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canthavetoomuchchaos · 9 months ago

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Not a bad kid

ANGST ANGST ANGST

Set in teenage years.

Darlin + David

I strongly follow the "Darlin and David are siblings" thingy. This is set when both are around 14 ish.

Tw/Cw: mentions of abuse, fear, injuries, brief mentions of dying,

David and Gabe are sleeping, that is until they both hear frantic knocking at the front door.

David is sound asleep, snoozing away under his blanket, his dad in the next room over doing the same. Both are awoken by fast, frantic, and harsh knocking on their front door. David sits up blearily and walks to his door, waiting for his dad to pass him so he can follow.

"David, don't come down until I know who it is alright?" David nods and waits. Gabe opens the door and immediately a person is falling into him. He grips their shoulders, eyes wide as they are frantically begging for his help. Gabe is quick to shut the door.

"David- come down here, get the first aid kit under the kitchen sink, quickly." He's calm, carefully carrying his young pack member to their living room, setting them gently on the couch, ignoring the thought that their blood and the mud is ruining it. They're still crying, clinging to his shoulders, but they're frantically muttering now. The same thing, over and over and over again.

"I'm sorry- 's not my fault- didn't study hard enough- please, please I didn't mean to." Gabe is mortified. They're like this because of a bad grade on something? Or is he hearing wrong? David returns with the first aid kit.

"David, come sit by their head, keep them awake if they start to fall asleep. They may be concussed." David does as his father requested him and sits by their head. Gabe, very gently, starts to peel away their drenched shirt, pulling it up to get a view of their abdomen. Cuts, bruises and scratches, along with long healed scars are all over their skin. He presses into the biggest wound on their side, steadily oozing blood. He barely hears David gag. As he presses against them they let aout a very sharp yelp, he can hear their wolf slightly come through it. He looks up about to apologize, but they look horrified that they even made the sound in the first place.

"'m sorry- I didn't mean to- I was just- please don't hurt me. I didn't mean to growl-" David takes the liberty of trying to soothe them, doing what his dad does to him when he's sick, running his hands along their scalp. They freeze but withing seconds they are leaning into his gentle hand. Gabe continues his work on their wounds.

About fifteen minutes later Gabe is almost finished when David tenses from his quiet, almost one-sided conversation.

"...Dad...Dad you gotta hear this." His face is sombre for a fourteen year old. Gabe frowns and leans towards them.

"can you say that one more time? You mum ked a little there. " David asks them quietly. They frown and speak, this time slightly louder than before, attempting to help him understand.

"...got a c- on a math test. My parents were.....not pleased to say the least. That's why I'm like this. My....dad...chased me here. I don't know if he's still here or not, I don't think he'll try to come inside though.." they're breathy, and tired, but they enunciate perfectly.

Gabe freezes, his mind reeling, their dad did this to them? This child is beaten bruised and bloody because they got one bad grade? For the first time ever in the history of the Shaw wolf pack, there will now be a banishing of a wolf. This child will stay, they aren't safe at home. This actually helps explain a lot of their behaviors, constantly being quiet, keeping away from the other kids, flinching if Asher is just a little too loud. It all makes sense.

"Kid, I know you live with your dad, is there anyone else there besides you and him?" He's cautious, voice a low, gentle timbre. They shake their head.

"just my stepmom, she eggs him on, doesn't help. wont miss me if I die right here, she hates me anyway" Gabe fails to hide his frustrated expression, glad their stable and their eyes are closed as they relax and relish in the safety of his house.

"I'm glad you came to me, kid. You won't have to go back there ever again. I swear on it." His face is set in a tense but gentle expression. He turns to David.

"take them to the guest bedroom, give them some clothes, they may not fit but work with what you've got please. " David nods and gently helps the young wolf. They both pause as Gabe speaks

"your tough kid. Like a tank, stay that way." They nod and continue their way upstairs with David's assistance.

While they are upstairs Gabe grabs his phone and calls his beta (I can't remember Ashers dad's name if it was ever mentioned so here's a random one) Daniel. He picks up quickly and Gabe explains the situation, Daniel is quick to ask if Gabe needs his help. Gabe denies and asks him to please schedule a formal pack meeting for tomorrow afternoon, all wolves required to attend. There's a small yell from upstairs and he's quickly hanging up.

"David? Everything alright up there?" He's on the bottom steps, carefully making his way up. David pops his head out, a small grimacing smile on his face.

"they shifted, their injuries don't seem to have transferred as harshly but they jumped on the bed and I think it hurt a little. They're fine though. I think." Gabe nods and ruffles David's hair.

"let them rest, you can go to sleep, I'm gonna stay in here with them, the door will stay open all night if you need anything." David nods, a small confused frown on his lips.

"why're you staying with them? They'll be sleeping." Gabe smiles at his young son's confusion.

"because if they have a nightmare or wake up randomly, I want them to know where they are and that they're safe. Now go to sleep." David nods and gives his dad a brief hug, leaving to his own room down the hall.

The next morning Gabe is making breakfast as Tank as he has decided to call them, stumbles into the kitchen. They freeze as they realize he's also in the kitchen. Their eyes widen as their bleary, sleep ridden eyes don't comprehend that they're not home.

"I'm sorry, I woke up late, I'll have breakfast done really quick I promise. You don't have to-" they are cut off by Gabe gently laying a hand on their shoulder.

"hey, it's okay, you're not at home anymore kid. You don't have to do anything right now. Go sit on the couch, watch some TV." They hesitate but listen nonetheless. Gabe sighs and continues to make food, not surprised in the slightest that his son is sleeping in.

Later, as Gabe is getting ready for the pack meeting, both kids come up to him, curious. David is the first to speak up as Tank catches their breath, side sore from their wound.

"where are you going dad?" Gabe looks up from his combat boots, his face set. He's mentally preparing for the meeting.

"Got a meeting, scheduled it last night." The kids frown, confused. David, again, speaks up first.

"..can we go?" Gabe hesitates and looks to Tank.

"...will you be okay? You'll stay by me the whole time." They think for a moment, then nod. They haven't spoken since that morning.

"alright, get your shoes on. Let's go." Both kids scramble for their shoes, trying to get them on as fast as possible.

As they arrive to the Den, Gabe reminds both kids to stay close, this is a serious meeting and there wasn't supposed to be kids in the first place. As they walk in, Tank's parents both rush up, fake relief written across both of their faces. Gabe pushes Tank behind him, standing tall. A harsh glare pointed at them. He makes sure that his eyes say all that need to be said. 'you will not touch this child ever again.'

Gabe guides Tank and David to the front of the room. Reminding David to keep a gentle grip on Tank, as their still slightly hurt. He walks up to his podium, clearing his throat and waiting for silence. As the silence falls his eyes land on Tank's dad, specifically his hands, bruised knuckles, cuts here and there along his arms, and a very painful looking wolf bite on his bicep. Tank sure gave a fight before running. He took a breath and started to speak.

"I'm sorry for calling this meeting on such short notice, but it has come to my attention, that some pack members do not seem to grasp what parenting is meant to look like. [Tank's parents] I have the unfortunate duty of dishonorably banishing you from my pack and any Shaw land or property. I want to make this clear to everyone in this pack, I will tolerate a lot. I will never tolerate abuse of any kind." He turns to Tank and beckons them forward, they stand, walking slowly toward him, their face still badly bruised and the cuts now scabbed.

