#doesn't help that the person i used to bounce ideas off of ditched me for god knows what reason lmao fuck everything basically

[gaiathemexicanbeauty]

that love is like a star | auggie x winnie (cold front)

word count: 1.4k warnings: angst with comfort?, fluff, unrequited love for a grand total of 2 seconds, winnie fell first but auggie fell harder, but auggie's a little dumb so he doesn't realize his feelings, when he does ITS A DOOZY FOR HIM

takes place after the events of the game (don't ask how long after)

based off of star by mitski :)

as always, beta read by my good friend who i had to bounce ideas off of bc i love to yap and knew all too well this was gonna be really long

auggie was the one winnie always wanted. he knew now that auggie didn't like that name, 'auggie' made his estranged friend sound and feel like he was 9 instead of 19. but auggie was the same in his mind: the kid who came to see him with no intention of befriending him, the kid who told him he was whiney and that he needed to stand up for himself. THAT was his auggie. he was in love to say the least. winnie saw him all the time, trudging around with barely a soul to pay him any mind while he was bombarded by praise and affection just for breathing most times. he was grateful and definitely enjoyed it, he'd never been the person people were eager to please or to get his attention. even still, whenever people looked for him, winnie wished it was auggie.

now that he was so close to him, though, all those emotions came bursting up to the surface and winnie wasn't going to let this chance pass him by. after going through his own rehabilitation, he wasn't at all opposed to being the one to help auggie go through his own; "it's just my leg, i don't need you to hold my hand." auggie had said to his friend, his fingers stiff as winnie intertwined them with his (this was to help him sit without his crutches according to winnie). now, rehabilitation included the two of them doing a brief workout every morning, curated specifically for auggie to join along too. just the two of them. back to square one.

auggie wasn't the kind to do this (at least not anymore), early morning workouts or afternoon jogs: he wasn't playing hockey anymore so what was the point? more than anything, though, he was doing this for the sake of winnie. they didn't talk about it much after the incident, whatever they had seen or wherever they had been, finally confronting each other about their past mistakes, their distance. winnie would make the occasional joke about it that auggie would simply wave off, ignoring the twist in his stomach he'd get remembering it all. why did it take him that long to say all this? why did it take a life threatening situation for winnie to say something, what were they supposed to do with all that lost time? summer was almost over and auggie still felt like that wasn't enough time to say everything he wanted to. and he wasn't going to. that was winnie's department, anyway.

winnie huffs as he plops down on to the humid driveway, water bottle in hand as auggie trails behind him. he slowly sits next to his friend, still careful with his leg after getting his cast off that morning. "come on, you're good now! don't act like you're this fragile little thing now." winnie says as he nudges him, earning a hum from auggie as he throws his towel over his neck to let it hang there. summer afternoons made the days end sooner, the sun already setting and a soft breeze starting to blow in. "so. this is it, then?" "what's ''it'?" auggie lifts his head from looking down at the sidewalk, looking over at winnie and raising an eyebrow at him; the pout on his face is hard to ignore. "we're not gonna work out together anymore since your leg is all healed." he says, resting his chin on his knees as he looks out at the rest of the neighborhood that would look deserted if it weren't the house lights up and down the road. auggie isn't sure what to say to that, leaning back on his hands as his eyebrows furrow.

"who says so? you really gonna ditch me just because i'm not using crutches anymore?" "no way, how could you do thaat!? i want to hang out with you until i leave, forever if possible!" winnie says, throwing his arms around his friend and squeezing him. auggie tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat as he makes a weak attempt at getting out of his embrace, mumbling something under his breath about him being sweaty but not doing anything else to push him away. there's a pause of silence as they sit so close, their chests rising and falling almost in sync; they were both grateful the other couldn't seem to pick up the feeling of their heart racing. "would you still come by? to hang out?" auggie is quiet, swallowing thickly as he rolls the question over in his mind. he'd never thought about that, really, this became routine to him and the idea of not doing it anymore was...odd? after spending so much time with him again, things almost felt normal between them. almost.

