#maybe I should’ve used this summer to get ahead academically

[randomravager]

I don’t wanna go back please oh god I don’t wanna

[sanababes]

Golden Child (I)

= fem!reader x twiceblackvelvet

《 A/n: so this is the bnha inspired thingy, I just got some ideas from it and just created stuff from my imagination lol. Please don't expect too much I just made this series for fun :>> feel free to express your opinions about this 》

--------------

On the prevailing modern generation, possessing a superpower or also know as a "quirk" is nothing uncommon. It was first witnessed a few centuries ago and it continued to cultivate with different combinations until it became normalized in the society. A person is also determined if he's light or dark (aura), this benefits the user whenever he uses his quirk. Acquiring a quirk comes around 5 to 8 years old of age. Fundamental hero courses were then introduced and applied in academic institutions. If a child is quirkless or so as called as a "vigilante", general studies are provided.

However, many individuals began to dwell in desire and selfishness due to the rivalry of being a powerful mortal. This made the villains emerge from their own shadows as they try to surpass the good and take over the federal civilization.

Noble families (pure-blood heroes) are assigned to ensure the safety of their municipality. This became a standard law, though it is required for them to pass from the hero course to use their quirks freely. Your father, Kang Haneul is one of the nobles too. He's an exceptional hero and always protected the people from the bad. His Ice whip (light) quirk allowed him to generate ice trendils from his arms and command it on his will.

He went on with his job until he encountered the "Mistress", her quirk was unknown but it was said to be so powerful. They both fell in love and kept their relationship secret because it was forbidden since the Mistress was a well-known evildoer.

They both got into a conflict when Haneul married another woman unbeknownst to the Mistress. He even had a daughter with his wife kept it from her too.

You were then conceived from an affair that was frowned upon by your father's household since they are nobles. After the Mistress gave birth to you, your father took you away immediately then raised you with his real wife and daughter. Even though it took time for them to accept your existence, they noticed your potential to become a hero when you attained your quirk at the age of 6.

About your quirk, it was incredibly potent, Half-cold Half-hot. As they predicted your aura was also half-light half-dark. You were a unique combination, rumors started to spread about the youngest Kang and then you earned the title of being a "Golden Child" due to your extraordinary power.

It was rare to get a dual quirk, this allowed you to generate ice and fire from your right and left body correspondingly. For your auras, you have light in your right then dark in your left.

(A/n: lol todoroki much 😂)

You were home-schooled at your father's mansion while simultaneously trained to control and use your power with accuracy. You hated unnecessary attention that's why you're contented at being isolated.

On the other hand, your (half) older sister Kang Seulgi is very enthusiastic and outgoing if she's compared to your composed and calm behavior. The two of you get along just fine, you appreciated her as a family but you couldn't withstand her persistent nagging. She would always tell you to go out and have some fun which you find it absurd. You're fine by yourself and you'll continue to mature like that.

At the age of 11, you got invited into a summer camp which is formulated to strengthen your skills in combat and to enhance your quirk as well. There were several pupils who you trained with at the time, but you got close to a particular blonde though.

"Hi! I'm Lisa, can we be friends?" You remembered her saying.

The other kids discreetly avoided you since your aura was pretty intense, but Lisa did the opposite.

"I-I'm Y/n..." You uttered merely.

"I see, so you're the shy type huh? Don't worry, I'll be your best friend from now on!" she told you, her voice filled with confidence.

Practically the two of you became close after that. She would come over every now and then since the mansion settles in the countryside neighborhood which is pretty far from Leiden (downtown area).

As time passed, you became stronger than before. Seulgi would even team up with Lisa as they challenge you into a match. Honestly, they don't work well together but they managed to win against you many times. Seulgi's quirk is permeation (light) while Lisa has whirlwind (dark).

The two of them studied at a school unlike you, sometimes you felt a little envious but it would go away eventually. Your father had told you numerous times that it was just to ensure your safety. You just understood that and concentrated on studying and increasing your ability.