"this is Tank. Your child. You will no longer be allowed near them, nor will you have custody of them. I will take them as my own. You are never to return here, and if I hear that you have, you will be reported to the department. Thank you, goodbye." He dismissed their parents. The two hesitates, then Tank's father lunged, yelling harsh words and horrible names at them. Gabe shifts, a giant wolf now standing over the fallen child, as he snarls, his beta shifts as well, gently using his snout to push the children away, whilst keeping an eye on his Alpha in case he needs assistance. As the father backs down, backing away, he continues to yell things a child should never have directed at them.

Later when they get back to the Shaw house they are laying on the cold kitchen floor, the chill helping soothe the ache in their side. They have a content smile

Safe.

______

The end was a little rushed but oh well!! Hope you like it!!

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #david shaw #redacted david #requests open #redacted darlin #redacted gabe #angst #tw #i don't know how to tag

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spikychristiansen · 2 years ago

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#soft grunge #indie sleaze #converse #keds

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overwhelmed-frog · 6 months ago

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took a therapist-sanctioned trip to the coffee shop I used to work at today to talk to someone I went to school with who now works there again in order to work on my social anxiety (and I was being So brave about it.) and instead it was just my old boss working so I was forced to talk to him. god really gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers 😔

#felt like some kind of sick joke :/#really psyched myself up for nothing #Worse than nothing #in the 3 minutes we spent talking he just HAD to throw in a passive aggressive complaint about his employees too lmfao #i was like hahaha…. how i haven’t missed you justin 💀#oh man. what a guy.#ked rambles #also as an aside it’s so funny to me that my social anxiety is so bad my therapist assigned me making one (1) post on instagram #and/or having one (1) conversation with a barista I kind of know 💀#that’s. that’s rough. 💀#i love being mentally ill <3

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sunlightmurdock · 6 months ago

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AETERNA | Two

ONE | MASTERLIST

SNYOPSIS: the show begins.

WARNINGS: smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; mentions of minor character death; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff. word count: 7.2k

…

On days that Billy works late at the shop, or just can’t find time to entertain your whims, you walk home from the Pines. It’s not too bad of a journey, you’re lucky that Fred and Joan didn’t pick a place too far out.

If you were to cross the creek at the bend, right outside of work, it would shave a good twenty minutes off of your journey. In the interest of keeping your Keds white and your socks dry, you take the longer route and walk down West Avenue.

Past the laundromat and Miss Jessie’s hair salon. Along the grass verge, sticking to the side of the road where there’s no footpath. People drive safer this close to town. Usually.

Early afternoon and you’re thinking about that evening.

Olive was supposed to come along with you tonight, but she blew you off to go fool around behind the old firehouse with this older guy she’s seeing. Twenty-eight, a father-to-be, and he still gets his kicks in the bushes like a teenager. Gnarly.

It’s for the best, though; your mom doesn’t like Olive too much. Joan wasn’t ever too strict with you — she let you scrape your knees and muddy your Sunday Bests, a couple minutes after curfew here and there never hurt. But to her, someone like Olive is someone treading water and bound to go under.

In Olive, you have found the big sister you had always wanted, but you wouldn’t go under with her. You’re too smart for that, your father says.

Without Olive, it’ll just be you and Georgie tonight. You just hope that he doesn’t get the willies and make you leave before it’s over. Fred would probably be pretty upset if you did wind up coming home without his only surviving son.

Wesley’s pictures are still up around the house, and his room remains untouched down the hall from yours, but he’ll have been gone five years in July. He doesn’t come up in conversation much anymore.

In another life, he would be driving tonight. You’d get shotgun and radio privileges, Georgie would get to be a real little brother and be banished to the backseat. You’d get your kicks chasing after gold-skinned West-Coasters and Wes would do what he always had and man the fort.

“You’re back!” Georgie greets you — half scaring you to death — by leaping down from the second stair and onto the runner by the door. You wobble in the direction you had come, the screen door clapping against your backside and deciding for you that you’re staying inside. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

“Yeah? Forever?” You drop your bag by the door and point a finger between the stripes on his t-shirt, right into that ticklish spot against his ribs. When he grins, he looks like your big brother had. He’s not much like Wes, though. It’s better that way.

“Man, and now I have to wait for you to get dressed!” Georgie realises, throwing his head back in complaint. “What time are we leaving?”

“Little after five,” You say and step around him as he spirals to keep with you, glancing down at the chunky brown wristwatch you use primarily to time Mr. Wheelan’s phone conversations with his mother against your smoke breaks. “Hour and a half. If that’s alright with you.”

He lingers at the bottom of the stairs while you hasten for your room. An uncertain frown works its way onto his freckled face as his stomach rumbles under the confines of his Sears’ Best t-shirt. “… Before supper?”

“Fred gave me money — we’ll get something on the way.”

From the downstairs hall, he curls his fist into a ball and celebrates under his breath. You wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway, your fingers already dropping the needle onto your still inky, sexy new Fleetwood Mac record.

After a month and a bit of trying, you had nabbed it at a store a town over. Atwood’s excuse for a record store rarely had the new stuff.

Sharp, fast-guitar strums and Lindsay Buckingham’s wicked vocals. There’s nothing better. Well, not yet. Someday soon, Lindsay Buckingham will be on the guest list to one of the lavish parties you’ll throw. By then, you won’t sing as embarrassingly as you do in your childhood bedroom.

Making your way through buttons and fastenings and stockings and Keds, you hop and dance to lyrics you haven’t quite memorized yet while shedding the candy-striped version of yourself for someone far superior.

Wiggling your hips and nodding your head as you pick through your closet, you’re searching for a safe middle ground in a sea of far from between. You’ll need something that Georgie won’t snake to Joan about, and something California at the same time. That’s where they’re from, you figure. With tans and smiles like that, it just seems like the reasonable guess.

Your skin-tight bell-bottoms are the obvious choice. Georgie can’t nark on you for jeans, but then again, these are so much more than jeans. They’re heaven sent. You’d spent your first Pines paycheck on them, and they were worth every penny.

The record plays on through tracks two, three, four and into “Go Your Own Way” while you’re still making up your mind on how to decorate your top half. Red would be your usual pick to stand out, but you’re going to be surrounded by a sea of red so that’s out. Green would make you stick out like a Christmas tree. Yellow works, you guess, in a McDonalds kind of way.

There’s no need for an alarm clock. By track six, Georgie is trying your doorknob and reminding you promptly that it’s a little after five. Fred installed that bolt lock on your door a little over a year ago. It keeps your brother out in the hallway. Your wristwatch, discarded, confirms that it’s exactly six minutes after five. That means time for make-up is over and you really need to find a shirt.

“We still have time for burgers, right?” Georgie bounds down the stairs ahead of you with reckless abandon and lacking coordination, slipping on the rug and catching himself on the stair rail.

“If you tie your laces in less than ten minutes.” Your answer is purely to tease him. You’re uncertain about the denim waistcoat you were forced to pick, but the jeans save it. Your new leather boots will make it.

As you zip them up your calves, Georgie races past you, almost banging into the front door as he wrestles it open. As he tears outside, you notice his feet halfway jammed into his sneakers, wobbling with each step. “I’ll tie ‘em in the car!”

Joan stops, wincing through her view from the dining room window as her overconfident little boy steps onto his own lace and tumbles into the door of the family station wagon.

“Nice going, Airhead!” You call out, turning your head mid-jibe to find your mother watching you. Her face flattens sternly, but she decides her priorities lie with making sure her airhead son picks himself out of the dirt okay.

The screen door rattles behind you as you jog down the steps and Georgie scrambles to his feet, brushing off his blue jeans.

“Wave bye to Mom.” You remind him, waving sweetly at the dining room window as you unlock the car and slink into the driver’s seat.

He stands straight and grins, cheeks dimpled as he waves toward the window.