auggie shrugs, looking down at his shoelaces. "yeah, sure." he says, unaware of the way winnie's heart soars in his chest at those words alone. they're quiet again and auggie thinks he's lucked out before winnie scoots over to sit in front of him and holds his pinky out between the two of them. "pinky promise it, then." he was uncharacteristically stern and would maybe look threatening if it weren't for his wide eyes and the beauty marks littered on his face; it also didn't help that he barely ever took things seriously. "we're not 12 anymore, winnie, i'm not doing that." auggie mumbles, resting his arms on his knees as he looks at his friend with his usual expression of disinterest. "come onnn, humor me!" he begs, wagging his pinky at auggie before he rolls his eyes and wraps his pinky with his. "there? happy?" he says as he raises an eyebrow, pulling his hand away a moment later than he should have.

he barely has time to react before winnie suddenly throws himself into auggie, pulling him into a much tighter and much closer embrace than before. their legs are thrown over each other's waists as auggie's arms are left hanging uselessly in the air, trying to ignore the way winnie's hands grab at his shirt. "winnie, seriously, i live across the street, i-" "let me say something!" auggie stops talking and sighs, hesitantly laying his chin on winnie's shoulder as he gathers his thoughts. they sit in silence and for a minute, it almost feels like winnie is going to back off. instead, he mumbles something, something that maybe if he wasn't burying his face in auggie's shoulder would have been louder.

"what?" more incoherent mumbling and auggie finally huffs in frustration: it's the only thing he can do considering his position (and the way he'd wrapped his arms around winnie by default). "what's up with you-" "ILIKEYOU" if the neighborhood wasn't made up of houses and the air didn't carry away his words, winnie's words surely would have left an echo or even a mark of some kind. auggie's quiet; really, he hasn't processed what winnie just said and has half the mind to ask him to repeat himself one more time and ask him once again why wait. what. "you-" auggie literally blinks once before winnie's lips are pressed against his.

his eyes go wide and he swears he can hear the roar of his blood rushing to his head. his fingers twitch against winnie's back, sensing how stiff he is: he's nervous. winnie, the one he had so long ago taught (albeit unknowingly) almost step by step to make friends and charm people, was nervous. doing this. with him. he could be doing this with anyone else. but winnie was kissing him, auggie, close to the end of summer vacation with the sun almost past the horizon, and he was kissing him like his life depended on it. all his thinking consumes him and before it even slips his mind to show some kind of reciprocation, winnie's pulling away. his own wide eyes grow impossibly wider when auggie's lips seem to try and follow his before stopping midway when he realizes what he's doing.

winnie tries to meet his friend's gaze (could he still call him that?), a hint of a smile tugging at his lips when auggie refuses to look at him. more silence, the same silence that had been practically killing him only moments ago. knowing his stubbornness, auggie knows he can't avoid winnie much longer (especially not if they were still sitting this close together): for a second, he wishes he regretted looking at him or regretted the way winnie dove in for what would be one of many kisses.

I KNOW I SAID I WAS GONNA DO ANOTHER PROMPT FOR MY WRITING CHALLENGE BUTTTT

me and my friends have gotten into the studio investigrave games (bc of dead plate hehehehe) and we also went crazy over winnie and auggie

I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS, i don't see alot of options fanfic wise for really ANY of the studio investigrave games AND I HAD TO CHANGE THAT

[achillesmonochrome]

I was also part of the time where it was expected that if you showed something on the internet, you may even get assholes, and you just need to learn with it.

(I know is not the same thing but I remember people making fun of 12 yo saying those exacts words.)

Everyone agrees belittling and insulting isn't good, and this post isn't about that, is about constructive criticism.

That being said, despite the being part from this era, I honestly prefer to get constructive criticism from people I trust, for a few reasons.

My most common criticism to receive, is that I need to review better my grammar. Now, are they right? Yes, did their advice help? Not really.

Here is the situation, English is my second language, found out fairly recently I have dyslexia and ADHD; so believe me, I am always aware there is a big chance my work has mistakes, yet despite proofreading my work (sometimes multiple times,) a lot of times there are mistakes regardless.

(Don't say use something to check my grammar, I had google drive, word, grammarly, prowritingaid- none of them are 100% without fail and multiple times the program gets confused because you can't compare a machine from someone with actual reading comprehension.)

But that's a very punctual thing, right? What about the more general type of criticism?

Well, here is my following problem: How do you know the other person knows what they are talking about?

A lot of people will not know how to tell from good advice from bad, and this is the internet; you really can't tell what's going on for someone who just did a comment and you haven't meet them.

I had been doing this for a long time, in two languages, and I had people suggest that things like "greenhead" (or really the spanish equivalent because this conversation happened when I was writing fics in spanish in ff net,) were a good way to not repeat certain words and should be taken into consideration.

