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elaine-abroad · 1 year ago

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Volume 6

The Departure and Home

I’ve been home for almost a week now and everyone has been bothering me to finish this series off with one last volume.

Sunday was the last full day of peace we would all have before saying farewell to Ewha and Seoul. Grace and I decided to save going to Gangnam for last because of a very long awaited viewpoint we wanted to go to (I’ll reveal in a bit).

To start off the day, we headed to Hongdae for brunch. There we stopped at this place called Rachel’s Kitchen and had the cutest spread of souffle pancakes and drinks. I remember when Vivian and I along with our other friend went to a souffle pancake cafe during winter break. It was good, but not super worth the wait and price. These pancakes however were delicious and definitely deserved my money. I was also just excited to finally live out my dreams of having ice cream for breakfast.

I got melon pancakes with melon pieces, melon whipped cream, and vanilla ice cream, as well as a strawberry latte which was literally strawberries, milk, and strawberry ice cream.

With our bellies full of wonderfulness, we took the subway all the way to the Gangnam district. I was searching up what to do there and read about this street called Kpop Road. The website said it was in a dense shopping district and that sometimes idols stopped by. That sounded quite appealing to us so we decided to go.

It was pretty underwhelming and disappointing though. Kstar Road was basically a project to honor famous kpop groups through statues along the road. There were no kpop related stores or anything.

In fact, it was filled with all the high-end, designer stores instead. The exteriors of the buildings were very nice to look at, but there was nothing for us there which was saddening.

After deciding there was nothing to do in that area, we took the subway back to where the Starfield COEX mall was because apparently that was where the viewpoint we wanted to see was. It actually isn’t even a viewpoint, but Grace and I thought it would be funny to pay a visit to the infamous Gangnam Style Statue. Yes, there is an actual Gangnam Style Statue. Other people think it’s stupid, but I think it makes sense especially with all that Psy has done for the kpop industry. He walked so groups like BTS could run.

Grace wanted a pic with the hands doing the hands in front of the hands doing the hands, but there were a lot of people there when we arrived. Unsurprisingly though, they were all foreigners. It was really cringe watching them take solo, couple, and family pictures especially since they would pose in a way that looked like mid dance, but funny at the same time. Eventually I got Grace to get up there. Fun fact, Gangnam Style plays on repeat in the area.

Eager to get out of the rain, we ventured back to the COEX mall and decided to pay the aquarium a visit since we didn’t get to go last time. Unfortunately it was extremely crowded and packed with screaming kids, so we decided to walk around and get dinner first. Before that though, we saw this vending machine that dispensed various ice cream bars. It looked cool so we treated ourselves.

I don’t know how we didn’t learn our lesson from the mall food last time, but we didn’t and sat down at this Middle Eastern place. I wanted this smoked salmon pita, but they said it wouldn’t be ready until thirty minutes later so I was forced to pick something else on the spot. Funnily enough though, they took so long that it reached the time the pita would’ve been done at which was kind of dumb. Grace was upset because she purposely picked this chickpea pasta because it didn’t say chicken or beef in front of it like the other menu options but still showed up with meat.

My meal was actually not bad, but the meat took more chewing than I would’ve liked.

We only had an hour after that until the aquarium closed so we rushed on over. I’m not sure how they managed to fit one inside a mall, but I guess it’s how they have the biggest underground mall in the world.

We were greeted with prairie dogs which were definitely the cutest animals inside. I’m also not sure how they thought prairie dogs fit the aquarium scene. They were super cute though.

We also saw turtles, otters, and various fish.

I wanted to see the penguins the most, but of course our mall food had very conveniently caught up with me and suddenly I didn’t feel so good. We barely got to look at the penguins before I suggested we go back home because I was also just tired. The instructions given by our Naver Map app were contradictory every time and it was getting annoying.

Monday rolled around and I had to meet up with my classmates from both classes before the farewell ceremony to set up our art pieces that were going to be displayed. I didn’t want to show my painting stuff especially since our teacher was making us show more than one thing and I just wanted to pack it all up. Here’s a pic with some of other people’s works though.

The farewell ceremony had a lot more happening than the welcoming. We had several performances from students who were taking Korean traditional music and dance. Unfortunately I didn’t take any pictures or videos. We were given certificates of completion though and I snapped this with all of our names in it.

We mostly went back to packing since most of us would be leaving the next day. Some people were even leaving that day so there weren’t many people walking around. Bianca, Grace, and I decided to have one more night to hang out and enjoy our time together so we first got dinner at this tteokbokki place.

We knew we wanted to do karaoke but we were pretty stuffed. Along the way we stopped at multiple photobooth stores to take a couple goofy pictures. I’m not kidding when I say there are more photobooth shops along the streets than anything else. Seoul is run by photobooths and cafes. And they’re not those janky booths they have in arcades in the US either. They have all sorts of accessories like headbands with animal ears, crowns, hats, funky glasses, and props. Some of them even have community hair straighteners, curlers, and perfume.

It was pretty fun taking dumb pics with them. We bought some drinks and snacks to enjoy before karaoke where we spent 2.5 hours. Grace carried for sure and seemed to be having a blast. She knew most of the kpop songs we picked and shouted confidently even though none of us knew a speck of Korean. I had to of course document every time we received a score 100 which was more than we expected.

We stayed out pretty late until midnight. I had to say bye to Bianca until school started because she was going back home to China for the first time in two years and was leaving through a different airport. Grace was going to my airport so I decided to tag along even if it meant we had to leave at the crack of dawn (her flight was at 10 something).

After an insane amount of time and struggle, we finally managed to get to her gate. Neither of us were happy at this point and wanted nothing more than to go home. I sat with her until she boarded the plane which was nice but also sad when I was alone and had to go to my own gate.

The plane food was pretty good this time too, but I don’t think it can top the treatment I got on the way to Korea. I noticed that the flight attendants this time were real skimpy with the drink portions. The cups were way smaller and filled very ungenerously so that kind of sucked. I was also not super eager to eat breakfast since the options were omelet and porridge. Eggs on planes are a big no-no for me, but I saw what the porridge option looked like. I did like that they gave me fresh fruit on the side. I’d been deprived of fresh produce. I love my nightly bowl of fruit and I wasn’t getting that in Seoul.

Everyone keeps asking me how my trip was and if I miss Korea. I’m going to be honest, I did really enjoy all my experiences, but I am very happy to come back. It feels so much more normal, but that’s probably just me not liking to go out of my comfort zone. I’m not saying Korea was uncomfortable in a bad way, but it definitely was not something I could’ve done without a lot of prep. So I’m proud of myself.

Anyways, I’m happy to be back because I get to see my silly dog and friends. I feel like I lost a lot of time to hang out with people I don’t get to see during the school year.

To make up for lost time, Vivian, our other friend, and I took it upon ourselves to watch the new Barbie movie. We even got the Barbie ice cream from Coldstone.

And just like that my normal schedule picked back up like nothing ever happened. I’m back doing slave work for my unpaid internship which is boring, but at least I get to have fun on the weekends at my museum job. We saw what seemed like a stray cat this time and went out to give it water and pets. It’s very cute and friendly.

Long story short, it was a fun trip and I won’t be forgetting it any time soon, but as with any trip I’ve gone on, home is the best place for me. Traveling as an introvert is challenging.

To end this series, I have a few thanks to give. Thanks to my parents for funding this trip because I make no money. Thanks to my boyfriend who suggested I blog even though I know he’s only read the first volume so far. Thanks to my best friend for telling me she read all of the updates and for existing. And thanks to everyone else who had to make a Tumblr account to read this because Tumblr is stupid like that.

That’s it from me. See you next time maybe.

-Elaine

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buglymcbugson · 1 year ago

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found some old writing from 2021 - how beautiful is it to look back on old feelings and know how far you’ve come. trigger warnings on this one for sexual assault xo

“he keeps saying the c word, and it isn’t ‘cunt’”

i’ve started leaving the house now that lena is here

nowhere crazy of course

the other day i walked to yoga class 15 minutes away

alone

this might not seem like a large feat to some

but 6 months ago i had panic attacks leaving the house to walk the puppy

i even said hi to acquaintance yesterday at the grocery store

and i didn’t want to slit my wrists

lena being here brings me out of my shell

she met me without my hardened shell built to protect me from the toxicity of my hometown

she reminds me that i am more than the people of this place perceive me to be

i see this place through her eyes

last week i looked up to the mountains

and i saw mountains

beautiful mountains

i didn’t feel like they were moving in on me slowly until they squeezed all the air out of my lungs

because of my newfound ability to leave the house i’ve also been socialising more

mostly with my cousins, and with jayden

who i guess is one of the closest things to a brother i have (outside of my own brother of course but that’s an extra note in itself isn’t it)

we have naked baby pictures together

he can recount all the bad family fights at thanksgivings we had together

he even complains about my father in the same way i do

most nights jayden invites his friends over to hang with us too

this is another thing my anxiety would prevent me from doing 6 months ago

but jayden’s friends are cool

they all just smoke weed, play music, and tell dumb jokes

they weren’t the kind of people to keep tabs on me in high school

or call me a slut for who i slept with

or kept up to date on who i slept with for that matter

just a few nerdy stoner guys

jack was there tonight

the son of my 8th grade spanish teacher

i hadn’t seen him since middle school

he’s always been chill

no drama

and he was chill tonight, as usual

but then jack said the C word while we were walking down the street

and i had to stop and pause, unnoticed by the group who kept talking and laughing

and repeating the C word

and god how much I wish the word was “cunt”

but the word wasn’t “cunt,” the C word is his name

and as i soon as i heard it the mountains started moving in

it was a little harder to breathe

and my hangnails looked a lot more appetizing for my chattering teeth

i’ve been gone for so long

and isolated for so much longer (due to my severe anxiety first and a global pandemic second)

that i forgot he existed outside the person he is to me

he exists as a friend, a teammate, and a lover to others

but to me, C**** will always be my rapist

and it’s not like hearing jack say his name reminded me about him

there’s not a single day that goes by that i don’t think about him or what he did to me

but it was a reminder that in this place

he doesn’t belong to me or to my story

he’s not simply a character in the story of my life that i retell when i connect with someone in a foreign country

i am no longer the main character

because people perceive him apart from me

apart from my rapist

they perceive him as a jokester, an athlete, and a bit of a party animal

when they see him all they see is his long hair that frames his gap toothed smile and eyes i used to think looked kind

people tell stories and they aren’t about him fucking an unconscious child

they’re about the funny jokes he’s told and the gifts he had to buy for his girlfriend when he fucked up

and about a faaaaaatty bong rip he took one time

i have forgotten what it feels like to be silenced by his name

have my strength and power i’ve developed over years of self discovery pushed back down my throat

because i will never be able to say it here

i couldn’t while it happened

i couldn’t after it happened

and i can’t now

the only thing consistent in my life is the silence that traps me every time the wheels touch down at the Juneau International Airport

i wonder if i’ll ever get to the point where his name doesn’t make me stop in the street

i honestly doubt it

but i walked to yoga alone so i guess anything is possible

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susanayaocheng · 1 year ago

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Wondrous Milk Pond, etc. Part Two

Day 2 was an early Sunday morning taxi ride to LongShan Temple in the Bangka District. This was the same temple that John and I visited thirteen years earlier (2010) to petition the mercy and graces of the Goddess of Kuan Yin to grant us a grandchild. The temple was packed as usual, and it was so popular, we went back again another night before dinner.

Grand Hyatt Taipei provides us buffet breakfast the menu of which was unchanged from day 2 to 6, so we usually hurriedly take our meal. They would put a 1-1/2 hour timer on tables, we then continue to chill and chat in the grand lobby before proceeding with our activity for the day. Concurrent with our stay at the hotel was the 4-day state visit of the President of Columbia and his party who were billeted there, so there was extra security all around the property. Taxis were stationed in front of the hotel and readily available; we even had the same driver on two different days, plus a second one who knew all about us.

After the temple tour, we leisurely walked through the local streets on our way to Ximending, stopping at convenience stores and drugstores to pick up essentials. The hotel stocked us generously with Balmain amenities, but we needed function and brand specific items and cool drinks.

On our food list was Ah Chong Misua (rice stringy noodle). People just stood in the middle of the street, on the sidewalk, heartily enjoying this hot bowl of noodle. There were not enough chairs or tables. Ah Chong only sold noodle and is just a stall.

Heading out next on the agenda, by the way, because of the inclement weather, we did not go up to the 101 Observatory. Besides, John and I did that already on our last trip. We picked up small foods because we had a dinner engagement. There were sideshows and performances to delight the Sunday crowd, and as the afternoon wore on, there were noticeably more people and vendors in anticipation of the night food/sundry market. I saw some macrame dream-catchers that were perfect for granddaughters, but again, the packing was going to be a problem. Without a line, I tried the grilled mochi with brown sugar and ground peanut. Heavenly! John and I shared a Xing Fu Tang brown sugar boba milk tea with a small bag of fried chicken ordered as a set that was so good. The boba pearls are cooked on site every hour.

Our dinner that evening was in Shilin on Tianmu Road. The venue was the Golden Formosa Taiwanese Cuisine, casual family-oriented vibe and one Michelin star, known for their fried spare ribs. Delicious!

So good and excited to look forward to our third night dinner with long time friends from our Guam days. It was at a Shanghainese cuisine restaurant in Daan District, “Chez Yeh”, known for their delectable dishes such as smoked yellow fish. We were enticed to order their blueberry cheesecake which was fantastic. Catching up with friends and enjoying their company with good food and wine never gets old.

Friends sent us packs of goodies to bring home. We also loaded up on fresh fruits during our stay such as guava, wax apple, pineapple, and honey tangerines but could not bring them home. Customs can be a pain. The trip became too short, too little, and left us wanting to explore more the beauty, the friendships, the scenery, and good foods of Taipei and the cities beyond. Hopefully, it will not take John and me another 13 years to go back.

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ilovetheideaofu · 3 years ago

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Bill Skarsgård gives us Stockholm Syndrome with his latest role

“We’ve got it,” says Bill Skarsgård. It’s December in Stockholm, but we’re pretending it’s spring. The actor has walked by the Acne Studios flagship at Norrmalmstorg 10 times already. Moments ago a bus nearly hit our photographer as it came zipping a round the corner, honking its horn. Skarsgård is wearing a denim jacket and jeans. It is very cold. “Just one more,” urges the photographer. Skarsgård heads back up the street. As he starts walking his pose relaxes. His unbothered gaze meets the camera before he glances back over his shoulder. He doesn’t look cold but rather, well, ineffably cool. One might call it acting.

“He was a very eccentric, particular guy. Very clever, very manipulative,” says Skarsgård of Olofsson. We’re warming up in the wood-panelled boardroom of the Nobis Hotel, which happens to sit directly above Acne Studios. It was here that police officers gathered, eventually drilling holes into the roof of the bank vault below to release a gas that would smoke out Olofsson and his accomplice, Jan Erik Olsson. “You put a camera on him, and people are going to listen.”

That last bit applies seamlessly to Skarsgård, too. I promised the actor I would objectify him in this story, but it almost feels redundant to discuss his appearance. Just look at him. All six foot three of him, clad today in slim jeans and fitted grey long sleeve.

I point out that in his rise to infamy, Olofsson used many of the same tools an actor, Skarsgård inclusive, might use to achieve success: charisma, wit, easy good looks. Skarsgård agrees. “I think Clark could have been very successful in the entertainment industry, he just picked the wrong path,” he says. “There are a lot of questionable people in this industry where it’s like, ‘I don’t know if this guy is a sociopath.”

For Skarsgård and Olofsson the similarities end at their on-camera prowess. While the latter revelled in a life of crime, Skårsgard’s limited of fences didn’t exactly make the news. “When I was a kid, shoplifting became a thing, and I was actually pretty bad at it,” he says. “I did not like the sensation of stealing.” So he ended his criminal career at age 10, after two nicked chocolate bars.

Bill Skarsgård grew up on Stockholm’s artist-friendly island of Södermalm, in the most famous acting family in Sweden. His father is Stellan Skarsgård and, of his seven siblings (two are half siblings, from his father’s second marriage), three are working actors, most notably his eldest brother, Alexander. Skarsgård doesn’t “remember a moment of not knowing” that his father was an actor. As is often the case with the children of actors, he practically grew up on film sets.

“As a kid, it was a very magical place because you have a shit-ton of adults pretending and playing dress up. It’s in a very serious way, but still, that’s what they’re doing,” he says. “I was like, ‘This is crazy that this could be adult life, where you could just play dress up for money, pretend and tell stories.’” Back then, his narrative of choice was James Bond. He and his friends would assume characters and act out various missions.

Of his childhood on-set experiences, one stands out: that of outrageous B-movie Deep Blue Sea. Directed by Finnish filmmaker Renny Harlin, the film, which stars Stellan alongside LL Cool J, follows a group of scientists studying super-intelligent sharks. “[My dad] gets his arm bit off by a shark,” Skarsgård says. “I was, like, eight and we were on the set and dad showed me his fake arm that’s going to get ripped off and we saw the mechanical shark. It was a f***ing dream for an eight-year-old. I was also a fan of LL Cool J.” He whips out his iPhone so we can watch the LL Cool J music video inspired by the film. Skarsgård grins, bopping his head and singing along to the absurd lyrics: ‘My hat is like a shark fin’.

Skarsgård’s fascination with playing pretend professionally never waned. He booked a handful of roles in Swedish productions as a pre-teen, finished up high school (he studied science rather than theatre because “school shouldn’t be fun”) and started “actively pursuing” acting at 18. One might say things came full circle when Skarsgård took on the role of Pennywise in the hotly anticipated remake of Stephen King’s It. In the film’s very first scene, he, like the mechanical shark before him, bites off someone’s arm.

To achieve the indelibly creepy look of Pennywise, Skarsgård sat in the makeup chair for two and a half hours. Transforming into Olofsson was a little less involved. Though Skarsgård, now 31, plays the outlaw at every age from late teens to mid-forties – the series begins with Olofsson being born and concludes when he is 45 – budget and time constraints, not to mention the madcap style of director Jonas Åkerlund, meant realistic makeup application was not an option.

“During pre-production, we did these six-hour sessions to nail the looks,” recalls Skarsgård. Once filming started, however, the actor would often have to be “18 in the morning, 35 around lunch and 45 in the afternoon.” “Eventually it got really, really stressful getting the glues and shit on and off. But there’s nothing realistic about the show, so you have to get over seeing me in a shitty glued on beard,” he says. During action sequences, a moustache would occasionally fall off. I ask if he’s ever tried to grow a beard in real life. “I have, and it’s not a pretty sight.”

When I call up Åkerlund a few days later to ask what compelled him to take on Clark, he responds matter-of-factly: “Bill Skarsgård.” “When the idea came up to do this, the first words that came out of my mouth were ‘Bill Skarsgård’ and the next were, ‘I’m not doing this unless Bill does it,’” he says. He notes that in addition to the physical characteristics required to embody this role – “Obviously [Bill] is tall and Clark was also very good-looking” – Åkerlund knew “he was capable of pulling this off as an actor.” “I think he’s talented enough to pull off anything he wants,” he says. “He’s a pro– he grew up with it.” I ask why Skarsgård seems to consistently portray psychopaths and misfits, characters on the edge. “I guess he’s drawn to these characters,” Åkerlund says. Skarsgård himself expresses a similar sentiment: “It’s weird, because I always play tormented parts. I don’t consider myself a dark person at all, but I like dark shit.” Though he never had a full-blown emo phase, he insists that his playlist would “ruin every party.”

Clark wound up being quite a personal project for Skarsgård, who doubles as the show’s executive producer. “I tried to cast every person that I know on the show,” he says. Longtime Swedish actor pals Björn Gustafsson and Adam Lundgren have supporting roles and a couple of Skarsgård’s non-actor childhood friends make appearances. His partner Alida Morberg, with whom he shares a young daughter, is in the series, as is her father Per Morberg, a prominent Swedish actor and television host. Finally, Skarsgård’s nine-year-old brother Kolbjörn Skarsgård makes his acting debut playing the six-year-old version of Olofsson. “Everybody has these shitty wigs and beards,” Skarsgård says. “It was very fun and collaborative – family style.”

It’s fortuitous that Skarsgård is eager to include his inner circle on screen, because you won’t find photo or video evidence of them anywhere else. He is one of the few millennial actors – or actors, period – without any for m of social media (unless he’s hiding a burner account, but I believe him when he say he isn’t). “There are a few of us out there,” he says, grinning. In fact, he’s in good company; Robert Pattinson, Emma Stone, and Kristen Stewart have all eschewed the various platforms. “With social media, you marry the media. It’s a perverted thing, if you think about it,” Skarsgård muses. “You have artists who are in a relationship with media now. Media was always lame for us. It was like, ‘Oh, I hate interviews’. And people still say that, but they have social media. It’s like, no, you are media.”

You won’t find many tall tales about Skårsgard in the tabloids either. His home base is Stockholm, worlds away from Hollywood and the prying lenses of the paparazzi. “I like it here,” he says. For about a decade he was elsewhere – shooting his first Netflix series Hemlock Grove in Toronto or living with flatmates in New York. His “entire family” is here, as are his childhood friends. Recently he started a family of his own. These days he’s found a “new affection” for his hometown.

Still, he “doesn’t want to be here 12 months of the year” and thanks to his rigorous filming schedule, it’s unlikely he ever will be. In a couple weeks he’s off to South Africa on another project. He views his career as “a f *** ing marathon.” “I’m 31. I might want to do this for another 60 years. That’s a long time. Look at Clint Eastwood,” he says. He pauses, then concludes, “I’m not saying I’m Clint Eastwood. But shit, 60 years? That’s a long f *** ing time.”

Vogue Scandinavia

Elsa Hosk - April/May issue

#bill Skarsgård #bill skarsgard #Netflix’s Clark #Swedish vogue #articles #2022 #interviews #iltiou

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maybanksslut · 4 years ago

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Dating Tommy Shelby would include...