The old radio system crackles to a start, and Joan watches from the dining room window as you reverse it down the driveway and pull out onto the main road.

The sky sits between purple and blue, darkening like a bruise as the station wagon follows the winding country roads that stretch out towards the O’Malley farm. It sits between mountain foothills, on the verge of Cole County, almost in Martock County — country club central.

In the late afternoon, your brother is buzzing. He can barely contain his excitement, or his singing voice despite you making him promise to stop exactly six miles back. He shoots a gleaming look up at you, grinning as he holds onto his vanilla shake like it’s a Pulitzer Prize. Fast food, his favorite flavor shake, and a trip to the realm of the unknown all in one night.

He’s going to have a lot to talk about come Miss Lindsay’s class Monday morning.

You plan to have plenty to talk about Monday morning, too. I.e. the dirt on those guys you spotted out by airport road; you saw ‘em first, and Olive is, in some regards, spoken for — so they’re all yours for now. At least one of them must be single. The guy with the mustache had a girl in his passenger seat, after all. But she didn’t seem to want to hit you for drooling all over him, so either she’s a Martian or she says he’s fair game.

“There it is, I see it!” Georgie declares, spotting the glowing Ferris wheel through a break in the trees. Your stomach twists, a giddy excitement toying at your nerve endings. You play it cool, shooting him a knowing smile, tugging the wheel to a slow left.

The O’Malley farm is the biggest in the area, threatening to be the oldest thing around too. Of its acres and acres of land, the circus has been allotted a four acre space at the forefront, just off the road.

You were here once for a Fourth of July fireworks show. You’d spilled mustard on your new white jeans. Your older brother had put you up on his shoulders and you’d forgotten how sad you were, lost in a sea of red, white and blue sparks.

Georgie lights up with the foreground, his jaw going slack as he stares out at the sea of sounds and colours ahead of him. Sure, it’s Saturday night but this place is packed. The designated span of grass is filled with Atwood’s car and truck collection; you do as Fred would want, and leave the station wagon at the end of the row. It’ll be easier to get out later.

It’s all neon around here. Purple lingers in the darkening sky, the dirt and the grass dry and the air brisk. Lights and screams overpower the song playing over the radio. The same one you’d heard out on Airport Road. Electricity fizzles in your stomach the way static feels on your fingertips when you reach for the television screen.

“Can we get cotton candy?”

Your head turns. Your gaze flickers downward. You eyeball the emptied cup, the now missing vanilla shake, and then look back at your brother’s ecstatic face. His feet kick uncontrollably in the footwell. Your lips purse, as if to consider the proposal. Guitar plays on around you, all electric like the feeling in your stomach.

“Yeah… we’ll see,” You cut the ignition and grab your purse from the passenger side footwell. With the engine, the radio dies too, and the song stops abruptly. The familiar guitar riff cuts out before you even remember where you’ve heard it before. “Let’s get our tickets first.”

Though, it might be kind of a fun joke to get him all hopped up on sugar and take him back home to kill Fred’s Saturday Night Movie Marathon. His VHS collection is unrivaled amongst the dads of Atwood.

Georgie is absolutely not, under any circumstances, allowed to get his grubby little paws on a single one of those tapes. Not because they’re dirty, or scary — but because Georgie likes to understand the mechanics of how things come apart and Fred prefers his belongings intact.

Your eyes are drawn to every corner of your peripheral, your boots tracking through dry dirt path. One hand on Georgie’s shoulder, you keep note that he’s still with you as your eyes explore. Dirt spills into grassland and you’re off the path; you just aim for the centre.

The fairground roars around you, hitting the peak of Saturday night excitement, carnival games singing and rattling around you and the carousel singing out dead ahead. Lights and games whir wildly around you, it feels like you’re still hearing that electric riff even now it’s gone.

“Can we go on the Ferris wheel?” Georgie tugs at your forearm, barely audible over the thrum of the whirring generator beside you. A shrieking scream tears your attention from him. To your far right, there’s a Rotor ride — a giant, spinning green cage that sticks you to the wall with one of Newton’s laws. If your eighth grade teacher was hotter, you’d know which one.

“If you’ll ride that one with me.” You point a gel-polished fingertip toward the spinning ride. Georgie shifts a bit, and fiddles with his hands. He’s eleven this year, getting too old to be chickening out of fairground rides.

“Alright.” He agrees without nodding, or really even moving. Your wristwatch is still on your bed at home, but with all the crowds out here, you know you must have time. Your hand presses between his shoulder blades, carrying him with you as you start towards the spinning ride.

Fifty cents later and you’re looking across at him, each of your backs pressed flat against the flimsy, green-painted metal. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes his eyes shut. You turn your head towards the lilac hue and inhale; buttered popcorn and sugar-sweet candy floss filling your senses.

“Smell that?” You ask him, squeezing your fingers around his. He peeks one eye open, his nose wrinkling. He smells it too, the sweet scent in the air. The sky’s coloured like it’s full of it, lighter than usual because of all the sugar. “No one’s ever been afraid while eating candy floss.”

And he stumbles off, feeling like he’s still spinning in circles and regretting that big vanilla shake a little bit, but grinning. The safety of being with a big sister isn’t something you ever grow out of. He looks up at you, your hand on his shoulder.

Your hair whips around you as you follow him off of the ride, still laughing at the way he’d shrieked. Your eyes crinkle at the edges and your knees angle towards each other like you’re laughing so hard you might pee, your laugh is far reaching.

The eyes on you, though amused, turn away as quickly as they’d found you. The feeling lingers anyway and you turn, looking through the crowds, searching for the attention you feel. Your instincts are good, but your eyes catch on the wrong thing. Your admirer has already turned in the other direction.

The sky has darkened sometime since you stepped onto the ride. It verges; safe, summer lilac bloom and tinged toward the color of a fresh bruise. The lights around are so bright that the O’Malley farmland looks like it’s being consumed, fading into the dark around it.

To the right side of the Big Top is a rectangular booth with a helpfully illuminated TICKETS sign hanging above, and a man inside shouting the same word on repeat with different varying offers.

His sights land on you. Something sudden, mechanical, almost. His gaze is stiff and unwavering, eyelids peeled back, irises black. Immediately, you feel watched. Not like before, not something instinctual that had made you turn to look.

It feels like even the sky up above notices, the sky skulking towards that kind of blue named after the darkest point of the night.

Wearing a black button-up shirt with a red waistcoat, he’s the only person around that you can see in a uniform. His face is a grease-paint white and there’s a red smile painted across his lips. They stretch back to reveal straight, white teeth, bared like an animal. Then, they curl at the edges and become something more natural — something closer to a smile.

“Show’s about to start! Sales close in the next five minutes, folks! Get your tickets!” He calls out like he’s looking right through you, even though you’re walking right for him now.

Steadied, no longer spinning, Georgie stares in awe, his neck craned all the way back as he watches the Ferris Wheel carriages rock and wobble. Safe with his big sister, he’s not looking. You curl your fingers into the back of his shirt, losing the sinister, greased-red smile in the crowd for a second as you reach for your purse with your other hand.

The bodies pass by and there he is again, watching you once again, but up closer he’s not so scary at all. You can see the way the paint is brushed onto his skin, and his eyes aren’t really black but more of a deep brown. His lips stretch into a goofy, friendly grin.

His rigid fingers relax against the wooden podium he’s posted behind, nail marks in the wood hidden behind his glove-covered palms.

“Hi, kids,” He’s got the goofy clown voice nailed, too. He almost makes you smile as he looks towards Georgie and plants his hands on his hips from inside the booth. “Are you excited for the show, young man?”

