind the camera for now,” you joked. You gave them the signal as you pressed record, and they started filming the intro.

Today, you were with Sam, Colby, Jake, and Corey at an abandoned skate park. Jake had practically begged you to go with them, and you thought it would be fun to help them film. It also counted as an excuse to hang around your crush some more, so you were ready to jump at the chance.

You smiled at Jake, seeing him smile back at you.

Even though you didn’t know how to skate on a board, you figured it would be fun to help them film action shots and what not while they skated around and did whatever it is that they usually do.

You got the cue and you stopped recording, moving the camera out of it spot to look at Sam. “Alright, what’s first?” All of the boys smiled as they started spouting off a bunch of ideas for what to do first.

What they ended up deciding on was doing some warmup. You got some shots of each of them skating around the park. There were a few small falls at the beginning, but they soon got the hang of it and were getting bolder, doing a few small tricks here and there.

Because of this boldness, you soon found the predicament that you were currently in. Corey was positioned at the edge of the slope, sitting cross legged on the board. He was holding onto it in a way to make sure his fingers wouldn’t scrape the bottom. Colby was at the top with him, ready to push him in. You had the camera at the ready, waiting for Colby to push him.

“You ready, brother?” Colby asked, and Corey nodded. He closed his eyes tight, and Colby gently pushed him over. His scream filled the area as it felt like he flew down, the board taking him across the area. He started to go up the edge of the other side, before it brought him back down and sent him backwards in the direction he had just came from. He eventually slowed, and stopped, laughing so hard.

“Brothers, you gotta do this!” Corey yelled. And soon, they all decided to listen.

“Be careful, Jake!” you yelled to him, a little nervous that he would somehow fall off and hurt himself. He gave you a thumbs up with a bright smile before he secured his grip on the board and gave the signal to go.

Luckily, he stayed on the board and he was okay. You smiled at him, and he did a small bow for the camera.

“Alright guys, time to show off. Show me what you can do!” You said.

They each took turns, doing things that you were sure if you attempted, you would probably break a few bones.

“Very impressive,” you remarked after they had each done something. “Let’s raise the stakes a little, shall we?” you proposed, and you saw each of them get a little confused.

“How about a little friendly competition? To prove who’s the better skater? It’s all for the fans, of course,” you added, and you laughed as they all started arguing about who the best skater was.

Soon, they had all separated, each of them getting in a little more practice, so you decided to conduct a few “pre-contest” interviews.

“So, Colby,” you started, holding the camera up to him, “how do you feel about the competition?”

“Well, you know, I’m feeling pretty good. I think I can take these clowns down,” he answered, earning a laugh from you.

“Is there anyone you’re dedicating your performance to?” you asked.

“To my mom, and to my dog. I do it all for you guys,” he said. He blew a kiss to the camera and you laughed.

“Alright, well, good luck out there!” you called before you moved to your next interview.

“Sam, how are you feeling about the competition?”

“This is competition? It looks like a piece of cake,” he replied smoothly.

“Oh the confidence is oozing off of you,” you commented, smirking. “Is there someone you’re dedicating this performance to?”

“This one goes out to my girl. Love you, Kat!” he said to the camera.

“Alright, you’ve heard it folks. Good luck out there!” you said and moved to the next interview.

“Corey! How are you feeling about the competition?” He laughed and crossed his arms.

“I see no competition,” he replied, and you laughed.

“Then you might need some glasses! But anyway, are you dedicating your performance to someone?”

He thought for a moment before he answered. “I’m dedicating this to Super Smash Bros,” he replied, and you chuckled.

“Okay then. Good luck!” you finished before you went to the last interview.

“Jake, how are you feeling about the competition?” you asked. He smiled and shook his head.

“Looks a little fierce, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” he answered, and you laughed.

“He’s got the attitude of a champion,” you commented, making him laugh. “Is there someone special you’re dedicating your performance to?” you asked. His face flushed just a touch before he responded.

“Well, there is someone I’m hoping to win this for and make her proud,” he answered.

“Ooooo a girl? Well I hope she’s proud of your win. Good luck out there, Skater Boy!” you finished, waving at him before you went to find the best spot to film from.

It was time for the competition, and Corey was up first. He gave an incredible performance, earning a few “ooo’s” and “ah’s” from his audience. You gave him a round of applause. Next up was Sam, and while he was going, Colby looked over and noticed Jake. He walked over, nudging him in his side.

“Dude, you’re staring at (Y/N),” he observed, and Jake quickly snapped his attention to Colby.

“No I wasn’t,” he defended, but Colby shook his head.

“Brother, you totally were,” he insisted, and Jake sighed. Colby waited for a moment before he connected the dots. “You like her, don’t you?”

“No!” Jake refused, but the smile he was trying to hide gave him away.

“Yes, you do!” Colby argued. “You should tell her.”

“What? I can’t do that,” he said, turning back to look at you. “It would be embarrassing.”

“So what are you going to do? Sit here and pine after her forever?”

“That’s the plan,” Jake answered, and Colby chuckled.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and returned to watch the rest of Sam’s turn.

Jake was up next, trying his best to out do the people before him. He did twists and turns and jumps, having fun as he went. When he was finished, he got a lot of whistles and claps and cheers. He smiled, quickly glancing to you before he moved to watch Colby go.

Colby finished up the competition, putting a little razzle-dazzle to impress the audience. It was a nice ending to the friendly little competition.

“(Y/N), did you want to join in the competition?” Colby asked, and your eyes grew wide.

“Me? No,” you said, backing up.

“What? It’ll be fun! Come on, Jake will teach you,” he continued. Jake shot Colby a look that you didn’t see, but Colby just shrugged. You climbed down to the bottom with him and Jake joined you.

“I’m only going from here to there,” you said, pointing across the flat part. He chuckled but nodded. Colby held his hand out and you gave him the camera. He moved away so that way you and Jake would have enough room.

“First, you need a helmet,” Jake instructed, taking his off and putting it on your head. “Because knowing you, you might fall and bust your head open,” he joked. You rolled your eyes, but you knew he was right. “I think we’re good without the extra stuff because you’re just going a short distance.” Then, he moved the board so it was in between you and him, and looked up at you. “Okay, I’m going to help you get on.” He spent some time, telling you how to get on it.

“Woah!” you shouted, feeling the board wobble. Your grip on his shoulders tightened and he held you securely by your sides.

“Hey, you’re okay, it’s gonna roll because it has wheels,” he reassured you. You both stood still for a moment, before you nodded.

“Bend your knees slightly, so that it’ll be easier to deal with the motion,” he told you. You did as he said, bending your knees just a little. “Now, I’m going to walk with you, and you’re gonna move,” he said. You nodded, telling him you were ready.

Ever so slowly, he started walking, and sure enough, the board moved. You jolted just a bit, before tightening your hold on Jake. “Don’t let go,” you rushed out, and he grinned.

“I won’t let go yet,” he said, and you nodded. He walked super slowly with you, the both of you barely moving a few feet.

“I’m going to give you a small push, and you’re going to move by yourself.”

“Jake, I don’t think I-“

“Don’t worry. Just bend your knees, and hold your arms out if you need to balance,” he instructed. You nodded. “Ready?” he asked, and you told him yes. He gave you a small push, making you move a little faster then earlier. It eventually rolled to a stop, and you turned to smile at Jake.

“I did it!” you cheered, and then your legs locked as you wobbled a little. Jake chuckled and walked the entire six steps it took to get to you. “I’m going to push you back the other way now, alright?” You smiled a big smile at him, and he grinned. He put his hands on your side, and gave you a little bit harder of a push, sending you a tiny bit faster than you were going earlier. This time, you were less nervous, and you laughed as you finally came to your stop.

Jake walked up to your side, gently bringing his hands up to steady you. “Let me help you down,” he offered. He held onto you and brought you down off the board, almost melting at the sight of your smile. Did you have to be so adorable?

“Ta-da!” you shouted, doing jazz hands. Everyone laughed, and you did a bow. “I think it’s time to start wrapping things up. Did you guys have any final tricks you wanted to do?”

Each of the boys did a few more special moves before it was time to wrap things up. You all moved back to the location you started from, and you set up the camera the way you wanted it to be. You gave the boys the queue, and Sam started the outro.

“So, that’s going to be all for this video. I think we all clearly know who the winner was...” he trailed, and the boys started doing a drumroll. “(Y/N)! Her killer moves were enough to impress everyone!” You quickly turned the camera around and waved before turning it back to the guys. “Seriously comment down below who you think did the best in our contest. See you guys next time!” Each of the boys gave their own personal goodbye and you cut off the camera.

Everyone else was busy, and you were looking at the footage you had caught that day. Colby poked Jake and clapped him on the shoulder. “Jake, go talk to her!” He sort of pushed him, causing him to trip, but Jake regained his balance and suddenly he was in front of you.

“Hey,” he greeted you awkwardly, and you giggled.

“Hey,” you repeated. “Thank you for teaching me to skate, even if I didn’t technically skate. Even thought I looked dumb, I had a lot of fun.”

“You didn’t look dumb. You looked cute,” he blurted out, and his face turned pink.

“You think I was cute?” you asked, and it was like Jake couldn’t control what was coming out of his mouth.

“I always think you’re cute,” he replied, and his eyes were wider by the second. You chuckled again, and you gave him a big smile.

“I think you’re cute, too,” you responded, and now you were both blushing.