----

It's been a few years now and you're currently stepping inside the most renowned Leidenschaft University in the land of Roswell. By your side, your sister Seulgi had a cocky smile on her face as you both walked along the hall. Bunch of students murmured endlessly when they recognized who you are, it was in the middle of the term so transferees are rarely accepted into this hero school. They guessed that you probably entered through recommendations since your father is a famous hero. Nonetheless, you didn't care and just continued to walk to wherever your sister is going.

"I think they're starting to like you, Y/n. You should've come with me during the first day," Seulgi chuckled while teasing you purposely.

"Whatever... Just send me to the principal's office or something."

You rolled your eyes out of annoyance, you wouldn't even be here if you didn't lose the deal that Seulgi made.

~ Flashback ~

You're just sitting peacefully behind your desk as you played with your ice, making random shapes on your hand while Seulgi sat across you. She suddenly banged the poor table and stood up with her eyes lit up playfully.

"Yah! Since you're starting high school this year, why don't you study at my university? I'll speak to dad about it," she said.

You just shrugged ignorantly, deciding to play her own game.

"And what will I get from it?"

"Hmm, okay let's settle this out. If you win against me in a fight then you don't have to go, but if you lose..." She smirked.

"Fine, let's go to the yard then," you wore your metal mask and followed your sister outside.

You're not really optimistic when it comes to fighting against Seulgi. Even though you're quite hard to beat, you know that she's a little tougher than you.

Seulgi positioned herself at the opposite of the open lawn as you went ahead and prepared your stance. You huffed through your mask while thinking about your strategy to gain a victory from the latter.

"Siwon-ah can you infer whoever falls to the ground first?" You asked your servant who's standing below a tree to get some shade.

"Will do, young master." he bowed politely.

"I'll strike first!"

Seulgi instantly went under the ground and suddenly appeared from behind. You dodged her kick then filled your right arm with glaciers as you tried to jab her abdomen. Unfortunately, your hand went through the girl, she took advantage of it and quickly punched your face which made you trip a bit.

"Fuck..." You cussed mentally.

She scoffed at your situation, Seulgi clearly wants you to wield your fire ability.

"Come on, use your left side. It's not really a big deal."

You blasted multiple ice balls towards her direction, whilst thinking about using your flames.

"You can't defeat me with ice Y/n, I'm sure you already know that," she added.

You activated your dark aura instead which made Seulgi feel the chills. It made her suffer from your dominant ambiance since she's a light, the girl went pass through you again when she aimed to make you slip. You were caught off guard from her speed as she swiftly locked your left ankle.

"Ouch!" She yelped.

You knew she was very naive to start on. You secretly activated your flames into its minimal energy, maybe a little surprised too that Seulgi didn't saw you emitting some fumes on your left body.

"Oops! My bad."

Your sister looked at you unbelievably, like she saw something scarcely credible. You chuckled at her reaction as you immediately attacked by shooting your flames to her direction. Seulgi hissed from the heat that you granted, she absolutely want to end the fight soon.

"You smart-ass! You're going to regret that Kang Y/n," she whacked your guts out harshly that made you groan and fall on your knees.

"Yah! You didn't have to overdo it so much!" You whined lowly.

Seulgi's pissed off face turned into a smile when she realized that she had beaten you.

"It's been decided. You're going to my school young lady."

You let out tons of complaints before deciding to remove your metal mask. The steam of vapor came out from your mouth as you breathed heavily. Your sister walked towards you and fixed your disheveled hair. (u can have da same hair like todoroki’s 😉)

“Aigoo, stop sulking already. I promise it's going to be fun studying there.”

On the other hand, Siwon just shook his head in disbelief as he knew you were alright. The three of you then entered the mansion once again as you dwell upon your loss.

"Tsk, be thankful that I didn't go all out this time..." You said.