“Yes, sir.” Georgie answers back, suddenly bashful as he hangs off of your forearm.

“Two tickets, please.” You tell him, that awful, cold feeling ebbing away as you dip into your purse and pull five dollars from your wallet. Two dollars for kids, three for adults. Steeper than the movie theater, that’s for sure.

“Here you go! You kids enjoy the show now.” The clown slides the two pink stubs under the plastic for you, tipping his head to the side and grinning real wide once again.

“Thanks.” You turn and plant your hand on Georgie’s back again. Those folks who stick reins on their kids might be onto something. “It’s about to start. We’ll do the wheel later, okay?”

People have already started to filter in ahead and behind you. The tent is quieter, and darker than outside, the screams of excitement seem so much further away. Following the flickering string lights, you venture deeper under the shade of thick, red and white canvas.

Ahead of you is a circle marked by red borders, a round, dirt-bottomed arena for the performers. Rows and rows of bleachers surrounding the space, pushing at the walls of the tent for the audience. It looks bigger inside. They were expecting a big crowd, and they got it.

“Here.” You pat softly at his shoulder and point to the second row of bleachers. Front row might be better for someone his size, but you would just about die of embarrassment if you got called as a volunteer.

“Uh-huh. Do you want a soda?” Georgie asks, planting his butt onto the wooden bench beside you, rocking the soles of his Chucks into the wooden slat below. He’s been waiting to ask, these dimes have been burning a hole in his pocket since Fred handed them over this afternoon.

A gentleman always pays, and that’s what Georgie’ll be someday soon.

You chortle, shaking your head. “I’m alright. Do you need some money?”

People filter in around you with hushed pardons and thank-yous. You set your bag down under the bench and that’s where it remains, forgotten, for the rest of the evening..

“No. I brought mine! — I’ve gotta get you something,” He explains, the freckles on his face disappearing as the lights above you flicker on and off purposefully. He fishes a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a handful of coins, presenting them to you urgently. “Popcorn?”

Instantly, you recognise this as the workings of your father. Wesley, too. A smile ticks at the corner of your mouth, then catches.

The last person standing takes their seat. The circus tent stirs, buzzing to life with hushed whispers of what’s to come. There’s a constant whir in the background, the sound of generators keeping this place going.

Craning your neck back, you study the support beams. The podiums so far up that you can no longer see the wires, the hooks for silks, the point at the very top of the tent where all of the lights stem from.

A reminder that summer grows nearer by the minute, the tent is already thick with the warm evening air.

Your gaze flickers back to the tall podiums and the bowed ceiling of the canvas as the stage lights flicker and then dim. A thud rings out like a stack of books dropping as a spotlight hits dead center on the red curtain that hangs. Everything settles into an abrupt quiet.

“After. It’s starting.”

Anticipation settles under the canvas, weighing heavier than the early May air. Popcorn crunching and shoes fidgeting against the wooden bleachers, a cough from somewhere to your far left.

Then, with another thud, the tent falls pitch black. Georgie squeezes your wrist. He’s still scared of the dark.

With a rush, a spotlight beams on the center of the arena, revealing at once a man in black slacks and an elaborate red tailcoat. From beneath the brim of his top hat, his mouth twists into a smile, the rest of his face hidden under the cast of a shadow.

His white, gloved hands stretch out from behind his back and lift from his sides in an almost greeting gesture. He spreads his wingspan, addressing the audience as he steps forward and looks swiftly up, his gaze piercing and blue.

It tracks that he’s the one in charge around here. Older, but young in the way his eyes glint with trouble. He looks left to right, following the curve of the audience, captivating his spectators with knife-life sharpness.

The crowd has fallen resoundingly still. Popcorn goops with the threat of cooling, congealing butter. Shoes are unwavering, suddenly stuck. Georgie’s eyes bulge, blinking back at the unblinking Ringmaster.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen.” With a chilling air of calm, his lips peel back into a toothy smile. It’s friendly by nature, but cold to the eye. His head twists slowly, bending thirty degrees to the left, his smile spreading the way water does when puddled. “To the greatest show in the world.”

Ambitious, you think. Some hot guys and some speeding fines and suddenly the rest of the world are out of the running.

You recognise the self-assured leader of it all. He’s the guy from the first van, the big one, with the girl in the passenger seat. Hell on wheels, coming over that hill. Brown hair feathers from under the hat and sits around his jaw, the only part of him that’s not immaculately kept.

The tailed coat he wears is effectively tailored, showing off the gold watch on his right hand and the glimpse of a tattoo from under the sleeve of his left arm. The jacket is especially extravagant, threaded with gold buttons and woven thread down the lapels. He’s a lot more polished-looking than the guy at the ticket booth.

There’s something similar in the way his eyes land on you though. His gaze is gone again as soon as it touches you. His smile keeps on spreading, a puddle seeping through the sand floor at his feet, reaching, tendrilous, for the bleachers.

Music starts behind him, light and bouncy like the kind of sounds a carousel plays. He peeks backwards, and returns his gaze to the audience with a knowing grin.

“Sounds like my friends are excited to meet you all,” He says quietly. Then, he smiles and waves the idea off. The music stops with a beat. “They’ll have their turn. First, I have something to share with you all.”

He’s a hell of a magician. Captivating, really, the way he manages to keep track of the packed room. He’s everywhere, and aware of everything at once. During a trick in which he made a rabbit disappear, not into a hat, but into the very back of the crowd — someone near you began to whisper their theories. You don’t know how he heard what they said, but you know that it wasn’t an accident when that rabbit peed in their lap.

Beneath the awe and wonder of his run-of-the-mill magic routine, there’s something inexplicable. Something in the way he maneuvers; the way he smiles like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. All magicians are, you guess, but this is different.

The show flows on beyond him, performers emerging from the shadows with knowing looks on their faces. All of them hold onto that punchline through their tricks and trials, their mind-bending illusions and death-defying stunts.

It doesn’t stop with the appearance of the face you had been hoping to see. As he takes the stage, twisting a flaming staff expertly to a drumbeat so loud that it feels like it rattles your brain itself, he too is in on the joke. He throws the burning stick into the air. As it flips and spins, he takes a moment to look out across the crowd.

With the thundering drum beat, the orange glow of the flame, the sweat beading down his chest, the crowd hangs in anticipation as the object hurtles back down towards him. Searching through the sea of faces, a calm smile settles onto his face. He leans back, opens his palm, and catches the burning staff before it strikes him.

As much as his performance strikes an interest in you, you’re concerned that it might spark an interest in Georgie for a different reason.

Once he has returned into the same shadow behind the curtain that they all come from, there’s something that lingers with you. A delusional sense of hope, maybe, that because he looked at you once, he would do it again.

The evening’s entertainment draws to an end with another visit from the Ringmaster. With his unnaturally blue eyes and his stretching, tendriled smile, he bids Atwood goodnight. The last ones in are the first ones out, the Big Top becomes more shadow than human as the sea of faces filter out into the fairground.

“That was awesome!” Your little brother declares, throwing his hands up into the air in balled fists. “Could we come again?”

Oh, you’re planning on it. Golden Boy’s act alone is enough to guarantee you a return spot. Later tonight, when you’re alone and in bed, you’ll be thinking of the way his aptly golden biceps flex as he curls back to nail the tip of the blade into the center of the target from a distance.

Come Monday morning, Olive will be hearing all about how she missed the way sweat beads at his chest when he’s doing that fire show.

“Yeah, maybe,” You shrug. “If Fred’s okay with it.”

Fred’s okay with everything. Georgie grins, and then remembers the condition of him being allowed to go tonight.