“C-can I tell you something?” he asked hurriedly. You nodded, smiling up at him, and it seemed like his heart was skipping beats. “Listen, I like you. Like I really like you. I think you are the most amazing human being I’ve ever seen. I was wondering if maybe you-“ he paused, trying to find the right words, but failing. “Would you like- i mean you could-“

You leaned up, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek. He stopped fumbling with his words, instead falling completely silent. “I would love to start dating you, Jake.” You heard some cheering in the background. You looked over and saw the rest of your friend group, cheering you guys on. You smiled before you linked arms with Jake.

“Ready to go?” you asked, and he nodded.

You were sitting in the backseat with Jake, your head on his shoulder, his hand in your hand. You were smiling, your eyes closed, and suddenly the song came on, and it tied the moment together.

“He’s just a boy, and I’m just a girl.

Can I make it anymore obvious?

We are in love, haven’t you heard?

How we rock each other’s worlds.

I’m with the skater boy, I said ‘see you later boy

I’ll be backstage after the show’

I’ll be at the studio, singing that song we wrote

About a girl he used to know.”

———

Taglist:

@sp00kybrock @yikes-xander @daddydobrock @trapbrock-local @thenameisbabe @far-to-many-bands @magicxshadows @lyssaholic @wacky-webber-458 @turnupbrock @nyctophobics

#jake #jake fic #jake fanfic #jake fanfiction #jake x reader #jake imagine #jake webber #jake webber fic #jake webber fanfic #jake webber fanfiction #jake webber x reader #jake webber imagine #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #imagine #trap house #trap house imagine

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shieldwinter · 4 years

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At the Garden [Stucky One-Shot]

So this was suppose to be a drabble but then it turned into a short one-shot and I’m not even sorry. To celebrate the NHL coming back, here is Steve taking Bucky to his first Rangers’ game! I am not a Rangers’ fan, so I apologise if anything about MSG or the team doesn’t line up. I tried to keep details of the game to a minimum. It also hurts that I had the Penguins’ lose, but I couldn’t have their first game together be a losing one!

Steve was having trouble containing his excitement as he and Bucky crossed the threshold into Madison Square Garden. In his hand, he held a ticket for the night’s Rangers’ game. A jersey rested on his person, the crest of the team over his chest, with Lundqvist being the name on the back. A Rangers’ hat concealed his hair, and hopefully offered him a bit of disguise.

He offered a glance back at Bucky, who was wearing a Rangers’ jersey himself, Panarin the name adorning it. Steve had picked up the jersey when he bought the tickets, knowing Bucky wouldn’t have something to wear, and wanting them both to blend into the crowd better. His hair was pulled back neatly, and when he caught Steve’s eyes, he offered a smile. “You’re excited,” he pointed out, and Steve felt himself flush, ducking his head down briefly, before focusing on walking through the metal detector, passing easily and handing his ticket off to be scanned. Bucky followed suit, and Steve watched closely as he passed through just fine — his now vibranium arm passing through undetected.

“I had a lot of free time when I wasn’t running missions. Football was never my thing, and with the Dodgers moving across the country, I kind of found myself liking hockey more and more. The dedication, and resilience the players have is unlike anything I’ve seen before,” he explained, stepping to join the crowd moving towards their section. Bucky made a humming noise as he fell into step beside Steve, their shoulders bumping once, then twice. “We had hockey when we were younger,” he supplied, an eyebrow raising as Steve let out a burst of laughter.

“We didn’t have the means to go to games back then, plus it was nothing like it is now. It’s fast, and exciting. Never a dull moment.”

Bucky was smiling at him. The smiles were coming easier for him, and Steve was so happy that he was on the receiving end of many of them. It made him feel elated, and an ease settled over him every time he got those lips to lift up. Up the escalator they went, rising into the upper bowl. The best seats in the place, if Steve had anything to say about it. Hockey was a game you could watch from any angle, but he preferred to be high up compared to sitting against the glass.

“We’re down against the rail,” Steve explained as he led the way to their section. When the usher asked if they needed help finding their seats, he waved him off, and set down the stairs that pitched at a steep angle. The chill off the ice rose up to them, even from this height. The grand scale of the arena opened up to them, the scoreboard at center ice, displaying the countdown to puck drop. When the two found their seats, they plopped down, and Steve breathed in a deep breath, feeling the chill used to keep the ice.

Bucky leaned into him slightly, and he pressed back, glancing over at the other. “It’s pretty,” he commented, eyes glancing around the arena, watching as people filed in to find their own seats. “Who are we playing?”

Steve glanced down at his program, looking at the cover where Chris Kreider was pictured mid-shot. “The Pittsburgh Penguins,” he answered, an eyebrow raising as he flicked pages to the team rosters, looking at the opponents. Bucky’s nose wrinkled, a sight Steve caught from the corner of his eyes. “Pittsburgh? They got a player named Malkin, yeah?”

Steve was surprised, his eyes blinking as he nodded. “Yeah, they do. How’d you know?” “He’s Russian,” Bucky replied simply, leaning over to stare at the roster page opened up, easily finding the player Evgeni Malkin on the page. “I remember hearing his name a few times. Same with other famous Russian ice hockey players. Datsyuk, Ovechkin, maybe a few others. I can’t remember completely.”

Steve felt himself wilt in his seat slightly. He was banking on showing Bucky the ins-and-outs of the sport, but it never occurred to him that he might know some things. Hockey was a famous sport in Russia, their history in the game incredibly important even in modern hockey. Some of the best players in the NHL today were Russian born, and it never crossed Steve’s mind that Bucky might have picked up a thing or two over the years. As if sensing his slight dismay, Bucky looked up at Steve with a signature smirk.

“Don’t get down. I don’t remember ever seeing a game. There’s definitely things I’m not gonna know, if I even know anything. I’m excited to see what’s going to happen, and I want to learn what your supposed new favourite sport has to offer.” And how could Steve not smile at that? He raised his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and gave a quick shake of his head. “Nothing will beat baseball, but I’ll be caught dead before I’m a Yankees fan.”

He was greeted by a burst of laughter, which made a grin spread to his lips. “Better not, pal. I can forgive you for a lot of things, but that? I don’t think I could,” Bucky told, straightening back up into his seat as music began to play through the arena, signaling the players were about to skate onto the ice for their pregame warmup.

From there, it was a flurry of ups and downs, from puck drop to the ending buzzer. There was little time for the two to talk outside of intermissions, and even then, between standing in line to get food and an overpriced beer, to watching the screens on the scoreboard play intermissions games, and activities, talking of anything outside the game was small. Near the end of the first period a fight broke out, and Bucky rose out of his seat with a shout, and all Steve could do was watch, enamoured. There were great goals, great plays, and great stops on both sides. Crosby scored, followed by Rust in the first period, but Panarin clapped back with two goals himself early in the second. Bucky was grinning, standing to the goal song each time. In the third, it remained tied for most of the period — until with a little over two minutes left, Zibanejad shot from the point and went high shelf.

Steve rose with Bucky this time with a yell, clapping to the goal song with a grin splitting his cheeks. The crowd around them was loud, and that would be the last goal of the game, the Rangers coming out on too 3-2. It was all they could’ve asked for, a close, high paced game with a fight, and penalties on both ends. The adrenaline was high running even after they left their seats, after they got on the escalator down to the ground floor, and out into the cooling air of downtown Manhattan. Bucky seemed to have an ever present smile on his face since the last horn went off. When the crowd dispersed around him, he turned to face Steve, a shine in his eyes that hadn’t been there in a while.

“That was fantastic,” Bucky said, reaching out to grip at Steve’s forearm. “I loved every second. You were right, I can see why you took a shine to it.” Steve felt relieved with how much Bucky enjoyed himself. It was a gamble, that the bright lights and crowd wouldn’t be too much for him, but he was grateful he took that gamble. “I’m happy you enjoyed yourself. It helps that they won,” he responded, laying his hand over Bucky’s.

There was a moment, where they caught each other’s eyes and Steve’s breath was stolen, stuttering in his chest when Bucky leaned forward and rose up on his feet, to press a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said, voice soft. “For thinking of me, and bringing me. I know you had your options open. Clint probably would’ve enjoyed it.”

Steve, flustered beyond belief, shook his head. “Nah, I bought these tickets with you in mind. You’re always gonna be my favourite plus one.” A softer smile this time, appeared on Bucky’s lips. One that was almost shy, one that was definitely reserved for just Steve.

“Damn right.” He responded, before dropping his hand to lace his fingers with Steve’s, and offering a tug, heading down to find themselves a taxi to take back to the tower. All Steve could think was that they had to do this again. They had to, because he wasn’t sure Bucky smiled this much in such a short span of time in so long.

#stucky #stucky fic #stevebucky #wintershield #starbucks #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #the winter soldier

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lakelewisia · 4 years

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A Lewisian Year

Presented in partnership with the Lewisia Communications Board and Lewisia Public Library

Sponsored by The Historical Society

Hello, readers, listeners, and psychic osmosizers! Welcome to A Lewisian Year, a monthly showcase celebrating the rich culture here in the Lake Lewisia district. Each month, we'll highlight some seasonal events, local celebrations and interpretations of national and world holidays, and historical tidbits.

MARCH

Window Opening Festival

It's dawn on March first, and despite the cold, every window and door in the house is open. Screens have been removed; curtains have been taken down. Everyone in the household stands armed with paper fans (and sometimes pine brooms, depending on the family tradition), shivering as they wait for the first rays of the sun to come into view. If the occupants are very traditional, they have a set of fans dedicated for this use, kept stored the rest of the year. Otherwise, they might have a disposable set of paper fans purchased for the festival.