Seulgi just laughed at your childishness while planning to discuss your application form with Mr. Kang.

~ flashback ends ~

So that happened which is why you are inside this massive academic establishment.

You and Seulgi were about to enter the principal's office when a familiar voice called for your attention.

"Y/n!"

Lisa jogged towards you as she left her group of friends confused.

"You didn't have to shout like that..." You utter awkwardly.

The blonde did not seem to care and hugged you instead.

"I'm sorry I just didn't expect to see you here, why did you keep this from me? I thought you're going to be home-schooled again," Lisa whined while tugging on the blazer of your uniform.

"I wanted to see your reaction, but I think it wasn't a good idea. Now all the students are looking at me because of you."

What you said was certainly true, your tall appearance is really eye-catching if your asking. (I also want you to know that your left eye is blue-)

"Fine, I hope we'll be classmates then. Now go get your schedule and see you later boy."

Lisa finally left as you both entered the office. A man in his 40s greeted you with excitement, you glanced down at his table and saw a name in the metal placard which said 'Mr. Park Jinyoung.'

"Good morning, Seulgi-ah. I see, so is this your sister?"

"Yes sir. She will be staying with us from now on," she answered.

"That's great! Hi Y/n, I'm JYP and this is your schedule. I'm happy to have you here in Leidenschaft University," he said.

"Thank you sir, I'll do my best."

You and Seulgi bowed politely and left the office. She showed you around the school then told you about some specific areas and such.

When you both arrived in front of your assigned homeroom, Seulgi knocked on the door which had 'Class 1-A' engraved on it.

The door opened as a teacher came out with a gentle smile on his face.

"Oh? Seulgi, what are you doing here?"

"Ahh Mr. Ok, I'm just here to drop off my sister. Please take care of her for me," Seulgi said.

You learned that your adviser's name is Ok Taecyeon which is presumably the man in front of you. Your sister gave you a warm pat on the back then went to her own class since she's a 2nd year.

Mr. Ok guided you inside the room that is filled with other students. Their eyes are also fixated on you which made you feel a little anxious.

'Is she really the golden child?'

'Damn, I didn't know she was that hot'

'I heard she's Seulgi sunbaenim's sister'

'Ugh she's pretty and handsome at the same time'

'I think I'm whipped'

You heard some chatters from your dear classmates, you just let them be and found yourself sighing at relief when you saw Lisa sitting at the back as she waved her hand discreetly.

"Uhh hi, I'm Kang Y/n. Please take care of me," they acknowledged your presence.

Mr. Ok then told you to sit beside someone named Sana, you glanced through the students when you saw an orange-haired girl raising her hand cutely. You assumed that it was her so you walked towards the girl and sat on the vacant seat by her side.

"Hi I'm-"

"Minatozaki Sana" you finished her statement.

The girl looked astonished but then realized that their uniforms had name tags on them.

"A-Ahh yes that's right, you're cute ya know that?" She flirted with ease.

You gave Sana a tiny smile and looked away from her intense stare. You felt someone looking from the side, then you sensed a familiar aura coming from that person.

"Dahyun unnie?"

-

-

-

~ to be continued ~

(a/n: just corrected some grammatical errors that bothered me after re-reading this story again 😂 i'll probably update this soon when i have time ;)

[leavetwn]

* AMANDA CAMPANA, NOBINARY + SHE/HER/THEY/THEM  | you know RAMONA GALLO, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, TWENTY-THREE YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to CRYING ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR BY MUNA like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole COLD PIZZA AS A HANGOVER CURE, TALKING SHIT ABOUT CUSTOMERS IN THE BREAKROOM, LONGING FOR WHAT COULD'VE BEEN,  thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 17TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( claire, 22, est, she/her )

HEY , BESTIES ! happy new year (the way it’s 11:55pm here so barely) !! my name’s claire and i’m 22. i’m livin in the est timezone, and my pronouns are she/her. i’m bringing y’all a mess of a muse 😈 because well  ,,, it’s what i’m best at. if you’re feelin ramona & wanna plot, just go ahead and like this & i’ll hit you up. i usually plot on discord, but if you prefer the tumblr ims, that’s no problem at all. anyway, lemme stop waistin time and get to introducing you to ramona. * tw: mentions of cheating & alcohol. 