“Oh, wait. I have to buy you something.” He remembers, shoving his hand deep into his pocket to confirm he still has his sweaty handful of change.

Fred will check to make sure, otherwise you’d tell him to keep his money for another day. You smile, and shrug once more, looking around.

“I’ll take a Coke.” You tell him. The stand is right in front of you. It’s not that far away and even with the crowds, you shouldn’t have any issues spotting the red and orange stripes on Georgie’s shirt. You were younger than him and venturing further by yourself. You don’t think twice before letting him rush off ahead of you.

He knows exactly where you’ll be waiting for him. Just to the left of the shadowy entrance to the Big Top, you push your fingers into the tight front pockets of your jeans, looking towards the inky-indigo evening sky.

It’s getting colder, now. You’re too old for your mother to remind you to take a jacket these days. Your boots trail in the mud, starting up an even and uniformed route to pace along for warmth. Georgie waits patiently at the back of the concessions line.

An evening breeze bristles at your exposed arms and carries the smell of burning tobacco. You turn your head sharply to the left, and crane your neck. The fields around the fairground are pitch black, like this pasture is the only thing around.

The smell has you wandering just a little further, around the wide bend of the Big Top, you squint through the shadows and light up just like the Ferris Wheel behind you.

Illuminated by the orange glow at the end of his cigarette, lurking in the shadows, he’s already looking at you by the time you spot him. Wearing the same black slacks he had worn for the show, the string lights behind you catch on the gold of his necklace. Your lips twitch as he smiles across at you.

The cigarette sticks between his lips like it just wants to be there as his lips stretch wide. His cheeks hollow a bit as he puffs at it, sweat drying on his skin and prickling the blonde hairs on his arms.

Watching you wander his way, he can’t help but smile back at you. Friendly is kind of his thing when it comes to this place. After all, you came all the way out here to see him, it’s the least he could do.

“Evenin’,” He drawls, Western in more than just the way he’s dressed, as he pushes up from where he was hiding to smoke against the Zoltar machine. He saunters towards you, the light catching his skin and making it glisten like real gold as he steps into the light.

“Evening.” You greet right back, lips catching on a grin. You straighten up like he’s somebody important and that makes him smile right back at you, the bridge of his straight nose wrinkling with enjoyment.

Taking his cigarette from his lips, it settles between his index and middle fingers, then lowers to hang around his waist. His inky-black, dress-pant adorned waist. The same as he was wearing during the show. Those things don’t fit like the kind of suits you usually see — the ones you’re familiar with end just above the belly button. His sit so slow on his waist that you can see the black band of his underwear.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can.

He hasn’t changed yet, he always sneaks out back for a smoke before he heads out to make himself known around the fair. Tips come rolling in if he makes himself friendly. That’s not why he’s here, hiding in the shadows, with you.

“So, how’d you like the show?” He asks. His cigarette wobbles between his lips in a real Clint Eastwood kind of way. The gold crucifix on his necklace slips on the chain as he moves, revealing a dark ink etched into his skin below. A cross, tattooed onto his skin, just between his collarbones at the base of his throat. The same as is on his necklace.

You tear your eyes away from his chest and look him in the eye. Georgie would pitch a fit if you asked to bum a cigarette. Really, you only smoke with Olive, anyway. “It was cool. My brother loved it.”

“And you?” He prompts, placing the cigarette back between his lips and inhaling deeply. Like he finds oxygen in the smoke, as if he’d been holding his breath since the last hit. He quirks an eyebrow at you as he lets the breath sit on his chest.

He knows he’s good looking, clearly — you can see that in the way he juts his hips out before he walks like a cowboy does. But, you can play too. You shrug at him, suddenly coy.

“It was alright.”

A breathy chuckle slips his lips.

“Yeah?” He beams at you, all intrigue and amusement, green eyes glinting as the neon lights of the fairground rides illuminate his face. “You’ve seen better?”

Oh, you like the way he plays. You trail towards him, slipping into the shadows of the Big Top. Close enough now that you can smell him; sweat, smoke and an equally smoky cologne. It smells expensive, for a carnie.

Your shrug is a balance between ditsy and daring that particularly seems to strike a chord of interest within him. “Still holdin’ out for the best, is all.”

Smirking around the growingly short cigarette, he puffs at it once more and plucks it from his lips again. Tall, broad and muscled all over — he must have served before. A bit older than you, he’d probably be the right age for it. He carries himself calmer than the other Vets you’ve seen. He doesn’t have that look in his eyes.

He’s what they should all look like, if they’d gotten to age like normal.

“Smart girl.” He decides, rolling it between his fingertips for a second. You watch as he drops it into the dirt and stubs it out with his boot. Green eyes on you once again, a flash of neon crosses his face as the ride roars into action once more. “I’ll see you.”

He says it like he knows it to be a certainty, taking a step back. His usual after- show ritual will continue with or without you. Next comes an outfit change and a spritz of cologne, then some Front of House showboating.

“Don’t you have a name?” You prompt him, brows drawing together as he wanders backwards.

He grins. “Jake.”

Jake. He even says his own name like he likes the sound of it. Like he thinks you’ll like the sound of it. Backwards, his boots fall into line behind each other; you don’t even realise you’re following him until his footprints are the only ones in the mud anymore.

Jake’ll be seeing you. You’ll be seeing Jake. It seems set already.

“Excuse me.” You turn and look over your shoulder, a muscle in your neck catching as you do a wide-eyed double take and spin.

One hand on a red and orange striped t-shirt, is the man of mystery himself. Standing tall, especially tall, taller than he had looked driving along the road that day, is Mr. Movie Star, stone-faced. Wearing a white vest with an unbuttoned blue overshirt and rolled blue jeans, he looks even better than before.

When he hadn’t turned up in the show, you’d started to think that you had imagined him. Speeding along that country-road with his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose and the prettiest smile you’d ever seen.

Well, here he is. He doesn’t look half as happy to see you.

Your brows furrow as your gaze falls down to where his hand sits. Georgie’s shoulders heave with a shuddering, relieved sigh, tears burning in his eyes as he stares back at you with a glass Coke bottle trembling in his hand.

“I think you lost something.” The man of your dreams tells you, stone-faced, cold.

“Shit.” You whisper, and Georgie doesn’t even consider scolding you. He looks up at the man who had helped him find you, and heads for you instantly. “You okay? What happened?”

“I turned around and I couldn’t see you.” Even though he’s older now, right on the verge of being grown, his voice trembles and you remember he’s not like you were. He’s scared of the dark and he sleeps with a stuffed tiger and night; he’s sweeter than you’ve ever been.

He goes to wrap his arms around your middle and you welcome him with a one-armed embrace.

The guy from the road is still watching you. His hair is tousled and his shoulders are stretching out that overshirt, his cheeks are warm and pink. Eyes dark, he eyeballs you from boots to earrings.

“Thanks,” You can’t help but take a look behind you. Jake is long gone already. You smile softly in polite gratitude. “Sorry, I just — took my eye off him for a second.”

His eyes linger on your face, a silent second too long. The wait almost makes you squirm on the spot, wondering if he recognises you, if he’s mad at you. Finally, he meets Georgie’s gaze and shoots him a cool shrug. “It’s all gravy.”

Georgie unravels himself from you and pushes the Coke bottle into your hand, and you hold off on pushing him away by his face to get to know his knight in shining armour.

“Have a good night, little buddy.” With another nod of acknowledgement, the handsome man makes no effort to sugarcoat the bluntness of his tone. He drops one boot backwards and moves to turn away.