As soon as the light reaches them, everyone begins to furiously fan, sending dust flying up from every corner and nook of the house. They fan from east to west, drawing the newly rising sun's energy into the home and driving the old energy out into the last, fading darkness of the past year. Much whooping and hollering accompanies this, especially whenever a particularly large dust bunny is spotted tumbling out through the open doors and windows.

When the whole house has been fanned in this way, everyone quickly shuts all the windows and doors again before anything can sneak back in. (The screens and curtains will be put back later, usually after a more conventional cleaning.) Space has been cleared for a new year's luck to enter the home, while all the bad of the past year has been driven out.

Like many seasonal holidays and rituals, the Window Opening Festival has its roots in some very practical considerations. As I've discovered since coming to Lewisia, the winter weather combination of rain and snow creates plenty of mud to track indoors. It gets cold enough here to need to seal the house up against drafts, but remains warm enough that outdoor activity is still possible. And all the residual dampness from rain and lake and fog lends a certain mustiness to those closed-up houses by winter's end. Come March, it's time to air things out in a big way.

The incoming Spring is also a time of new beginnings. The Window Opening Festival serves to help with the more metaphorical and spiritual clearing of space to make way for better things. The paper fans drive that stuffy air out of the house, hopefully taking with it all the pent-up bad energy, dust sprites, and malevolent spirits who have been mooching off the house's warmth all winter. With them gone, good luck has room to join us for the year ahead.

According to my research, the date of the festival has moved around through the years. At times, it has been designated the last new moon before the Vernal Equinox, the start of the new astrological year. It was briefly designated as the first Monday in March during the 1980s, when some town council members sought to bring Lewisia calendars into greater alignment with the outside world. Today, the Window Opening Festival has settled on March 1st, possibly to avoid competing with the festivities on and around the Vernal Equinox itself.

Vernal Equinox

Obviously, Halloween is the biggest holiday of the year, but the arrival of Spring runs a close second place. Lake Lewisia, with its emphasis on living in harmony with nature, has a reputation for pulling out all the stops to celebrate the return of growth and warmth. Just the other day, I was handed seed bombs and packets at three different shops, which is nothing compared to the number of displays of them for sale around town. (Are the ones from Fendler's always this cute? I got one that looked just like the heart-shaped message candies. Mine had "fertilize me" stamped on it. And a group of school children were trading theirs on the steps outside.) I can't wait to see first-hand what the town looks like once all those seeds have grown.

The passion for public distribution of seeds has expanded into a general tradition of public works. Half the notices on the community bulletin board have been sign-up sheets for volunteers. Repaint the 14th Street bridge. Feed the accidental libraries. Build nesting boxes for migratory mothmen. Flowers aren't the only things that start blooming this time of year. Everyone in town, it seems, has a project to help with.

Daylight Savings Time

Unfortunately, everyone has less time than usual on at least one day, thanks to the return of Daylight Savings Time. Spring Forward lops an hour off everyone this month. Well, almost everyone. The time banking system in Lewisia helps to spare a few people who need it. Every fall, when DST ends and we get that hour back, some people choose instead to bank their time with the college's laboratory. (I tried to research this. I didn't understand. I think I'll need to interview someone connected to the project for a follow-up piece when November comes around.) Throughout the year, those in dire need of extra time can petition to receive some of the banked hours. For most of us, though, it's just a little annoying to lose an hour of sleep. No scientific intervention needed.

This Month in History

On March 18, 1956, during a nighttime session in Spring training, Yancy Fortune, pitcher for the Lakeside Kelpies, exploded a passing kestrel. The kestrel is believed to have mistaken a discarded catcher's mitt for a particularly large and succulent moth, and the small but ambitious bird dove to grab this prey. Fortune chose this moment to throw a splitter and, well... Feathers everywhere.

The story has a happy ending, though. It seems Fortune's unnatural speed had a subtle effect on the quantum level, previously undetected. The exploded bird was not actually killed but atomically dispersed, forming a kind of avian cloud entity. This entity remained attached to Fortune for the rest of his professional career and could often be heard chittering during warmups.

That's a taste of what March has to offer us. See you next month, when April showers bring...ghost weddings?

Meet the Host

I'm one of the 2021 initiates training under the Women in the Black Hats. Of course, I can't tell you much about where I came from or who I was before I began my training. Just think of me as synonymous with this little leaflet, and say hi when you see me around town.

I don't yet know what my area of special study will be. I'm not from Lewisia, of course, but I didn't come from a sister city either. Lots of what you do here is new to me, especially the cultural traditions that just aren't known anywhere outside of Lewisia. So my mentor suggested a project: get to know the town I've come to serve while you all get to know me. Since there are always other newcomers looking to do the same, it was agreed that I would share my research through the various public service communication channels.

#fiction #microfiction #magical realism #holidays #history #March #Lake Lewisia #demifiction #A Lewisian Year #bonus material

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birdsandspades · 4 years

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I Was Never Good at Waiting (Sugawara X Reader) Chapter 6

- It was your last year in highschool, everything had been going smoothly until you got assigned the new teacher. Sugawara Koushi was handsome, maybe too handsome for his own good. Be he wasn't flirting with you right, teachers shouldn't do that....I guess we will see where this year goes.

Word Count - 5,459

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It had been a few weeks since you last spoke to Sugawara. You weren’t really sure what words to say to him at this point. Sure you were still mad, he was after all a huge ass for talking to you the way he did. But you couldn’t help but feel bad for your actions as well. For all you knew, the sweet glances, the soft smiles, the entrancing conversations. Well maybe you had exaggerated his intentions a little. Maybe he was just uncomfortable, stuck in a situation he didn’t know how to escape. But god dammit, you were not going to ask him for help with your math homework.

Your grade had tanked in the last few weeks. You did the work, put in all the motions. But your brain just wasn’t soaking up the sweet, sweet academic knowledge. This was the reason Oikawa was stationed at your dining room table, looking through your math book just as confused as you had moments before.

You had tried to call Iwaizumi for the extra help instead, but he was on a romantic getaway with his significant other. “Call Tooru-sensei F/N, you know he would come if you asked.” Iwaizumi was clearly not interested in helping you, even if he was home you would have been out of luck.

“But you were the one who tutored him in school Hajime. Do you really think he's gonna be any help to me?” You groaned in response.

He knew you had a point. The boy’s brain only operated on three levels, volleyball, girls, and a very small sliver, an absolutely miniscule piece, was dedicated to harassing you.“Figure it out F/N, I'll see you at the spring tournament ok?” Iwaizumi tried his best to understand your situation, but that didn’t mean he wanted to actively continue this conversation.

“Ok Hajime.” Your voice was soft, not wanting to press the matter further. You listened as the line died, your only hope fading out with it.

Now that you thought about it, you might feel worse for Oikawa at the moment. He was clearly about to blow a gasket trying to figure out where the X went in your problem. “This one has a typo, let's skip ahead.”

You rolled your eyes as he turned to the next page of your book. “Senpai, you’ve said that about the last five problems.”You were getting annoyed now. He had skipped over almost every problem you attempted so far. These were only the warmup questions, what would happen when he got to the actual work?

He looked up, frowning at your displeased tone.“Well maybe they should have checked over the book better.” He shrugged slightly, lowering his shoulders in defeat.

This man was no help.

“Snacks incoming!” Your mom smiled, leaning over the table to set down the plate in her hand.

She had come home for the weekend with your grandfather to check in on you. They would make the trip maybe once a month just to make sure you were well stocked on food and the bills were getting paid. She had been pleasantly surprised to find Oikawa with you when she returned home from shopping. Giddy to dot on the boy while she had the chance.

She loved him, and always had. She thought of you two as inseparable, even now when his job took him across the ocean. Wherever you went, he was never hard to find. Whether it be phone calls, strange gifts that reminded him of you, or even visiting whenever he had the free time. She knew he would always be near. That was one reason she agreed to let you stay home while she was in Tokyo. Even when she was gone, you were safe with him. He would do anything for you, that was perfectly clear.

“Tooru don’t work so hard honey.” She cooed, rubbing small circles into his back.

“Mom, what about me? It's my homework.” You whined at the lack of attention, pulling the book from Oikawa’s hands.

Wiggling a finger your way she shook her head. “You need to work harder! You're failing the class, not him.” She frowned your way as you sank into your chair.

You felt defeated. Between your useless cousin, the single brain cell Oikawa had, and your grumpy mother it was inevitable. You slapped your hands together, bowing your head in prayer. “I know we don’t talk often, but please don’t make me have to ask Sugawara-sensei for help on Monday. Kill me instead, anything but talking to him.”

“F/N, don’t start praying! I’ll figure it out! I’m sure I can find the X...” He pulled the book from your hands, frantically flipping through the pages.

The weekend came to an end, and you were in no better shape for your class. Your mother and grandfather had left Sunday night to return to Tokyo, the trip home ending far too soon.

“F/N, make sure you water the garden once a day ok, and don’t stay up all night playing video games. That animal island game can wait, Pudge, that's his name right? Well he can wait for your homework to be done, and please stop eating spicy ramen for every meal. Your tummy is gonna hurt.” She rambled on as she checked that all the bags were lined up at the train station stop. She looked back up at you, letting out an exaggerated sigh. She grabbed the sides of your open coat, pulling it together roughly as she zipped it up to your chin. “And wear your coat properly, you’ll catch cold like that!”

The train rumbled into the station, easing to a stop at the yellow lines in front of you and your family. The doors slid open, a small rush of passengers exiting as they continued on their ways.