There is a chance their writing advice is a matter of preference; (someone may tell you to lean more into horror while you are doing an adventure story and claim is to make it more excited, for example.) And to top it all off, if that person doesn't know you or what you are doing, the advice may be completely useless.

For example, I had once people complain that my writing was too long for the chapters, and a scene could had easily been cut; said scene was going to be relevant for later in the story, but the person couldn't know that.

I rather not get constructive criticism not because I may feel insulted, but because I would rather ask someone who I know I trust their judgment, their abilities, and that I could talk to bounce ideas.

And finally...would that person even want to get better?

It feels crazy, but hear me out; there was a time period of my life where I tried to make my writing as professionally as I could; it made me miserable and it made writing not fun anymore; so I decided to ditch that and just have fun.

Nowadays I am trying to get better, at my own rhythm; but I was 14 years old at that moment, my depression was extremely bad and making my goofy stories was the only refuge I had. I wouldn't had listened to any advice because at that moment of my life writing was more about being therapeutic than anything else.

Even know I would do a goofy drabble from an ask on my tumblr, and there could had been more polish or something, but there isn't, because it wasn't meant to be that big of a deal; just a joke or funny tale.

My problem with unsolicited criticism is that I feel there is just too many variables for me to give it to other people unless the ask me to, and the other way around as well; I would rather ask one of my mutuals who knows how I write and I work, than a random online which I have no idea what they know or if they may be asking for a story that isn't what I have in mind.

This is a bit silly. Writing classes are a time you're actively working on things, and you explicitly signed up to get critique... or at least to improve your writing.

When I post a fic, it's usually as done as it's going to get.

But, TBH, I'd be okay with crit in a random AO3 comment if it were the kind of thing I could apply to my next work and if it were... well... good.

The unsolicited crit I have received has almost never been competent, let alone good. The people who give really insightful critique are way too busy with all the people already begging them for their time.

[mustlovelance]

Are you planning to writing about the remake/reboot you keep on mentioning about? Just because it sounds cool and I would love to see something like that if you decide to do that.

eh, probably not anytime soon. why? because the combination of s8 and the fandom’s disgusting reaction finally broke my spirit. 

i can’t even enjoy a/l’s canon development, because it’s been thoroughly soured by s8. none of their s8 moments even seem truly cute to me, knowing that they were only there to make her inevitable death hurt more. it’s just sickening to watch–allura’s slow crawl to death and lance’s right-but-ignored protests. we “won” and got “what we wanted”, but i’d rather see allura alive without lance than allura dead with him. we get the brunt of the hate for “winning the ship war” but we don’t get to actually enjoy this supposed win. 

i can’t even support the vast majority of any blogs seeking justice for allura, because they’re anti-a/l and anti-every-other-ship-that-the-OP-doesn’t-like, under the guise of being ship-neutral and truly focused on allura herself.

i can’t even commiserate with the majority of the fandom, because they’re angrier that their OTPs didn’t become canon (mostly k/l and s/k) than that allura died. i literally rage-quit my own damn k/l server because one person in particular was disgustingly more concerned with k/l being technically “possible” now that allura was dead than that allura had died. they had the audacity to argue with me that it was “beautiful”, actually. so. yeah.

JDS immediately addressed the controversy surrounding adam’s senseless death, but none of them have said a peep about allura’s senseless death, and i’m guessing they never will. because allura just wasn’t worth it, i guess. 

perhaps that’s the most disheartening part–that i’ve found out how few people actually give a shit about allura, a character whom i love so damn much and am so devastated to see killed off for no good reason.

imagining my own reboot is pretty much the safest, happiest approach that i can take, but at the same time, the amount of people who would care about my reboot, one that doesn’t “fix” most fans’ biggest issue with the season (a/l being canon), could be counted on one hand. that’s not to say that i’m seeking external validation/notes, but rather, i want that sense of community. the a/l community was my best fandom experience that i’ve ever had, not because of the attention (i got 10x as much when i wrote k/l meta instead, literally), but because i loved interacting with other a/l shippers. i can’t get that sense of community and fun by rambling at like three people.

that isn’t to say that i won’t change my mind eventually (i really want to write a fic that’s basically my version of the episode in which sven gets injured, particularly allura and keith’s reactions to lance’s anguish/guilt), but i think i’m still too upset to really enjoy sharing my ideas right now.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Californian Dream (Pt. 01 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.8 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

Next part (02)->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Lemonade

Ignoring the meaningless chattering, you drink what's left of your water, then put the glass against your neck, hoping the cold will help with the hot weather. Summers in California are always this hot, and since you're under the sun, it doesn't help. Some of your friends, or better saying, the family friends, the people you grew up with, are here again, using your pool as if it was some kind of club they can attend. Standing on this badly shaped circle, you pretend to listen as Ryan goes on about some mansion he helped his father sell this weekend. He's excited, gesticulating a lot, and the others seem to be quite interested too. But not you. Honestly, you couldn't care less.