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and smoking :)

Ok pls watch me drop everything to write this bc I'm married to cillian murphy <3

First of all, how the two of you met

One night, you’d be alone in one of Birmingham’s many pubs, drowning down the sorrow you felt after fighting with your father, who was visibly upset with you for not being married

He’d been talking about marriage with you for weeks and you grew tired of having to tell him the same thing every day

“I don’t want to get married, dad, there’s no one I love!”

Of course, he’d think that was bullshit and tell you marriage wasn’t an act of love, rather a business that was supposed to tie two families together

This angered you, so here you were, drinking your pain away

And just as you’d got seated and ordered some Irish whiskey, a certain Shelby walked into the pub

Perhaps it was fate, perhaps a mere accident, but no matter what it was, it changed your life forever

“May I sit here?”

You were quick to realize he was a peaky Blinder by the way he was dressed

And by the way everyone appeared to shiver when he entered the pub, you concluded that he must be one of the Shelbys as well

“Only if you promise not to get blood on my dress”

To be honest, he was taken aback by your joke, expecting more of a nervous smile or a look filled with lust, like other women seemed to give him

He was immediately intrigued by you and made it his goal to get to know you better by the end of the night

Tommy tried to be a gentleman, he paid for your drinks, offered you cigarettes, and referred to you as “Mrs”

Until you told him you weren’t married, that is

His jaw (his jawline is perfect tho can we talk about that?) practically dropped, because how could such a beautiful woman like you not have a husband?

At the same time, he was happy, because this meant he could have a chance of making you his forever

Which, he realized later, was something he did wish to do

Tommy fell himself falling for you more and more every day, he just adored your smile, your laugh, the way you weren’t afraid of him, but rather treated him as a close friend

Yes, he was entirely enamored with you, and he knew he had to make a move before anyone else did

He often took you on horse rides or to restaurants to hear your voice, and he loved to hear you talk

“What about that horse race you went to last week, eh? Can you tell me more about it? I don’t quite remember”

He didn’t officially ask you to be his lover before you’d known each other for three months

His feelings for you were a big burden when he kept them a secret, and so was keeping your friendship from both of your families

Therefore, one night as you walked through the empty streets of Birmingham, he confessed to you

“The truth is, y/n, I am in love with you and I want you to be mine. What do you say, eh?”

You were stunned when you heard those words come out of his mouth

You’d never expected this coming, even though you had for some time now felt a stronger connection to Tommy than just a friendly one

Furthermore, the way he said it made your breath tremble. You could almost feel the passion burning its way through his confession

You could feel all the atoms in your body craving him and his love, but you couldn’t utter a words

So instead, you gently caressed his cheeks and kissed him, as if you were trying to pour everything you wanted to say into his mind by this sweet embrace

It took the both of you some time to cool down after the kiss, but when you did, the two of you grinned like idiots

“I love you, too, Tommy Shelby”

He’d carry you home and properly introduce himself to your father the second he got the chance

Your father would be so surprised, because of who you’d brought home

But he’d also be so happy (mostly because Tommy is rich, but also because his daughter finally had found someone)

He and Tommy ended up getting along quite nicely, though you saw his jaw (again he can cut me with that jaw) clench a couple of times when he mentioned the word “thugs” about some of his peaky boys

Before he left that night he kissed you so softly and romantically you thought you’d FAINT

Luckily, you didn’t, but you dreamt about him after you went to sleep

Sometime later, Tommy pushed aside his hesitations and decided to introduce you to his family

“Darling, I beg of you, don’t let them scare you away, eh?”

“Why would they scare me away? If they’re anything like you, I’m sure I’ll love them”

You’d be fascinated by all of his family members because they all appeared to be very interesting people

John would be the first one to talk to you, his outgoing personality very evident after even only a few seconds of conversation

You did enjoy his company, though you had to admit, he was kind of intimidating with his strong voice and loud laugh

Next on the list was Polly, the woman you’d heard so much about, yet knew nothing of

She was the one that you’d were afraid to meet the most, a sue she seemed so majestic and proud in her red dress and high eyebrows

Her personality was the complete opposite of what you’d expected

“Oh my god, you must be y/n! You’re gorgeous, my love! Oh, come here for a hug, my dear”

Her friendliness was overwhelming, yet it warmed your heart deeply to see that she cared for you after such little interaction

It was comforting how she took you under her wing, introducing you to the other family members while Tommy went to talk with his brothers

After the night was over, you’d befriended Ada and learned not to get on Arthur’s bad side

It was an evening full of emotions and feelings, but it was one of the best ones in your life, so you were quick to thank Tommy for making you the luckiest woman in England

“Don’t thank me, sweetheart, you’re the one who made my life brighter”

It took Thomas four weeks to propose to you

He loved you and he needed no time to know that you were his true love and he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side

It was one night you’d spent together in bed, talking about anything and everything, stealing kisses from each other now and then

Suddenly Tommy’s face turned more serious

“I want you to marry me, y/n”

“What?”

“I want you to marry me. I want to show the whole world how much you mean to me. I want to spend the rest of my life in your arms, holding your hand and kissing your lips. I want to start a family with you and I want you, forever.”

You agreed immediately, tears in your eyes as you looked into the eye of your future husband and thought of the life you’d build together

It was perfect.

TAGLIST: @fangirlings-things @runaway-mom-friend @gxtitobxby @amirahiddleston @myloveforluna

#tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby headcanons #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby angst #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders x reader

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soldrawss · 4 years ago

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Sol i need headcanons for the brothers, please im begging you

BRUH I GOT YOU

I’m currently working on some little fics for them BUT I CAN GIVE YOU SOME DETAILS BECAUSE I’M DYING TO SHARE

(Warning, gets a little dark towards the middle, but overall fine. Sorry for the long read. I went for a DEEP dive on the Age Gap Au)

Ace was put into foster care 4 hours after his birth. His father died before he was born and his mother died during childbirth. Ace had nothing to his name but physical traits of the dead (Like his father's sharp eyes and his mother’s freckles) He grew up with a need to prove himself and to gain something that truly belonged to him all on his own.

Sabo was placed in foster care when he was 5 because of an altercation with his abusive and possesive parents, involving him having broken ribs and running away.

Ace and Sabo met in a halfway home for troubled youths when they were 6. (They both had issues with authority and past placements in foster homes, so they quickly bonded over that, and decided to stick together ever since)

Their bond was so strong that ‘honorary’ brothers didn’t really fit them. They were brothers. And they stuck together and stood up for one another like it was them against the world (which sometimes it was)

They would often run away from the halfway home they were at, trying to earn a living on their own on the streets, and often commit petty thefts in order to survive.

These little runaway trips wouldn’t last long though, because they were always caught by Officer Garp, a police officer that happened to have a knack for catching little runaways.

However tough Garp acted though, he had an incredibly big soft spot for these two little brats that were only trying to make their lives better. These two kids, barely 8 years old, who had so much hatred for the world because of adults in their lives that failed them. Adults that hurt them, giving them scars and bruises on their hearts just as easily as the scars and bruises on the little frames.

After a particular runaway incident, Ace breaks down and confesses about all the horrible placements he and Sabo had been in before. How social services always judge Ace’s sharp eyes and label in a problem child, how Sabo’s quick wit always get him in trouble with the adults, how they both have scars and bruises from past foster homes they were placed in, and that's why Ace and Sabo runaway. They’re tired of getting placed in bad homes. They’re tired of having adults try to separate them. Ace is all Sabo has and vice versa because that's the only person in the whole world who they trust to not hurt them. And Garp thinks that’s the last fucking straw.

Garp, much to Ace and Sabo’s but nobody else’s surprise, adopts both the boys, and takes them into his own home. Because dammit, if they’re just gonna runaway, they might as well stay with someone who will at least love them enough to always look for them and bring them back to a good home when they do.

And it’s weird at first, because Garp is the rough and loud and nosey officer that used to grab them by the scruffs of their shirts and drag them back to that awful halfway home kicking and screaming. But then it gets better. Because he still yells at them, but it’s with a tempered and fiercely protective love it when he does. He still grabs them, but it’s just to pull them into a rough bear hug that they fervently pretend they don’t like. And every dinner is spent with tears of laughter in their eyes and cheeks warm with delight at the stories he tells them. (They call him old man with affection and he’s their father figure even though they treat him like their grandpa.)

Sabo joins his school’s baseball team! Which is so freaking cool! He’s a really strong batter, can weild a bat like it’s an extension of his own arm, and Ace and Garp are always the loudest cheers on the bleachers every home run hit Sabo makes.

Garp makes Ace take up boxing, because the kid’s got a lot of pent-up rage and aggression, and he figures it’s a good constructive sort of therapy for the rowdy brat.

The two still get up to mischief every now and again, though. Nothing illegal, but Garp is still having to wrangle up his two little idiots before they do something stupid. (They get into a lot of fights with local gangs because they have smart mouths and are still a little reckless)

Garp has a biological son that Ace and Sabo never met due to Garp’s and Dragon’s strained relationship. Garp had always bad-mouthed him whenever his son was brought up, but it was always with words that had no heat behind them, and Sabo and Ace could tell there was a sadness behind his eyes whenever he looked at the picture of his son in his wallet.

The boys were 10 when they got the news of Dragon’s death a week after it happened. Garp had gotten the phone call when he and the boys were watching some late-night trash tv on the weekend, and he had all but strangled the phone in a grip that turned his knuckles white. He didn’t say what had killed his son, (he never did), but he had told the boys he needed to take care of something, told them to pack up some of their things, dropped them off at his friend Newgate’s house, and got the quickest flight out that night.

He came back 3 days later, and when he did, he had a tiny little baby with him.

Ace and Sabo were no strangers to babies. There was always some snot-nosed kid that would get dropped off at the halfway home (and then adopted that week, because everybody loved babies), and they were pretty sure this baby wasn’t gonna be any different. Because babies were loud and gross and never stopped crying, and Ace and Sabo were prepared for the absolute worse.

But then they stood over the baby’s crib to get a good look at him, and the baby looked back.

And smiled the biggest and happiest smile Ace and Sabo had ever seen.

And Garp had said “His name is Luffy,” and Ace and Sabo had been hooked around his little finger ever since.

Luffy was barely 6 months old, and was a bundle of chubby cheeks and contagious giggles. With big brown chocolate colored eyes that melted all the sharp corners and edges of Ace’s and Sabo’s hearts.

Because Sabo and Ace were the same age, and neither one of them felt like the older or younger brother. They were equals in every way. But it was different with Luffy. Because Luffy was tiny, and soft and could barely wrap all 5 of his little fingers around one of theirs, and it hit Sabo and Ace like a bullet train because oh.

Oh this is what it was like to be an older brother. This was what it was like to have a little brother. And Sabo and Ace have always looked out for each other, of course. But Luffy was something they had to protect fully and with their entire being. His smile, his laughter, his heart. All of it. Sabo and Ace knew all the horrible things in the world, knew all the hatred and fear and heartbreak the world could throw at you and it was like a silent promise to each other they never verbalized, that Luffy should and would never have to go through the things they went through. He would never feel unloved. He would never feel unwanted. He would never feel like he had to prove his worth or reason for existing. (He was worth more than any price anyone could give anyway)

Sabo and Ace stopped getting into trouble. They got good grades, excelled in their respective clubs, and didn’t give Garp any reason to chase them down in his old cop car and bring them home. (They were always at home anyway, giving Luffy piggyback rides and teaching him how to ride a bike and do one-handed handstands and cartwheels, and basking in the warmth that was Luffy’s endless love) And they lived in peace like that for 5 years.

Then the fire happened.

Garp was a good police officer and an even better Deputy Chief, and for almost 40 years, he served on the Foosha County Police Department. He had put away a lot of bad guys and saved a lot of people in the process and was an honored and highly respected man. However, this also made him a big target and earned him quite a few enemies. He was 3 weeks away from retirement and spending most of those weeks staying at home, playing with Luffy, and ingnoring the last of his paperwork left on his office desk.

When the fire broke out, Ace and Sabo had just turned the corner from the bus stop on their way home from school. They had seen the smoke, but didn’t know where it was coming from till they saw the towering blaze of fire that used to be their 2 story home and the group of neighbors surrounding the outside.

They managed to push their way to the front, hands shaking and eyes wide and absolutely breathless, because that was their house! That was their house that was one fire and where was gramps?! Where was Luffy?!

The only thing Ace heard Sabo whisper among the roar of the fire and the loud murmur of people around them was “Do you hear that? That... crying?” Before Sabo surged forward.

Ace didn’t have time to reach out and stop him, and by the time he could, Sabo had already disappeared into the open front door, which was covered in flames. He had screamed out, tried to race in and follow his brother into the flames, but the neighbors around him were quicker than he was and pulled him back.

Edward Newgate, one of their neighbors and close personal friend of Garp’s was in the crowd, and he was holding Ace to his chest with an arm like an iron bar, as he was on the phone with the local fire department. (Newgate was also the Foosha County fire chief, and was shouting at his lieutenants to “get your asses out here now!’) But Ace didn’t hear a word he was saying. All he could do was struggle to get out of the older man’s grip, reach out for his brother and best friend, and scream his lungs out.

What felt like hours went by, and Ace felt like his heart was shattering into a million piece, the glass shards falling around him, as he sobbed into Newgate's chest, thinking he had lost everything. His home. His family. His only purpose and reason for living.

And then some of the neighbors were shouting again, only this time in surprised alarm and Ace looked up with hazy eyes blurred by tears, to see something was coming out of the front door.

And it could only be Sabo. Ace knew it was him before he could even register it, and bolted out of Newgate's grips that had slacked at the surprise and towards his brother.

Ace met Sabo only a few feet from the door, Sabo collapsing into his arms, and Ace had to pull him the extra few feet away because the flames were still too much to bear even at that distance.

And Sabo’s skin was hot and red and covered in smoke and ash alike. There was a giant welting red burn against the side of Sabo’s face that looked like it would leave a scar forever, but Ace was having a hard time focusing on it because he was too bust focusing on the bundle of blankets that Sabo was desperately trying to push into Ace’s arms.

And Ace was already crying before, but he began crying even harder when he removed the fold of blankets to reveal a muffled Luffy, covered in ash but unharmed, crying his eyes out.

Sabo had a coughing fit that rocked his whole body, and burns that looked like they'd hurt forever, but he was smiling when Ace broke into a sob, clutching both Sabo and Luffy into his chest.

The firefighters and paramedics came a few minutes later, and they had to physically pull Sabo and Luffy from Ace’s arms to check and treat them. Luffy only ended up with a few mild burns and cuts on his arms and legs and some burning of his throat from inhaling so much smoke, but Sabo had to be taken to the hospital immediately for his burns, especially for the one on his face. Ace pleaded to let them all ride in the same ambulence on the way to the hosipital, and held on to Sabo’s shirt sleeve with a grip that would take the end of the world and then some for him to let go.

Sabo had to get some surgery and treatment to save his left eye, but he was all in all ok, and Ace and Luffy were allowed to visit his hospital room for as long as they needed.

When Ace finally confronted Sabo on why he had ran into the house in the first place, it was on the first night of their hospital stay. Sabo had a giant white gauze wrapping half of his head, and he looked at Ace with tired blue eyes that looked a little fuzy, still a little drugged from all the medication he was on to ease the pain.

And Ace felt bad about it, he really did, because Sabo didn’t derserve to be grilled on the matter. Not after he had sacrificed himself and saved Luffy. Their little brother. Their little brother who they wouldn’t even have anymore if it weren’t for Sabo.

But Ace had to know. He was so mad and heartbroken and scared out of his mind when Sabo had rushed in without word or warning. Because they had lost Garp. They had almost lost Luffy. And Ace could have almost lost Sabo too.

But Luffy was tucked underneath Sabo’s arm on the hospital bed, and Sabo just smiled at Ace with a patience that only Ace and Luffy could pull out of him, and patted the other side for Ace to join them. Ace climbed onto the bed beside him, and even with the two 15-year-olds and one little 5 year old, the bed didn’t feel too small at all.

Sabo explained that he could hear crying from the door and he just moved. Knowing it was Luffy before his mind could really think about the implications behind that. He confessed how the flames hurt at first. Hurt so bad, and it was so hot, and everything, from the floor to the ceiling, was on fire and he could barely see anything through the smoke. But he could hear Luffy’s little rough and horse scream, coming from one of the back rooms that used to be Garp's office, and suddenly all Sabo could afford to think about was Luffy’s crying.

Sabo would tell a watered-down version of this story to the cops in the morning, because they were Garp's friend and companions, and they only really needed the broad details for their report anyway.

He’ll tell a heroic version of this story, lacking any horrific graphics, to an older Luffy whenever the eternally curious kid wonders and asks about it.

But he only ever told the whole story right then on that night, one arm tight around his baby brother in a toothed and protective love, while the other one gripped his best friend's hands with shaking and bandaged fingers hard enough to leave bruising.

Garp was long dead when Sabo found him. The smell of his skin burning off is something that will haunt Sabo for the rest of his life. (Sometimes certain smells will set him off. Uncooked bacon is not allowed in the house anymore after one traumatic morning when Luffy is six. Campfires are viewed and enjoyed from a distance.)

He was lying on his stomach, clutching something to his chest. Sabo knew it was Luffy by the cries, bundled up in a few quilts and one of this office rugs, and Sabo knew he had to get them out of there before the smoke killed them off like it had a personal agenda against them.

The heat was unbearable, Sabo had confessed, but it was nothing compared to having to drag Luffy from underneath Garp’s grip. The old man was built like a brick house, sure, but even in death, his grip on Luffy, protecting Luffy, like he was daring the world to take anything away from him, was steadfast and almost unbbreakable.

It was the hardest thing Sabo had ever had to make himself do.

He didn’t look at Garp’s face. His body was burned black and bloody and raw, and Sabo couldn’t live with himself if his memory of Garp’s face was replaced by anything other than with the one of his scruffy beard and the shit-eating grin that he always wore.

When he pulled Luffy out, he didn’t look back, and raced out of the house as fast as he could. Something along the way fell and smacked him in the face, knocking him down at one point, but Sabo couldn’t pay it much mind. He got back up, and continued towards the door. He could barely see, barely breathe, with all the smoke and the ash, and the pain from the fire was almost numbing against his skin, but he didn’t stop.

All he could think about was Luffy, still struggling and crying against the blankets wrapped tightly around him. Next thing he knew, he was outside, and looking up at Ace’s snot-covered face.

Ace had never seen Sabo cry for the almost 10 years he knew him. He didn’t cry when he was 7, and the Anderson family had called him a freak and had sent him back after a failed foster home placement. He didn’t cry when he was 9, and broke his arm falling out of the tree in their backyard that Garp had told him not to climb, so of course he had to climb it. And he didn’t even cry earlier that day, at 15, when he was off medication and feeling the full extent of his painful burns.

So when tears started pooling out of Sabo’s pale blue eyes, falling down his cheeks and staining the cotton white blanket he was under as he told his story, Ace pretended not to notice, wrapped an arm around Sabo’s shoulders, and held him like it was the only lifeline in the world.

Garp’s funeral was held the following week. Closed casket. All the police departments in the county, and even some outside of it, showed up to give him a full send-off. Ace cried for both Sabo and himself. Sabo spoke a few words for the both of them. And Luffy stood between them, holding both their hands. They explained the night before that gramps was gone, but they don’t think the notion of death really got through to Luffy. He was crying, but only because Ace was crying, and when he asked ‘can gramps come out of the box to give me a hug before he goes away?’ everyone has to clench their teeth and hold their breaths to stop their hearts from breaking. Sabo kneeled down to wrap Luffy in a tight hug. Ace covered his face with his arm and cried harder

(They never bother asking Luffy about how the fire started, or what happened that day. Luffy doesn’t remember, and they don’t push it further. The truth isn’t as important as Luffy’s mentality is, but Garp’s old squad promises that they won’t rest until they get to the bottom of it. And as much as Ace and Sabo want justice and revenge, they have Luffy to think about, so they leave it up to the police)

Sabo and Ace are almost 16, and they suddenly have no parental figure, no home, no anything, and suddenly they’re faced with the horrible notion that even more can be taken from them when a blast from their past threatens to take Luffy away from them too.

They’re no stranger to the foster care system, so when social services show up at the motel they were renting with Garp’s savings, they feel their hearts drop to their stomach for fear of the very real possibility that Luffy will be placed in immediate foster care, and possibly, so would they.

Ace and Sabo jump into action then, because no way, no fucking way, were they gonna lose Luffy. They had lost everything else. They almost did lose Luffy. They weren’t gonna risk that chance again.

Ace was only a few weeks older than Sabo. Sabo hadn’t paused a second to jump into the fire, risking life and limb, to protect what little they had. It was Ace’s turn to be the heroic older brother. And on the day he turned 16, Ace petitioned legal guardianship and parental rights for Sabo and Luffy.

And it was hard, because of course the courts felt sorry for him, the grandson of one of the best police chiefs in the county’s history, begging the courts to let him keep what little family he had left together. The courts wanted to give it to him, wanted to help him. But Luffy was a child. And Ace and Sabo were practically still kids themselves. Asking kids to raise themselves was something no one should ask them to do.

But Ace and Sabo fought for it. Ace was 16, and Sabo would be 16 soon enough. They could get GED’s, no problem. They’d get jobs, get a little apartment near Luffy’s school, attend any parenting and child service meeting required of them. They’d buy all the necessities over again and they’d love Luffy where no other foster family could even compare. They’d do everything, everything and anything, to keep Luffy. To let them stay together.

With a couple of vouchers from Garp’s old police squad, including one from an overly enthusiastic Edward Newgate and one from the boy’s homeroom teacher, Makino, the courts ruled in Ace’s and Sabo’s favor, and Luffy was officially theirs until they proved that Luffy was better off somewhere else.