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 .

full name: ramona gallo.  nickname(s): anything your muse wants to call her tbh. age: twenty-three. date of birth: august 17th. zodiac sign: leo. gender/pronouns: non-binary, she/her/they/them. sexual orientation: bisexual. romantic orientation: biromantic. hometown: irving, north carolina. current residence: irving, north carolina. occupation: employee at zoinkies currently,  a lifeguard during the summer. eye color: brown. hair color/style: had long hair up until her breakup then had one of those breakdowns and cut her own hair into a bob and then her own bangs. i bet it was a mess lol so she probably called her friends or went to a salon the very next day to get it fixed. also highlighted the ends red but her natural color is brown. height : 5′5″. clothing style: simple and comfortable. t-shirts, croptops, turtlenecks, all usually paired with either jean shorts or jeans in general. she prefers to feel cozy rather than cute. tattoos: yes. a small one on her wrist. wants more eventually. piercings: both ears peirced & a navel piercing that she did herself against better judgement lol.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 .

you were born on a scorching hot day in irving , your father says so, anyway. you’re convinced he’s being dramatic. your birth went smoothly; after two previous children, your parents had become disillusioned by childbirth. just another one to add to the bunch, and one that was meant to save a dying marriage. still, they loved you nonetheless. your father, to this day. your mother, until you were ten, and then she up and left without a warning. 

your father keeps food on the table by fixing cars. you spend your days in the hot sun watching him replace parts and continuously try to crank vehicles until they run. he fist pumps every time one does. ‘ how lame, ’ you think, but it’s inspiring how hard he works to take care of three kids. and he does a good job. 

therefore , you spend much of your early life trying to make him proud. you’re smart as a whip, and all your teachers have good things to say about you when it comes to academics. you’re a bit of a troublemaker, though. your father doesn’t mind that too much; he was the same at your age. and he’s proud  —  proud to see you work so hard. 

you spend your teenage years doing much of the same. though , you begin to come home a bit later than usual, and your excuse is that you’ve been at ashley’s or samantha’s, but really all three of you were out partying. you don’t think your father would care (your grades are fine & he wants you to live like a normal teenager) ,  but you still lie about it. why ? well, who knows, maybe you like the adrenaline rush it gives you. like most things, you do them for the thrill. 

you join the swim team. you’re kind of bad , but that’s okay. just like always , you work hard, and you realize that you’re kind of a natural. your father cheers louder than anyone else in the stands. it pushes you to do better. with your good grades and athletics , your guidance counselor tells you you’re a shoo in for a scholarship from whatever university you want. you apply to several. if it’s one thing you hate, its this town. you can’t wait to make it out, and you figure, this might be your only way. 

you’re eighteen, and you’re in love. it’s crazy how love can make you see things differently. suddenly , this town doesn’t seem half bad. all your friends find it cute , and you tell them everything. the things he tells you or the way he makes you feel. it’s a crazy feeling; you never want it to end. 

you throw your cap in the air. finally , high school is over. college is looming. you’ve been accepted to several & received scholarships from at least a few. you lie in bed thinking about it. now, you suddenly don’t want to leave so bad. don’t want to leave him behind. how could someone leave another they love so easily? it makes you hate your mother more.

for the first time, you disappoint your father. you don’t go to college. you don’t give a damn. you want to stay where love is. you’re addicted to the feeling. this lasts for three years. now, you’re twenty-one; you’ve gotten a job at zoinkies, and that keeps you away for most of the day. you randomly decide to visit your boyfriend during a lunch break one day. you find him in bed with someone else. suddenly , you realize love isn’t as addicting as you once thought. what once made the world beautiful now made it hideous. what once made you feel so high had somehow made you feel so low. it was horrible, and you’d realized your mistakes. 