Through the corner of your eye, you see someone moving on the other side of the huge pool, behind some trees. Turning your head to see it better, you easily recognize the new pool guy, Billy Hargrove. He's been working here for only a couple of months, coming a few times a week to clean the pool or to fix something. You always pay attention to the staff, because nobody else does. You like to know them since they're working at your house after all, and that made you befriend a lot of them throughout the years. But Billy? You haven't even crossed paths with him yet. On purpose.

Billy is by far the most handsome guy you ever met, and you just don't think you can say anything to his face. He probably thinks you're one of the silly, rich chicks he meets on his job, and for some reason, it bothers you.

“(Y/N).” Ryan snaps his fingers on your face, dragging you out of your thoughts. “Are you in there? Aren't you listening?”

“Yup. Sorry, I tuned out for a minute.” Politely, you apologize. “What were you saying?”

“The gala. Who are you going with?”

“Uhm... Not sure yet.” Playing with the empty glass, you move your weight from one leg to the other. “I don't have any good options.”

“What?” Gisele exclaims, giggling. “Robert wants to go with you. Daniel would easily ditch his date for you. And Michael–”

“Don't wanna go with neither of them.” Cutting her off, you decide to just say it. Robert is the most hateful person you ever met. Daniel has been chasing after you for years, it doesn't matter how hard you try to make him understand you don't like him, and every girl he dates, he does it to try and make you jealous. And Michael is a manipulative jerk. All three members of the most prestigious families of California, and desired bachelors. And yet, you can't stand them.

“Who are you going with then? The pool guy?” Gisele gestures at something across the pool, and you know at who.

“Maybe. I bet he's way better than Michael, Daniel, or Robert.” This makes all the five of them laugh, in a very mocking tone. But you mean it. “I might go by myself. Who cares?”

“Are you crazy? Your parents will care, and people will talk, you know that.” Ryan rolls his eyes, lightly slapping his friend's arm. “C'mon, Antony, let's find (Y/N) a fourth option.” The two guys smirk and walk away, and you don't even bother to ask what they're up to. You don't care.

“For real now, (Y/N),” Alice says, running her fingers through her hair. “Gisele is right. The three guys are so into you, and Robert...” She chuckles, exchanging a glance with Gisele. “He's hot. He's... So damn hot.”

“Why don't you go with him then?” You ask her, taking a deep breath and already thinking of an excuse to get away from this conversation and back into the secrecy of your bedroom.

“Because I'm dating.” She answers as if it was the most obvious thing. As if she didn't have a different boyfriend every month. “James Whayland. The one and only, heir to the Whayland fortune? Do you happen to know him?” A rhetoric question, of course. Everyone knows who the Whayland are. “I'm so gonna marry him.”

“You must,” Gisele adds. “You'd be like, stupidly rich.”

And they go on with that, a conversation you don't even try to follow. A lot of girls do that, getting married to join the fortunes and shove more money into their pockets. Your mother herself did it, and she tries to push you into doing the same, pointing out the richest bachelors of California. But you'd never do that. You rather never get married than getting married without love. It's so obvious, yet, if you bring that up, it always becomes an argument. ‘Love comes with time’, she says. ‘Once you're provided financial stability, you'll learn to love the provider.’ None of that sounds appealing to you. You're hoping to fall in love one day. It hasn't happened yet, but you'll patiently wait.

“Hey, Earth to (Y/N).” Ryan raises his voice, and, a little annoyed, you look up at him.

“What?”

“You're welcome.” He says with a wicked smile.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you tilt your head to the side. “For what, Ryan?”

“For getting you the best date ever for the gala, sweetie.” He and Antony laugh, and soon enough the others follow. “The pool guy is taking you to a high society party. How amazing is that?”

It takes a while for you to even process what he's saying, but his mean tone makes you angry. He thinks he's superior to anyone who doesn't have a collection of fancy cars in their garage. “First of all, Ryan, the pool guy has a name, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. You're always close to the staff.” He emphasizes the last word, making a disgusted face.