Ace and Sabo were never gonna let that happen.

They got a little 2 bedroom apartment a couple blocks from Luffy’s elementary. They quit school, and worked extra hard to earn their GED’s within the following months. (With the help of their old teachers and a few of their overly enthusiastic neighbors)

Ace got a job at the local fire department, as a rookie in training under Newgate.

Sabo got a job at the local news station, writing reports on top of his interning duties.

Ace eventually got a motorcycle that same year, which scared Sabo half to death and delighted Luffy to no end. It was cheaper than a car, and easier to travel to and from work on, and no matter how hard Sabo tried, he couldn’t come up with a valid reason why Ace shouldn’t use it to their advantage. So Sabo made Ace promise to always wear a helmet when riding it, and that Luffy wasn’t allowed to ride it until he was much older. (Which Luffy pouted about to no end)

And it’s hard at times, both of them working overtime just to make enough to support themselves and keep them afloat, but it’s good, and it’s theirs.

Luffy makes a friend on his first day of first grade named Zoro Roronoa, another kid that lives just across the street from them, and when Ace and Sabo know they’re gonna be late in getting home, Luffy goes over there and hangs out until they can pick him up (Which is totally fine with Zoro’s father Koushirou, a kendo teacher and single father of 6-year-old Zoro and 9-year-old Kuina. Zoro has a bit of a personality problem and often has trouble making friends (because the child doesn’t see a need to) so when little bright-eyed and endlessly joyful Luffy pops into their life, Kushirou jumps at the chance to have him over as much as possible, because the two small children seem to bring out the best in each other, and are best friends attached at the hip) Sabo and Ace are eternally grateful to the kind man)

A few years go by, and Luffy is 8. Ace is still working at the fire station and is now legally allowed to join them on calls and emergencies. (Fire used to make Ace nervous, because he almost lost everything to it. Now he has a personal agenda with it, to make sure it doesn’t take anything from anyone else)

Sabo has moved up the ranks now, and when he turns 18, confronts Ace with a rare job opportunity he was offered.

“It’s a year-long internship for this really cool company that reports and delivers high-class diplomatic information around,” Sabo starts, rubbing the back of his head like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I’d be working as like, a cool undercover spy with diplomatic immunity and a messenger bag. It’s not dangerous at all, and pays almost triple my paycheck now, which would really help us out. But it’s overseas, and I’d be gone for a whole year. You’d be raising Luffy all by yourself, birthdays and holidays and skinned knees, with just the two of you, so say the word, and I’ll totally turn this job down on the spot.”

And it’s scary to Ace. Because he hasn’t been alone since he was 6 years old, and he can’t possibly remember a time when Sabo hadn’t been by his side. His best friend and brother. It was always the two of them. Two little runaways that found a home, lost that home, and then built a new home all on their own despite it all. And neither of them had ever been away from Luffy for longer than a weekend, so Ace was sure it would kill Sabo to be away from them for so long.

But he also knew that Sabo was only playing this off like it wasn’t a big deal, when in fact it was the job opportunity of a lifetime for someone like Sabo, a kid who breathed adventure and freedom with every breath. And that when he talked about it, his eyes sparkled with a joy that Ace would hate himself forever for taking it away.

Sabo was giving Ace the choice, and Ace knew that Sabo would go along with whatever Ace decided without a second thought or complaint. But Ace knew that Sabo would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't go, so he slugged Sabo in the arm, gave him his best shit-eating, confident grin, (the kind he used to give him right before they were about to steal some food as kids, or about to get into a fight when they were teens) and said, “You let me have a motorcycle. The least I can do is let you go road tripping abroad.”

Because Ace and Luffy would be fine. They’d miss Sabo like crazy, and Ace was pretty sure Sabo was like, 90% of his impulse control, but they’d survive. Sabo had the burn marks to prove how far he was willing to go for their family, and Ace had never thanked him for that. Ace was never gonna live that down, and was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to both Sabo AND Luffy, and prove just how good of an older brother he could be. This was the least he could do for them.

#my work #one piece #monkey d. luffy #Portgas D. Ace #sabo #asl brothers #age gap au #oh ho look at me #my fics all start after this moment when sabo is overseas #so this is just context for that.#enjoy please and sorry in advance #i've thought too much about this au #it lives rent free in my head always

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simp4reggie · 4 years ago

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Can you do a Luke x reader where the reader is Luke’s best friend and Luke is telling her about his developing crush on Julie. But unbeknownst to Luke, Y/N (the reader) had been harboring a crush on Luke, but she has to deal with seeing Luke and Julie being playful with each other, constantly feeling jealous but wanting Luke to be happy. This leads the reader to get distant and starts avoiding Luke. The bad notices this and tries to contact her, at this time Luke realizes that he has feelings for Y/N. Then they make up and have a happy ending!! Make it fluffy, good luck!!

Only Took 25 Years

Luke x Reader

Word Count: 3014 Words

A/N: @mggpleasedontlookhere I did it a slight bit different but I hope you like it!

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Back in 1995, we all died. The boys were rehearsing for their gig at the Orpheum. I was in the “audience” watching them perform their hearts out, specifically Luke. He’s been my best friend since we were very young but for years I’ve always felt a little more about him. He’s the sweetest, most energetic person I know. He’s like a puppy dog. It kills me to know he doesn’t feel the same way.

I heard the final strum of ‘Now or Never’ pulling me from my thoughts. I saw Luke waving me over to the stage. Behind me, a waitress clapped and cheered for them. “Thank you. We’re Sunset Curve,” Reggie said and winked at her .

“Good job guys! This might be the best one yet,” I cheered walking on the stage.

“Thanks, (Y/N),” Bobby said, still on the high from performing. “Too bad we wasted that on sound check!”

I gave them each a hug but when I got to Luke it felt like it lingered longer than the rest of them. It was probably just in my head.

“Wait until tonight, man, when this place gets packed with record execs,” Luke said with his arm around my shoulders.

“Alex, you were smoking,” I heard Reggie say.

“Oh no. I was just warming up. You guys were the ones on fire,” Alex shrugged off the compliment.

I rolled my eyes. “Could you just own your awesomeness for once?” He smiled back at me and said, “All right, I was killing it.” We all laughed before Luke suggested getting street dogs before the show to fuel up. Reggie, Alex, and I all agreed while Bobby got sidetracked and started walking towards the waitress from before.

“Hey Bobby! Where you going?” Luke removed his arm from my shoulder to go catch up with him. All of a sudden I felt cold like my skin missed the feeling of his touch. I shook the feeling off and went to stand next to the guys.

“You guys are really good. I see a lot of bands. Been in a couple myself. I was really feeling it.” The waitress said to the guys.

“Thanks. That's what we do this for. I’m Luke by the way.” “Hi! I’m Reggie.” “Alex.” “Bobby,” The guys went down the line and stared at me. “Oh well, I’m (Y/N). I’m just a friend of the band.”

“She’s more than a friend,” Luke starts to say. My heart starts to race. “She’s the one who makes sure everything is set. Our instruments, the club dates, everything. Without her we’re just four boys without a clue.” I give him a little nudge.

“Give yourself some credit. Without me you could get on any stage and become rock stars.” He gave me a side hug.

“Anyway, it was nice meeting all of you. I’m Rose.”

“Uh here’s our demo and a t-shirt. Size: beautiful.” Reggie hands her a CD and a shirt he must have grabbed from the stage before walking over.

��I’ll make sure not to wipe the tables down with this one.” Rose says putting it on her shoulder.

“Oh good call. Whenever they get wet, they kinda just fall apart in your hands.” I say to her. The guys stare at me unamused. “What?”

“Don’t you guys have to go get hot dogs?” Bobby says obviously trying to get some alone with Rose.

“Yeah he had a hamburger for lunch,” Luke says while walking away. We all follow him until we're outside the theatre.

We decide to go get street dogs a couple blocks away. After making our hot dogs off the back of the oldsmobile, we choose to sit on the couch available squishing together so we fit.

“You guys, this is awesome! You’re playing the Orpheum!” I exclaimed. “I can’t even count how many bands have played here and then ended up being huge! You’re going to be legends.”

Luke wrapped his arm that wasn’t holding a hot dog around me. “And you’ll be there every step of the way. You’re just as a part of the band as each of us.” I smile at him. “Eat up. ‘Cause after tonight, everything changes.”

We all took a bite of our hot dogs. There was something off about my hot dog. I couldn’t find a word to describe it. And not in a good way. Alex voiced my thoughts, “That’s a new flavor.” I looked at him and he looked back at me like “Should we really be eating this?”

“Chill man. Street dogs haven’t killed just yet.” And then they did.

After we died, we ended up going into this black room where Alex ended up crying, a lot. Then after an hour ended up in their old studio. We found out it's 2020 and a lot has changed. After a lot of screaming and pleading, the girl who lives there now, Julie, ended up letting us stay there. Now here we are a couple days later, about to watch her perform for her teacher for the first time since her mom died.

Luke gave her an old Sunset Curve that they never got a chance to record. I know it hasn't been long but I feel like Luke has started growing infatuated with her. After we heard her sing for the first time, he hasn’t stopped talking about how talented she is. I know he doesn’t want him to know but I saw him in the studio looking through lyrics using different handwriting. I’m surprised he’s not talking about that yet.

The pop group that is performing ends and the principal goes on stage. Julie’s friend says to her “Now’s your chance. Go talk to her. I’ll see you in music class.”

“What are you waiting for? This is your time.” Reggie looks at Julie who might “yak in a bowl” if she waits any longer.

“I just don’t think I had enough time to work on the song.” Julie says worried.

“I wouldn’t have given you the song if I didn’t think you were gonna rock it. Now there’s a piano on that stage with your name on it.” Luke convinces her. Julie goes backstage and walks on looking nervous.

“Oh I can’t watch.” I go to turn around but Luke puts his arm around to keep me in place. When Julie looks at us we all give her a thumbs up, mine not as enthusiastic as the others.

Everyone in the auditorium starts to leave, she starts to play. The piano sounds beautiful with her voice. The occasional student walks over to watch but most of them already have their feet out the door. Then there are lights put on her. The song starts to reach the chorus and all of a sudden I don’t feel Luke’s arm around me and I don’t see the guys. That’s when I notice that I hear cheering and look up to see them on stage with her. After putting two and two together I realize that they are visible to the audience. How is that even possible?

I go run up to the front of the stage. “How is this even happening?” I yell up to them. Reggie looks at me and shrugs. They look so happy. They never thought this was even possible. I look over at Luke and see Julie singing with him. I get a twinge of jealousy wishing I could have this connection with him but I never will. They have so much chemistry on stage I don’t even want to watch. I spend the rest of the time watching Alex and Reggie.

At the end of the song, they bow and the boys disappear with their instruments. I go out into the hallway to find them pacing around. “Did that just happen?’’ They turn around and give me a massive hug.

“I can’t believe that just happened! Everyone could see us. Please tell me I”m not the only one freaking out!” Alex starts panicking so I walk over and rub his back to calm him down.

“Bro, I think we’re all freaking out!” Luke eagerly says. “People can see us play. How cool is that?”

“So cool.” Reggie smiles at Luke and they do a little handshake.

They start talking about the performance but my mind keeps going back to Julie and Luke together on that stage.

“Guys i'm gonna go home.”

“What why?” They say together.

“I’m just not feeling too well. Talk to Julie and see what’s causing this. I’m happy for you.” I see Luke step forward but I poof out before he can say anything.

Back at the studio, I start to spiral downward. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can barely pick something up. I realize being at the studio is doing nothing to help me so I go for a walk on the beach. It made me realize how much I missed being alive and feeling the sand between my toes when the guys and I needed to get away from our families. The nights we would spend here watching the sunset, which inspired the band name.

Before I know it the sunset comes and goes. The guys are definitely home at this point. I poof back to see them pacing around. “(Y/N)!” Luke runs up to me. “Where have you been? We were getting worried.

“Just went for a walk to clear my head. A lot has been changing recently.” I walk past him to sit on the couch. I need to talk to someone about this. “Alex, can I talk to you for a minute, alone.”

Alex looks over at Luke and Reggie as if telling them to go. Luke looks a little offended that I don’t want to talk to him but he poofs out first. Reggie follows after him. After they’re both gone, he checks behind the door to make sure they’re not spying and then walks over to the couch and sits down.

“What’s going on (Y/N)?”

“A lot, honestly.”

“Well it must be if you don’t want to talk to Luke about it.” He looks at me knowingly. “Is it about him?”

“How do I say I’ve been in love with him for over 25 years?” Alex just stares at me like it wasn’t brand new information. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me but Reggie is oblivious to everything. Why did you disappear after the performance though?”

“Did you not see him and Julie on stage together? They totally had chemistry. I can’t compete with that.” I see him look at me with pity. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I-I’m not looking at you in any way. I’m just paying attention.” I roll my eyes. “But in all seriousness, are you going to talk to him about this?”

“Of course not. He doesn’t like me back. He’s my best friend and I wouldn’t be able to look at him the same way if he actually said to my face.” I can’t picture my life without Luke in it and I don’t ever want to experience it.

“Well, ignoring him isn’t going to help either. He was worried about you when you left and even more when we came back and you were gone. He needs you, too. He needs someone to be there to boost his ego.” He nudges me. I chuckle.

“You’re right,” I nudge him back. “Thank you for talking to me. I needed to get it off my chest.

“No problem. I’m always here for you.” I give him a big hug. We may be ghosts but I at least get to have these moments with the boys.

“Oh. By the way, we asked Julie to join the band and she said yes. That’s okay, right?” Alex said quickly.

“Yeah. It’s your band, you don’t need my permission.”

Weeks go by and it’s getting harder to watch Julie and Luke sing together. I can see from the way Luke looks at her that he likes her. I’ve been thinking about my conversation with Alex about how much he needs me but he’s been going to Julie more often that it doesn’t feel like he does. Because of this I’ve been spending more and more time at the beach. Only Alex knows where I’m going in case of emergencies.

“Hey.” I hear to the left of me. I look to see Luke standing there.

“Hey. How did you know I was here?”

“I asked Alex. You’ve only been talking to him recently. I didn’t know I would have to find out what’s going on with my best friend from someone besides her,” He sits down in the sand next to me. “But of course, even Alex won’t tell me because he’s too good a friend.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I turn away from him.

“You know exactly what I mean. You’ve been dismissive. You’ve been acting weird ever since we performed at the spirit rally. You’re never around anymore.” He tries to get me to look at him but I refuse. “Fine. If you’re going to ignore me, I don’t even know why I’m going to try.” He poofs out. I start crying right there. I know that I said it would be hard to not have him in my life but now I don’t know because I don’t know which one feels worse.

I hear another noise and I turn, hoping Luke came back but of course not. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that.” Alex takes the spot where Luke was not too long ago. “Look, I know it’s difficult but try not to be too hard on the guy. He doesn’t know how you feel.”

“It’s not just about that. I know that we’re dead. Okay? I’m not dumb but it still hurts that I can’t help in the ways I used to. I was the one in charge of booking clubs and managing the tour dates. Now, I can’t do that because nobody can see me. I know its bullshit and there’s other things to be upset about. I just miss being an important part of this band,” I stop for a second but he doesn’t say anything so I keep going. “Too much is changing and I can’t handle it. I love you Alex, I do. And I am so thankful that you’re here right now but Luke was the one I was going to about this stuff. I can’t now, not only because I am gut wrenchingly , painstakingly, heartbreakingly IN LOVE with him, but because he’s spending every waking moment with Julie. I just, I don't know what to do.” Once I’m done I just let my back hit the sand.

“Yes, you do.” I hear a voice that’s not Alex and I’m really hoping it doesn't belong to Luke. However, as soon as I open my eyes I see him looking over me. “You always know what to do.”

I stand up to look at him and notice that Alex left us alone. “Luke... what are you doing back here?”

“After I went back home, I realized something. I couldn’t leave you alone. Obviously, you had something going on. It shouldn’t have mattered if you told me anyway. Just that you weren’t alone.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough. I didn’t know you felt that way. About any of it. I know it’s hard that you can’t help like you used to. It’s not bullshit, okay? You helped us so much and now it may feel like we don’t need you but we most definitely do. Who’s going to keep us sane? Alex? Seriously, he cried for 25 years with no hug and he won’t let us forget it! No, you will. You have been there since the beginning and you are a massive part of this band. You always will be.” Tears are streaming down his face.

“What about Julie?”

“What about her?”

“You’ve been spending so much time with her. Outside of the band and song writing. All you do now is hang out with her. I miss you so much, Luke. You have no idea.” I turn away from him like before.

“Nope. No.” He pulls me back to face him. “You’re not shutting me out again. You’ve spent more time here than you have at home. You can’t do that and then talk about me not seeing you more.”

“Luke you know that’s different.”

“No, it’s not.” He stops.

“What do you mean?” I stare at him, waiting for the words to come but won’t be prepared to hear.

“All of the time I spent writing and singing on stage, whenever I was hanging out with Julie, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time I was singing I looked at you in the audience but you weren’t looking at me. You were looking at someone else.”

“I couldn’t look at you. You were looking at Julie. You have a connection with her.”

“I have a connection with everybody I sing with. Hell, I have a connection with Reggie when I sing with him. But neither of them are you, (Y/N). I love you.”

“You what?” I walk closer to him.

“You heard me.”

“Say it again.” I demand.

“I love you.” Luke was right. I do know what to do. I threw my arms around him and put my lips on his. Our mouths molded together like a perfect fit. I felt alive again.

“I love you too.” I said against his lips. He let me go.

“Good or else that would’ve been awkward.” I laughed. I can’t help but hug him again. He hugs me back harder than before, resting his chin on my head. “God, I love you. It feels so good to say that.”

I look up at him. It feels so good to be in his arms. It feels so good to be able to hold him the way I wanted to. It only took 25 years and a hot dog.

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Requests are still open! Feel free to send some my way

- Maddie xxx

#jatp luke x reader #luke patterson x reader #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #charlie gillespie #mggpleasedontlookhere

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sichengtual · 3 years ago

Text

how sweet it is (to be loved by you)

— summary: some loves are meant to run too deep, some loves are meant to stand the test. luckily, for you and cheol, nothing has ever posed a threat.

— pairing: choi seungcheol x reader.

— genre: fluff ; established relationship ; 70's au, part of the tiny dancer universe.

— word count: 2665

— warnings: mentions of smoking.

happy birthday to the love of my life @svtxsoju! i love you so so so much 💞

Seungcheol had never been hard to read.

From the very first moment you’d met, you’d seen he always wore his heart on his sleeve. You liked that about him; the way you could tell how he was feeling by paying attention to the size of his smile and the gleam in his eyes. For a while, you wondered if he was like that when only you were there to see. A sort of prize won after confidence, the kind that came with a great deal of trust. Your heart always leapt at the thought; of Seungcheol trusting you enough to let his walls down, of letting you in with such ease you’d wonder if he just wasn’t afraid of ever getting hurt… not by you, but by the world.

After a while, you finally came to see it wasn’t quite like that. Seungcheol just trusted people. Not only his friends (which you were at the time) or the people closest to him, but the strangers he passed by on the street. The people he ran into at the store. The men he made business with, the bands he came to meet, the fans he saw from afar. It was a beautiful thought, Seungcheol having a heart so big there was no sort of mistrust in it; but it was also a scary one, because you knew the world to be cruel. You knew the world to be undeserving of him.

“He’s gonna fall down on his ass,” Mingyu speaks next to you, a hand in the pocket of his torn up leather jacket and the other holding a cigarette. “Part of me wants you to tell him to come down but the other part wants revenge from him waking me up at 5 today.”

“You guys had a gig,” you laugh, taking a sip from your cup. It’s run cold, but the beverage leaves a sweet aftertaste on the back of your tongue, so you keep drinking. Summer is just around the corner anyways. “Not to defend him, but, you know.”

“Oh no, not you too,” Mingyu whines, throwing his head back as he speaks. He’s always reminded you of Seungcheol, and you wonder if that’s why the two seem to clash together so much. “The gig was at noon, no need to see the rise of dawn and scare my sleep away with Chan’s sleeping mask.”

“Oh, fuck you!” You hear from the back of the yard, Chan’s voice somehow louder than the playing vinyl.

His laughter, followed by Mingyu’s quiet giggle and the careless strum of a guitar, brings a smile on your lips.

Night has barely begun to fall down. The sky is tinged bubblegum pink and the clouds have started to change color, adorning the afternoon sky in an array of orange shades. It’s the moment before it starts turning down, but even when the light threatens to decrease, temperature only but rises. It’s a warm summer afternoon, with friends laughing at the top of their longs and music playing as soft background music, setting the scene even when the melody runs ignored.

It had been a while since you last had spent time with the band. They had just gone on their first big world tour and were just getting welcomed back home, and you can swear there’s something about finally knowing the world that allows their smiles to grow a little bit wider. It’s as if they’ve collected happiness at every spot, experiences turned into emotion as they let themselves completely feel every single moment. It’s as if they let their hearts be free once they’ve known how it is to let their bodies do the same.

“Why did he even get up there, anyways?” You ask, taking a sip from your punch glass. It’s sweet and cool against the growing heat.

“Seungkwan and Hoshi dared him,” Mingyu answers, smiling when Soonyoung tries to excuse his actions, yelling about some book incident involving Cheol and Jun. “Can’t believe he’s about to fall on his face in front of you for a slice of cheese pizza, though.”

“It’s a matter of honor!” Seungcheol exclaims between jolts of laughter, fingers forming a peace sign as Joshua pulls his portable camera out of his bag and points it at him. “Wait, what is this for?”

He tries to pose as he stands over a wobbly table, one of his hands holding a glass of pink colored punch and the other pointing to the camera while he tries to keep still for however long it takes Joshua to focus the lens. The guitarist isn’t the best at photographs, but his enthusiasm makes up for the lack of skill.