Now, you haven’t been jealous of Georgie too many times in his life so far, and not many older siblings can say that. But on this occasion, you’ve barely been graced with two sentences and Georgie’s all of a sudden been awarded a nickname? — Not gravy.

“Thanks, again.” You call out in a moment of panic. It happens before you have a chance to develop something as cool as your exchange with Jake. Then again, Jake had seemed to want to speak to you. The Movie Star turns and looks at you over his shoulder, barely giving you a second of eye contact as acknowledgement as he plucks his cigarettes from his pocket.

They sure do smoke a lot for people surrounded by canvas and gas-guzzling generators.

“I really appreciate it.” You continue, cursing yourself, curling one hand into Georgie’s shirt as you follow after him. He closes his eyes, rolling them into the back of his skull as he hears you hurrying behind him. “He’s always wandering off.”

“No, I—“ Georgie struggles as your arm wraps around his scrawny shoulders, hugging him to your side and covering his mouth.

“Really, it was no sweat.” His lighter clicks open and ignites, then flips shut and disappears back into his pocket. Not so much as a look in your direction at this point.

You really should cut your losses and take Jake as your win — you can’t have them both anyway. The Movie Star’s lips almost twitch. Cut your losses and take Jake— he likes that.

“I didn’t see you in the show,” You continue anyway, something unnatural in the way you’re itching for him to so much as look in your direction. It’s been a while since you last saw action. “So, you like… work here?”

Idiot. You cringe, and even Georgie looks up at you in unimpressed wonder.

“You could call me security.” Smoke curls around him, leaving you five paces of dirt road behind. You make a face at him from behind. He’s not as friendly as the others, who have now emerged from the shadows to greet their fans. Instead, he walks ahead, skulking under the string lights like he’s silently hating them for illuminating him at all.

You cut your losses at once, stopping in his tracks, pursing your lips. Jerk.

Georgie struggles at your side and you’re reminded to let him go from the pseudo-headlock you’ve squeezed him into. The man of your dreams, the perfect movie star to fit into your Napa Valley retirement plans, disappears into the crowds of people.

You’re stuck on that day by the road. He had seemed into you then, grinning across at you like you were the bee’s knees, shooting you that easy-breezy peace sign. Maybe it was the halter top he liked.

“Can we go on the Ferris Wheel now?” Your younger brother reminds you of the real reason you’re supposed to be there, standing in the O’Malley’s south pasture past his bedtime. Flattening out your frown and sticking your fingers into his hair, you nod your head.

“Yeah. Come on, just don’t pee your pants.”

So, your Saturday night didn’t go exactly how you had pictured it. You’re not too sure what you were really expecting of the two guys you’d seen just once. But, your little brother is still grinning and talking a hundred miles a minute when you get back home that night, and that counts for something.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, kicking your legs and snacking on a slice of sugar-sweet clementine. The waning light overhead almost makes you forget how dark it had been beside that Big Top — how you’d found Jake all alone.

“The I-75 thing didn’t work out?” Fred whispers to you, pressing a soft kiss to your hair as he pats your shoulder and passes by to drop his last beer bottle for the night into the recycling. You look back at him and smile while Georgie whittles on and on and on.

“Alright, alright,” Joan hushes, tucking her reading glasses into her hairline and giving up on her magazine to devote her attention to her youngest. “You can tell us all about it in the morning. I think you’d better head on up to bed for now.”

He closes his mouth and looks around the lemon yellow kitchen. Fred’s no help, and neither are you. He huffs and gives in to the idea of bedtime.

Dutifully, he hugs both of your parents tonight and heads for the hallway. He doesn’t head to bed before he has peered back around the doorframe and smiled back, thanking you for taking him.

The stairs groan, the hallway creeks and Georgie’s door wheezes shut. Everything about this house talks.

“Oh, I’m going to need my bag back for work on Monday, sweetheart.” Joan remembers, packing up her Cosmopolitan and dirty Martini set up from the kitchen table. Rollers in and green, mint-smelling face-mask smeared around her features, your mother has Saturday night rituals of her own.

And, you don’t have a bag.

You had one. You had taken your mother’s brown shoulder bag that she takes to work even though it fits a little more than a wallet and some keys on a good day. Shit, your wallet too.

“Sure.” You answer tightly. “Let me clear my stuff, you can have it tomorrow.”

The curiosities of a mother cross her mind, but a girl’s gotta have her secrets. She smiles and gives your bicep an affectionate squeeze as she heads for the stairs. “Okie dokie. Don’t be up too late.”

You wince at the thought of her bag being somewhere in that South pasture unattended, or gone by now. Probably rifled through. You hope there weren’t any receipts in there — she gets awfully protective about her receipts.

“Tell me the bag’s in the car.” Fred says from behind you as the groan of the stairs grows faint and the creeks of the hallway ready to start. You pivot cautiously towards him, still grimacing. He presses his lips into a line and shakes his head. “You’d best get out there and find it before she finds out, kiddo.”

“Mhm. Planning on it.” You answer with a sigh.

Really, it’s not such a bad thing, you think to yourself. You could go back there tomorrow without all those crowds, without Georgie. Maybe do the whole damsel in distress thing and see which one of them comes running with your misplaced bag.

Closing your eyes and twisting onto your side, you spot the pointed, red canvas top of the tent from your window. All of the neons are gone now, powered down for the night. They’re over there, just beyond the stretch of those woods. Jake, and the one who hates you.

…

NEXT CHAPTER

TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT

tags: @sunflowercharlie13 @spinning-away @eloquentdreamer-blog1 @a-reader-and-a-writer @breezyweazybeezy @mel119g @hersuitisbanana @one-sweet-gubler @atarmychick007 @ximehs @nnatel @topherwrites @seitmai @yepyeahuhhuh @cherrycola27 @ohtobeleah @roosterbruiser

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #jake seresin #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #jake hangman seresin #jake Seresin x reader #jake Seresin au #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x reader #Aeterna

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thechaoticscenejester · 4 months ago

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A SPARKLE DINO!1!1!1!!! <333

I drew Susie in scene style cuz itz amazing!!! :3

She's so sigma!!!! 😍

Susie Headcanons under cut::

Okay, more trauma dumping onto relatable characters at 2am cuz why not :P

- Susie tends to overthink, she can't control it and wants to but everything just seems to spiral

- Like Kris, she forgets to eat and honestly feels hungry but doesn't get food for some skibidi reason

- She has anxiety and doesn't know how to talk to people, she wants to have a conversation but ends up not knowing how to start it so she stares, making others terrified.

- Despite the reputation the town put on her, she's actually very nice. She's just shy.

- She started to play along with the scary act cuz she felt like that's all she'll ever be

- When she does eat, it's stupid shitz like Chalk or Moss

- She/They/it

- Bisexual (Bite me!!!!)

- Her hair gets messy af in the morning

- She 5'6

- Always tired

- Her aesthetic is Emo/scene/punk/grudge

- She relates to this song::

Anyways, thatz all!!! :3

LMK WHAT U THINKZ SPARKLE DOGZZ!!!!!! X3

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rwprincess · 1 year ago

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Teenage Dirtbag (Robin Buckley x Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3K

Synopsis: Reader is hopelessly pining for Robin, even though she knows the girl is out of her league and hardly knows who she is…and that she’s already dating King Harrington…right?

Honestly, this song originally struck me as being for EddiexReader. But I love PostModern Jukebox (ft Jax)’s take on it and was like “what if it was wlw for ROBIN?!” and here we are. Happy Pride, mfers.

CW: Self-doubt and loathing; reader being a useless-sapphic ™; homophobia common of the 80s; unfair stereotypes to ‘freaks’; Minor Steddie if you squint; song lyrics mention a gun and ass-kicking; swears; jealousy of Steve (we’re pretty mean to him here)/mistaken identity; also, we’re tweaking canon because Eddie lives. Fight me.