“Second...” What? Second what? You know you can't go with Billy. That would get people talking. But then, the other options make you sick to even consider them. And honestly, you couldn't care less about what people say. It'll probably get you a hell of a lecture from your parents, a few weeks of gossips and mean comments, but that's it. Soon enough someone else will become the hottest topic. “You know what, forget it.” Putting the empty glass on the table, you walk away, ignoring how they call you, telling you not to be silly.

Maybe the guys are joking. Maybe they're just pulling a prank on you, but there's no problem with finding that out. Walking around the pool and into the garden, you walk around the supply closet, following the low noise of something being put into the metal shelves. The supply closet is open, so you patiently wait on the outside, barefoot on the grass as you move to stand to bellow a tree. Bouncing your leg, you look around, breathing deeply and trying to understand why the hell you decided to face Billy now. He's the only guy who works here you're making sure not to have any contact with.

“Good afternoon.” The voice startles you, and you immediately turn to face him. Billy is closing the closet door shut, eyes focused on you. And yes, he's far more gorgeous from up close. “May I help you, Miss–”

“(Y/N).” You cut him off, cursing yourself for doing so. “You may call me (Y/N).”

He simply nods, walking closer and stopping on a shadow spot too. “Do you need anything from me?”

“Uhm...” For a moment, you gotta think a little to remember what brought you here. “I just wanted to ask if maybe some two jerks came to talk to you... About a party... And... Taking a girl to this party...” Playing with your fingers, you wonder if he already thinks you're a total idiot.

“Yes. They said you needed a date for some gala.” Billy crosses his arms, not looking away from you. “If you need it, I can take you.”

Oh. Would he really do that? “Uhm... Look, Ryan and Antony meant it as a joke.” You gotta be honest, even if it means he'll give up the idea. “I mean, not for me, they're just... They're jerks. And they...” Holy crap. You have to get your shit together. “They thought it would be funny to make you think you could take me to this gala.” Taking a deep breath, you push the words out. “But... I would like it if you could because all my options suck. It's either Michael or Robert or Daniel, and you probably know they're all fighting for the award of the worst person on the face of Earth.”

“It might be really hard to make this decision. Might as well split the award in three.” He speaks up and you giggle. The staff don't usually speak like that about the families they work for. But Billy doesn't seem to care and you like that.

“Yeah. So... I know people will gossip about it but I'd be forever grateful if you could do me this kindness.” You're blushing now, biting your lip. “Because I know it's not your job or anything but I could pay you if you want.”

“There's no need.” Billy shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. “It's a party, right? It will be fun.”

“Oh... About that...” Calling such events ‘parties’ is a misunderstanding. Almost a crime. “These things... Suck. It's super dull, full of rich people donating, trying to donate more them someone else just so they'll show off how rich they really are... You'll absolutely hate it. I do.” Gesturing at yourself, you give him an apologetic look. “I'd owe you for life if you help me get through it without having to put up with any of those assholes.”

Billy nods, looking down before his eyes meet yours again. “I believe I'll have to wear one of those suits right?”

“Well, I'll be in some uncomfortable dress, so we'll both be unhappy about our clothes.” Your mind goes to the lilac dress your mother made you buy, extremely expensive.

“Alright then. It's on Sunday, right?” You nod. “Should I pick you up?”

“Yes. At seven.” He gives a small nod before gesturing at the garden. “I gotta go now.”

“Sure...” Billy waves before walking away, and you stand there, wondering if you should go back to your so-called friends. You're sure Ryan will have that stupid smile on, eager to know what you and Billy have spoken about. And you won't tell anything, but you also don't want to deal with that shit right now, or else you might tell right to their faces how much of a jerk they are. So you decide to follow Billy through the garden, easily finding him by a particular big tree. He's opening a leaf tarp on a clean space on the grass before taking a fan rake. “This tree is dying.” You say, getting his attention. Billy turns around, furrowing his eyebrows. “That's why there are so many fallen leaves. See how some of them seem healthy, normal green leaves? It only happens when the tree is dying.”

“Then you should have someone cut it down before someone gets hurt.” He says, looking a little confused. “Shouldn't you go back to your friends?”

“Yeah, I probably should.” You're tired of all the things you should do, so for today, you won't do them. As silly as it may be. “Do you need some help?” You ask, stepping forward a little.