you threw away your future for love. something as rotten and twisted as love. something you swore you’d never let yourself feel again. something that you put away in a locked box with no key. irving was the same place you’d always known it to be. boring, drab, familiar. at least you had your family. that was barely enough to keep you sane, though, and it was hard to feel normal.

you turned to the thing that help. alcohol, partying, any escape at all. you lacked coping skills   —  that much was clear, but you didn’t care. you blamed it on something else entirely. just as your teachers had said, you’re a bit of a troublemaker. you do anything to make yourself feel alive, to make yourself feel free of the hurt. 

it’s two years later now. you’re still not over it in some ways, as regret turns to anger and resentment. you’re bitter. who wouldn’t be? but you feel like you’ve had time to mourn. maybe it’s because you never acknowledged it in the way you should’ve ( it’s still locked away in that box. ) you still have your bad habits. you still work at your stupid job that you hate. you’re lost, but you’ll figure it out. you always do. so, you continue to float , seemingly stuck in the town that you never let go of, and you wonder what comes next. only time will tell.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 .

still swims but doesn’t have as much time for it. probably not as good, but since she spends the summer lifeguarding, she uses that time to practice & try to get back to where she was. also kinda jaded asf so even if she says she wants to get back into it, she probably won’t lmaoo.

is a horrible driver. how did she get a license ?? not even she knows. def the type to like have a leg up on the dash board, hand out the window, and only one hand on the wheel while speedin idk how she makes it out alive

can take a car apart and put it back together again thanks to her dad. also changes her own tires so let her change your tires. im just sayin 

stays up way too late & would sleep until 2 pm everyday if she didn’t have to work. should probably work on being an adult and going to bed at a normal time but just half the time doesn’t give a fuck so she’s probably sleep deprived a lot. therefore also has a 

character parallels: alice ayres/jane jones (closer, 2004) , clementine (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, 2004) , fiona gallagher (shameless, 2011-present) , more to be added.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

ok but plots really do be making my world go ‘round. 😳 i love em, so literally hmu with anything you’re feeling, and i’ll be down. just wanna plot & write with everyone 💕 but here’s a couple of wanted connections for y’all. i’ll prolly have a most wanted tag sooner or later & i’ma be make a plot page soon.  

* the unholy trinity  — these two are the friends she cherishes most. i’m assuming they’ve been friends since at least early high school , maybe earlier. they went through a lot together. these two were with her through all her relationship troubles. true ride or dies. she’s do absolutely anything for them, and she trusts that they feel the same way. they’re rowdy & wild, do whatever they want, and have a damn good time doin it. also have a gc where they just talk shit and send tiktoks idk just gimme this plsss 🥺

* friends with benefits / one night stands  —  this would probably be the extent of ramona. clearly not over what happened to her the last time 😭, so she’d have plenty of these tbh. she probably wouldn’t think too much about it, but it could be awkward for you muse maybe, etc. 

* unrequited love / crush  —  here’s a toast to the ones who crush on ramona. it would be an absolute tragedy lmaoo. she’s not really mean about it, but she is 100% certain she’s not looking for any type of relationship. could be really dramatic and messy and those are tha best kind. literally this

* former friends / enemies  —  she’s lived here her whole life, so she’s at least got one. these two just don’t get along/no longer get along for whatever reason that can be plotted out. 

* coworkers   — she works zoinkies throughout the year and picks up shifts as a lifeguard during the summer so your muses could know her from that. could delve into a close friend territory too lmao. they probably just sit in break rooms and talk about rude customers or bossy managers lmaooo.

* literally anything your heart desires — a lot could work. we could even just start from nowhere & have them meet for the first time if they’re newer/just to town. 