“Ok mom, bye love you!” You hugged her tightly before spinning her around. You gave her a light push as she grabbed her bags, walking her to the open doors. You turned around, chuckling at your amused grandfather. You walked over to him, resting into his outstretched arms. You looked up, nose brushing his coat as you smiled. “Please don’t ever change grandpa, you're the only normal member of our family.”

He smiled back down at you, giving you a reassuring squeeze.“I love you too peaches, everythings gonna turn out just fine, I promise.” He gave you a wink, his hand dipping into your coat pocket. “Don’t waste it!” He teased, as leaned over to pick up his bag.

You watched as he joined your mother on the train, waving at you as he sat down. The train doors closed, pulling away from the station as it continued on to Tokyo. You reached into your pocket, pulling out a folded 2,000 yen note. You laughed as you put it back. “How does grandpa always know what to say, truly a man of infinite wisdom.” You waved the train off as it disappeared down the tracks.

----

You had snoozed your alarm one too many times Monday morning, finally realizing your mistake twenty minutes before your first train left the station. You would have loved to say you were up all night doing something fun, maybe beating Doom for the third time this month, or catching up on your manga. But you had woken up at the table in your room, drool sticking the homework you had used as a pillow to your face.

You were rushing to get ready, throwing on your uniform as you frantically stuffed your books into your bag. Before long you were out of time, tripping down the stairs as you pulled up your sock. You had no time for lunch, you didn’t even have time to fix your bedhead. You ran out the front door, relying on the auto lock as you sped towards the main road. You attempted to tie your hair up as you rounded the corner to the crosswalk, the red hand illuminated from the other side of the road. You looked at the pole, both hands occupied in your mess of hair. You lifted your leg, kicking the button a few times as you impatiently waited for your turn to cross. Once it did you bolted across the street, shouting apologies as you pushed your way down the stairs and toward your approaching train. You barely squeezed past the closing doors, still attempting to catch your breath as the train pulled away from the station.

Collapsing into your seat you pulled out your bag to check that you had everything for your day. Homework (still kinda wet), text books, lunch (if you could call a bag of chips lunch), practice gear. Where was your practice gear? You attempted to recall your morning, thinking back to the last time you had everything in your sight.

“So I woke up, got dressed, put on my sweater backwards, put my things on the table, made lunch, and then I….left it on the fucking table.” The train pulled into it's first stop, the doors opening for the waiting passengers. You stood up, pushing your way past the crowd as you ran for the next train home. This just wasn’t your day.

----

You couldn’t believe how late you were when you finally made it to the school. “It’s 9:30, i’m screwed.” You mouthed, taking your tardy slip from the office attendant. You rushed up the school stairs, trying to make it to your classroom as fast as possible. As if that would change the fact that you were an hour late to school. You ran a sweaty hand over your messy hair before pulling the classroom door open. You closed it quietly, turning around slowly to an empty classroom.

Sugawara sat with his feet propped up on the desk at the front of the room. His phone in his hands as he scrolled through emails.

“Sensei, i’m sorry i’m late...” You mumbled, looking at the rows of empty desks. You made your way to the front of the room, setting the tardy slip on his desk.

“L/N-san, why aren't you on the bus? They are leaving for the field trip!” Sugawara’s eyes went wide as he looked up at you from his phone. He stood up from his seat, glancing between you and the piece of paper.

“Field trip? Was the field trip to the science museum today?” Your face dropped as you realised just what day it was. Sure it was Monday, the first Monday of the month. The first Monday of the month when they take all the students to the 3M Sendai Science Museum.

“Maybe we can still get you on the last buses?” Sugawara wrapped a hand around your wrist, pulling you behind him as he ran down the hallway and out to the south gym.

“How are they already all gone…” Sugawara knew the last bus had left at 9:00, but he had hoped to at least see some transportation left.

You looked at the empty lot, not a single bus in sight. What were you going to do now, they had shipped out the entire school for this field trip.

“Is there any way we can get her to the museum, I could drive her?” Sugawara was now at the front office, nervously talking with the secretary.

“I’m sorry, but she’s just going to have to spend the day in her classroom.” The woman gave you an apologetic look. She mouthed a few words to Sugawara, too quiet to make out before walking back to your desk.

Sugawara turned back to you, motioning for you to follow him back to the classroom as he walked past you.

Once you got back to the classroom you made your way to your desk, silently sliding into your seat. You looked over to your teacher, shifting uncomfortably as your eyes met his.

“Well you can work on any extra work you have. If you have any questions, i'll be in my office.” He leaned back on his heels before turning to enter his office. The door clicked closed behind him, the only sound left being the ticking of the clock on the wall.

You nodded to yourself, excepting that again today was just not your fucking day.

You had finished most of your work by 11:00, but the day was far from over. You looked at your last assignment, the creased ends of the page sticking out of the end of your math book. You had saved it for last for no other reason then to not do it. But the day was moving by so slowly, and you were going to have to finish it eventually.

“I might as well ask, i’m not going to finish this by myself.” You pulled at the paper, sliding it out of the book inch by inch. You could see the mess of work etched into the white sheet, the ghosts of prior mistakes partially erased in the background. “Sensei, could you help me with this problem?” You squeaked out the question, holding your breath as you listened for movement behind the office door. “Maybe if he doesn’t hear me I can just give up and take a nap.” You weren’t quiet enough, the door opening as Sugawara made his way over to your desk.

Sugawara pulled a chair over from the adjustment desk, taking a seat next to you. He motioned for you to show him the question, looking down at the paper in front of you. You felt it was better for him to just see the whole paper at this point. You slid the work to him, watching as his face contorted in confusion. He picked up your pencil, marking spots as he attempted to work through whatever thought process you had had.

“Oikawa tried to help me…” You added, hoping he wouldn’t think all the stupidity on the paper was you.

Laying it back in front of you, he handed you back your pencil. “You're close, it's a simple mistake really.” He leaned over the desk, resting his elbow on the table and his head in his hand as he guided you through your missteps.

You always loved how he would say that. “A simple mistake. ”Like it was easily fixable. It made your confidence skyrocket, that's probably why he was such a good teacher. You watched him work through a few, briefly stopping at each step to check back in with you.

“Yeah, you got it, see I knew you could do it!” His brilliant smile made your stomach flutter. It was a fleeting slight, soon he had turned his attention back to the problems.

“Thank you sensei.” You smiled to yourself, moving on to the next question on your sheet.

After a few minutes Sugawara had deemed you on the right path, standing up to return to his office. He closed the door, leaving a small gap as he disappeared from view.

“And he’s gone…” You had liked the company, a pleasant change from the quiet classroom you had been sitting in for the past three hours.

A few minutes later he emerged from his office, ,a stack of papers in hand as he walked over to his desk. Sitting down, he propped his feet up on the desk. He set a small pile of papers on his lap, pulling the cap off a red pen as he started to grade. He peaked up for a moment, giving you a quick smile before turning over the paper in his hand.

You watched him for a while, taken aback by his sudden change of mood. For weeks he had been cold and distant, avoid you like the plague. But here he was, choosing to sit in the same room, smiling at you. It was baby steps, but steps nonetheless.

It had felt like you were a flower living under perpetual clouds, but the sun had started to return, and you were basking in it.

“Sensei?” You called out, pulling nervously at your sleeves.

He looked up at you again, his eyebrow knitting together.

“It was now of never, just fucking say it, get it over with and say it.” You straightened up in your seat, leaning towards the edge of your chair.“Sensei i’m sorry. What I said was uncalled for, I should have just told you I didn’t want to continue the tutoring lessons. I…my actions were uncalled for and I'm sorry if I put you in an awkward situation.” You looked down at your hands, fingers digging into the material of your skirt. You felt a hand on your head, gently patting your hair down. You tilted your head up slightly, blushing as you met Sugawara’s bright smile.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come off so harsh. You had a right to be uncomfortable talking to me about it.” His voice was soothing, his smile turning soft. His irises twitched, sadness washing over the brown hues as he pulled his hand away.

“Could we maybe, start over. I really was grateful for you helping me.” You stood up, attempting to stand eye level with the person in front of you.

Sugawara contemplated the question, uncertainty pulling at his lips. “I don’t know L/N-san, I’m pretty busy.”

You frowned at his answer, he did have a life after all. Probably friends, pets, maybe even a girlfriend. Of course he would rather spend his time after school with them, not tutoring a student on a subject he didn’t even teach.

“But, if you can promise me you’ll show up. I can give you back your Mondays and Fridays.”He shrugged lightly, amused with your reaction.

“Thank you so much Sensei, I-i’ll do anything to make up for it!” You bounced up and down on your heels, absolutely ecstatic.

He cocked his eyebrow at the word anything, chuckling to himself. “Just make sure you make it to the Spring tournament.” He made his way back to his desk as you sat back down.

You had missed the sun.

The rest of the day came and went, the ticking of the clock no longer ringing in your empty ears.

You had finished your work right as the lunch bell rang, officially all out of schoolwork for the day. You and Sugawara ate lunch together in the classroom, taking the time to go over extra problems from your math book.

“So, if you take away 47, add these totals together and...are you just eating a bag of chips for lunch?” He stared at you in horror as you pulled out the bag, his stomach hurting for you.

“I um, didn’t have time to make a...yeah, this is all i'm eating. You're looking at me like my mom…” You shrank in your seat, pulling the bag closer.

He shook his head at you before continuing the lesson.

The rest of the day you spent in his office, looking over all his belongings as he typed away on his computer.

“Hey, can you get out of my things. Don’t you have something to do?” He groaned, watching you pick through his book collection.

“Yeah, annoy you.” You rested your finger on a blue book, sliding it out of it's stop. You flipped through the pages, walking over to sit down on the couch.