“Ivy and Jun are doing some groovy memory thing,” he explains, breaking into a laugh, shrugging in the direction of the couple. “Don’t worry, I’ll document every step of the process.”

Your boyfriend’s mouth opens wide at Joshua’s words, the peace sign in his hand quickly becoming a single pointed finger, eyes blazing as he moves his hand in the air.

“As soon as these fifteen minutes are up I’m getting down from here,” Seungcheol says, each word enunciated in the form of a loud whine, a pout forming on his lips as he berates his friend. “Be sure to document the slice of pizza in my mouth, Bob Dylan!”

“That would be so fucking gross,” Minghao comments from the hammock, a pair of pastel yellow sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose. “Trust me, no one would ever want to see that.”

“And Josh wishes he was Bob Dylan!” Mingyu laughs.

“I bet you wish you got the riff today right, tho,” Chan teases, another fit of laughter ensuing. Mingyu responds, and Minghao giggles.

Seungcheol turns to see his friends from where he’s standing, chest growing tight at the sight. It’s his family, after all, reunited and relaxed after what was, probably, the start to a lifelong adventure. You meet him halfway, smiling as you point the glass of punch in his direction in a silent cheer. It’s your family as much as it’s his, and there’s a sense of pride growing in the center of your stomach as you realize what an honor it is to be a part of it.

He smiles, and it doesn’t really seem like he’s all the way across the yard on top of a table that threatens to break down, because he’s truly never felt closer to you.

…

Hours later, the pizza discussion has quieted and night has finally fallen down.

Seungcheol ended up not falling, breaking literally everyone but Ivy, Jun, and your expectations, but earning Joshua quite a groovy photo (he had almost fallen down, after all). The beginning of the entire thing is still a bit of a mystery to you, but with the information you’ve been given, you’re not completely sure you’d actually want to know. After all, the entire fifteen minutes had given you a good laugh and a lifetime of worries, all at the same time.

“Here,” Seungcheol’s voice breaks you apart from your thoughts. He’s holding a yellow ceramic cup full of steaming tea, arm stretched in your direction. “Can you believe Seungkwan was trying to hide his Earl Gray from me?”

“Actually, yeah, I can,” you answer as you laugh, taking the cup from Seungcheol’s hands while he sits on the grass next to you. “You don’t even drink tea.”

“No, but he knows you do,” he says. He speaks as if he’s telling you a secret, words low, soft against the wind, entering your ears like honey as your lips curl up into a smile.

Seungcheol’s gentleness is present in every thought, in every gesture. It’s in the thinking of you to ensure your comfort, the going out of his way to make you happy, that lets you know he treats your happiness like he’s guarding a flower that’s just about to bloom. He touches it with the tips of his fingers, caring for it and nurturing it, helping your smile grow by the day. A smile directed at him.

“And yet he guards it from the both of us,” you say, raising the cup to your lips and taking a small sip. It’s sweet, a bit too sweet, perhaps, but the saccharine taste feels like velvet against your tongue, so you continue drinking. You’ve always liked sweet things, and Seungcheol has always known. “Are you not gonna have anything?”

“Seungkwan’s coffee brew and my stomach aren’t really the best of friends,” he jokes, eyes fixed on the midnight sky. “Not after last time, at least. The good thing about the tour was that all the coffee we got was made by other people.”

“Hey, he takes a lot of pride in his coffee brew!”

“That doesn’t make it any lighter!”

He doesn’t quite remember just how long it’s been since he’s taken a second to stop and breathe in like he’s doing now, the feeling of laying down without a worry having been completely alienated. It’s like he’s always on track; always moving here or there, physically or in thought, and stopping finally means letting his thoughts lay down too. He lets himself feel every inch of the warm breeze hitting his skin and rustling his hair, enjoying every second of finally watching the stars shine bright above his head.

Seungcheol is always hearing Jun talk about just how much he likes looking at the stars, and now he finally understands.

“Hey, look up there,” Seungcheol whispers, nudging your shoulder with his and pointing to the sky with his finger. You’re not sure he’s drawing your attention to any spot in particular, and, to be honest, neither is he. “It reminds me of you.”

“What exactly are you looking at?” You ask, and it’s somewhere between a laugh and a question, but he doesn’t comment on it. He’s always loved the way you talk, because, even if for a second, he feels like happiness drips from every pore. “You’re pointing at like, at least five different stars right now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. You’re each and every single one of them. You’re there with me, lightning my path with every step I take.”

You’re not sure, but you’d think that’s the moment the world stops spinning, because it’s just the two of you; it’s just you and Seungcheol, and your warm cup of tea, and the crazed laughter of your friends flows through the air like the background scene of a film you’ll watch over, and over, and over again. It’s like the moment and his words become etched so deep inside your heart they become a part of who you are, and of who you will always be, because there’s nothing that encompasses happiness better than the love you and Seungcheol hold for each other.

“Are you coming for Jun’s job now?” You ask, voice breaking as tears begin to prickle your eyes.

“Should we switch places?” Seungcheol follows, letting himself fall completely on his back, feeling the grass grazing against the soft linen of his purple button-up. His tone is light, relaxed. Gentle. “I’m pretty sure Jun could make for a convincing business man.”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure he would. He’s different now, isn’t he? He feels a bit more confident. A bit more secure.”

“Love does that to you, I guess. It makes you believe in yourself, because you know someone else does it too.”

And it’s just so much of a feeling growing inside your chest that you’re sure this is exactly where you’re meant to be, and Seungcheol is exactly who you’re meant to be with. You look at your surroundings, and he’s nestled so deep within your soul it’s almost like he’s everywhere. Every single place, every single sound, every single scent; he's everything.

“Can I have this dance?”

He moves, rustling in place as he extends his hand over to you.

“You can have all of them.”

It’s almost like it’s your thoughts speaking, voices intertwining, souls coming together. He takes your hand in his and you follow his lead as he stands up, pulling you to his chest with such gentleness in his touch it feels like you’re made of glass. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, but you don’t really think he needs to, because as soon as his fingers tangle with yours, it’s almost like you’re flying.

Somewhere in the garden, sitting around a campfire, Joshua and Mingyu’s guitars begin playing a song you both know, and you barely notice the moment your feet start moving. They dance on their own accord, gliding over the grass in a pace that doesn’t quite match the one set by the instruments, but neither of you fight it. He tightens the grip on your fingers and sets them over his chest, moving in closer to your frame.

You can feel him in what’s almost a hug by how close you’re standing, and it’s only when Joshua and Mingyu begin singing that you move your head up to take a look at him. The melody is sweet, raising into the sky over the crackling of a roaring fire. Dark, thick wisps of hair fall against his forehead and over the golden frame of his glasses, completely rustled by the summer breeze. You know it’s only a matter of time before he’ll try to tussle it back against his head, no doubt counterproductive, further messing up his (once) carefully gelled hairstyle.

He looks just the way he did when you last saw him before the tour, and, in a way, he looks a completely different person. There’s a sense of growth, of experience, of adventure nestling in his smile and yet, the look in his eyes expresses just as much love for you as it’s always done.

“I missed you,” he says, words soft against your skin.

He pulls you in even closer, lips coming into contact with your forehead. He presses a kiss; light, soft, gentle. And yet loving, lingering. It’s an expression of a love that doesn’t quite pressure to grow, that doesn’t quite define itself by the closeness in touch or time. It’s born on the surface, but it travels down so deep it lays untouched by whatever might pose a threat. It blooms, so wildly and fierce, and so close to your own souls it’s shaped them into what they are. It’s what you are, and you can feel it dripping down your very self whenever you’re close. It’s where you’ve found a sense of home.

“I missed you too.”

You smile, letting your forehead rest against his lips. He takes in a breath, closing his eyes. The cup of tea sits long forgotten over the grass, but steam still rises from the top. The liquid lays untouched, unmoving; but still warm.

…

The morning rises, and you’re there to see.

Seungcheol is asleep in the guest room of Seungkwan’s field house, resting calmly beneath the thick duvet you had shared the night before. His arm is still splayed over the space you once occupied, and there’s a smile resting on his lips. His hand is balled into a fist, clutching the soft, velvet sheets. Light begins to seep through the window, filtering through the curtains. A soft ray falls over his face.

In the backyard, you look up at the sky. Once dark, it’s now the most beautiful shade of gold you’ve ever seen. Air runs between the trees, and you can feel it move against your skin. The world starts waking up as you smile, and you can feel every second of it. Joshua and Mingyu sleep calmly on the couch, and Minghao brews his coffee in silence. Ivy reads a book while caressing Jun’s hair, his head resting on their lap. Seungkwan, Soonyoung, Chan and Vernon busy themselves with breakfast, the faint scent of burning toast reaching your nose.

Your family is there with you, and you feel love all around.

#caratwritersclub #kpopscape #kwritersworldnet #svt scenarios #scoups scenario #seungcheol scenario #scoups scenarios #seungchol scenarios #scoups x reader #seungchol x reader #svt scenario #svt imagine #svt imagines #svt fluff #scoups fluff #sab.writing

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razrbladekiss · 3 years ago

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Tyrants | Chapter Four - Peril

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNINGS: Mentions of death, drug use, Tig being Tig. The usual SOA shit. Sorry Donna..

She always saw the beauty in darkness. The lugubrious belle that came alongside the moon and stars and whatever else lurked amidst the murk of nighttime.

Isla was cliche in that sense.

She was cliche in the sense that she adored watching the sun set, swallowed by the mountains and high-rise buildings as the evening fell and Charming was painted black.

And maybe it was mostly melancholic because of the horrors that swathed that small town, but it was still beautiful nonetheless.

She still liked to bask in the scenery, to discern the marvel of her home, from the highest point she could access. And, sometimes, she liked to take somebody along with her so she wasn't completely alone.

"Why'd you still come up here?" Ope asked, pulling himself onto the roof as she sat with her back to the wall--puffing on a cigarette.

"Because it's quiet." She was content, comfortable with her response. "And whenever I'm looking for Jax, or Gem, or my dad--or they're looking for me--this is where we're almost always found. Just people watching, or reminiscing, or having a few minutes to ourselves away from the chaos downstairs."

It wasn't an unknown safe space--Gemma had told her that JT and Clay would climb up there during the earliest days of the club--but it was special.

Jax, Opie, and Isla spent time up there as kids, too. Because they were bastards and were always running from their fathers--and den mother--and the roof of the clubhouse was their go-to.

She never really got out of that habit. She'd spend hours up there if she could, just watching as Charming bustled beneath her. And she liked that it was separate to the garage, but everyone knew where to find her if they needed her.

"It clears your head, being up here." She added. "I have got so much shit going on right now--between work, and my personal life--but coming up here is like a refreshment, I guess."

Opie understood what she meant because he was also seeking comfort in the night. Riding through dusk, spending time alone on his bike as he cruised the streets of his quaint town, relishing in the darkness because it was strangely comforting to him.

He liked to be alone. His thoughts were brutal and they seared his brain left and fucking right, but he liked his own company.

"Wish I thought about comin' up here when I was released from holding." The man chuckled, balancing a cigarette between his lips. "Stahl grilled the fuck outta me."

"She did?"

"Yeah. She really fuckin' did." He added, grunting as smoke blew from his nostrils. "Did she get you? I know she got Gemma."

"Nope, she didn't. I don't know why, though. She interrogated everyone else. Starting to feel a little left out."

Opie chuckled, smiling a bit. "Be glad. It's obvious that she's used to getting what she wants."

"And did you give it to her?"

"Fuck no." Isla smiled. Proud. "She can cross-examine me all she fuckin' wants—I'll never sell the club out."

"They know that, Ope."

"I know." Half confidently, he nodded. "Just—Stahl made me second guess it all, y'know?"

Nobody in Charming--aside from the PD--knew where that despicable bitch came from, and nobody cared to ask.

What they did know, though, was that she had her heart set on making that town a living fucking hell as she strived to eradicate the Sons of Anarchy by getting to its members.

She'd grilled everyone she could've. She cornered Gemma when she was out running errands, leaving the grocery store with a sour taste in her mouth when Teller told her where to fucking shove it.

Same went for Jax, and Clay, and Chibs, and Tig, and...Well, all of them told her to get fucked, actually.

None of them caved. None of them wanted to sell the club out because there was no reason to.

Well, there was a reason to, but no desire to.

There'd been murders. Three, to be specific. And one of them just happened to be a police officer--which was quite unlucky, but it wasn't awful.

They hated cops.

What they hated more, however, was the idea of getting caught by them. And Clay was. Somehow, anyway.

Piney's old "friend"--Nate Meineke--needed quality, albeit illegal, guns with no traceability to attack the convoy that was transporting one of his friends from point A to point B. And it went as swimmingly as possible...

Until June Stahl was put on the case and found that idiot's phone at the scene after dropping it mid-ambush.

Clay just happened to be the last person he had called. Which then caused the investigation to point toward Charming.

They all knew the Sons were guilty of supplying those weapons. Who else would it have been? They were known for running illegal firearms without batch numbers from a quaint Californian town whose name didn't quite fit its image.

It was blatant, though nobody gave it up.

But Stahl tried her damndest to get answers. And when she didn't, she targeted the member that she saw to be the most vulnerable--after a hit went wrong and he failed to cover his tracks--and Opie just happened to be that guy.

She questioned him for hours. She practically held the man captive in that little cell until he caved. But he didn't--and he wasn't going to, either.

He was loyal. That's one of the reasons why Jax wanted to patch him back in.

"Yeah, I know." Isla got to her feet when she heard Tig yelling for her downstairs. "But you're the strongest guy I know, Ope. I don't think Stahl, of all people, is gonna get to you."

He shrugged her off, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the gravelly ground of the roof.

Opie had changed. Not much, and it wasn't very apparent, but he'd changed. Chino had changed him, she thought.

He was still dedicated to his club, still in love with the reaper and the responsibility that came with the patch--but Opie Winston lacked that flicker of enthusiasm now.

"How does your dad feel about you being back at the table?"

"Said he's proud of me."

He was a man of very, very few words. But the tone that he took--the sheer relief twined into contentment--spoke a greater volume.

Piney would always support his son, feel a sense of gratification from his involvement in the club. And, of course, Ope felt grateful to be back--but it was different now.

He'd served time for his club. Donna consistently argued that they sold him out and that he was fucking stupid for running back into the arms of SAMCRO.

But it was his brotherhood. The Sons of Anarchy were his family--his lifeline. He was nothing if not blessed to be patched back in.

"And I guess that wife of yours isn't too happy about it?"

"How'd you reach that conclusion?"

"Well," she ignored that Tig was waiting for her, standing directly in front of him. "If she was genuinely thrilled about you being back here, she'd have been coming to Gemma's dinners, and spending more time at the clubhouse with us. But she isn't, and I'm starting to realize that she probably hates me now."

His head shook. "She doesn't hate you. It's just...It's just raw. Weird being back, I think."

"She didn't even have to leave. She knows that."

Donna did know that. But there was always something about Gemma. About the way she let things slide so often, how she felt that she had Clay so pussy whipped that he'd be at her every beck and call--but, really, that was redundant. Because Gemma let him get away with fucking murder.

Literally.

"Is she gonna be there tonight?

"Of course. She wouldn't miss Jax's son coming home." He got up, reaching for her hands. "Sorry that she's been so distant with you, Isla. But she's just been stressed out--money worries and the kids and stuff, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Donna wasn't traditionally a worrier. But five years worth of finances, being a single mom, and fretting over her husband potentially not making it out of prison alive, just did that to a woman.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so." Grateful for her offering, though recognizing how damn stubborn his wife was, he conceded. "Thanks, though."

"Anytime. And if you change your mind, or need me, you know where I am--"

"Isla!"

"He is getting on my last fucking nerve today." She groaned, flipping Tig off as she looked over the ledge. "I'm coming! Give me a minute!"

"I've given you plenty of minutes! Just get your ass down here!"

"Just go," Ope chuckled, leaning down to peck her cheek. "We can have this talk another time."

Isla turned back to him, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Go 'n talk to him--I'll see you tonight."

He was such a nice guy. So considerate, kind.

She loved him a lot.

The flouncy sundress rose to the middle of her thighs as she sauntered through the clubhouse, hearing Trager talking--rather conspicuously, though slightly muffled--to somebody on his cell.

"C'mon, Tiggy. Why'd you yell at me?"

He waved his hand to shut her up, gesturing for the blonde to follow him out of the clubhouse and toward his bike.

"Yeah, cool. K, brother--see 'ya later. Bye." He hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of his cut, swiveling to face Isla with a smile. "You ready?"

"For what?"

"The party?" Tig told her, watching confusion sweep over her face. "I'm taking you over 'cuz you want a drink and don't wanna drive home after? And that you're probably gonna end up heading home with Juice, or something--"

"Juice?"

"It always happens," he shrugged, pointing at the helmet he set out for her at the back of his bike. "We all head out, you get too drunk, you take a liking to Juicy, and you try to ride his dick."

"What?" Isla got herself situated behind him as he got on first, her arms wound around his waist. "That was one time. I've only slept with him once, and I told you it'd never happen again."

"And why is that?"

Her cheeks flushed red, the engine revving sending vibrations through her entire frame.

"Because he was too gentle." Tig's foot collided with the kickstand.

"And the little Catholic girl likes it rough."

She felt the solid gold crucifix burning a hole into her chest.

"Yes. I like it rough." He groaned, leaning into her. She swatted at his chest over his shoulder, laughing heartily. "Just take me to see the baby, dickhead."

The bike sped out of the lot and Isla was loving the thrill of being on two wheels. She'd always liked being stuck to the back of somebody's Harley--but she'd never own one herself.

Isla was like Gemma. She felt stable enough riding with somebody, but riding alone--being in control of the motorcycle--was fucking terrifying.

Jax and Opie had encouraged her to take a ride at one point, but it didn't end very well, and Chibs spent the best part of two hours trying to stitch his daughter back up whilst Gemma castigated the two imbeciles who thought it was even reminiscent of a good idea.

Weaving through traffic gracefully, freely, was appealing to her, however. But she wouldn't be caught dead--alone--on a fucking bike.

Plus, she quite enjoyed being taken places. Escorted by a member of the club. It was safe.

The wind whirred and whipped around them, and she wished she didn't make the effort with her hair tonight. It was ruined, tousled to within an inch of its life, and she dreaded the thought of having to brush the knots out in Jax's bathroom.

Still, commuting via Harley was a hell of a lot quicker and had a few more benefits than commuting via car.

But the looks that they got were piercing. Horrible. Mainly from Hale stationed beside his squad car, watching as Isla and Tig raced down the freeway.

"He likes you." He spoke over the roaring engine when he hit the first stop light all night. "He hates that you've never given him a chance--"

"He's a cop, and I'm the outlaw's daughter. I've been raised to hate his kind."

Tig nodded his approval, setting off once again when the light switched to green and all opposing traffic stood still.

At one strange point in time, David Hale had his sights set on Isla Telford. He was in love with her. Completely besotted.

And she never gave him a second glance because, for one, she wasn't interested. He hated that she was so close to Jax and Opie, but not him, and he wished that she'd push herself away from the bad guys to grow closer to the heroic law-enforcer.

But he was a control freak above everything else, and Isla was just a free-spirit. She was loyal to her friends and family but she didn't want to get tied down, and she didn't want to become friendly with a fucking cop.

The only cop she liked was crooked. And Unser was in a similar spot to her--a little too affiliated with SAMCRO, but not completely doted on. Though, they were both strangely essential fixtures, and Clay would've been lost without them.

"Juice is here." Tig taunted as he helped her off the bike, holding her hand when she stumbled over herself a little. "Try to keep those panties on."

"Can't make any promises, Tiger." Her growl was seductive, though he knew that she was fucking with him.

She'd given up rebuking his claims, instead feeding into them because, with Trager, she couldn't seem to win. He was sleazy, and she loved that back and forth.

What she loved more, though, was that he was comfortable. He was a strange man, and nobody really understood just where he came from, but Isla liked that she could make jokes of any kind around him. He was easy to get along with. Easy to love.

And, man, did she love Alex Trager.

"If you do fuck him, though, would you make a video?"

Isla stepped into Jax's front room, turning on her heels. "Who said that we haven't already got one?"

She chuckled and wandered into the party, leaving Tig with a few convoluted thoughts and even more raunchy questions.

"Fuck. Gemma taught her well." He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the beer in Half-Sack's hand.

He slumped on the couch, motioning for his usual lay to sit in his lap as he watched Juice fawn over his little blonde friend making conversation with some other random woman already.

"Yeah, totally..." she agreed with whatever the girl was saying, but her eyes were glued on Tara. Just floating around the party.

She felt bad that the doctor was alone. Despite all that she thought of her, being out of ones depth in such an intimidating setting wasn't very nice. And Isla was an empath.

"D'ya think anyone 'round here has any nail glue?"

"Gemma might." She smiled, pointing toward the kitchen.

Grateful that she managed to shake that one off, Isla weaved through the small conclave and sat beside Tara, offering a friendly face during a time of such discomfiture.

Her heart was aching, the sheer nervousness was palpable, and she knew that Tara felt the same way too.

But Isla just sucked it up. Because she wanted to talk to her, and had to be the one to initiate it.

"Thanks for coming." Her smile was wide, genuine.

She offered a beer to the brunette, hoping that she'd take it.

"Thanks for asking me here." Tara accepted it, glad that Isla remembered she wasn't particularly a wine girl like herself.

Christ. This is awkward.

"Trust me, you were the first person I asked to come tonight."

"How so?"

"Well," a little bit more comfortably, she faced her completely, "you've literally nursed Abel back to health. You've been there every step of the way. You've been the best surgeon. And, as much as I hate to say it, you helped Wendy so much, Tara. I'm really thankful for all that you've done for this family."

"It's my job." She tried to brush the comments off, but her heart definitely fluttered at the praise.