[antiquecompass]

So, I had an idea for Untamed Fest Day Sixteen: Power. It...did not work. So, have this one instead where Power = Authority.

Wherein there is a Student Council Election and Sizhui is done.

“If you try to ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ me one more time, I’m walking out.”

The entire Student Council went silent at Sizhui’s mutinous look.

“But...but Sizhui you have to run for Student Body President,” Ava Chou said. “You were the Vice President last year. It’s tradition.”

“And sometimes traditions are made to be broken,” Sizhui said. He looked around the room. “Doesn’t anyone else here want the position?” He turned to Rakesh. “What about you, Patel? Don’t you think it’ll look nice on your transcripts?”

Rakesh scoffed. “I’m hoping the added pressure drags down your GPA. So, nah, Lan. You go ahead.”

Sizhui stared down towards the end of the table where the dorm representatives sat, quiet as mice. “What about you four? You’re all seniors. Why don’t you run?”

“You do realize if you don’t run, people are just going to write you in anyway,” Jin Ling said, sounding completely bored from his seat representing the Sophomores. 

“No one wants to run against you, Sizhui,” Jerome Crosby said. “No one would be stupid enough.”

“Except Saleem Burkard, and that’s because he’s taken one too many lacrosse hits to the head,” Jin Ling said.

“Well, if I don’t run someone’s going to have to,” Sizhui said. 

Jin Ling poked Zizhen. “Go get Jingyi.”

Sizhui glared at his cousin. “I do not need to be handled. Has it ever occurred to any of you, that maybe I’m tired. That maybe, just maybe, between my academics, my tutoring, my paying job, my place on the soccer team, my work with the school paper, the yearbook, archery club, 4H, and taking care of the school’s rabbits, that maybe, just maybe, I’m tired? That I’d like to enjoy my last year of high school with one less responsibility? That maybe it’s time for someone else to represent the Student Body’s opinions?”

“Sizhui, man, you’ve basically been Student Body President since you were twelve,” Jerome said.

“That’s my exact point,” Sizhui said. “Find someone else.”

The Council went quiet, except for Zizhen who had run for the door.

“Oh, for the love of--don’t get Jingyi,” Sizhui yelled after him.

“Yelling is prohibited at Lan Academy,” a group of useless smartasses answered him.

“This--right here--not helping,” Sizhui informed them.

Zizhen returned with Jingyi and Sizhui didn’t dare look at his boyfriend. 

He didn’t need to be handled damn it.

“Everyone out,” Jingyi ordered.

“Who is he?” one of the new freshmen asked.

“That’s Lan Jingyi,” one of the others hissed. “Just go.”

“You too,” Jingyi said to Jin Ling and Zizhen. “Guys, just give us the room.”

Sizhui still refused to look at Jingyi until the door was closed. They’d already had this discussion multiple times. Sizhui was firm in refusing the position. Jingyi had, more than once, called him a fucking idiot. And too stubborn for his own good. 

It’d been the cause of their first major disagreement. Which had led to an even longer discussion with his fathers about relationships and open communication.

“Don’t,” Sizhui said.

“Babe, come on,” Jingyi said. He rested his chin on top of Sizhui’s head, his strong hands working out some of the kinks in his shoulders. “I told you they wouldn’t accept any other answer.”

“Shouldn’t I have a choice?” Sizhui asked.

“You should,” Jingyi agreed, circling around him and hopping up on the ancient wooden table. “But the downfall of being a competent, accomplished young man is that people want to follow your lead. They always have. And you know it. You just got all those other voices in your head right now, because you’ve got a clock ticking in that beautiful mind of yours and suddenly everything’s all too much.”

Sometimes it sucked dating someone who knew him so well.

“If you really don’t want to run, fine. Don’t,” Jingyi said. He leaned forward, his forearms too distracting in his short-sleeved shirt. “My eyes are up here, Sizhui.”

“Shut up,” Sizhui said. 