“Comfy?” he laughed, watching as you rolled over. Your back now on the seat cushions as your head fell off the side of the sofa.

You let your feet rest on the windowsill, crossing your legs as your back sank into the couch. You looked up at him, tilting your head to see him peering down at you. “Yes, quite.” You giggled, laying your head back down.

Once school had officially ended he walked you to the front doors, waving a goodbye as he watched you walk down the courtyard and towards the school gates. The school buses wouldn't be returning for another two hours, but you had no real reason to stay past the normal school hours. Practice had been canceled for the day ,making your extra trip home useless. “But the day hadn’t gone to waste” ,you thought, smiling to yourself.

----

“Koushi, you're coming out. You’ve been so moppy for weeks. Get ready and i'll send you the address.” Daichi yelled into the phone, already at the bar.

Sugawara ended the call with Daichi and sighed. He just wanted to spend his weekend relaxing, not at some dive bar. But his friends had been harassing him for weeks about not coming out. He was having a hard time coming up with excuses at this point.

It was already Saturday, an entire week had flown by. You and him were civil again, but not completely the same. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he leave things as they were, at least you were talking. Or should he press furth, see how close he could get to crossing the line with you. He just didn’t know, and being here tonight wasn’t going to help that.

Sugawara walked into the tiny dive bar, looking around for his friends in the crowd of people. He found them at the bar, shoulders pressed against the other bar patrons as they attempted to wave down the bartender.Sugawara set a hand on each of their shoulders, turning them slightly to greet them.

“You're here!” Daichi smiled, pulling his friend into a hug.

“We honestly didn’t expect you to come.” Asahi laughed, joining in the reunion.

“Well I wouldn’t have picked this place…” Sugawara looked around at the overly packed bar. “Why is it so busy, isn’t this place little dated for all these kids?” Sugawara looked around at the adolescents crowding the stage area, grimacing. He wasn’t much older, but he had never much liked his age group.

“Some pop punk band is playing tonight, I guess they are big with the college students.” Asahi smiled, leaning against the bar to order.

“So who’s the girl that has you so worked up?” Daichi questioned, shouting over the bar noise.

‘’No girl, just work.” Sugawara scowled at Daichi, a warning for him to stop prying.

“I know that look Koushi, who’s the girl?” He had been friends with Sugawara for long enough to know the difference in his moods. Work made Sugawara grumpy, and girls made him moody. He knew the difference.

Sugawara sigh. “It doesn't matter, we're technically not allowed to be talking anyways.”

Asahi offered Sugawara a bottle, nudging him as he took it. “You got a crush on one of your coworkers?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Sugawara rolled his eyes, bringing the bottle to his lips.

Daichi laughed as the house lights went down, the crowd cheering.

“Hi, we're Systematic. We have some shirts and stuff for sale at the front if you're into that.”You turned to your drummer as he counted off for the song to start. “This is “Painkiller.”

He couldn’t fucking believe it, that was you, in a band, playing at a bar, right in front of him.

“Hey, they actually sound pretty good. The singer is kinda cute!” Daichi laughed, pointing towards you.

“I'm being punished right? I did something awful in my past life and that's why all of this is happening.” Sugawara turned towards his friends, clasping his hands together. “Kill me please.”He pleaded to his friends, desperation in his eyes.

“I can’t hear you!” Asahi furrowed his eyebrows as Koushi’s lips continued to move, raising a hand to his ear.

“You could hit me with your car, or mine, maybe throw me off a cliff.” It was useless, his friends were absorbed in the song. Completely ignoring his impending break down, too fascinated with the bubbly girl bouncing around onstage.

As the first song came to an end, a stagehand met you with a guitar and a water bottle at the edge of the black curtains. You took the guitar from her, adjusting the strap as you walked back over to the microphone. “Today’s set is short, but we will be at Kyoritsu Kodo next month. Door price is set at 4,000, so show up and support Ryu’s bleach addiction.” You laughed as you threw a guitar pick at the bass player.

He ducked out of the way, flipping you off.

You counted off the next song and the band started, the upbeat tempo resonating through the crowd.

He had to admit, you looked happy. The way you bounced up and down along with the drums made him smile. He would have maybe picked a warmer outfit if he were you, but the new look was refreshing to say the least.

You had on a black sweater dress, one size too big as it hung off your shoulder. The purple of your thigh high socks peaked out from your equally high black boots. He could faintly make out a small bow on each side of the straps most likely connected to the garters further up your legs. He was trying to leave most of that to the imagination.

“This is all too much…” His face was growing hot as he watched you dance around the stage. Prompting the crowd to move along with you as you sang into the microphone.“At Least she dances like an old lady, that's helping a little.”

You stretched out your arm, turning the microphone to the crowd. Beaming as they sang the chorus back to you.

He had seen that smile only a handful of times. He saw it when you were walking in the hallways with your friends, laughing as they argued. He saw it while setting yourself up for a serve. And he saw it now as you closed your eyes, basking in the crowd singing along.

The final cords played as you opened your eyes again. “So that was our rendition of “Sports”, next is a song I wrote on the train last week. It’s the byproduct of a broken heart and shoujo binge reading.” You chuckled awkwardly as your band tuned for the song. “So this is “All I Wanted.” You slid the microphone back into the stand, adjusting it to reach your lips.

Sugawara pushed forward, moving through the crowd in an attempt to see you better.

“Hey Koushi is moving up to the stage, lets go!” Daichi grabbed Asahi’s arm, pulling him along as he fought to keep up with Sugawara.

Sugawara stopped a few feet away from the stage, worried you would see him in the crowd if he got any closer. Sugawara was losing himself as he watched you, your hands gripping the microphone stand for support as you sang. The song was different from the rest, sadder, full of emotions. It was you, more so than the rest. He started to wonder who you had written it for, who had given you so many different feelings. Maybe Yoshiki, you two seemed close enough for that.

The band cut off, leaving you alone. He saw the tears lining your lashes as you belted into the microphone, eyes closed tight. “All I wanted was you!” The band came back on your last note, the full sound reverberating around the full room. Sugawara bit his lip, fighting back the emotions that flooded his mind. He could see the hurt you held as you opened your eyes, the glistening of forming tears reflecting the stage lights as you looked into the crowd.

The song ended too soon, the house lights rising. You pulled at your sleeve, wiping at your eyes as you waved a goodbye. “Thanks for coming out, I'm Kiko and we are Systematic.” You smiled brightly, trying to take in the faces in the crowd one last time. Your rotation stopped on a familiar pair of hazel eyes, your own growing wide as you looked his way.

“Did she see me? She looked right at me…” Sugawara thought. He stood still, like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

Your face dropped as the realization set in, turning abruptly to make your way off the stage.

“She definitely saw me.” Sugawara groaned.

You were trying to pack up and leave when you heard shouting from the stage. You grabbed a handful of wires, stuffing them into a bag as you rushed to finish.

“Hey, you can’t go backstage!” A stagehand yelled from behind the curtains.

“Koushi, what the hell are you doing? Get off the stage!” You couldn’t pick out the voice from the dissipating crowd, turning to see what exactly was going on.

You watched Sugawara push through the curtains, frantic eyes scanning for you. Panic setting in when you saw him push past a stage hand, his heated gaze on you.

You tried to crawl through the clothing rack behind you, the exit in sight as you pushed through the other side. A rough hand grabbed the collar of your dress, yanking you back out into the open.“Hi, sensei...what are you doing here?” You awkwardly laughed, looking for someone to save you.

“What am I doing here?” He laughed as he grabbed your forearm, pulling you towards the emergency exit. He pushed open the door, forcing you through before slamming it closed behind him.“Explain.” He glared down at you, blocking your escape.

You felt like you were under a search light, people staring at you as they walked by the fence.

He waited for your response, looking over your face as you avoided his eye contract. “Can you please just tell me what is going on, and why you're at a dive bar at 11 p.m on a Saturday night.”His tone was softer now as he crossed his arms over his chest, his heated gaze easing into a warm stare.

You might as well just get it all out. You took a deep breath, finally meeting his eyes.“So freshman year I really liked this band called Bunny, and I would go watch them at the university all the time. But the singer quit last year and they started up Systematic with the remaining members, but they needed a singer and I like singing. But I was only 17 at the time and they were looking for someone older. So I kind of auditioned as Kiko, a 21 year old college student. I don’t drink or do anything illegal...like super illegal. Because you know that me being in the bar is illegal because I'm only 18, but that's probably why you're mad. It’s just bars are the only shows we can get, and we're working hard to get a venue show and we have one next month. Sensei please don’t tell them how old I am. This band means the world to me.” Your shrank into your words, confidence dying.

He looked at you in shock at the paragraph you had just word vomited out. His attention turned away from you as the emergency door flung open.

“Koushi what the fuck?” Daichi spat, looking between the two of you as Asahi followed behind him, apologizing to security on his way out the exit.

You looked at Sugawara, pleading him not to say anything.

“This is the girl.” He sighed, it was this or exposing you. At least only one person suffered with this explanation.

“This is THE girl?” Asahi gave his friend a confused look, pointing back and forth between the both of you.

“Wait, that sad song. Was that about him?” Daichi pointed to Sugawara, holding in a laugh.

You shrugged slightly, nodding. Things honestly couldn't be going any worse.

“Ok, ok we're done here, shows over!” Sugawara grabbed Daichis arm, tugging him as he walked to the parking lot. He turned around, scowling.

“Th-thank you Suga...Koushi!” You stuttered out, giving him an awkward wave.