She radiated beauty and light, and while you hadn’t had more than a minute-long conversation with her, you could tell that she was intelligent and that her soul was deep. Robin Buckley was the coolest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. Even in that dorky band uniform with the oversized hat and bobbing feather, chin-strap snugly tucked underneath her beautiful face. Luckily for you, she was out of uniform today and you drank in her long, thin frame, adorned with a striped t-shirt, and a skirt…but most importantly her legs were being caressed by knee-high tube socks. The stark yellow stripe drawing attention to her taut calf muscle as she walked down the hallway, carefree and angelic. Somehow, the buzzing fluorescence of the lights in this shitty hallway took on a heavenly light when they met her skin. You sighed in both admiration and frustration. There she was treading so perfectly and she hardly knew you existed.

Her name is Noelle

I have a dream about her

She rings my bell

I got gym class in half an hour

Oh, how she rocks

In Keds and tube socks

You leaned against your locker, biting your lip in silent longing. You weren’t in her league; you weren’t sure you were even in the same species. She was somewhere between a nerd and a prep, and you were a certifiable freak. Besides the homosexual tendencies you were harboring that would make you a pariah in this town if you were found out, you generally were clad in black and heavy makeup, looking like a walking The Cure album, a poster-child for loneliness and therapy, surrounding yourself with other freaks, most notably your best friend, Eddie Munson. You were no stranger to being called a ‘demon’ or having wild accusations thrown your way. No wonder Robin’s gaze never turned to you. While you loved your friends and relished your lowkey lifestyle, particularly because it made you feel comfortable with who you really were, you still lamented that that meant you were invisible to the most beautiful, captivating eyes you had ever seen.

“C’mon, band geeks aren’t that far from D&D dorks,” Eddie tried to cheer you up, putting an optimistic spin on it, like he always did. You wondered how someone with so much pain and darkness in their life could be so light. He was always smiling and had a way about him that made everyone want to bare their souls to him. He put out beams of trustworthiness and others gravitated toward it. You yourself had been sucked into that unrelenting positivity. He was one of the limited few who really knew you, and one that you had confided in about your sexuality, and eventually your ridiculous crush on Robin.

“It’s very different, Eddie,” you admonished him. How could he not know how the rest of the school saw you? “They all think we’re devil worshipers and shit and she just like, plays the trumpet,” you shrugged. “It’s totally not the same. Even if they get made fun of, we are not on the same level.”

“Maybe they just don’t know how dumb and nerdy our club is. Maybe she doesn’t know and you should introduce her to the fine world of Dungeons and Dragons,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes at him, black lids almost sticking to your brows at the effort.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Ed,” you replied in a dismissive tone.

“Ya know, I heard she got a job at Scoops Ahoy…” his grin grew larger at his implication.

You acted unfazed by this information, but soon you went there consistently and not-so-innocently to indulge your sweet tooth, but the only sweet you were really gorging yourself on was Robin. You teetered between feeling guilty for going to sneak looks at her in her adorable, short uniform…and wholly enjoying it.

You never really struck up a conversation. You’d just place your order and sit in a booth, nursing the dairy dessert as slowly as possible to get your fill of Robin in a sailor hat, eyeliner thickly applied and pink lips parted in a rehearsed sales monologue or talking to herself. Good thing you had the ice cream to tamp down the burning you felt in your stomach and your cheeks whenever you looked up at her, averting your gaze if she so much as twitched in your direction.

But she doesn't know who I am

And she doesn't give a damn about me

'Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby

Yeah, I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby

Listen to Iron Maiden maybe with me

And then one day, Steve fuckin’ Harrington had to ruin your reverent ritual. It startled you the first time he was behind the counter instead of Robin, as if you’d walked into the wrong store. It felt so…unnatural. Steve lived down the street from you and had been an entitled dickweed ever since you were young. You were always more of an introvert and liked reading or drawing on your driveway with chalk when you were little, whereas Steve was a stereotypical rough-and-tumble boy, throwing his football into your lawn to disrupt you, or climbing trees and yelling loudly. He always reeked of desperation for attention, while you opposed having the spotlight on you. High school had only widened the gap between you two, as he fell in with the popular crowd and ruled the school. On a good day, you were invisible to him and his cohorts. On a bad day, you were a target of their slurs and slander and Steve dove right in to join them. You’d hear him mutter about how unfortunate it was to live near you, like he’d catch your cooties…or you’d put a witchy hex on him.

Her boyfriend's a dick

And he brings a gun to school

And he'd simply kick

My ass if he knew the truth

He lives on my block

And he drives an IROC

You couldn’t walk into your house without being reminded of his existence, and your one respite of Scoops Ahoy was now tainted with his god awful Farrah Fawcet hair spray and cocky demeanor. Even worse, he now created a barrier between you and Robin. You were no longer guaranteed to talk to her. Especially when Steve tried to butt-in to take your order.

It was obvious he liked her, too. He would be a fool not to, sure. You couldn’t imagine anyone not being drawn into Robin and her dark, reflective eyes or her goofy smile. But you caught Steve blatantly checking her out, and more than once. You knew you had no claim to her, and were probably hoping against all hope to be with her one day, but it still irked you. Particularly because he didn’t have eyes just for her. He seemed to hit on every girl who breezed through the ice cream parlor, even though he struck out time and time again, looking like the biggest dork in that uniform, showing everybody that he truly peaked in high school now that he had graduated and was not having a glamorous jet-setting summer like his ilk. He didn’t deserve Robin as it was, but especially when he couldn’t put her first. She was your only crush and had been for some time.

“What can I do for you?” He had the nerve to ask and grin blankly at you, nothing going on behind his eyes. ‘You could back off of Robin and take your douchey self out of here--’ you began to think snidely, biting the inside of your cheek so as not to let the words slip out. Luckily, it created a clever disguise, looking as though you were just debating what you wanted.

“Uh, I guess strawberry today.”

“Would you like some sprinkles? They’re on the house.” He winked and you tried to hide your gagging revulsion. Customer-service Steve was totally fake and he acted as if he didn’t have a distaste for you his entire life. ‘What could Robin ever see in someone like him?’ you thought. But truth-be-told, most girls your age tended to fawn over Steve and he could give her something you never could: a normal life.

But he doesn't know who I am

And he doesn't give a damn about me

The mall fire marked a sort of beginning-of-the-end in Hawkins. Starcourt was the one hip thing about the town, the one thing to do. And now that had all been scrapped. Rightfully so, as it seemed macabre to just go on with it as if nothing ever happened there. People died, the town had to even elect a new chief of police because he had perished as well. But it left you in a lurch regarding activities you could do, especially on your own…and particularly to have access to Robin. Now, you didn’t know where she worked and you certainly couldn’t ask her. It would give off stalker vibes in waves if you approached and said, “hey, I miss watching you at your work all the time, mind telling me where I can find you now?”

Even worse, she seemed to be closer with Steve. The rumor mill didn’t explicitly say they were dating, but you assumed they were. It was a small town and you’d see them together frequently. Steve even dropped her off at school most mornings, which seemed to you like something couples would do. It completely dashed your hopes that this would be like a Hollywood fairy tale and you’d get the girl in the final act. Time was running out, as it was your last year at Hawkins High, and quite possibly the last stretch of time you’d ever see Robin Buckley. Then, the unthinkable happened when Eddie betrayed you and became cozy with Steve after Spring Break in your Senior year. "I can't believe you're actually hanging out with--no, that you're friends with that douchebag, now." It was a charming little development that Eddie had been spending time with Steve.