“If you don’t run though, just remember that Saleem will. And he’ll win. And he’ll take that beautiful little nestegg you’ve been working on to create a lasting scholarship for the local kids to attend Lan Academy and he’ll use it for something like a Spirit Week. Or a Lacrosse Rally.”

Sizhui felt a shiver of horror roll down his spine.

“He might even put lunch fines back,” Jingyi said, leaning closer to meet Sizhui’s eyes.

“No, we fought with the Board for four years to get those removed,” Sizhui said. 

Jingyi nodded. “I know, babe, I know you did. But that’s the other thing, he’ll be the one representing the school, every last student from you to me to the new kiddos in Pre-K, to the Board. Think about that.”

Sizhui was almost sick with the thought. They couldn’t take the chance that no one else would run against Saleem. 

“Maybe we can convince Sophie?” he asked.

Jingyi shook his head. “She’s doing an AP degree. She’s already refused. And Ari already has Model UN, so he doesn’t want it.”

“Syd?”

“They’re handling the new Student LGBTQA this year.”

“Fuck,” Sizhui muttered. He really didn’t have a choice. Not one he could live with, at least.

“See,” Jingyi said, kissing Sizhui’s forehead. “That’s what you get for just being too damn good. I’ll tell the council to put up the posters.”

“Am I really that predictable?” Sizhui asked.

Jingyi tilted his chin up. “You’re that responsible, Sizhui. That’s the difference. And that’s why you’ll be voted in. And that’s why everyone wants you to run. Because they know you’ll actually try to make our voices heard. Because they know this isn’t just a joke to you. It’s not  just another box to tick-off on your transcripts to impress college recruiters or future employers. You <i>care</i> Sizhui. That really is your superpower. You care and you do something about it.” He kissed Sizhui then. “And that’s why we all love you so damn much.”

Someone pounded on the door. “You’ve had five minutes. You better not be fucking in there,” Jin Ling yelled.

“Why, baby cuz, do you need a demonstration?” Jingyi yelled back. “Can’t figure out how Tab A goes into Slot B?”

“Jingyi, he’s fourteen!” Sizhui yelled. He turned to the door. “You better not be looking for any demonstrations, Jin Ling! Or even thinking anything along those lines! Ever.”

“Yeah, you’ll get syphilis and die,” Jingyi said.

“That’s not the point,” Sizhui hissed. He shoved his boyfriend back. “Leave. Now.”

“If you say so, Mr. President,” Jingyi teased, voice gone breathy and soft.

“Out!” Sizhui ordered. 

“Hmm, I do so love a man in power,” Jingyi said.

“Jingyi, so help me,” Sizhui said as he carefully pushed his boyfriend out of the council room.

Rakesh poked his head back in through the door. “So, you’re running, right? Because if you let Saleem run, the school will riot.”

“Yes,” Sizhui said, admitting all the defeat. “I’m running.”

“Awesome,” Rakesh said. “Ava! Get the posters! He’s running.”

Sizhui pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to remember, back to the summer before sixth grade, when he so desperately wanted to attend this school. 

Maybe he should’ve listened to his dad and stayed in Boston. It would certainly be less infuriating.

The cheers of his fellow council members outside told another side of the story. Where he’d worked for this school, to leave a legacy, to set an example, and that it was working. 

The students at Lan Academy had always been successful in Academics and Extracurriculars, but since Sizhui had gotten his foot in the Student Council door, and learned to speak up, they’d been so much more involved in the greater community, in the world outside of Lan property and principles and propriety. And the community had responded, coming out to support them for each bake sale and fundraiser and open door school event.

“You never could’ve let someone else take over,” Jingyi said.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave?” Sizhui asked.

“Yeah, but you’ve had your two-minute cool down.” He closed the door, shoving Jin Ling and Zizhen back. “You’re not wrong though, you <i>do</i> take on too much, and you do deserve to enjoy your last year as a student here. So, I’m begging you, from the bottom of my heart, drop 4H.”