He mouthed a silent “We are talking about this tomorrow.” Turning back around to yell at his friends.

You were in some serious trouble, maybe it was time to make that cake.

----

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

----

*Hi, I just want make a disclaimer that I do not own any of the song's or art I used for this chapter or any others. Beach Bunny wrote Sports, and Painkiller. Paramore wrote All I Wanted ,and I wrote this mediocre fanfiction. I also want to say thank you for those of you reading this! It means alot that you would take the time to read it as the story unfolds! I hope your enjoying it, and if you have any thoughts, criticisms, or advice I would love to hear it! I am very much an amature at writing, but I want to give you the best chapters I can. So thank you again!*

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neuroglitchy · 4 years

Text

Control beyond the NT bubble

Today, as I was looking at the ceiling, butt in air, head between legs during the stretching section of dance class, it occurred to me how good of an analogy dancing can be (at least for me) for my mental health issues, and the amount of control I have over them.

It's a common misconception that if you know your conditions, you automatically control them, and I don't think the community needs to be reminded why that's a terrible mindset to have towards mental illnesses and disorders in general. Especially because the neurotypical definition of "control" is maintaining an image made by them for them.

Psychology is one of many special interests I have, and so ever since I found out I might be autistic at 16, I researched the topic any chance I could, getting deeper and deeper as the years went by and my struggles worsened, and then did the same with every subsequent diagnosis I received. I'll always have something new to learn about myself and other people, which is amazing, but I think it's safe to say that not only did I catch up to my neurotypical peers but surpassed them in self-awareness and self-control. And I'd like to add that I think that the same goes for all of you comrades out there, and we don't get the credit we deserve for our efforts.

I'm pretty sure that I'm not the first one to make this analogy, but I hope whoever finds it, someone affected or a neurotypical family member of theirs, that they can learn from it and help others understand the struggles we face on the daily.

I have (among a boatload of other mental f*ckeries) Autistic Spectrum Disorder, which you may have heard about. One of the lesser known symptoms related to autism is muscle weakness and movement coordination issues. This is why it's usually very easy to detect in small children, because they develop differently when it comes to motor functions, either they are delayed or atypical. Examples of this are walking and running around with lifted heels, poor posture, not being able to sit on the floor without supporting themselves with their hands, etc.

Let me tell you, I struggled with this sh*t. Hard. Several of my lovely P.E. teachers I had during my school years humiliated and berated me for my clumsiness and weakness, and I've grown to hate sports and physical activities pretty fast after all that.

I really wanted to dance though, considering I loved and lived music, the rhythm, which I had a really good ear for thanks to my autism as well. I went to many dance studios, and I quit all of them after just a few months out of frustration, because none of them actually taught dancing, rather they just had choreographies; no basics, no proper workouts, lot of the times even the warmup was seriously lacking. My current dance school however is f*ckin' amazing. It's contemporary hip-hop, a style I specifically was looking for, and we learn basics, have proper workouts and the teacher actually taught me many very important things about the workings of my body, balance and muscles.

I know how my body works now, after years of struggling to find a proper teacher, and yet, I still have to learn for years to become a halfway decent dancer. I know which muscle groups serve what function, I know where I have to put my weight, I learn the choreography fast, my sense of rhythm is probably impeccable, and yet, I still can't do a lot of the moves we learn. The reason is simple: as of right now, I am malnourished (from not eating properly during quarantine), my muscles (especially my core muscles) are weak, I am still recovering from an injury I left untreated for months last year and I still have movement coordination issues.

I have to constantly put in the work to maintain even a basic amount strength needed for proper posture. I had to put together a workout plan that has segments dedicated to posture and balance, attend private classes, practice choreographies at home, go through a lengthy stretching routine after every workout because I'm so inflexible... All work that you don't see.

You don't see the struggle, the hard work, the many hours I put into practice, my tears of frustration whenever I can't do something for the 100th time, my self-hatred when I see everyone else being able to do what I can't even manage on a basic level. Today for example, even though waackin is one of my strengths in dancing, I absolutely butchered the whole segment in the choreography, and then I had to do my best to ignore how much more flexible everyone else is in the class just I don't have to feel that deep sense of shame I always do when faced with my shortcomings.

You only see the videos I post at the end of each month when we record the choreography. You only see the performance.

And that is the same thing I have to go through just to have as close to a normal life as possible. I have to plan everything, what I eat, how I dress, what I pack (be it travelling or just a standard day), how I travel. I have to write down guides on how to handle my anxiety, how to go through a morning routine, how to get ready for a dance class. I have an app that guides me through the day, telling me when to eat breakfast, do my workout, take a shower, stretch, create, study, plan, read, basically the whole day's schedule, because without the reminders and the alarms I'd be lost and confused and overwhelmed with everything. I practice how to talk, how to move, how to present myself in certain situations, how to mask and how not to mask...

Without all that work behind the scenes, I wouldn't be able to lead a life, and I still struggle a lot. I have bad days where I can't even bring myself to eat, when the confusion and anxiety of every task I have to do overwhelms me, when I have a meltdown and become exhausted for the rest of the day.

I am constantly getting to know my conditions and adapting to them, to the world, to my friends, to my own life and I have to work extremely hard where a neurotypical person wouldn't have to do anything. In certain aspects of life, I'll never be able to turn on autopilot, and I'll always have to put in the work and the awareness most people won't have to.

I am in control. I really am. Thing is though, you can't even imagine how much work goes into an action of mine you wouldn't even need to think about.

Often times, people tell me they envy my dance skills and say that they wouldn't be able to do the same because "they're not a natural like I am". And the thing is, any dancer would spot my many weaknesses and shortcomings, and would know how much hard harder I have to work than most people, just as other mentally ill people can tell how much I struggle just so I can leave my apartment on some days.

So in reality, I am in control, so much more than you think. I am self-aware, so much more than you'd imagine. I am in control of things that are automatic for you and I am aware of things about myself you'd never even have to think about.

But no, I will never reach a level of control where I can "hide" my illnesses and disorders, just so you're more comfortable and I don't inconvenience you. Because the world is so much more than your bubble of ignorance, you can't even imagine.

Because not everyone aspires to take on a role in your neurotypical play. And that's completely fine.

— Persephone

#Persephone #dance #mental health #autism #control #neurodiversity #neurotypical

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jossysara · 5 years

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What Being On Color Guard Is REALLY Like

After months and months of practice, the day had finally come. Colorguard teams from all over Utah gathered in the Ogden High School football field for the final competition of the season. Families and loved ones sat in the bleachers as the warm sun shined in the October sky. My team and I practiced some basic flag warmups on the practice field, preparing for our last performance of the season. Once we were all warmed up, we began to practice all four numbers of our routine. Despite the fact that we had spent so many months training for this moment, I could feel myself shaking as I heard the roaring crowd. What if I drop my flag? What if I forget the routine? What if I can’t remember my drill? I took a deep breath and told myself, “You can do this.”

Joe, our team captain, called us over for a team meeting. We sat in a circle as she exclaimed how proud she was of us. After many encouraging words, Joe took out her phone and read a quote. Once she finished reading, she expressed how much she was going to miss our smiling faces. Despite our ugly costumes and ridiculous makeup, we all mourned the last time we’d be performing on the field together. Todd offered to say a prayer, and we all held hands as we bowed our heads and listened to his words. Once he had finished, we picked up our flags and got in two lines as we quietly walked towards the entrance of the football field. The moment had finally come. We were up next.

Joe came to each of us with a ring on her pinky and had us kiss it for good luck — like she did for every performance. For so long it seemed like this season would never end, but now it was. I had to make this last performance my best. I said a silent prayer in my heart to bless my team and I with the ability to perform to the best of our ability and remember the choreography

in our four-number routine. As we waited for the American Fork team to finish their performance, Joe came and stood by me.

“Hey, I’m sorry but you can’t perform in the second number.” “What? Why?” My heart dropped. I was completely frozen. “You don’t know it well enough. You won’t be on track with everyone else,” Joe said. I was furious. I had dedicated my entire summer to this team. All the hard working hours

and overwhelming heat of the sun had been for nothing?! This was the last performance of the year, and she was making me sit out for my favorite number. My eyes watered as I stared at Joe in disbelief.

“I know it well enough. I can do it! Please Joe. I know this part better than any of the other numbers,” I pleaded.

Joe wouldn’t budge. “I’m sorry but it’s not gonna happen. Your flag, please.”

Joe held out her hand, and at first I just stood their stubbornly. Finally, I took one of the flags in my hand and gave it to her. She nodded to me and walked away. This wouldn’t be the first time I had been taken out of a number for a competition. That’s the way Joe works. She picks favorites. When you are on Lone Peak’s team, the standards are set high, and the expectation is to be the best. Those who are way better at flags and rifles gain credibility while the newer flag members like myself, are taken out of numbers so that we don’t hold the whole team back from winning. That’s all Lone Peak really cares about: winning.

Just then, the announcer spoke, and Lone Peak was up next. I quickly wiped my tears with my sleeve. My team and I rushed out to the field and placed our flags in their appropriate spots and prepared for the music to start. Band members walked to their drill positions and stood

tall. Larger props were rolled onto the field by the band moms. Once everything was set, we stood there quietly, waiting for instruction. We were ready.

The music began to play, and I waved my flag around as I danced across the field. We had four numbers to perform, and I was the only one of the entire team to sit out for any of the numbers. I hated Joe. She’d always take out at least one or two people before every competition, and this time it was me. Despite how upset I was, I still performed with as much enthusiasm and spirit as I did when we practiced. At the end of the performance, we held our final pose as the crowd cheered. We had competed at several different high schools, but this was our best show yet. We walked off the field knowing that we gave it our all, and that was enough. The band moms cooked us a delicious dinner, and then it was time for the awards.