“No, I'm alright.” It sounds like a question, and you blush from the way he stares at you, for several seconds, before focusing on his task, raking the leaves to the tarp.

“Ok.” Whispering, you move to sit on a wooden table, one of the many you have scattered around the property. You try not to look at Billy too much, noticing how weird it feels to do this. You barely know the guy, he'll be your date for a gala, and now you're awkwardly seated here, watching as he works. Well, it is better than whatever your friends must be talking about now. “So... What exactly do you work with?” You ask, hoping to get any kind of conversation going. “I thought you just took care of the pool.”

“I work for a company. BJ's Associates.” Billy starts, and you take this chance to look at him. Despite the distance, you can see the sweat glistening on his forehead. “They send me to any place I'm needed. Some of them are scheduled weekly, others are random. And–” He makes a pause suddenly, giving you a look. “Are you bored yet?”

“No.” Shrugging your shoulders, you giggle. “I actually wanna know.”

He turns his head to look at the pool, which is a little distant now. Maybe he thinks this is some kind of move, and you wouldn't blame him, judging by the way the guys probably came to talk to him. “That's it. I clean pools, fix cars, might paint walls or something, clean gardens... The list goes on.”

“You know how to fix a car?” Raising an eyebrow, you move to seat on the table, placing both your feet on the wooden bench. “My car is making this weird noise and I'm sure it's not some normal noise.”

“How does it sounds like?”

“Like a clunking, I think... every time I hit the breaks, even when it's softly.”

“It could be some damage to the brake caliper.” He's quick to answer, and you raise your eyebrows, impressed. “Or it's badly mounted.”

“Damn, you're good.” You exclaim, giggling at his funny face.

“I just–”

“(Y/N)!” Amelia's voice reaches you, and Billy stops talking, resuming his job. “I've been looking for you.” The old lady, with her gray hair tied up on a perfect, sophisticated bun, comes to the table you're at, a tray with a jar and six glasses on her hands.

“I've been here chatting with Billy.” You tell as she lays the tray down. “And no, I won't go back to the pool.”

“They're talking about James Whayland.” She starts, rolling her eyes. Amelia is the only one in this house, well, the only one you know who understands you. “Alice Martin was talking about marrying him...?”

“Yup.” A stronger wind messes with your hair, so you use a hand to keep it away from your face. “Something about joining their fortunes and being the king and queen of California. Some shit like that.”

“Poor Alice.” Amelia breathes out, taking a glass and pouring some lemonade on it before handing it over to you. “That Whayland kid is not the nicest guy on Earth.”

“Poor James!” You giggle, putting your glass down and serving her some lemonade too. She doesn't like when you do that, since she's here to serve you. Amelia, the woman who raised you is here for nothing else than to serve you. So unbelievable it almost makes you laugh. “Alice isn't nice either. She can be very manipulative to get what she wants.”

“Don't I know?” She mutters. “Well, I must go. Serve this to your friends.”

“No, no, no. Take your glass and leave the rest. If someone complains tell them I'll drink the whole jar.” Taking the tray from her hands, you place it down on the table again.

“Alright, Miss–”

“(Y/N). Honey. Bunny. Anything, but not this formal stuff, ok?” You correct her, and Amelia gives you a bright smile.

“Alright, (Y/N).” She repeats before turning around and walking away, cordially greeting Billy.

Taking a sip from your glass, you smile to notice Amelia's lemonade is as good as always. A little too sour for your parents taste, but you like it better this way. Your attention goes back to Billy, still dealing with the fallen leaves, despite being almost done. If you ask, he might say no, so you just pour another glass before jumping to the ground, making your way over him. “Here.” Raising your voice, you get his attention. And once again he has this confused expression on his face when he sees the glass. “Lemonade. It's hella hot out here and this might help.”

“Thanks.” Squinting his eyes a little, he takes the glass from your hand, taking long sips, drinking almost everything.

“Sorry if it's a little too sour. I don't like much sugar on it and Amelia knows so...” When he's done, he gives you back the glass. “Why are you looking at me like that? I swear I'm not a ghost.”

“That's not it. I'm just not used to being treated like that by the owners.” Billy's voice gets a little darker, and he pronounces the last word with certain anger. But you can imagine exactly why. Most of the people you know aren't very fond of their employees. They're just the people they pay off to do what they can't do by themselves.