Isla never changed. She was still the sweetest soul, she thought.

"I know, but you've had it rough with this lot--with Gemma, I mean."

"She isn't anything I can't handle." Confidently, she asserted.

"I know, and I'm glad that you're able to stand your ground." Reluctant, a hand landed against Tara's palm.

She jolted a little bit, but softened into the embrace.

It was comfy, warm. Prosperous, perhaps, because it meant something. Tara not jerking away and leaving once Isla offered a friendly embrace, was promising.

They spoke about the baby for a little while, and shared a few laughs at Tig's expense. It was strange, really. To be talking to her ex-best friend was strange, but she'd missed it.

Donna joined the mix, too, and it was starting to feel like old times. Isla recognized that they'd never slip back into that routine, the dedication to one another that they'd known when they were kids--but it was nice.

The conversation stuttered and it wasn't able to flow as freely as what she might've liked, but it was a start.

To know that she had something resembling an acquaintanceship with two women she admired, was nice.

And Jax introducing his baby to his brand new home, to his extended family that were already so fucking dedicated to him, was just the most wonderful thing ever.

"What about a beer?" Clay joked, holding the bottle close to Abel. Jax laughed, though he shook his hand away. "What? Grandpa can't give him his first beer?"

"No, he can't."

"I'll take it, though. If you're offerin'." Chibs grabbed the Budweiser and twisted the cap with the leather grip of his glove.

He gestured to Isla, tipping it toward her. "Want some?"

"No, you're alright." She went back to her wine, smiling at that little bundle of happiness in Jax's arms, wondering how the hell he'd gotten to be in this position now.

But it was because of Tara. Her commitment, her talent, and sheer want to help that angel through the roughest patch that a baby could have possibly been thrust into.

How Gemma could still loathe that girl--after everything she did--was beyond her completely.

Tara was the unlikeliest hero in Abel's story.

"Why is it that every time I see you, your highlights get more chunky?" Gemma smiled at the comment, turning to see her favorite girl, flaunting the most beautiful smile.

She handed Isla the bottle of whatever wine Chibs could get this evening, unable to quit beaming at the thought of her grandson finally being at home. Where he belonged.

"I told you I'd do them for you, Gem."

"I know," she nodded, playing with a few strands of hair, "I was gonna ask you, but you've been a little distant this week--didn't wanna add to your workload, baby."

"That's super considerate of you. Are you alright?" Isla teased, holding a hand to Gemma's forehead.

She slapped it away with a laugh. "Fuck you. I'm always considerate."

"Sure you are. That's why Wendy is here, right?"

"No," her head shook, "she's here 'cuz this is her house. If I had it my way, she'd be out on her ass faster than what you could even say 'crank whore.'"

Isla wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, tipping her head toward the blonde in the living room.

"I thought you made sure she was gonna be here tonight?" Confused, she quizzed.

She was under the impression that Wendy was starting to grow on her. After she'd tried to kill her, of course.

"I did," Gem confirmed. "But only because I knew it'd be awkward between her and Tara."

Amazed, or maybe fucking horrified, Isla simply glared at her.

It should've been obvious to her--plain as day--that Gemma Teller doing a good thing was simply a bullshit facade, built in order to take away from the fact she wanted to do an inherently bad thing.

But Isla liked to see the good in people, so it wasn't. And that really was one of her mot fatal flaws.

"She thanked me for letting her stay, too."

"And what'd you say to her?" Almost as if she didn't want to know the answer, she asked.

Black nails danced along the rim of her wine glass as she leaned against the counter, watching everybody enjoy themselves as they bitched and moaned.

"That she's lucky to be alive."

"Jesus, Gem," her head shook disparagingly, disappointed perhaps.

But being surprised that the woman made a threatening comment toward Wendy, was just as stupid as being surprised at Tig for fucking another hooker during his free time.

"You've gotta keep her close, ma. She's the mother of your grandson, the woman your son did love at one point."

Ma. The word rolled off her tongue unintentionally most of the time, but she didn't hate it.

Gemma was the mother figure in her life--hell, she was the mother figure in a few of the Sons' lives--and it didn't feel weird using that around her. It was affectionate. She adored it.

"Jax never loved her," matter of fact, she retorted. "They got drunk together. They smoked dope together. They didn't love one another--"

"They got married." Isla reminded her. "They have a kid together. They have a lot of history."

"Just because they have history, doesn't mean they love one another. You've got history with him."

Her chuckle was throaty, almost a full-on splutter. "We have not got that same history--we're friends, Gem, you know that's different."

She supposed the blonde was right.

There was hell of a contrast between friends for life and friends with benefits--and Gemma knew that. She just didn't like that Jax gravitated toward Wendy when he'd always had Isla right there in front of him.

Though, she was more than aware that the pair didn't look at each other that way--she still lauded the thought of the two together.

"I still hate her."

"I know," Isla laughed at Gemma's irritability, sipping on her wine, enjoying the sight of everybody having a damn good time.

"She's checking into rehab, too."

"Really? Where?"

"Some place in Oakland, I think." Gemma added, smiling at Clay when he wandered over to the pair. "But you didn't hear that from me."

"You think she's gonna stick to it?"

"Couldn't tell 'ya." He answered for his wife, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Isla's cheek. "She's determined though, I'll give her that."

"Yeah?" His nod was optimistic--strange for Clay Morrow. "Well, I'm glad she's working on herself, anyway. She's got potential."

"You hate her."

"I know." She didn't refute the assertion. "But I'm still happy for her."

At least somebody is.

She wasn't lying. Wendy was a good girl, a woman tortured for no good reason. And she felt for her, she really did.

It'd been a shock, finding out that she was pregnant. But it wasn't like they weren't expecting it--what with the rate she and Jax were going at it.

From the start, Isla and Gemma were worried. She was notorious for her crank habit and the girls thought she was going to kill herself before she had the chance to see her son into the world.

And that almost happened, didn't it?

The doctors at St. Thomas were fucking miracle workers--Isla was on pins and needles waiting for a call to say that Wendy and Abel were okay.

But she tried not to dwell on that, now. They were both as healthy and Abel was as happy as he could've been, so Isla was content. She wasn't pleased, but she was comfortable with the way that things were going.

Tara, however.

"No!" She yelled, backing out of the nursery. "No, fuck you, Jax."

Juice stumbled backward when she nudged him out of the way, pulling her purse from the kitchen counter.

Isla and Gemma couldn't not stare.

"Tara, c'mon!" Jax called after her, but it was too late.

The front door had been slammed shut and the party came to a complete standstill. A thickening tension was shrouding the group, and things were only just starting to simmer.

"What was that all about?" The blonde asked Juice, leaning against the island.

She didn't want to prove Tig to be right but, after a few glasses of wine, Juan Carlos Ortiz was starting to pique her interests.

He swallowed thickly, watching Clay leave the room. "He said something about Wendy--wanting to keep whatever it is that he and Tara have going on the down low so it doesn't set her off, or something."

Makes sense.

"He has a point. She's doing really well lately." He continued. "Jax would hate to stunt her progress by shoving his relationship with Tara in her face."

Isla was rattled.

Jax hadn't talked to her in days, and she wasn't aware that so much had changed. She wasn't aware that he had established a relationship with Tara Knowles.

Again.

You know what they're like--like two fucking magnets or something. They always find a way back to one another.

She was too irritated to reside in that same room as Gemma, now. Knowing the conversation she'd initiate the second that Juice left was too fucking much. So she left first, instead.

The living room was almost empty. Just Clay, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs sat around the couches as Donna, the kids, and Ope were preparing to set off.

Everything was annoying her, now. She hadn't made the effort with Donna all night, but she was pissed that she hadn't started to say goodbye to her yet.

Isla was so fucking irritated that she didn't even want to talk to Tig, or her father. So she didn't.

"Where're you going, petal?" Chibs asked, hindering her plan to keep her mouth shut for the rest of the night. He knew that she'd crack a smile at the nickname.

"I was just wandering. Not really sure what to do with myself."

"Come sit down," he gestured to the space between himself and Tig, and wound an arm around her when she met the leather. "I've missed 'ya."

"Tonight? Or just in general."

"In general. It's been a few days, love."

"I know, I'm sorry." Her head rested against his Sgt. At Arms patch, and she sighed. "Work has been so fucking busy and I feel like I haven't gotten a moment to myself this week."

Isla only worked a part-time gig at some shitty salon just on the outskirts of Charming--edging into Stockton--but she hated her job.

She hated driving into the city every morning and evening, wasting a fuck ton of her paycheck on gas when, really, there was no point.

She hated her cunt boss.

Hated her cunt clients.

She hated that nobody really spoke to her because of who her father was. And when they did speak to her, it was almost like they were scared. Of Isla.

Gemma had always promised her that there was a space at the auto shop for her had she needed it, but she couldn't think of anything worse than having to answer to Gemma and Clay every single day.

Well, more than what she already was, anyway.

"Who'd 'a thought that being a hairdresser was so demanding?"

"Me, apparently." She joked, watching Tig get up and leave the room.

It'd turned somber. A little too bleak for her liking, but she guessed that everyone felt a bit awkward after Tara stamped out and Jax sat on his porch. Alone. With a bottle of whiskey.

She hated the hold that woman had over him sometimes. The way he was so fucking devoted to Tara Knowles that she could literally slap him, scream in his face, and ruin his son's homecoming party--and he would still pine for her.

She'd never understand that.

And she didn't understand how such a lively bunch of individuals had mellowed out over the course of two hours, either.

The party had disappeared. Dissipated into nothing and the atmosphere she once lauded was completely dead in the water.

It was fucking grim, and she couldn't wait to head home.

"Can I come with you tonight?"

"Why'd you even ask? Y'know you're welcome to come home with your old man whenever you want." Chibs told her a little bit stern, though it was essentially full of love.

She just smiled up at him, a bit buzzed. But she was having a good-ish time and who was he to chastise her for drinking a little too much tonight?

"Wanna head off now?"

"Yeah--lemme just say 'bye' to Gemma."

"Alright, I'll be out front. Don't forget your purse." He reminded, knowing she was too ditsy for her own good.

Chibs helped her to her feet, letting go of her hand only to part ways for a few moments.

Her mood was perking up, now. The prospect of being able to spend a few hours with her dad after a long fucking day, was just the best.

And she'd really missed him. Missed the time they once had an abundance of. Missed the evenings that they'd spend talking, drinking, watching movies, doing the generic father daughter activities.

They hadn't had that for a while, and it was truly a blessing that it was within reach tonight.

Well. It was within reach for all of five minutes.

"Oh my God--" Gemma's cell slipped from between black nails and bounced across the table. Saturated hues were locked on Isla, and her head shook.

"What?"

"There's--there's been an accident." She managed to muster out. "Or, maybe a drive-by, I don't know, but Donna--"

"Donna?" Piney's attention was snatched at the mention of his daughter-in-law. He stood up. "What about her?"

Isla knew the answer. She knew what Gemma was going to say because it was just the usual now, wasn't it?

Being affiliated with SAMCRO just did that to somebody. Man, woman, child. They didn't fucking care.

"She's--Piney, she's dead."

#tig trager #tig trager fanfiction #tig trager fic #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy fandom #sons of anarchy #jax teller x oc #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller

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royivia · 3 years ago

Text

The Neighborhood

Sibyl Campbell wasn’t even mad when she woke up on a hot ass May morning in her room, drenched in sweat. Instead, she bypassed anger and went straight to resignation because the HVAC system in the Robert Moses Houses was broken — again — and she didn’t have the time or the energy to bitch about it. In fact, the heating and cooling stayed shutting off across Groundview Gardens. It had become a predictable kind of disappointment in the neighborhood, more so than flooding during superstorms or the fact that no matter which part of the neighborhood you were in, you could feel the rumbling of the shuttle every seven minutes.

Sibyl had spent all night coughing and turning in her bed from the claustrophobic heat that agitated her asthma. Her mother had already gone to work, otherwise, she would have heard Mildred Campbell yelling in indignant patwa over the phone at an Arcadian Realty & Management representative “to fix the damn AC” before she threatened to call 311 on their ass, and report them to the city. Both Mildred and the AR&M rep knew it was an empty threat, but to shut her up, they’d call someone who’d tinker with the system and the air would come back on for a couple of days or so, before it chipped out. And then, the routine would start again.

Sibyl checked the weather. It was already ninety-five degrees. She took a puff from her inhaler and scrolled through her timeline. The same picture of a little girl with a big bright smile captioned with different variations of “RIP Destiny’’ and prayers for her family flooded her feed. Sibyl forced herself out of bed. The sweat on her body made her feel uncomfortable. She hauled a clunky, old portable air conditioner out from her closet and plugged it into the wall. Management would fine them for the spike in their energy use, but she didn’t care. She pushed the power button on, and waited for the box to cough out some hot air before it eventually cooled the room down from a humid haze to a lackluster lukewarm.

SOIL had been trying to meet with AR&M, the neighborhood’s collective management company, about the HVAC problem with little to no success for close to three years. They had circulated petitions. Tried shaming them in the local news. They even considered organizing a rent strike, which would have done nothing because everybody who lived in Groundview Gardens received subsidies from the city that made rent practically free. And as much as people were pissed about freezing their asses off in the winter or not being able to breathe during the summer, nobody was tryna fight free rent. So, SOIL decided to annoy the shit out of their landlords instead. On their way into their coolly ventilated corporate office buildings, occupying their lobbies, picketing in front of their luxury condos, and most effectively, managing to damage one, or two, of their solar-powered generators in the hottest month New York City had ever seen. A few arrests and some pissed off rich people later, management finally agreed to hold a town hall to hear from their tenants, which meant SOIL’s next plan of action was to convince as many people as possible to show up. Nefi Ramos saw it as a challenge that they could surely accomplish. Her neighbors were like camels to water in a desert. They were thirsty, and had learned to go without for as long as they needed to, but lead them to a watering hole, and they would drink.

“It’s too fucking hot,” she shouted into her megaphone. She was standing in front of one of the many large screens around Groundview that cycled between ads for things they couldn’t afford and AR&M’s infamous “neighborhoods of tomorrow” promotional video. Most people just used the screens to check train arrival times and the air quality. The next shuttle was two minutes away, and the air was currently “unsafe for vulnerable groups.”

“Are we just supposed to take this shit?” Nefi asked. “We don’t deserve to live like this.”

Around her, the rest of SOIL handed out cold bottles of water, popsicles, and fruit cups from coolers filled with melting ice, along with flyers to people walking towards the train platform. They walked past the demonstration uninterestedly, only stopping long enough to take a bottle of water. Everyone had gotten used to Nefi shouting at them to care about things beyond their control, and learned to tune her and the rest of her angry SOILders out, taking their flyers every now and then only to chuck them into the nearest trash can. This morning, a few people did stop to listen for a second or two, the heat getting the better of them, before they saw the time flicker on the screen behind her, and realized that they’d be late for work.

Sibyl, her camera always strapped to her body, snapped a few shots of her neighbor. Nefi was like a loud older cousin who wasn’t afraid of a little trouble, or frankly anything. She both awed and terrified Sibyl.

“It’s time for these slumlords to sweat,” Nefi went on. “We need to organize. Our voices are stronger together — ”

“What makes you think anyone gives a shit about what happens to us down here?”

Mr. Solomon had been on his way to the bodega to buy his morning loosie, but stopped to sit in his walker, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“That’s exactly what they want us to think, vecino.” Nefi softened her voice in that way she did when she was trying not to shout. “The more we believe that we can’t make them pay attention to us, the longer they get away with treating us like shit.”

“I remember when they first moved people into Groundview.” In the midst of reminiscing, Mr. Solomon started coughing aggressively, prompting someone to hand him a bottle of water which he drank quickly before continuing. “We were protesting and shouting in the streets, but they didn’t care then. They’re not gonna care now.” The history lesson quickly turned into yet another heated debate about neighborhood politics between him and some of the other SOILders trying to convince him to take one of their flyers. Sibyl used the opportunity to catch Nefi’s attention, who waved her over enthusiastically.

“Yo, did you hear?” Nefi handed her a fruit cup. “We finally got a meeting with the overlords! Are you gonna come?”

“Nahhh, Nefi. You know that’s not really my thing…I’m not an activist.” Nefi was always trying to recruit her for some radical ass shit that just never seemed worth the trouble of explaining to Sibyl’s very Jamaican mother.

“Nobody said you had to be. You live in this neighborhood, and have just as much say about what happens in it as the suits who own it.” Nefi sensed Sibyl’s hesitation. “Please Sib! Come so we have more people in the room. You don’t have to say anything. We just want those dicks to see that we have power. People power!”

Nefi was very proud of the fact that she had an uncle, or it might have been a second cousin, who had been a member of the Young Lords and, drawing on their legacy of fighting for the liberation of Puerto Ricans, was always going on about the oppressive nature of renting, and self-determination for poor people, and community empowerment, and, and…

“Aight — I’ll go,” Sibyl assured her, trying to cut her sermon short. Nefi hugged her and thanked her a million times before shoving a stack of flyers into her arms to pass out and post up around the neighborhood.

The singular garden in Groundview Gardens was usually ten degrees cooler than anywhere else in the neighborhood. It was created — not by the architects who had designed New York City’s newest development, but instead — by the community out of desperation as an escape from their cramped apartments. During the days, the older folks used it to grow their herbs, medicines, and flowers for their healing practices. The local farmers grew produce that fed the community. After school and on the weekends, all the kids hung out at the community center at the heart of the garden where they learned to dance, make art, and play music.

By the time Sybil got there later that night, Groundview’s collective of artists had already transformed the greenspace into their Saturday night hangout. One of the DJs was spinning records. People were dancing, drinking, smoking, having a good time. Dante, Sage, and Felix had bottles in their hands when Sibyl joined them at their usual spot. Their clothes were covered in colorful patches of spray paint.

“Did you finish it? When do I get to see it?,” she asked them excitedly. She hadn’t seen her friends in about a week, which meant they were either done with their latest mural or were taking a break before they disappeared for another few days. “Soon.” Dante looked tired, but excitement danced in his eyes. “Shoot anything good lately?” He leaned in reaching for her camera, but she quickly pulled back from him.

He laughed at her and took a sip of beer. Dante was her oldest friend out of the trio. There was a quiet protectiveness between the two of them Sibyl hoped they could always maintain.

“It’s been a minute since I last checked.”

“How come?” Dante asked.

Sibyl usually couldn’t wait to hold herself up in the darkroom at the community center to develop her film, but she had been putting off her latest batch. She’d fallen in love with photography while taking classes at the center as a kid. So much so that one day, her mother came home with an old film camera and Sibyl never put it down. That first summer, she ran around the neighborhood asking to take people’s photos. It felt so natural to her, though it had taken a while to gain people’s trust. Take their pictures for what? What was she going to do with them? Skeptics, but curious, they eventually agreed. They’d uncomfortably pose or force a smile, and then immediately ask her to see it because if they didn’t look good, she’d have to delete it. Then she’d explain how film photography worked, and they’d cuss her out for wasting their time.

Weeks later, she’d find them again — at the corner store, or at the People’s Garden, and give them the glossy prints she’d developed. Through her lens she could see they were secretly afraid she’d see the things they’d all spent so much time and concern trying to hide. But those things would all melt away when they’d see themselves — some for the first time — with the same worth and value she saw in them. After that Sibyl didn’t have to ask. They booked her for quinces and graduation parties and engagement photos. People would stop her when they saw her around. “So you not gonna take my picture? Girl, you know I look good today. Quit playing and snap something quick,” and they’d pose with more pride than before, as if to officially celebrate the triumph of living, something they didn’t know they had accomplished until they saw proof.

After seeing so many of her neighbors’ pictures, some of which she took, circulate in online memorials, something lodged itself in the pit of Sibyl’s gut. She couldn’t fully identify what it was, but it left her with little energy to feel or do anything else outside of going to school and work. But she didn’t know how to explain that to her friends without being weird or bringing down the mood, so she just said, “Been busy with school.” She quickly changed the subject before anyone tried to press her on it.

“Are ya gonna go to the town hall?”

“What town hall?” Sage asked.

“The one with management. About the HVACs.” Sibyl handed them flyers from her bag. “I promised Nefi I’d go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Someone come with me?”

“Pass,” Felix snorted.

“I’ll go. Should be fun,” Sage said with a smirk on their face. “I wanna hear what those assholes say their excuse is for not fixing shit.”

“I’ll save ya the trip. Sorry, you’re too poor for us to care,” Felix mocked. “It’s not like they’re all of a sudden gonna have a conscience ya know.”

“You mad negative bro,” Dante said.

“What?” Felix asked animatedly. “You really trying to spend the rest of your life down here? We all need to focus on getting the fuck up outta here instead of asking them to fix some janky ass vents.”

It’s not like anybody was trying to spend any part of their lives in Groundview, but lately it seemed like the rest of their lives wouldn’t take so long. The sound of the shuttle, more muffled than anywhere else, reverberated throughout the garden.

“I’m out the first chance I get,” Dante admitted. His answer wasn’t surprising to any of them, but this was the first time Sibyl heard him say it out loud. Dante was one of the more talented and disciplined artists in the collective. It would only be a matter of time before he blew up and left.

“What happens when ya leave though?” Sage was upset. “You get out, but what about the rest of us? Not everybody can up and leave right? Shouldn’t we try and make shit better for everyone.”

“That’s a trap, Sage. Shit’s not gonna get better,” Felix said harshly. “Does it ever hit ya, like really hit ya that there’s no future for us here? Everybody’s so busy working to get by, we don’t even have time to realize how fucked up everything is.”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect.” Sage shot back. “I just don’t think we have to turn our back on our community. That’s fucked up.”

“Don’t take it so personally, Sage,” Dante cut in. “Nobody’s turning their backs on anyone.”