Out of the forty teams that we competed against, Lone Peak had won third place! All of us were so happy as we jumped up and down, screaming with excitement. We hugged our friends and family, and as Todd brought the trophy to our team we all kissed our fingers as we touched the bottom of it. All that hard work had finally paid off! As we rode the buses back to the school, we were escorted by two police cars as part of our triumphant win. Although I was happy for my team, I was just glad to get that disgusting makeup off my face. Joe gave a speech about how proud she was of each one of us, but I couldn’t help but feel resentful towards her after the humiliation she put me through earlier that day.

We arrived at the school where all our friends and family were waiting to greet us. As the bus pulled up to the school, everyone cheered as we got off the bus. There were a lot of hugs and a few tears, but nothing could replace the feeling we all had that day. Who would’ve thought that a group of people carrying flags in parades during the 1900s would turn into the sport we know

as colorguard today? I was so grateful to compete in the summer season, and to get to know so many amazing people. However, I was mostly just grateful the season was over.

As much as I loved colorguard, there was no way I was doing another season at Lone Peak. Everyone on that team was so rude and judgemental, even the captain herself. It didn’t feel anything like a team because everyone just cared about themselves. So I transferred to American Fork High School the following year and joined their colorguard team! Even though I had a bad experience at Lone Peak, it wasn’t going to stop me from doing what I love.

Many people think of colorguard members as “cheerleader dropouts”, which isn’t true at all. Most people that join colorguard do so because they aren’t great at dancing, but still want a sport that allows them to express themselves. Another rumor that a lot of people believe is that if you’re on colorguard, you are part of the band. This is very untrue. Even though we practiced a lot with the band, we normally don’t hang with them outside of rehearsals and performances. One other popular rumor that people believe is that if a guy joins colorguard, he’s gay. While I competed with Lone Peak, we had two very talented guys on our team. They were straight. Despite all the rumors that colorguard is known for, it is definitely an amazing sport that people should take the time to get to know before making any judgments or assumptions.

While being part of colorguard, I’ve learned to love dancing with a flag. Even though I don’t practice colorguard on an actual team anymore, I love to toss my flag in my backyard whenever I have a chance. It’s a way I can express myself when I’m upset or lonely. I also enjoy watching other colorguard teams perform. The story they tell through their drill and routine truly engages the audience in a way that neither dance or cheerleading can do. Colorguard’s goal is to make the audience feel the emotion of the story that we feel as we perform. To some we are “cheerleader dropouts”, to others we are “marching band”, but we will forever and always be: colorguard.

#colorguard

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grell-writes-stuff · 5 years

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I finished chapter 28 and I’m posting it here because I did so many bad things

Tag List: @fenfaerie @arieswriting

I spent the week avoiding my phone as much as possible, and immediately deleting any notifications that popped up from that group chat. To keep it all confined to that forbidden, digital space, I tried to distance myself from the guys at school. Kelley had a lot to say about that yesterday.

“Do I have to bribe you into doing stuff?”

“Using what?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe I just need to start smacking you with a newspaper until you do the thing that I want you to do.”

“You said we’re not hitting people.”

“I said you aren’t hitting people. I have free rein to do whatever is best for your health, and, at this point, I’m thinking of getting a little spray bottle–”

“Seriously?”

“You’re like a misbehaving cat, and I’m training you to stay off the kitchen table.”

She let up when I told her what my plans were for today.

At around six, I receive the “Here” text from Cole as his Cherokee rolls into our driveway behind – avoidance – something that I decide not to think about. Not today. For the sake of getting through this jam session and keeping it a good day, I can’t let myself focus on anything except drumming. That’s it. Nothing else.

That’s also why I slip my headphones in before leaving the house. I don’t have any music playing, but it keeps the ride to West Hills quiet – with the exception of Cole’s screamo. I say a polite “hey” to him and Matt, but that’s about it.

In approximately fifteen minutes, we’re pulling into the Mechis’ driveway next to a sleek, black Lexus that I refuse to look at. I don’t notice it, or the person walking from it to the entrance to the garage. I wedge a broom through the handle, because I refuse to open that door in my mind and let the memory of the screaming match ruin this day. Frankly, I’m determined to block out her shrill voice in whatever way I can. I fight against the ever-present urge to give myself tinnitus.

The three of us get out of Cole’s car, and I hang back for a moment as they grab their guitars. Together, we enter the garage, and I tug out my earbuds.

I swallow back the lump in my throat, but that’s tough when my windpipe is constricted.

It’s such a familiar place. It used to be comforting, but now it feels tainted and hollow. The old, duct-taped couches that are falling apart seem like dusty relics of some long-forgotten past for which I am the sole historian. The boxes of Full Stop. merch lying around feel like clutter now instead of a celebration and achievement, like some ancient memorabilia that no one will ever purchase, not even the most dedicated collectors. The band binder is still just hanging on by a thread, but it feels like it’s already exploded and setlists and notes are paper shrapnel raining down from the sky. My drum kit feels like a foreign technology that I don’t understand. This room is infested with age. It’s an abandoned ghost town, and I feel haunted.

As we enter, Bryson greets me. Cole and Matt say hi back, but I’m still finding it hard to make words, so I just nod and try to put my attention elsewhere. I try to remember the workings of my setup. I’ve been visualizing the placement of cymbals, and toms, and the kickdrum while I’ve been recovering. I know where everything is. I can figure out how I’d once played music on this strange contraption again. Maybe someday it’ll feel the same.

I head to one of the sofas as Matt and Cole go about tuning their instruments.

And I ignore the screeches that she calls vocal warmups. In fact, I do everything within my power to forget her presence all together.

“Okay,” Bryson interrupts after a few minutes have passed. In that time, I’d listened to the twangs of the guitar and bass, and not her shrieks into the microphone. “I guess we can start.”

Since we don’t have a gig lined up, and this is just an unofficial jam session for something like fun, there’s a difference in his tone. It’s not as desperate. That’s probably a good thing. He’s not stressed, and there’s less pressure on us to be perfect. We’ll be far from it. The walking boot on my leg acts as a constant reminder of that fact as I rise and move over to my kit.

“We’ll probably be a bit rusty,” he elaborates. “But everyone just try your best. We don’t have to sound filled-out. Just let us know if you need a break, Scott.” He gestures to my leg, to the boot.

I nod. There was no hope of us sounding full anyway, and I haven’t tried drumming with a cast ever, but I doubt it will help my limb coordination and timing, and it probably won’t feel too great after a while, so I’ll definitely be off. And we’re painfully lacking in guitars, but I force that thought out of my mind.

I don’t purposefully bump into her shoulder as I pass. It’s easier to pretend she’s not there – that she’s not even furniture – rather than acknowledging her as an obstacle.

“All right. So, Scott?” Bryson says to grab my attention. Once I’m sat on my stool behind my setup, I look at him. It’s tough to define what’s in his expression, but his words are rather transparent. I didn’t text him back at all the past few days and he knows that was a deliberate choice. “We all picked songs this week that we want to run today, and, after that, we’ll focus on originals, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Cole wants to run Ocean Avenue – so we’ll start there – and Selena picked Told You So.”

Of course it’s a Paramore song. Of course it is.

“Matt chose You Think You Know It All by Red As Dusk. What’s your pick?”

It takes me a second longer than normal to peruse my mental music library because now it’s shrunk in size, and so many songs have been filed away and are now off-limits. Kelley’s suggestions are background noise as I search the stacks. Purge the excess negative energy. Purge the anger. Hitting my sticks against my drums will help, but only if I can find a way to throw everything that I possibly can into it. It’s a good thing that I’m battling rage because those tracks are the safe ones now, and anything rebellious will do.

“The Anthem – Good Charlotte.”

Bryson gives me a brief nod, but that’s ruined immediately. Every hair on my body seems to rise in defense.

“Um, I don’t know that one!” It’s her sharp voice speaking, and I shove my earplugs in to filter out some of the volume and annoyance. “I would have learned it if you’d picked sooner.”

“Sucks to be you!” It slips out of me, and I realize that means I’ve broken my vow for the day, and now Selena’s materialized in the garage, and my glare lands on her, which she matches with one of her own. In my peripheral, the rest of the guys look like they’re getting ready to break up the resulting physical fistfight that seems to be inevitable.

But that will get me in trouble in some way. I know it for a fact. I’ve already reacted, so retreating is tough, but I grapple for a way to deescalate.

“I’ll fucking sing it then. Why does it even need lyrics anyway? It just needs to be cynical and loud.” My fingers clamp around my sticks, the tools that will help me feel better and prevent me from punching her square in her contoured cheek.

“You just want Vikki to come in here and yell at us again, don’t you?” Bryson asks, deadpan, probably so Selena doesn’t have a chance to retaliate.

“Yes,” says Cole.

“Oh, my God,” he sighs. “Really, Cole?”

“Dude, I can’t be the only one who’s told you that your sister is hot.”

“She’s hot,” Matt agrees.

“See? Verdict’s in: she’s hot.”

“Why am I friends with you?” That knocks the desperation back into his tone, and it almost feels like a normal detour from practicing. Like we have a gig soon, but we’re all screwing around, and Bryson’s the only one with a sense of urgency and deadlines. I almost make myself savour it. “Can we just start the song? Please? Just play the fucking song?”