“I know how some of the families can be mean.” Drumming your fingers on the empty glass, you stand there, staring at Billy, just now noticing the deep, beautiful shade of blue from his eyes. Involuntary, you breathe out, smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing!” You burst out, clearing your throat and finding your legs again, making the way back at the table. “I–”

“(Y/N)!” A shout startles you, and when you turn at the source of the voice, you see it's Gisele. “Get back here! You won't guess who just got here.”

“If it isn't Michael Jackson ready to perform Beat It, I'll be disappointed.” You mutter, only loud enough for Billy to hear it as you walk back to the pool.

“Call me if it's him,” Billy says and you giggle, giving him one last look.

It's not Michael. Well, it is, but not Jackson, just Michael Rothford. He stands by the pool, where everyone gathers around him. Trying not to look pissed, you move closer, offering a polite, fake smile. “Good afternoon, Mike. How have you been?”

“I'm way better now.” He answers, and you try to ignore how everyone moves a little, giving you more space to move closer to Michael. He takes your hand, giving it a shake, and awkwardly squeezing it softly. “I'm here to ask, once again, for you to let me take you to Sunday's gala.”

The two idiots, Antony and Ryan start giggling, and you know exactly why. “Sorry, Mike, I can't.” Pulling your hand away, you cross your arms. “I already have someone, so...” Thank God you have the perfect excuse, and it's not even a lie. You're so damn relieved you won't be forced to attend to such a boring event with someone like Michael.

“Who?” He snaps, suddenly pissed. “Daniel is going with that Angela chick. Robert, you can't stand. Andrew isn't in the country, Willian–”

“You don't know him, alright?” Cutting him off, you sigh.

“Oh, shit,” Ryan mutters, and you give him a look. He has a hand covering his mouth, trying to control a laugh. “You're really going to the gala with the pool guy.” Antony burst into laughter, and the others try to control themselves not to.

“You rather go with the staff than with me?” Michael sounds offended as if he was punched in the face. “Are you kidding me, (Y/N)?”

Quickly, you try to think of something to say. You can't say the truth, that he's a hateful human being you can't stand being next to. But nothing comes to your mind. “No, I'm not. I... Actually wanna go with Billy.”

“Honestly, (Y/N), screw you.” He barks, and before you can answer, he grabs both your shoulders and pushes you straight into the water.

Everything happens way too fast for you to process, so there was no way you could tell him you absolutely can't swim. So the moment you hit the water, you just sink, your body moving to the bottom, way too far from the surface. You do try moving your legs a bit, uselessly. But you're suddenly pulled, strong arms moving you through the water until you finally reach the surface, gasping for air. Breathing fast, the terror finally starts kicking in, and you push yourself up, stumbling a little, ignoring all the hands that offer help. Once you're out of the water, seated on the edge, you finally see who saved you, Billy, also pushing himself up, only with a lot more grace than you. You exchange a glance, and his hand is the one you take, pulling yourself back to your feet.

“You can't swim?” You hear Michael's voice, a curse caught in your throat. “I never met a Californian who can't swim.”

Not minding the small crowd around, you make you walk to Michael, losing no time before slapping him right on the face, the loud noise of your wet hand colliding to his cheek startling some of your friends. “Asshole!” You yell before storming away, embarrassed, still struggling to catch your breath, feeling cold thanks to your soaked clothes.

“Hey.” Someone calls, but you ignore them, walking fast into the house. “(Y/N).” Your arm being grabbed makes you stop walking and turn around, ready to make hell rain on whoever it is, but your fury melts away when you see Billy. “Are you ok?”

Taking a deep breath, you relax a little, nodding. “Yeah, I just... Got scared.” He lets go of your arm, but you don't step away, looking into his blue, calming eyes. “Thank you, though. You saved my life.”

“Can't believe he threw you at the water like that.”

“See why I need you to take me to that stupid party?” Crossing your arms, you pace around. “I can't even begin to imagine how it'd be to spend the night with that prick.” Looking down, you notice how you and Billy are dripping, soaking the white floor. “I gotta go change, and you should... I don't know. At least you got to enjoy the pool for a while.”

“I'd rather enjoy it when you're not drowning.”

“Yeah, that would be better.” Shyly smiling, you give a step backwards. “I gotta go... But thanks again.” Stopping in your tracks, you decide to be just a little brave. Stepping closer, you tiptoe to place a quick kiss on Billy's cheek, before turning around and rushing upstairs to your bedroom.

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