“He’s not really that bad. I know, I know,” he responded immediately to your huff and look of disgusted disbelief, “A month ago I would have dropped dead before I would have said something like that, but it’s the truth, Y/N. He’s changed a lot since he was in school. He’s actually a pretty cool dude.” You may have been a little over-dramatic with your resulting retching, as Eddie asked, “What’s your deal with him, anyway?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s my deal?’ Like you said, a month ago, you would have been calling him a douchebag right along with me! What’s your deal?” You didn’t give him time to respond and jumped right into your tirade instead, “First of all, in case you’ve forgotten, he hates us. Or at least, hates me still, since you’re all chummy now, apparently. He has made fun of me his whole life and uses it as fodder to yuck it up with his friends.

“‘Fodder,’ nice word choice,” Eddie smirked, eyes gleaming. He was clearly amused watching you get riled up over this, but you didn’t let that stop you.

“He’s so vapid and shallow. I’m pretty sure all of those hairspray fumes fried his few functioning brain cells. He pants after every girl he lays eyes on, like a dopey dog but without the loyalty. The most frustrating and asinine part of that aspect of him is that he does it with Robin! I’ve seen him drool over her and then turn around to immediately follow some other girl, but he--he still gets to drive her to school every day and talk to her and…I can’t,” you squeaked out the last two words, the realization crashing down on you: you hated Steve most because you were jealous.

'Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby

Yeah, I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby

Listen to Iron Maiden maybe with me

Oh, yeah, dirtbag, no, she doesn't know what she's missin'

"Oh, trust me, she and little Stevie are just friends." He waggled his eyebrows and you stared at him in confusion.

“Wh-what? How? They’re like, always together, and--and. Did he tell you this because you’re best buddies now, or what?” You were flustered and were sure you weren’t making any sense, but Eddie just smiled in a smug way. He was hiding a secret, but you didn’t dig further right now. You had no idea what he meant, how he knew, but this revelation was a breath of fresh air: your spirit renewed.

Spring and the school year were quickly coming to a close. While you wouldn’t consider yourself one for tradition, nor attending events with people, Eddie convinced you to partake some of the normal teenage activities. “You’re only going to be a senior once, Y/N,” he goaded you.

“This is your third senior year,” you reminded him with a deadpan expression and tone.

“I know. I said you’re only going to be a senior once. You.” He gave you a playful smile in return, “And hey, life is short and not always guaranteed.” The smile faltered a bit, and you could tell he was remembering Chrissy’s death, all of the deaths that occurred over Spring Break. You couldn’t really argue with Eddie when he was being serious for once in his life. He blinked the memory away and put on a cheerful facade again, “Hopefully, this will be my last senior year, too, so we have to make it a momentous occasion. You should go to prom with me.”

“Oh Eddie, I thought you’d never ask,” you put your hand over your heart sarcastically as you replied to him in a monotone voice, “how romantic.”

“Oh God, stop. That’s embarrassing for the both of us,” he joked. “What I mean is, we should both go to prom. Make the memory, all that jazz. I think you’ll be…pleasantly surprised.” You were used to his theatrical pauses by now, but it sounded like he was up to something. Eddie wouldn’t be Eddie without hatching a plan or scheme, but you agreed anyway.

“This is the most conformist thing I have ever done,” you greeted Eddie at your door, “I hate it.”

“It’s just a dress, Y/N. It isn’t the end of the world,” he cleared his throat to hide his laugh, but you caught it anyway and shoved him out of your doorway.

“This was all your idea, Munson. I will never let you forget that.”

At first, it wasn’t all that bad. Some of the music wasn’t totally abhorrent and Eddie was making your group laugh, dancing and miming his way through various activities. But the fun was cut short when Eddie’s other group of friends came in. You felt betrayed as Eddie brought Steve back to the gym that he once owned. Amongst this new group was of course, Robin. Your cheeks flared and your heart raced at the sight of her. She was always beautiful, but tonight she had a touch of glamor, wearing a knee-length green dress. However, that happiness was also fleeting. Eddie took off with their group and had them laughing and dancing, and you even saw him twirl Robin around. You sat and sulked in the bleachers, meaning you missed Eddie pointing you out to her.

Man, I feel like mold

It's prom night and I am lonely

Your elbows were propped against your knees and your hands cradled your face as you stared down at the floor. This could have been a great night, a fun night. But you just weren’t cut out for that typical teenage fun. Perhaps it wouldn’t sting so much if you had chosen to stay home rather than put yourself out there; if you weren’t dragged here only to be ditched by Eddie. But him choosing Steve and his group only solidified the feeling that burned deep within you: you didn’t fit in. Anywhere.

You glanced up, hoping that maybe Eddie had noticed your absence from the dance floor and would take pity on you. However, you saw Robin walking unsteadily in your direction instead. It wasn’t a too-much-spiked-punch walk. It was more hesitant, methodical. The changing lights cascaded across her hair and skin, making her seem even more unreal. As she drew nearer, you gained more of an appreciation for her dressed-up look. The makeup highlighted her cheekbones and lips; the way the dress hugged her waist and the length of it emphasized her legs. You smiled softly when you noticed that she was still wearing sneakers, though. That was much more like the Robin you knew.

“Is this seat taken?” She was standing directly in front of you, but you weren’t completely sure she was talking to you. You looked to your left, then to your right, confirming that you were alone. You nodded, automatically, but were still in disbelief. You’d hardly exchanged words that weren’t related to ice cream before.

Lo and behold

She's walking over to me

This must be fake

My lip starts to shake

How does she know who I am?

And why does she give a damn about me

“Eddie’s told me all about you. Well, everything I didn’t already know,” she said, effortlessly flashing you that radiant smile. You were glad to be sitting down already as your knees began to quake.

“Is that right?” You asked nervously, throat suddenly becoming dry. Your eyes flicked across the room towards Eddie. You discovered him watching you intently and when you made eye contact, he gave you an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Mm-hmm. He said you were the coolest girl he’s ever met. But I already guessed that. I mean, I thought that. I mean---well, and he said you’re his best friend.” She quickly tacked on the change in subject, but your heart hammered in your chest. Robin thinks you’re cool? Wait, Robin knows who you are and thinks about you? Your mind was racing.

“He, he is. I mean, I am. His best friend. And he’s mine. He’s a good guy.”

“Oh yeah, he’s totally great!” She rushed out, flustered. “He uh…he said that you were maybe, like…like me, too?” She looked at you with meaningful implication. Oh, shit. Did she just--is she saying she’s gay, too? It was a hopeful thought, but you were sure you were misreading it, and it’s not like you could just ask her for clarification. Not on this topic.

When you didn’t give a definitive answer (truthfully, you probably looked more deer-in-the-headlights confused instead), Robin continued, “Anyway, uh, I’d like to get to know you better and Eddie said you liked Iron Maiden?” You nodded numbly in response to this and she reached into her small purse, “Well, I’ve got two tickets, would you maybe like to go? With me?”

“I--yeah, of course! I’d love to go with you, Robin!” You blurted out, not wanting the opportunity to pass you by. Like Eddie said, life is short and you only get this one go-around. “I’d like to get to know you better, too. I think maybe we are a lot alike,” you replied, giving her a similar knowing look before you both broke out in smiles, grinning like lunatics.

I've got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby

Come with me Friday, don't say "maybe"

I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby, like you

#robin buckley #robin buckley x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things fluff #stranger things robin #stranger things robin x reader #gay #gay pride #even though there's like two days left #take your time #lesbian!#sapphic #useless sapphic #tm

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