At that, Cole shrugs slightly, and his gaze sweeps over us to find confirmation. I signal back, my limbs still humming with everything I had to repress a second ago. They’re vibrating with the need to get it out, and I feel ready to drum to release it all before it boils my blood. She injected the steam into my veins and it wants out.

When everyone’s ready, Cole’s guitar plays the chugging, palm-muted intro to Ocean Avenue. Finally, my sticks hit and my foot stomps the kickdrum’s pedal. Matt’s bass fills it out a little bit, but we still sound empty. We’ve played this track before, but it doesn’t sound anything like it used to when it came out of our instruments. Selena’s unstable voice wails without a care, and I try to block it out and focus on my drumming so I don’t sound so off even though I totally am.

My limb coordination is flawed because the boot is throwing off my time-keeping and I haven’t put my formerly-sprained wrist to much work until now. I knew that I wouldn’t be perfect, but it’s bugging me nevertheless. My brain is telling me that it shouldn’t be like this. As a whole, we should sound better. My limbs shouldn’t feel so stiff as if I were a marble statue, as if I’m turning to stone. I hope for a second where I get the chance to shake it off, except–

Except my throat has a tight knot in it, and it hastily, heavily drops down into my chest. It’s so sudden and strange, but I feel something stirring and then curdling within me, rising up and bubbling through every artery before solidifying into a heavy, black mass that weighs down my arms. I remember a moment too late that I should be breathing, and I only accomplish that because I haven’t been taking in air and it already feels like my lungs have been set on fire after being filled with concrete, so it’s tough to shove into my subconscious. My eyes are stinging so bad that I can’t see my sticks where they rest in my shaking hands. The knot launches itself up from my chest and I feel like I have to gag. My pulmonary function fails and I become as empty as the music that falls silent.

Not all at once. It dies off in pieces, but I stop first, right at the start of the chorus. Then, everyone else cuts off too. The sticks slip through my loose fingers, but I barely hear them hit the hard floor with a soft clatter because a song is echoing in my mind now, and it’s not Ocean Avenue.

But it’s close. Too close. Ahead of me, I see blurs.

But also, an endless horizon of blue.

“Scott?”

Bryson’s voice penetrates my earplugs, but it still sounds twenty-thousand feet away from me. My mouth feels like it’s been filled with sand, and my stomach hurts, and everything is blocked by the firm, congealed sludge living inside of me. My hands are caught up in earthquakes, and I hear my hollow attempts to breathe as something between gasps and augmenting sobs.

I suddenly feel his hand on my shoulder and I don’t know how because his touch is light and everything is hot and numb.

“Are you okay?” he asks in a distorted voice.

No. I’m not. I’m not okay, but I can’t speak to lie and say that I’m fine, or to, for once, tell the truth. My mind is not a blank whiteboard. Instead, someone has written lyrics on it in permanent marker, and now the words are tormenting me along with dark chords, and a frantic, panicking drum beat that’s pounding against my skull.

“What’s wrong, Scott?” One of them questions me. I can’t even tell which one of them it is anymore. Matt, I think. Maybe.

I want to throw up. Or I need to. Or I just need to take in air. Any fucking air at all. Before everything finally shuts down, I have to get it out. Quavering. Quiet.

“Yellowcard.”

There’s some silence. Or it would be, but my ears are ringing, and my cheeks feel wet. After a few hundred, frenzied heartbeats, Bryson stiffens beside me, which I know because the hand that’s on my shoulder is attached to a body that I feel go rigid. His voice mingles with the deafening tone and my tears, and I hate how horrified and sorry it sounds. How lost and guilt-ridden it is.

“I was playing Lights And Sounds when they jumped…”

It’s not even the same fucking song! So what?! I’m just never going to be able to listen to Yellowcard again?! Because now they are tainted with tragedy and I’ll always remember in some crevice of my mind that that stupid song was playing, and I can almost feel our arms locked, and the salty breeze as it all rushes up ahead of us–

“Shit, man. I-I’m sorry.” I hear Cole say, and I hate the way that it sounds too because he shouldn’t have to apologize. “I didn’t know–”

I can’t even tell him to stop because I won’t be able to make any words, and I can’t breathe. Nothing’s going in and reaching my burning lungs even though I’m gasping for it. It’s not his fault, but those words stop on my tongue. It isn’t Cole’s fault. He doesn’t have to say sorry. He was in the water. He couldn’t have heard it. It’s not Cole’s fault. It’s not Matt’s fault. It’s not Bryson’s fault.

Because maybe it’s mine. We did it together, and one of us tripped, and what if it was me? Maybe if we hadn’t jumped at the same time, things would be different. He would be here, and this would be a practice for a gig instead of a failed jam session, and his guitar would have filled out Full Stop. and we would feel like Full Stop., and I wouldn’t be breaking down over a fucking Yellowcard song! But it’s too late now, and it’s all my fault.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Fuck it! Move!”

Such a loud voice that slices through my earplugs like a razor blade and splits the air with the shrill metal sound of an axe hammering down. If I wasn’t shaking so terribly, I’d flinch at it because it hurts, but it also makes every trembling muscle inside of me tense painfully.

It’s sudden, but Bryson’s hand withdraws quick, and my vision finally goes dark, and then talons dig into my flesh and sear it, and I’m yanked up violently to the sounds of muffled protests surrounding us. My own laboured, raspy, wailing gasps rise above the guys as I try to bring in anything at all, but it turns out to just be another futile attempt because there’s not enough air in the atmosphere to keep me alive.

My skin burns where fingernails dig in and inflict agony like they’re steel nails instead, and I don’t know how I stumble when my legs have turned to rubber, and my feet feel weighted down. I could crumble and snap and break at any moment like a building ready to topple. All the retentions are groaning, the supports failing, and I’m about to fall, and I can’t fucking breathe!

There are bewildered and demanding words coming from the dark blurs around me, and I try to blink the water away, but it’s coming too fast. Only one forceful voice has the volume to rise above, and it’s almost clear, and so close to me, and shoving me harshly as if the sound itself has become a physical entity, and it’s so damn annoying. It pushes and pulls me, and I’m running out of the strength to fight it because everything I have left is trying to suppress the bile gathering in my stomach and threatening my useless esophagus.

Then everything is bright, like the sun on that horrible, unsuspecting day. I’d say I feel blinded by it, but I didn’t see anything before anyway. There’s more forced stumbling and a muddling of voices and sounds. Another rises over them, so loud, and shrill, yet it can never hit the notes it sets out to despite always trying to rise at the end of every line.

“Get in,” it demands.

“Selena, what the fuck are you doing?!” Bryson. I think it’s Bryson. It sounds kind of like Bryson, but so far away.

I think there’s a response, but I’m trapped in a fishbowl and everything is half muted. I’m sitting, and all I hear before someone else speaks is a loud slam right beside me. Then there’s something that sounds like angry arguing, but I can’t make it out because my thundering heartbeat and broken lungs are trying to kill me. Another harsh slam, then a jingle, sputter, and hum, and then the whole world lurches forward.

And my gut lurches forward and upwards again, and that forces the blackness clouding my eyes to dissolve into dizzy, sparkling fragments. I barely have the air to heave, but I manage to start gagging, rocking forward in my leather seat, and then her voice shrieks:

“Don’t you fucking dare puke in my car!”

I’m in Selena Walton’s stupid, expensive Lexus. There’s that small, sane part of me clinging to the thought that blowing chunks inside of her Lexus is a bigger fuck you to her than smearing Vaseline on the door handle, but it’s microscopic because the acidic needles of the bile are pricking the base of my empty windpipe, and it’s so fucking hot in here, and no matter how much blinking I do everything is blurry, and those lyrics are stuck in my mind.

“But make it loud, cause nobody’s there.”

Nobody’s there.

He’s not there. He’s not here. One. I’m alone in the chapel with a monument to destruction, the end of an era. Two. Together, we jump. Three. My leg feels like it’s been severed. Four. My head has exploded. Five. I shatter into pieces. Six. I’m gripping the porcelain sides of a bathroom sink to keep from falling. Seven. In the nightmares, I’m falling. Falling, falling, falling. Eight. I’m suffocated by the emptiness of a black abyss and closed-in walls of my bedroom without him in it. Nine. The futon is in couch mode. And that’s not ever going to change again. Ten. There’s not enough air, but I can’t seem to drown. Eleven. We hit the ledge over half-way down a thirty-foot fall, and it was all my fault. He’s gone, and I should have gone with him, but I didn’t and he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone – You’re never going to get rid of me, Morgan – and why can’t I fucking breathe–

And then something unimaginable happens.

It’s fast, unpredictable, and unprompted, and my boiled blood becomes lava because the second I realize what’s going on, I am furious.

Her arm smacks into and lays across my chest and pushes me back harshly against the seat, pinning me. She’s leaned over the console in the middle with her other hand still stretched to hold the wheel, but I only notice that after the fact, and it’s still not the most terrifying thing. My tear-blinded eyes go wide, and probably vault out of my skull like a cartoon because this is a new kind of unwelcome proximity.

Her lips are on my lips. She kisses me with her greasy, scalding, obnoxious, red mouth and suddenly my trembling limbs freeze in place. The world pauses for a second – or it feels like it except she’s also fucking driving in West Hills, which is just as uneven and winding as Woodland Hills and Bryson’s street is no exception, and her fucking foot must be pressing the accelerator to the floor.

But I am less focused on fearing for my life and more focused on the fact that I have now kissed Selena fucking Walton.

“What the FUCK?!”

#interlude #wip: interlude #book: interlude #morgan scott #selena walton #bryson mechis #cole marshall #matt jordan #mental breakdown #writing #my writing

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