“Besides, no offense to Nefi n ‘em,” Felix said, “but everybody’s wasting their time if they think those suits are gonna fix anything.”

Sibyl listened quietly. Groundview was all they ever knew. She had never considered leaving it, and yet she also was afraid to admit that she thought Felix might be right.

The middle school auditorium only had like fifteen people — half were members of SOIL — in there that Tuesday night, which was more than Nefi had expected. The handful of people who told her they wanted to go to the town hall, but couldn’t, were either working, or would get home too late from work and would have to cook dinner or iron school uniforms for the next day. Everyone else couldn’t be bothered; like Felix, they thought it was a waste of time. That nothing would come from it. Sibyl didn’t show. No one who attended the town hall actually thought anything would come from it either. If AR&M had wanted to do something, they would have done it a long ass time ago. The people who did show up were mostly Nefi’s elderly neighbors who were always ready to spit their anger into a mic because if they weren’t going to get a solution, they would at least get to cuss someone out, and have an audience to witness it.

Nefi worked her way around the room to thank people for coming. These things always felt like family reunions to her. Old friends hugging and catching up because they hadn’t seen each other in a minute, with work and family and life moving everybody in this or that direction, even though they all still lived in the same neighborhood. She finished up her greetings and joined the rest of SOIL, huddled at the front of the room. They went over the order of speakers, before Benjy, the group’s designated peacemaker for the evening, asked everyone to quiet down and get seated so they could start. He reminded everyone to keep it civil. Then one by one, people got up to the mic to direct their anger at the empty faces in tailored suits, sitting at the table in front of them, who could all care less about the people shouting at them. There was a lot of finger snapping, and “that’s right” and “tell-em’s” from the crowd throughout.

Finally about half an hour in, a young woman, with a little girl clutching on to the left side of her body, got up to the mic.

“My name is Mercy Brooks, and this is my daughter Angelique.” Her voice was shaking, in that soft, angry, pissed off kinda way that warranted attention. Nefi hushed the crowd down so that she could speak her peace without interruption. “My daughter’s asthma acts up almost every day. She can’t breathe. Ya should be fucking ashamed of yaselves. Our babies are dying down here. Is that what we deserve because we can’t do better? We just supposed to take that shit. You ever thought about what it’s like to live down here, huh? I’m sure ya don’t cause if you did, you wouldn’t think it was right to keep people living like this. Or do ya not care cause it’s not your kids?”

There was silence from the table, which was worse than feigning any sympathy or remorse. It set the room off into chants, which meant it was over from there. AR&M security shut that shit down quick right on cue, and if you weren’t arrested that night, you were brusquely escorted out. Management promised to set up some vague kind of task force with representatives from the neighborhood, but it led to nothing. A fucking disappointment, that’s what that shit was. And it wasn’t a surprise to Nefi or anyone else, but it hurt all the same. A few weeks later, that same woman who got up and spoke, her daughter Angelique died because they couldn’t get her to the hospital in time after she had an asthma attack. AR&M still hadn’t fixed the vents in their housing complex. And they still didn’t change the filters or fix the ducts in the other housing complexes so that it wouldn’t happen again after that. SOIL kept trying to drum up some kind of anger. Anything to get people to feel something. To do something.

Murals of Destiny, Angelique, and every other person who had died that year quietly popped up around the neighborhood. Vigils and altars with flowers and prayer candles accompanied them. But as much as people were upset or sad, no one knew what else to do except mourn and move on because it was clear to everyone that no one gave a damn about them. And so, what was the point?

They called it the Subterranean Housing and Inner-City Tunnels project, or S.H.I.T. for short. A plan to provide affordable housing for everyone who had experienced the worst housing crisis New York City had ever seen. People were evicted left and right. Families were priced out of their homes and neighborhoods. The shelter system, swelled beyond its limits for decades, finally collapsed. The streets and subway were overrun with people in sleeping bags and blankets. So nothing new, but it finally annoyed enough people to warrant action.

Naturally, the city contracted its most blood thirsty developers, AR&M, to help solve the problem, which was kinda like asking an arsonist to put out a fire they had proudly started. To no one’s surprise, they didn’t want to forfeit any of their luxury condos that sat empty while people slept on the streets. Instead, they struck a deal to create the largest scale of public housing of its kind, in exchange for absolute, unregulated freedom. The only problem was there was literally no land left for them to develop because they had already bought it all. And then one day, the chief architect of S.H.I.T. had an epiphany when he felt the uptown 6 train rumbling beneath his feet. There was an entire part of the city he had yet to consider. Where a majority of the people who needed housing were already living. Sprawling housing complexes with multi-unit apartments appeared overnight 150 feet underground, with the pilot site in the South Bronx. A new subway station and miles and miles of foot tunnels connected New York’s newest neighborhood to the world above it.

There were protests, anger, outrage! That the country’s most progressive city could so blatantly, and quickly!, shove all of its poor people out of sight only seemed to bother the poor people because everyone else praised S.H.I.T. as the most innovative solution of the 21st century. New York City had done the impossible, and housed every single person. That was grounds for celebration and federal funding. Plans were quickly announced to roll S.H.I.T. out across every major city in the country. To ease people’s concerns, the mayor at the time, eyeing a presidential run, promised that his own city’s underground neighborhood would just be temporary — transitional housing at best. Transitional to what, no one could answer. Temporary until when? Until they could think of something else. One year became five, became ten, etc., etc.

In time, AR&M and the city eventually added a couple schools, a hospital, a library, and a sad excuse for a park that residents eventually turned into the People’s Garden. Folks opened up bodegas, 99 cent and liquor stores, and made themselves at home. It didn’t take long to accept living where they did as another fact of life because they had no other choice. Over time, the plan to move everyone back aboveground disappeared from the city’s housing briefings. Then, the briefings disappeared altogether. The high rates of asthma and chronic bronchitis that seemed to come from living in Groundview occasionally made the nightly news, but not enough to cause major concern or stop neighborhoods like Groundview from popping up across the country.

There were still those who remembered life before Groundview, and vowed to move out of the neighborhood as soon as the opportunity arrived. They kept the dream close to their hearts. And if it didn’t happen during their lifetimes, they’d make sure it would happen during their children’s. More realized it was a fool’s dream and moved on. Eventually though, everyone adapted to the vibrations of the shuttle inside their kitchens. The white, fluorescent lighting that lit every corner of their world like a harsh, artificial sun. The damp, muggy air that arrested their chests if they tried to breathe too freely. And the humming of the massive ventilation systems that heated and cooled their cramped, windowless apartments — when they decided to work.

An Artist’s Treatise on Survival

I don’t know how we do it sometimes. That is, put up with all the shit that life throws at us. Work jobs that exhaust us with little in return. Take care of our families with little to no support. Do so much with so little. And still be able to smile or laugh in the midst of it all. Then, I remember: it’s because we have to. No one else is gonna pay our bills if we don’t. No one else is gonna put food on our tables for us. No one’s gonna bail us out. Naturally, you learn to hustle. To channel your frustrations into working around the way things are because trying to fix things that were built broken takes time you don’t have when you’re just trying to get by.

What gets me even more is how we’ve perfected survival itself as an artform, and created whole new types of living from abject desperation. We wasn’t supposed to, much less find reasons to enjoy life, but we did anyway. Some even take on the added challenge of trying to make life more bearable, more enjoyable, for the rest of us. For example, sometimes when it felt like there wasn’t much to appreciate. That you were resigned to the fate of being alive and not living and didn’t deserve any better. You’d see a mural. On the way to the laundromat. Or the corner store. While you were running errands. Or walking home, bone tired, from the train after another long, shitty day at work. And like all good, beautiful things, it reminded you to breathe. You didn’t always know who created it. Or couldn’t remember if it was there the day before even though you’ve walked that way millions of times. You just knew that it was, in its own way, encouraging you to make it to tomorrow. Bright bursts of color and story interrupting the mundane, tiresome every day you’d come to accept with no protest. After a while, it becomes easier to accept a simple truth about living. That we can still manage to find a reason to laugh, to enjoy life, despite it all, and that we can be the source of our own power. It’s kind of audacious of us to still try and find joy even if it means creating it for ourselves. Maybe that’s why we do it.

At first, it started off as harmless tagging, and they kept it up chasing the thrill of not getting caught. Then they tried to outdo each other. It became a sport: who could paint the better mural. Get the most buzz around the neighborhood before they got painted over. But the better they got, and the more the murals looked legit, the longer they stayed up. Until they stopped painting over them altogether because people loved them so much. They didn’t belong to the creators anymore. They belonged to the neighborhood. And before they knew it, they’d created something much bigger than any of them could have imagined.

The tunnels just seemed like the next natural step for the graffiti artists in Groundview. Miles and miles of blank walls? Dante, especially, saw something to keep him busy after his brother died. Besides, painting murals felt like the only thing he could do. He’d stopped going to school. He’d just paint. When he ran out of ideas to paint, he asked Sibyl to see her portraits, and he started replicating them across the neighborhood. He was relentless — portrait after portrait. Sage and Felix started helping him out because they worried he would lose it, spending all that time in the tunnels by himself. He was grasping for something, but he didn’t know what it was. Until he saw it, lying on the ground near a garbage can.

The Groundview Residents’ List of Demands

The People of Groundview Gardens demand financial and social restitution for all residents, especially those who developed chronic health issues from living underground and/or have lost loved ones because of it.

The People demand New York City move all Groundview residents back above ground into rent subsidized apartments.

The People demand New York City disband all underground housing policies so that no one else has to live in Groundview Gardens or any other housing project like it.

Until the first three demands are met, The People demand Arcadian Realty & Management fix the HVAC systems in every single housing complex it owns and regularly maintain them.

Once Groundview Gardens is fully evacuated, The People demand New York City turn the entire neighborhood into a public memorial to commemorate the loss of life, preserving the art and The People’s Garden.

After the town hall, and the supposed task force, proved to be a bust, SOIL had created the demands to deliver to the city. They circulated leaflets with the five bullet points, but no one would take them seriously. Dante himself, admittedly, had checked out, and had ignored SOIL’s literature, up until that point. The demands appeared overnight on the walls of the tunnels in bold white paint for everyone to see. They were the last thing everyone saw coming into Groundview and the first thing they saw from the shuttle on their commutes leaving the neighborhood.

Nefi kept waiting for the moment when her neighbors would suddenly realize that they were angry — very angry. They’d decide they were fed up once and for all and refuse to settle for less anymore. They’d riot in the streets. They’d protest in front of AR&M’s offices. They’d refuse to go into work until something changed. Their anger would get everyone’s attention. Her own rage had burned intensely inside her for as long as she knew herself. She learned to channel it through SOIL trying to make Groundview a better place, even though everyone told her it wasn’t worth it; it wasn’t possible; it was a waste of time. But it was either that or literally set some shit on fire. But, it didn’t matter how many rallies, tenant meetings, town halls, or demonstrations SOIL organized. Nefi learned that she couldn’t have a revolution without people. And the people? They were tired and overworked. They didn’t have time to overthrow anything. And, even though no one would admit it, they were also afraid — afraid of change, of what they could lose, of realizing that something greater than what they had come to know was possible. So to save themselves, and Nefi, further disappointment, they rebuffed her again, and again: Nefi you need to chill. Girl you’re doing too much. Don’t waste your time. Nothing’s gonna change. After the town hall, and years and years of holding hope, the fire inside Nefi dulled until she couldn’t recognize herself anymore. She conceded her rage for high-functioning hopelessness. She withdrew from her friends, from her neighbors, from SOIL, only tapping into enough energy to wake up, go to work, and make her way back home. The days bled into each other, so much so that when the night Nefi had been waiting for eventually came later that August, it caught her completely off guard. It caught everyone off guard because it wasn’t the HVACs or the deaths of toddlers, or even the wrath towards AR&M that finally set people off. But it shouldn’t have been a surprise to anyone who’s lived in New York City long enough because it was the one thing that could incite the level of large-scale anarchic rage Nefi had been holding out for — and that was the MTA.

The night in question, the air was hot, muggy, and heavy with potential. Like any other evening, people were heading home from work, the collective exhaustion weighing down on their bodies, stamped into their faces. They waited together, huddled in a sweaty mass on the sweltering Third Ave-138th St. platform for a train that felt like it would never come. When an empty shuttle finally did arrive in the station, the doors opened to the grating sound of a man’s voice coming through the train’s speaker system:

“Attention passengers. This is your conductor speaking. Due to unplanned construction up ahead, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview Gardens at this time. I repeat, we are disbanding all trains to Groundview. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

This shit had happened plenty of times before. A disruption of service that made it difficult to get home. Everybody was so used to it and had even come to expect it. The inconvenience of being poor and powerless consistently working against them. It too had become a predictable kind of disappointment. Even the audible, collective disapproval was muted and slightly rehearsed, nothing more than a reflex. They would have to find their way home, some two-odd miles on foot, through the tunnels. But that night, Ms. Claudette, who had been on her feet all day at work taking care of her elderly patient and still had to go home and iron her scrubs for the next day, was fucking tired. She had paid her fare. And, she had paid her taxes. She had also paid her dues in this country — twenty-seven years worth of struggle and debasement — for what? This could not be it. Life could not just be disappointment. The least she expected was that the train would get her home like it was supposed to. She decided that she was going to let the conductor have a piece of her mind.

“This is nonsense. Tell me, just tell me, how am I supposed to get home?” Her boisterous St. Lucian accent traveled well beyond her.

Folks who heard her echoed in agreement, hyping her up. “They have the nerve to raise prices for this shitty ass service,” someone said loudly. They all collectively decided to board the empty train. The construction workers in their hard hats and massive boots, the women with their large tote bags and their tiredness neatly folded away into themselves. They were all going to sit on the train, until it started up again. It was going to take them home.

The conductor was tired too. Nothing as deep-seated as his passengers, but something not too far removed. He had no skin in this game though, and his job didn’t pay him enough to care. He was annoyed; they were keeping him from clocking out. And so, after listening to a bunch of people passionately curse him out, he told them to, and I quote:

“Write a letter.”

It happened so fast. I mean, when I say shit popped off before anyone could swallow their spit. Someone knocked over the trash cans on the platform. Someone else, set them on fire, with what to this day no one really knows, but their latent anger seemed to have ignited what they didn’t know was inside them.

The riots lasted for weeks. People boycotted the MTA and didn’t go to work.

The restaurants aboveground shuttered because they were understaffed. Construction on all the new developments stopped because the workers, a lot of whom lived in Groundview, refused to show up. People aboveground had to stay home because their nannies and house cleaners weren’t able to come and relieve them like they had come to rely on. Groundview had forced the city to come to a complete stop. The mayor held a press conference saying she didn’t condone the behavior of the vandals at the train station. SOIL led protests and demonstrations in front of city hall until she had to hold a second press conference to apologize for her statements at the first press conference. She promised she was going to make sure that it would never happen again — not just the riots, but the unnecessary deaths in Groundview, the resentment the residents felt towards the city. They were going to fix the HVACs, and the MTA! They were going to heal the great divide the city had long thrived on once and for all, if, and only if, the workers called off the strike and went back to work. It sounded so sincere, everyone wanted to believe it. Tired of holding all the power, they asked SOIL to represent them at the bargaining table. Deals were made. Hands were shaken. And things went back to a semblance of normal with a few slight adjustments.

Sibyl was heading out of her apartment when she saw a piece of yellow paper on her front door.

60 DAYS NOTICE TO INCREASE RENT

Mildred Campbell 207 167th St. (GG), Unit 10E

Beginning September 1, 2041, the monthly rent will go up an additional 5% for all units located in the Robert Moses Houses. Please make the appropriate adjustments within the AR&M digital payment system.

We appreciate your continued tenancy.

Sincerely, Arcadian Realty & Management

Pieces of yellow paper were taped to every single door she passed on her way to the train. It had been a year since the last time the heating or cooling had stopped working. Everyone held their breath celebrating, just in case that was when the heat would shut off or the air would decide to stop working again, but it never did. The number of deaths and hospitalizations went down, and everyone seemed content enough after the strikes and boycott ended, to go back to work. The trains even went back to running as efficiently as possible for the MTA, always teetering on the edge of collapse, but never actually approaching it for fear of recreating another opportunity for mass rebellion.

On her way to the shuttle, Sibyl saw a group of people congregating near one of the murals. She clutched her camera in her hand, ready to raise it to her face, when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize shouting through a megaphone. It belonged to a man she had never seen around the neighborhood before, and he was walking backwards while talking to a group of people Sibyl also didn’t recognize.

“Groundview is the latest up and coming neighborhood in the city,” his voice echoed. “Some of the most promising young artists have gotten their start in this urban — ”

She didn’t stick around to hear more.

After the riots, small groups of tourists descended regularly on Groundview like vultures to see the murals they had seen in viral photographs. They’d rudely block the paths from the train platform, or take up way too much space on the footpaths of the tunnels posing in front of the murals for pictures. Not long after that came the opportunistic hacks who had never stepped foot in Groundview before, running “culture tours’’ around the neighborhood. The residents felt like they were stuck in some sick and twisted museum. Out of annoyance, they banned the tours and non-residents from the People’s Garden, preserving their one last sanctuary in the community.

Sibyl had been in the middle of it all the first night of the riots. She was on the subway platform on her way home from classes and started snapping pictures once she realized what was going on, catching the fervent energy better than anyone could describe to everyone else who wasn’t there. She had no idea her photos would end up everywhere. But they did, and they not only helped draw attention to the plight of her neighborhood. They also drew attention to the wealth of talent germinating underneath the city. Her photos of her friends, their murals, and the other members of her neighborhood, had also attracted a lot of attention that felt good to the young artists who all of a sudden saw opportunities previously unavailable to them right at their doorsteps.

The shuttle arrived on the platform before her. Sibyl boarded the cool air-conditioned cart; the beads of sweat on her skin quickly evaporated. Nefi had warned them to be careful early on. “These things always end up having you exploit your own people for a cheap come up, and it’s never worth it.” Everyone thought she was trippin’. There Nefi was again just looking for another cause to fight now that her crusade against A&RM had seemed to come to an end. Even Sibyl thought she was overreacting at first. People were finally paying attention to Groundview. If she and the rest of the artists could help show the world how important the lives of the people who lived there were, maybe things could change for the better.

The train disappeared into the tunnel towards the 138th St. station. A lot of things had quietly changed over the last year and a half. Many of the families who had lost loved ones, including Dante’s, received settlements from the city and moved out of the neighborhood, leaving a sizable number of the apartments empty. Leading to perhaps the most visible addition to the neighborhood. AR&M had a couple of the younger artists looking for their own big break paint over SOIL’s list of demands and replaced it with a more “aesthetically inviting” message for the new visitors to the neighborhood: Welcome to the Mural District. Sibyl had only heard the tour guides call it that, in an unveiled attempt to rebrand Groundview. It didn’t take too long to find out where they got it from. The name and the welcome sign led to intense debates between the artists in the collective, including her friends, about people selling out and what they owed to each other as artists and their neighbors, which led to a few people splitting off and doing their own thing. The mural made Sibyl sick to her stomach, and she tried her best to avoid seeing it on her commutes. Then one day, someone started covering it up with black graffiti making the message unreadable.

No one knew who it was because they never got caught, but it didn’t matter to AR&M. Like clockwork the next morning, they had cleaners paint a fresh welcome message over it in time for the daily tours at noon. When the welcome message started appearing on the AR&M screens, the screens started getting covered in graffiti too. After a few months, Sibyl expected the guerilla painters to give up and move on, but they didn’t. Fresh graffiti kept appearing over the mural and on the screens, prompting AR&M to deploy their clean up crews, and then the routine would start again. Sibyl looked out the window in anticipation. “OURS.” The word, written over and over again across the mural, quickly came into view and then vanished out of sight.

#short story #original fiction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #fiction

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1994sunflower · 4 years ago

Text

heaven to you. (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

word count: 8.1k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, established relationship, a lot of cursing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink (really mild), choking, dirty talk, pain kink (slight), size kink, thigh riding, face slapping (consensual), hair pulling, spitting kink, throat fucking, impregnation kink, praise, degredation/name calling, innocence kink, virgin kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of drugs/drinking, maybe more but nothing too big just pretty filthy ngl

summary: your high school classmates come over to michael’s house in hopes of being friends with the famous bad boy on campus. this includes your one-sided high school crush that may not have been so one-sided after all. unfortunately for him, michael is not someone to piss off. fortunately for you, michael’s anger and jealousy isn’t always so bad, at least for you.

part two

“Tell me again why we’re going to this guy’s house?” Justin asked his two childhood friends. At least, they were up until high school. Now, as they went to different colleges, they felt more like strangers. But that was part of the reason he took the multi-state trip down to their university: to mend that rift.

“We’ve been telling you man, Michael is the man on campus to be friends with.” Chris punched one of his hands into his other palm for emphasis.

Charlie nodded beside Chris, both standing in front of their front door, ready to go. “He gets into the best parties, gets the hottest chicks and is the most feared guy on campus.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Justin raised his eyebrows.

Chris opened the door, shaking his head. “Yeah, dude. No one messes with him because he’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“He’s done it a few times already.” Charlie added.

“There’s rumors he used to be involved in a gang or something and that’s why he’s like that. Either way though, he gets whatever he wants.”

Justin’s lips curled up a bit in disgust. He came from a wealthy background, wealthy family and wealthy school. Though he never let that get to his head and he never looked down on someone because of it, this stark contrast to his normality was difficult to shrug off.

But he did as he followed both Charlie and Chris out.

Charlie was still raving about ‘Michael’ as they walked out of the cramped dorm room to the unfamiliar winding paths of their university. “I mean, imagine being friends with him. You’ll get all the benefits he gets.”

“I’m sorry, if you aren’t friends with him, how are we going to his house?” Justin trailed behind the two slightly.

Chris looked back, “Turns out his best friend is in my accounting class and he invited us over to play video games. How lucky is that?”

“Yeah, lucky.” Justin looked away. He wasn’t going to admit that as they crossed the street across the student union, the whole concept of meeting someone with a reputation as rough as this Michael character was daunting and just a bit scary. In fact, it didn’t take a genius to look at the three boys all wearing vineyard vines khakis and polos, and know they didn’t mesh well with what he supposed Michael was like.

They didn’t even mesh well with the college neighborhood they were entering. The small houses looked worn and crumbled down and the streets were even worse. The only thing that calmed his nerves was the knowledge that the scariest people on the block were tired college students.

“Have you even talked to him before?” Justin kept asking questions to calm himself down and stop himself from looking around at the neighborhood in disdain.

Charlie shrugged, “I talked to him at a party once, he didn’t say much though.”

Chris smirked, “I walked with him to class once.” He paused. “Well, I was walking with his friend, Ashton? And he joined. But it still felt cool. Everyone was staring and making way for us - well him”

They filled in all the holes in knowledge of Michael. How he never lost a fight (even though he was involved with them often - evidenced by his perpetual bloody knuckles), how he rarely went to class (and when he did, how he sat alone, always), how his fashion consisted of black, chains and more black and finally, how he would go home with a different girl every party (but how that didn’t happen anymore as he had a girlfriend, though her identity to them remained a mystery).

Justin nodded as he listened. But as more and more was added to the infamous Michael, he felt less and less inclined to meet him.

Time, however, to turn back had run out. Because as his friends turned into a rubble pathway leading up to an equally rubble house, he knew he was about to be face to face with the myth, the legend, Michael himself.

The things he would do for his friends. If he didn’t hold such a sentimental place in his heart for the boys he had grown up with, he definitely wouldn’t be there, standing in front of a (turning green) door, waiting for an answer. They were different, it was obvious in high school that they had become different types of men; he valued education, science, and was a romantic at heart while they valued alcohol, parties and were willing to screw anything they found ‘hot’.

But that didn’t deter him from valuing their friendship.

It occurred to him that the only thing his friends had failed to fill him in on was Michael’s appearance. So, when the door opened and a boy slightly shorter than even Chris, the shortest of them (though Justin was 6’5 and Charlie was 6’0 so really, Chris being 5’11 wasn’t that short) and messy brown curls covering his head and forehead, he was shocked to say the least.

But that didn’t last long as Chris dapped him. “Ashton! What’s up man?”

Ashton smiled big and nodded in acknowledgement to the rest of them. “Nothing much bro, took you a while.” But he moved back into the small house, a signal of welcome for them to come in but close the door behind them.

So, as Chris and Charlie followed Ashton in, talking about who knows what, Justin made sure to shut and lock the door before trailing behind.

The house was bigger than he pictured in his mind. The living room and kitchen were divided by only a pillar and the counter. But it was spacious enough to fit a flat screen (granted, it was on the floor) and a black winding couch (granted, it had cracks all over it). The only light came from the kitchen and the tv, which was set to the beginning of the game.

Ashton already sat down on the couch, grabbing a game controller casually from behind him. He was wearing a black t-shirt that had it’s sleeves cut off to the point where you could see his whole side torso through the giant holes. His gray jeans were equally ripped and Justin was sure his shoes would be too, if he were wearing any but just gray socks adorned his feet. He had spiked bracelets on his left wrist. Maybe this was the reason his slightly tanned, innocent face looked strange. His big eyes and friendly smile was a stark juxtaposition to the rest of his body.

Chris looked around as his large figure slumped beside Ashton, “Where’s Michael?”

Ashton didn’t look at him when he answered, “In his room with his girl. He’ll be out soon, I think. That is if they don’t start going at it.”

Charlie laughed as he sat on the other side of Ashton, picking up a controller from the ground. Justin was left to sit awkwardly on the edge of the couch, closest to the kitchen. He felt out of place, just like he suspected and it didn’t help the darkness that surrounded the room, even through the lit kitchen and blue tv screen.

He didn’t get to think much on it, though, because not a few minutes after he sat down, did the bedroom door behind the couch open up. Light streamed into the dimly lit room.

Justin stood. It was a force of habit, really. He was used to standing up whenever someone knew came into the room to introduce himself. But when no one else stood, with Ashton not even bothering to look behind him, he felt awkward. It was too late to sit back down, though.

Charlie and Chris looked back, though, with big grins. “Hey, Michael! What’s up, man?” They said as if they were close friends.

And thus, Justin came face to face with Michael himself. And this time, he looked exactly like what he expected.

Michael was towering, though his height was nearly equal to Justin’s. His shoulders so broad that they nearly filled up the entire doorway of his bedroom. His t-shirt was plain black and so were his jeans, which had three chains adorning them. Two sleeves of tattoos ran down both of his arms to his hands and fingers , one of his hands reading F U C K in big bold letters, with a few peeking out on his neck as well. His black messy hair matched him well and fell onto his forehead.

But through that intimidating appearance, none of those things were what caught Justin’s attention. No, it was Michael’s eyes that did it. Though they were light in color, somehow they still seemed dark. The coldness in them was frightening. There was no hint of warmth, of friendliness, in them. In fact, as Michael held direct eye contact, saying nothing at the still standing Justin, the aggression his eyes held was enough to make Justin take a step back.

It was that step that seemingly broke the trance Michael had put him in. Because just like that, Michael looked away and moved forward into the living room. He nodded in acknowledgement at Chris and Charlie, still silent, before shouldering past Justin to go to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottled beer, opening it with his bare hand on his way back.

Justin was going to sit back himself as he saw Michael head to the couch but was stopped by a second, much smaller figure exiting Michael’s room.

The girl was petite, especially compared to Michael, standing at a proud 5’1. Her straight black hair was parted down the middle and hung perfectly over her shoulders. She wore a dainty white sunflower dress that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin which made her, along with her kind smile and bright brown eyes, look like the epitome of innocence. Quite the distinction from Michael who seemed to personify danger.

She was beautiful.

And she was his good friend.

“Y/N?”

Your legs were stationed at each side of Michael’s torso as you straddled him. Your hands were cupping his face and while one of his hands was on your ass while the other was gripping your long hair, pulling just enough for it to be pleasurable.

Your mouths melded into each others deeply and you couldn’t tell which one of you were more desperate for the other. You’d been making out for a while and your body was on fire. You felt like his touch was both burning you and exactly what needed at the same time.

It only took one slow grind of your hips against his that did it for him. He flipped you over so that you landed directly on one of his thighs, the chains of his jeans rattling in the process. His body was flush to yours, you could feel his hardness against you.

You looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, just how you knew he liked it. And you were awarded with a deep groan and a taunting smile before his lips returned to your body, this time to your neck. You moved your head to give him more access and as he got more into it, sucking and biting, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped. You knew he was going to leave a mark (probably many) because he liked to have something that claimed you as his.

One of his hands wandered to your lower body, traveling under your flimsy dress to flip it over. He gave your ass a swat to command you to move. He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your hips starts moving, slowly at first against his jean-clad thigh. But as the pleasure started to build up at the friction, you began moving faster, desperately, moaning loudly.

Michael watched you silently, a smirk on his face. The only touch was his hands on your hips, guiding your pace and your movements. Otherwise, he just watched you get off on him.

“Did you wear this dress for me?” You nodded desperately against him, wanting nothing more than push against his finger but knew better.

His hand pulled your hair harshly, hard enough that it hurt but that just made you moan louder. “I asked you a question.” He growled, he had begun to move his leg up and down, making everything that much pleasurable.

Fuck. “Y-Yes, all for you, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Was all he said before his lips claimed yours again. His kisses were fervent as he bit and sucked on your bottom lip. Your hips were still moving violently against his thigh and you could feel your climax start to build up. It was almost too hot for you to handle. But you could tell he was going to give you what you wanted soon.

Or he was. A loud banging came from his bedroom door across the room. “They’re here!” Ashton’s voice rang to you from behind the door.

You sighed deeply as you pulled away from Michael and away from your release. Michael groaned and fell, face first, into the mattress. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Maybe later.” You giggled, pushing him up to lay on his back. He looked up at you and a mischievous smile, the one you had grown to love, adorned his face.

“Or we can continue.” His hand was already reaching to your wrist to pull you up to straddle him again but you held back, shaking your head.

“Mikey, you have guests.” But still, you leaned over and pecked his lips quickly.

Michael groaned again, this time out of annoyance. “Fuck them. I don’t even know who they are, they’re Ashton’s friends.”

You smiled at his attitude. Your hand was tracing his neck, following the ink lines. It was a vulnerable position he was in, and something he only ever allowed you to do. When he was with you, it was so easy to forget how different he was with other people. How mean he could be. It was almost comical to see the difference in how he was right then to what he was just a few minutes ago.

“Be nice.” You chastised. “They’re here for you too, don’t bother trying to kid yourself.”

You heard Michael whine, “Come on, baby girl.” He took a hold of your wrist again. As he pushed himself up to a sitting position, he easily towered over you and he used that to his advantage. Pushing you against the wall next to his bed, he cupped one of your cheeks. His hand took up much of that side of your face, “Let me get you off.” His voice was deep with want.

You’d be a liar if you said that you weren’t wet. The way he was looking at you, the way you felt so small in front of him, you wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with you. But as you heard the front door close, you couldn’t. Not only would it be embarrassing because you were never quiet, Michael made sure of that, but it would be impolite.

Michael would never admit it but you both knew the guests were here for him. He was somewhat of a legend throughout the campus, especially among frat boys and wannabes. No matter your disdain for people like that, they came all this way for him.

So you pushed against his chest just slightly, knowing that would be enough for Michael to let you go. And when he sighed and moved away, you got up from his bed and moved to where there was a mirror hanging next to his closet. Your hair was a mess and so was your makeup. You looked fucked out and you were in awe for a moment at how Michael managed to make you this way with just a make out session and a dry hump.

Fixing yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at the pouting boy, still cross armed on his bed. Turning to him, you motioned for him to get up. “Come on Mikey.”

He stood and immediately, you had to crane your neck to look up at his big height. Even his shoulders engulfed your entire figure. Michael knew what he did to you so it wasn’t much a surprise when you felt one of his hands wrap themselves around your neck, the one with his bruised knuckles, but not hard. “After this, you’re mine.”

You think your smile was enough to tell him how excited you were at that prospect.

Michael gave you a weak smile. He didn’t tend to smile much, even when it was just the two of you. In fact, except the fact that he was a lot chattier and warmer with you, he was still always in his head and rarely expressed much emotion outside of bed besides anger, horniness and the rare affection. But you were okay with that. Your emotions were enough for the two of us.

He gave you peck on the lips, “I’ll see you out there.”

You nodded up at him, smiling before going back to fixing your makeup and adjusting your dress. Ashton had a couple of friends over ever now and then. Most, if not all, coming to see Michael. Though, you tried to not be there whenever they came over, Michael seemed to prefer it for you to be with him. To give him something to actually look forward to. He hated meeting new people and he hated their interest in him. He was popular without wanting to be. So you were often there to remedy that and you became the center of his world in those moments. Though, really, that was how you were most of the time you were with him.

Only a few minutes passed after he left the room that you followed him out.

But as soon as you left the room, you stopped when you saw someone standing in the living room, looking at you. In that same instance, you recognized him. Justin. A good friend from high school and an even better human being.

As your name left his mouth you grinned, coming closer to hug him. It had been so long, years, actually. The last you saw him was at your graduation when you swore you’d miss him. And you had. After all, he was the boy that plagued your heart all throughout high school - not that he’d known.

“Justin!” The hug was quick and you had to get on your tip toes to do it. You could tell he was just as surprised to see you. He was smiling wide and his eyebrows were shot high like they did whenever he was interested in something.

But just as soon as you pulled away, the weirdness of the situation seeped in, “What are you doing here?”

Justin blinked as if he, too, just became aware of the weird circumstance you were meeting in. “I, uh” He scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to answer and gestured to the couch. “I came with Chris and Charlie.”

Your brows furrowed further as you glanced at the couch where, sure enough, your high school classmates sat, looking back at you. They waved, slightly confused. You tried to ignore the fact that even Ashton had torn his eyes away from the tv to stare at you two. Which, considering how hard it was to take Ashton away from his video games, was saying something.

All you could think was that you wanted to crawl into a hole. The boys that you always said peaked in high school and made you so upset when they transferred to your university were now at your boyfriend’s house, trying to be his friends. It was truly a worst case scenario.

Excluding Justin. It’d been so long since you saw him, it felt nice to be in his presence again. You appreciated him as a person and the kindness he radiated - even to you, someone so much lower in economic status than him.

“But I thought you went to Washington?” You fiddled with one of your bracelets as you spoke.

Justin nodded, stiffly. “I do, we’re just on Spring Break a few weeks before you so I thought I’d visit.”

You smiled, “You should’ve gotten in touch!”

You think the situation had gotten a hold of him because while he otherwise would be rambling on with questions and stories, Justin had gotten quiet. “But why are you here?”

You blinked. Now you felt uncomfortable. It was as if you finally noticed everyone’s eyes on you, including Michael’s glaring ones. Yeah, this is definitely the last time you were going to be there when someone else was coming over.

Ashton turned back to the tv and scoffed, “Please, she practically lives here.”

Your nose crinkled when you smiled and made your way to Michael, who had taken a seat and motioned you into his lap. You shrugged, looking at your high school classmates. “This is my boyfriend’s house.”

Justin sat down slowly, his eyes just as wide as Chris and Charlie’s. Most people on campus knew you were Michael’s girlfriend. So the shocked reaction had been diminishing. You were almost starting to become used to not seeing it.

Almost.

You don’t really blame them. You are very different. Michael is aggressive, angry and cold while you tended to be bubbly, shy and school-oriented. But that’s what you liked about each other. You just fit so well together. Opposites attract, right?

Ashton spoke up again, knowing Michael would likely not talk the entire reunion if he could help it. “How do you know each other?”

You took one of Michael’s hands in yours, your hand looking almost minature in his large one, and traced the tattoos you loved so much, “We went to high school together.”

Ashton nodded, “Oh the private one?”

Charlie nodded, glancing at Michael before looking at you, “I didn’t know you were dating Michael Clifford.”

You smiled weakly, we’re not friends, that’s why you didn’t know is what you wanted to say.

Michael took a chug of the glass bottled beer in his hands. It was like a silent signal because after, the three boys began playing their game.

You made a grab for the beer but Michael moved it out of your reach, his free hand slapping the side of your thigh in warning.

Your eyes widened. “Michael!” You hissed under your breath. Not in front of everyone. But he just stared at you, unsmiling. The only hint of humor came from his twinkling eyes.

He didn’t like you trying anything he was into: drugs, cigarettes, weed, alcohol. It was all off limits to you and he made sure everyone knew it. It was his way to preserve your innocence, even if dating him made that seem sort of like a paradox. Sometimes, though, it was fun to mess with him even if you were never interested in actually experimenting with the things he did.

“So, Michael…” You were brought out of your own little world by Charlie. “Are you going to Epsilon’s party tonight?”

“No.” Came Michael’s curt reply, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your arm.

Ashton was the one who saved the moment (and Charlie’s feelings) by filling in Michael’s blanks. You think that’s why they were such good friends. “Michael hates parties. He’d rather be here with Y/N and do it like bunnies.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to die or if you wanted to kill Ashton. Maybe both.

Because as soon as those words left his mouth to your high school classmates - and high school crush - you felt your face heat up. You didn’t have to look to know that Michael was smirking.

You saw Justin blush and look away and for a moment, you felt worse. There was something about feeling completely humiliated in front of someone you hold at such a high regard that does that to you.

Ashton and Chris both exclaimed at something on the tv at the same time your phone chimed. You unlocked it to read the text.

kelly (stats)

hey girl! are you on campus? i’m at the library and wanted to see if you wanted to work on the project.

The project. It was due in a few weeks and while you had finished your portion, the rest of it was definitely not done. You sighed, knowing you’d have to go and lose the rest of your day with Michael.

You felt Michael shift under you, moving up from his slouched position to be able to read your text fully. He kissed your shoulder when he did.

“I’ll be right back.” You whispered to which he nodded. You got up from his lap and moved to the kitchen, moving to call Kelly and sort out the details.

“Hello?”

Justin’s eyes followed your movements as you left to the kitchen, though certainly not missing the way Michael’s hollow eyes watched his every move. Michael, sitting slouched, didn’t even stop staring when he took a chug of his beer, the red of his healing bloody knuckles on full display.

Justin definitely understood what made Michael so scary on campus. What he couldn’t understand is why Y/N was with him. Sweet, innocent Y/N. Had you changed so much in three years that this is who you would fall for?

He could feel Michael radiate hostility but Michael remained quiet, simply choosing to observe Justin, which somehow seemed more terrifying.

When you came back into the room, Justin actively tried not to watch you. He kept his eyes on the tv with his only glimpse of you being your bottom half as you walked by him, your dress falling to just below your mid thigh. He couldn’t help but listen to his friend’s chiming voice as you spoke in a lower tone.

“I’m going to go to the library to finish up a project.” He couldn’t hear what Michael answered, if he even answered. But he heard you continue. “No, I might just walk. It’s still light out. I’ll call you when I’m heading back.”

Then, as if the afternoon didn’t already feel surreal enough, he saw you out of the corner of his eye, bend down and plant a kiss to Michael’s lips, one of your hands were on his abdomen, holding you up. It almost felt jarring to witness. Not only to see Michael allowing such a thing but to see the girl that had taken up much of his mind, and heart, in high school willingly put herself in that position with a man like Michael. It had taken him a while this afternoon just to put the pieces together and understand that Y/N was Michael’s girlfriend but to see it laid out in front of him was disturbing nonetheless.

When you straightened up again, you regarded the boys in front of you with the kind smile Justin knew so well. “I’m heading out, nice to see you guys again.” Though you didn’t really sound like you meant it.

Justin didn’t think his next actions through. All he was thinking was that it was an out. An out to leave this house that made him so uncomfortable and an out to not be in the same room as Michael without you to mend the tension.

So he stood up without much thought, “I’ll head out with you.” And as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back immediately. They came out wrong. He knew it and so did everyone else in the room, evidenced by the pausing of the video game and the multiple set of eyes on him.

You blinked up at him, processing what he said for a moment before he quickly added, “I mean, I left my phone back at Chris’ room so I was going to leave anyway. I was just thinking I’d give you some company.” That didn’t sound any better either.

But he trudged through the awkwardness of his phrasing by refusing to look at Michael. Justin had a feeling that would make everything a million times worse.

But you didn’t fail him, “Oh, sure.” You smiled warmly, looking back at Michael quickly before moving towards Justin and the door, “We can catch up on the way.”

Chris and Charlie were looking at him with wide eyes as he left, likely cursing him out in their heads for messing up any chance they had at being Michael’s friends. But as he followed his friend back out to the open world, outside of the dark and cramped house, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

You looked up at the tall blond boy beside you as you walked down the sidewalk that would lead back to campus. You were still in awe that he was there beside you, walking and talking to you after so long. Well, not so much talking. You think he was still up in his head about the situation.

“So did you really leave something in Chris’ dorm room?” You smiled knowingly up at him.

To which he let out a chuckle and lowered his head sheepishly, “No, I…I just had to get out of there.”

You nodded like you understood, which you did. You talked a lot when we were in high school and you knew his limits, what he was used to. “Yeah, I know that house can be a lot for some people.”

“It’s just cramped.”

You didn’t say it but that kind of bothered you. It wasn’t a mansion and while it wasn’t exactly nice, it was cozy and it felt like home. Michael made it feel like home. But you knew Justin couldn’t see it that way. He was the richest boy in high school, after all. And popular because of it. Though, looking back, you couldn’t think of a time where he had let that get to his head.

“So, you and Michael, huh?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis and looked over at you. His blue eyes clouding with worry.

Now, it was your turn to chuckle. “Yeah. It’s okay, a lot of people have the same reaction.”

“It’s just different, I guess. Have you heard his reputation at all?”

You got on the bus that would lead straight to the middle of campus at that point and found two seats right next to each other.

You nodded, “I guess. But Michael…Michael’s different from what you think. He can be sweet. You just have to get to know him.” You tried to tame the big loving smile that was threatening to explode at the thought of Michael, the version of him that you knew. You were well aware of how vicious and even cruel he could be, gaining him the rumors that constantly swirled around him and now even you. But he wasn’t like that with you.

“I heard he’s in a gang.” Justin whispered.

Your eyes shot up at him in alarm, “Of course he’s not.” Unfounded rumors like that did bother you, they whittled down all of Michael’s past struggles to be theatrical entertainment for those looking in, not to mentioned demonized him even further for no reason. Though they never really bothered Michael, you had too much respect both for him and for yourself to be okay with them.

“I just don’t think I expected him to be your type.” He explained, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Well he wasn’t, not at first.” You calmed down and instead bit your inner cheek, trying to decide whether you should let him in on your little secret. “Actually, you were my type. I had a huge crush on you in high school…”

“What?-”

“…Don’t worry, I’m over it now.” you quickly added in when you I felt him freeze behind you in surprise. It was embarrassing but it didn’t make much sense keeping it from him anymore.

“I had no idea.” His voice dripped with honesty. He pulled at the collar of his polo shirt.

You shrugged, “I made sure of that. I don’t know, you were just so nice to me even though you were so out of my league. You were rich, popular but so respectful and socially aware. Plus you weren’t a republican.” You laughed before looking down, “And I was the shy scholarship kid.”

It was obvious Justin was trying to think of what to say so you helped him out, “But you know three years of college really changes you. I’m a lot more outspoken now and I found a great boyfriend.”

Justin nodded, still seemingly shocked, “That’s great.” His voice was soft and, as you made eye contact, there was something more in his eyes that you couldn’t read.

But you didn’t have to think of it much because you got to our destination and you both made your way off the bus, onto the campus you loved so much.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around?” You were already moving back slowly, desperate to get to the library quickly so you could head back to Michael faster.

Justin nodded, not moving to go to the dorms, “Yeah, I’ll be here for two weeks or so.”

You practically skipping when you reached Michael’s house again. The sun had set and part of you were upset at how long it had taken you in the library. But as you opened the door to Michael’s room and saw him laying on his bed, headphones on and wearing a black hoodie with only the tattoos on his hands peeking out, those feelings disappeared and were replaced with much more primal feelings.

Michael, slipping off his headphones gently, seemed to mirror your feelings because just a bending of his index finger in a ‘come here’ motion, was enough to have you closing the door behind you and nearly jumping onto him.

You were smiling but asked before anything else, “Ashton-?” You always felt bad he had to deal with you constantly at each other with only thin walls separating Michael’s room from his.

“He went to that frat party.” Michael muttered, uninterested. His eyes were instead trailing your body, figuring out which way was best to take off your dress.

You were on all fours as you crawled your way to him, stopping when you were in between his spread legs. “You should’ve gone.” Even if you didn’t love parties, they were still a big part of who he was, before dating you he would be at them drinking the night away every other day, and a part of you felt bad for taking them away from him, even if unintentionally.

But still, he couldn’t look like he care less when he reached over and pulled your dress up to uncover your ass, his hands trailing down the curve of you sensually before giving you a small spank that made you jump in surprise. “I have better things to do.”

Now that deserved a reward. Your hand rubbed over the noticeable bulge in his jeans. Michael’s hands undid his belt, the sight of that action almost making you want to moan right then and there. Your hands trailed up to undo the button and zipper. He eagerly pushed his hips up to help you take his jeans and boxers off.

His long and thick length stood out horizontally and you felt your mouth watering already at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

One of his hands took a hold of the gold necklace you were wearing, twisting it and pulling at it to force your face closer to his.“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

When you first started having sex, you were shy and inexperienced. Words and talk like that would have had you shaking nervously. And while you would still likely react that way in public, with enough time with Michael and in the privacy of his room, you didn’t even blink when you answered.

“Always.” Your hand wrapped around him before you took his dick into your mouth. Michael groaned immediately and threw his head back, eyes closed. This only proved to spur you on. You took him as deep as you could, stopping only when his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag and pull back.

But the vibrations only seemed to have him moaning louder and led to one of his hands to collect your hair and push himself back into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good, take it.”

You didn’t even notice when he had taken off his shirt and hoodie. His tattoos, which ranged from his fingers to his entire torso and neck were on full display and you felt yourself get wetter at the intricate ink that adorned his beautiful body. It was a contrast to your body that was completely bare of any tattoos.

Up until then, he was still controlled. When you looked up at him with the innocent eyes you knew drove him wild and moan against his length as you bobbed your head, his control snapped. There was something about you looking pure, especially in that angelic-looking white dress, at the same time you were doing something so dirty with him that sent him ablaze. Even more knowing that you were only like that for him.

Immediately, he tightened his grip on your hair with both hands, holding you in place. He thrust up into your mouth at a fast pace, fucking your mouth harshly. His groans increasing in volume. He thrust into your mouth deeply, your nose nearly touching his stomach, and kept himself there. Your throat closed tightly against him.

“Do you like that?” Your jaw hurt and you felt tears in your eyes as he pulled out enough for you to breath, his cock was messy with your spit. Then he continued, thrusting into your awaiting mouth and murmuring dirty nothings under his breath. You wanted to trail your hands down to your pussy to soothe the ache it had for him but you refrained. “Do you like me using your mouth like a dirty fucking slut?”

You moaned involuntarily. You needed him. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties. Michael gave a sharp tug at your hair and pulled you off of him. He tilted your head back painfully to lock his eyes with yours.

“Do you like being used like a toy?” His voice was cold and mean but it was a turn on. You nodded your head submissively and one of his hands reached down to your cheek, giving you a sharp slap. Enough for you to feel the sting and enough for it to feel good. “Open your mouth.”

You did what he said immediately. Your tongue poking out in anticipation. Michael leaned down before spitting into your mouth. You closed your eyes, moaning when you felt another slap at your cheek.

“Dirty whore.” Michael muttered under his breath before pinning you down to his bed, tearing your dress off as soon as hit the mattress and then doing the same to your bra and underwear.

Part of you wondered what had gotten into him. Being rough and kinky in bed isn’t something out of the ordinary for you two but he usually wasn’t like this out of no where. Not that you were complaining.

On all fours, you swayed your ass to him enticingly and looked behind you with a virginal smile, “Fuck me, daddy.” You said innocently.

He didn’t say anything as he flipped you over quickly and ran the head of his dick teasingly along your entrance, slapping it onto your pussy twice. A load moan of his name left your mouth when he finally entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting at a rough pace into you. Your moans were cut off and stuttered at the pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” One of Michael’s hands reached up to your throat and pressed tightly. The feeling of his inked hands around your throat amplified the pleasure. Your walls clenched around him. “No matter how many times I fuck you"

You saw his eyes be fixated on your breasts, the way they bounced up and down fully in pace with each of his thrusts. He leaned down and wrapped his warm mouth around one of tits, flicking and twirling his tongue around your nipple.

Your eyes closed involuntarily and your back arched in pleasure as he continued to slam his hips into yours. The only sounds in the room were the sound of skin slapping, your moans and his grunts.

“If only those boys could see you now, their innocent little classmate, so submissive and desperate for my cock, letting me fuck you like my bitch.” Michael’s voice was taunting and you could barely get your mind out of the haze of pleasure to question what he was talking about.

“But they’ll never see you like this. This is the only cock you’ll ever get, your first and your last. No one will ever be able to please you like I can. Do you think that blondie can make you feel this good?” You closed your eyes in pleasure, too far lost to even understand what he was saying, just shaking your head in answer. You were blushing like crazy at his words, which only served to make him thrust faster.

“Look at me.” He hissed and you did just when his thrusts’ vigor increased even more which left you whimpering and writhing underneath him. But still, you opened and kept your eyes on him, your mouth open as moans filtered out of you. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Though your mouth was open, you couldn’t formulate words. But Michael’s hands on your throat pressed harder and his other hand slapped your cheek as a warning, “Tell me.”

“Y-Yours. I’m yours, Mikey. Only yours.” His mouth was on yours in a heated kiss while his pace never faltered as he pistoned in and out of you.

“That’s right.” Michael praised, “Mine.” Then he said something he had never said before. “I’m going to knock you up, get you nice and pregnant. Everyone would know then, that you’re fucking mine.” He almost sounded delirious with the prospect.

He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it. Even if he did, you were on birth control. But you moaned loader just at the thought of his love for you reaching those lengths.

“You want that, little one? Want me to fill your tight little cunt with my cum?”

A chorus of “Yes, yes, yes” left your mouth, you couldn’t speak anymore than just repeating that. The thought of being pregnant with his child and the reminder of just how small you were compared to him was enough to put you on another planet.

“H-Harder.” You were shaking as he complied with your request, his thrusts moving faster and rougher into you. Your arms wrapped themselves around his torso and scratched at his back, desperate for a way to express the nearly overwhelming pleasure you felt. He hissed in pleasure at the pain, his body above you engulfed nearly your entire figure.

“Open” His rough voice commanded and you opened your mouth obediently. Moaning again as he spit into your awaiting tongue once again.

Your throat was starting to be raw with your screaming and begging to come. “Cum for me, princess.”

You clenched your walls as you came around his big cock and that seemed to be the only thing that took for him to release after you.

He released inside you, filling you and leaking out after he pulled out. “Such a good girl.”

He was still coming when he pulled out and ribbons of cum adorned your face, which you graciously accepted. Michael watched your face and groaned to himself when you licked some of his cum off that was at the corner of your mouth and swallowed.

His eyes were closed in pleasure for a moment before he released his grip on your throat. You didn’t doubt the image before of you, blushing and covered in his cum did wonders for his libido.

He cleaned you up but you had a feeling it was just an excuse to be able to give you a passionate kiss. “You did great, baby girl. I love you.”

His praise made your heart swell. “I love you, too.”

Before you knew it, your kiss had gotten much more frenzied and his hand was trailing to your sore entrance. But you stopped before it could lead to a round two.

“I’m sore.” You mumbled before nuzzling into chest. His arms wrapped around your body protectively and kissed the top of your head, gently, so different from how rough he was just a few moments before.

You looked up at him quizzically just to see that he was already looking at you. “So, are you going to tell me what that was about?”

Michael looked genuinely confused, “What do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes, moving up so you were at eye level with him. You ran your fingers through his soft black hair, noting how his eyes fluttered at the sensation. “You know what I mean. What wound you up so bad?”

“Nothing” But at your pointed look, he sighed in defeat and muttered, “Those little rich boys. The tall one, he’s into you and I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You sputtered, “Justin?! No way is he into me.” You shook your head, giggling as you leaned back to lay your head on his shoulder. “Actually, in high school, I was the one into him.”

You probably shouldn’t have said that. You knew it as soon as Michael’s eyes hardened and his body stiffened. “What?”

Shaking your head, you stuttered out, “But I got over that years ago, he’s just a friend.”

But Michael couldn’t let it go, “You liked him and he was in my fucking house? He left with you for fucks sakes Y/N.” He moved as if he was getting up and you placed a hand on his chest to stop him (only doing so because he let you, otherwise his strength would quickly overpower yours). If he were to go after Justin, there would be little you could do to stop him from beating him to a pulp.

You kissed him deeply to calm him down because you saw his eyes start to shut down. They started to look like the same eyes he had in public, the cold, angry ones. And you couldn’t let him go there, not with you.

“We were only with each other for a few minutes, we took the bus.” You reasoned with him.

Michael locked his jaw tightly but he was starting to calm down, “That bitch ass couldn’t even look at me but I was watching him. He kept looking at you like he knew you, like he knew you how I know you.”

He looked at you then, with a mocking smirk. “Like he knew how sweet and moral you are and that you shouldn’t be with your big bad boyfriend. Too bad he didn’t see you begging to have your mouth and pussy filled by your mean boyfriend’s cock. Or that he didn’t know I was the one that took your virginity,” He moaned at the memory, “What do you think he would say if he saw innocent little Y/N like that?”

You didn’t have to be looking at him to see the delight in his bright eyes and sneering smile. It was obvious he enjoyed corrupting you.

You whined at his words, embarrassed, as if you didn’t hear much worse things come out of his mouth when you were underneath him or even when he was in fights with others.

“Are you sure Ashton isn’t home?” You changed the topic.

“He’s out.” Michael repeated, “Why, did you want him to join?”

He was teasing you, you knew he was but you whined again, blushing (something you knew he loved) and shook your head no.

He chuckled, a warm and joking chuckle, “Good, because I’m not sharing you. Remember that.”

Michael settled you in between his legs comfortably, giving you his phone to busy yourself with games or take photos. He kissed the top of your head, that reached just to his chin. Meanwhile, he grabbed a cigarette and a lighter from his nightstand, placing the white stick in his mouth and lighting it. The scent overtook your senses uncomfortably. But you were used to it so you didn’t do much besides raising your hand jokingly, to ask for a puff.

But Michael, who never took those things as a joke, squeezed your thigh. “I don’t want you getting into the shit I’m into.” He said, “I want to keep you pure for me.”

Because as much as he loved corrupting you, he loved your innocence even more.

so i think i’m going to make this into a two part series with each part having two stories involved. if that makes sense, let me know what you think!

#5sos #michael clifford smut #5sos smut #michael clifford x reader #michael clifford #bad boy smut #jealous smut #bad boy michael #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #calum hood smut #ashton irwin smut #5sos imagines #michael imagine #college au

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morning-might-arrive · 4 years ago

Text

Here’s the continuation of my last post. Thank you so much to everyone who liked and reblogged! This is becoming a lot longer than I thought, so there will be another part soon. Feedback is appreciated!

A series of misunderstandings involving a limousine and Spectra’s blog lead Jackson to the realization that he has way more friends than he thought.

Wednesday

Jackson sighed as he silenced his blaring alarm clock. 7:00 am. As he walked to the bathroom to get ready, he was suddenly struck by a memory.

“It’s nothing personal, normie. You just look like such a freak.” Manny told him as he shoved him off of the lunch table. Jackson looked towards the other mansters, but they said nothing. So they all agreed. Even Clawd.

He cringed. He’d had to eat lunch in a bathroom stall that day. He looked at his reflection, desperately wishing he could change it. He sighed and got dressed. He had to leave early since he now had no car and his parents weren't home. He plugged his headphones into his phone. Holt had gotten them into this situation, only fitting that he deal with it.

Holt Hyde cursed under his breath as he walked to school. Although the weather was warming, mornings in March were still frigid. He sighed in relief as he approached Monster High.

“Heya there, sweetpea,” Operetta drawled in greeting as Holt waltzed through the front doors of the school.

“What’s good, Oppy?” Holt responded, his usual loud and energetic self even at the early hour.

“Just peachy keen like always, hun. Say, you seen the Ghostly Gossip lately?” She asked.

“Nah, we usually stay away from that garbage ever since that story about us and Frankie. Humiliated the poor ghoul and almost tanked our relationship. It really ain’t cool what they're doin’.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Oh. Okay. Well sugar, you know you can tell me anythang you wanna, right?” She continued.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks Oppy.” That was kinda weird for the rough and tumble ghoul to say, but honestly Holt was just glad their botched attempt at dating didn’t mess up their friendship. Oppy was a cool ghoul.

“What’s the word, cool cats?” Came a new voice.

“Johnny!”

“Johnny.”

Johnny spirit sauntered casually down the main corridor of Monster High, and students jumped out of his way as if he had the plague. He put his arm around Operetta’s shoulder. “Hey, babe.”

Holt snorted. “I’ll never get why everyone lets you float around like you own the place.”

Johnny shrugged. “Guess they don’t have a choice. Besides, I never see you doing anything about it,” he replied with a bit of challenge in his tone. Holt rolled his eyes.

“You know you don’t scare us, Spirit. Anyway, it seems like Oppy’s got you on a leash without our help.”

Johnny bristled at that “Y’know Hyde, I’m gettin’ real sick of-”

“Why don’t we scamper on down to the catacombs and finish that new song we been workin on, sugarpie?” Operetta cut in. She really didn’t want to deal with a fistfight this early.

The couple walked away and Holt made toward the auditorium. He found the symphony on stage setting up and dashed up to join them, plugging his guitar into its amp. Jennifire was nearby greasing the corks on her clarinet. He huffed and sat down next to her.

“Another run in with the phantom pianist?” She asked, not even looking up.

“That guy is such a jerk!”

She chuckled and shook her head. “You boys are so easily provoked; I may never understand it. My brothers were just the same. He has done not to insight your anger.”

Holt really hated to admit it, but she was right. Johnny really didn't scare Holt, and he knew a little better than to try that tough guy act on Jackson. Plus, it was kinda funny seeing guys like Heath and Manny faint when he walked past them.

“Your emotions run like wildfire, I am very impressed you came to terms so easily with your end.” She continued.

Wait. What. “My what now?”

“Of course, it must be so hard for you to talk about. I am sorry.” A tear fell from her eye and promptly turned to smoke upon hitting her face.

“Jen, are you okay?” Holt asked, facing her.

She smiled. “Yes, I will be okay. So kind of you to think of me.”

“Okay, Okay, enough chit chat. Places people!” The director yelled as he approached the stage. Well. That was weird. Holt took his place in the stool beside the amp and looked up as the director began counting them off.

After an awkward hour of rehearsal, they were dismissed to second period. Holt emerged out into the crowd of students in the hall. Jennifire was nowhere to be found, so he made his way toward the art room. His Spotify playlist suddenly changed to a song by Pierce the Veil. He pulled out his phone to skip it and saw he had a message from Jackson. He scoffed. If D-low had told him what was wrong, would he be asking? JJ could be so oblivious. Maybe it was just a normie thing.

He took his usual seat in front of his canvas and continued his painting for this week.

“Psst, Holt.” he heard a whisper. He turned and met the shiny magenta eyes of retired popstar Catty Noir. “We’re turning up at Cleo’s place on Saturday, you in?”

“Yeah totally- oh, nevermind. We can’t make it, we kinda got a...thing that day.”

“Oh,” she said, looking kind of taken aback. “It’s that soon?”

“What was that?”

“ I said I’ll see you soon!” she hastily corrected herself as she got up and turned in her painting, promptly leaving the art room. Man, everyone's acting off today. He touched up his work and quickly followed suit.

He basically had the rest of the period to himself, so he decided to riff on his guitar for a little bit. He couldn’t do it in the building anymore ever since that one time Headmistress Bloodgood caught him, so he moved to the front steps and set his bag beside him.

“Hey Holt!”

Holt turned towards the front of the school. “Frankie Fine-Stein! Where have you been hiding?” Her skin glowed a light mint green and her eyes sparked in the sun. Just as bootiful as ever. She sat on the step beside him.

“I was actually just in the library. I found this book about the original Jekyll and Hyde. It was way harsh; It said that Edward Hyde trampled a child in the streets of London, is that true?”

“Nuh-uh! Those stuffy normie’s didn’t like that grandpa’s were different so they dragged their reputation through the dirt!” Holt declared passionately. “Some of the people they charged him with killing didn’t even exist in the first place! Then they made Dr. Jekyll out to be a complete basket case and threw them both in jail! That is until they got bailed out by our great-great-grandma, Lucy.”

“Oh, man. I didn’t know any of that!” Frankie replied. She actually knew all about it, she had heard the exact same thing from Jackson before. They were both incredibly salty about the smear campaign launched against their great-great-grandparents that made their family flee to America in the first place, and you could hardly bring it up around them without a passionate rant. Frankie felt a little bad about bringing up something she knew was a sore subjet for them, but she had to make sure Spectra and the other ghouls didn’t get caught. It was for their own good, right?

Her phone buzzed in her lap and she glanced down. “Spectra got something, meet us back in the library.” Clawdeen. Frankie jumped up. “Sorry, Holt, I really gotta go.”

Holt watched her go in curiosity. He checked the time and quickly jumped up himself and dashed back inside the building. The only way to not be late now was to go through Section C, the so-called “vampires only” hallway. It really irked them when other monster’s used it, but he didn’t really care when it was either that or detention. As he made his way through he felt someone glaring at him, and met eyes with a large group of the former prep-school vampires. He braced himself, but instead of giving him grief like they usually did, they just let him pass. They were acting weird, but so was everyone else. Oh well, he didn’t really have time to think about it now.

Holt’s third period was Chemistry 2 with Mr. Hack. No thanks. Science was never his strong suit. Plus, there was seriously something off about this particular teacher. He just took a little too much pleasure in the cutting open of living things for Holt’s liking. He pulled out his phone.

“Keep an eye out. Today’s been weird, Bro.” He typed the message out and then disconnected his phone from his headphones. The world went dark.

Jackson blinked a few times. What was that ringing sound? “Oh, shOOT!” He bolted through the closest door- which just happened to be the right one- and took his seat as the bell finished ringing.

Mr. Hack passed out a hefty amount of worksheets to the class. “Okay class: no whispering, no talking, no looking around, no coughing or sneezing, no you can’t use the bathroom, and if I catch you on your cell phone the whole class gets detention. You have until the end of the class to complete the worksheets or it's a 0 for today.”

Everyone groaned. Good old Mr. Hack. Charming and likeable. Jackson tried to ignore the stares and whispers in his direction as he did his work. He knows he’s different, don’t they ever get tired of reminding him? Were they all paying more attention to him than usual, or was it just his imagination? He blazed through his work in about 20 minutes, it was just some simple thermodynamics equations. He looked up and noticed that Mr. Hack was asleep. Typical. Half the class were on their phones and the other half were talking amongst themselves. He pulled his phone out and saw Holt’s message.

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t just his imagination then, everyone was acting a little odd. Granted, every day at Monster High was pretty weird. Last week they had lost their school crest in a rollerblading contest and the school nearly toppled over, so maybe he could just ignore whatever this was.

The bell finally rang for lunch. He set his work on Mr. Hack’s desk as he jolted awake and practically ran from the room. He shot Clair a text

“Okay, transportation is set and decorations bought. Am I forgetting anything?”

“Measurements, goofy.” She responded almost instantly.

“Oh, right. I can get a tape measure from the woodshop teacher and get them during lunch.”

“Have you told the other monsters about Saturday?”

“No. I just don’t know how they’ll react, y’know?”

“Aren’t they always telling you about how you don’t belong? So why would they care?”

“Yeah you’re probably right. It’s just a difficult situation.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Let me know how it goes.”

Looking down at his phone, he didn’t notice Draculara until he bumped her as he passed.

“So sorry!” He exclaimed.

“It’s alright.” She reassured him as she walked away. She made her way to the library where her friends were already gathered around in a circle. Spectra floated in the center.

“What’s this all about?” Draculara asked.

“While Frankie had Holt distracted, Spectra looked in his locker.”

“Well what did she find?” Cleo demanded.

“Just this. It appears to be a receipt for some kind of car rental.”

Clawd glanced at his phone. “Heath says Jackson is in the boys locker room right now taking measurements of himself and writing them down.” He told the group.

“Then what Spectra said is true.” Fraknie finally admitted. The room fell into extended silence.

“Well we can at least show Jackson he means something to us.” Draculara spoke up.

“Yeah,” Frankie agreed, “we can do something nice for him and Holt.”

“What are we going to do? Hijack the gym and throw a huge party during lunch?” Cleo asked sardonically.

“You’re on a roll Cleo! It’ll be closed tomorrow, but we can do it Friday!” Clawdeen agreed.

Cleo smiled. Very well then. Friday would be a day for the monster history books.

#jackson jekyll #holt hyde #frankie #draculara #clawdeen #spectra vondergeist #operetta #johnny spirit #monster high #mh

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