“I can’t.”

Jingyi wrapped his arms around Sizhui’s waist and shook his head. “Sizhui, you’re scared of cows.”

“I’m not scared, I’m cautious.”

“You hate goats.”

“It tried to eat my watch!”

“And you have no plans to go into an agricultural field. Drop it. If you want to pet a bunch of animals, I will drive you to the nearest petting zoo. Whenever you want.”

Dropping 4H would ease up some of his weekends.

“Fine,” Sizhui said. “You may have a valid point.” 

He rested his head on Jingyi’s shoulder and let himself lean on someone else for a bit. 

[harryandmolly]

i could write it better than you ever felt it - nine

A/N: quick fun fact -- the Cleveland storm did happen on the 2007 tour. there’s footage on YouTube of the backdrop getting ripped off by the wind if you’re interested. #research

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, avoidance tactics, Catholic guilt

word count: 5.9k

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Shawn stirs, rolling onto his stomach. He lifts his pillow over his head.

Tap. Tap.

He sniffs and sighs. His pillow smells awful.

Tap. Tap.

He makes a snorting sound as he sits up to investigate. The van is hot and sticky, so the windows are fogged. He blinks slowly, acclimating to his awakeness.

The tapping sound seems to have stopped for the moment. Instead it’s replaced by a slender shadow leaning into the window for a peek. Shawn’s heart stutters. He sits forward on his bench to slide the van door open.

In a blast of muggy air and the familiar scent of citrus, Val is there, holding a pebble in one hand and a soccer ball in the other, looking apologetic.

“Can we talk?”

She waits for him patiently as he changes into shorts and sneakers, keeping her eyes low and her shoulders hunched. She spent most of the evening trying to wrangle either Bea or Raf to determine what exactly was said to Shawn -- it was Bea that finally cracked.

“You should talk to him,” Bea suggested breathlessly, laying a hand over Val’s. She was off in a hurry then, headed for her bunk to strategize so she could be ready when they arrived at the next stop.

She and Shawn walk in silence through the grounds in St. Petersburg, where they arrived caravan-style three hours ago. Shawn glances at the dim numbers on his tiny phone screen. It’s 2:14am. His heart sinks, remembering she can’t sleep without him.

“Cute stunt you pulled, with the pebble,” he mentions as they come up on a patch of grass under a street light, giving them enough illumination to kick the ball around.

Val swallows and attempts a shaky smile. “I figured I had to tread carefully after this morning.”

Shawn clears his throat and glances down at the scorched grass beneath them. He turns, hearing the thump of the ball hitting the ground.

“One on one?” she proposes, tossing her phone aside as she tips the ball in his direction.

He just nods, stopping the ball with his foot and nodding toward a fire hydrant several yards away. “That’s the other goal line.”

She agrees silently and starts skipping backwards on her toes as he jogs toward her, dribbling easily like he plays all the time even though he doesn’t -- he’s mostly been watching her play recently.

They’re silent aside from their heavy breath for a few minutes, warming up, volleying back and forth. Neither of them seem all that interested in scoring on the other. Something about kicking the ball between them, jogging around, stealing the ball away and back and back again, it’s comforting. Hypnotic, almost.

Val is startled into tripping over her own feet a little when he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His head is down -- he’s concentrating on trying to toe the ball away from her. She lets it go so he can turn and head for her goal line. She jogs after him, prepared to let him score. He stops on a dime and turns just ahead of the fire hydrant. She almost smacks into his chest.

Val swallows. “It’s not supposed to matter.”

Shawn shakes his head incredulously, huffing, “Not supposed to. But it does.”

Val’s eyes slide shut. There it is.

The thing they’ve been dancing around, eyes shut and fingers tangled, avoiding together. It does matter to them, what happens when tour ends. They like to imagine it won’t, that they can pry apart and not each feel like they’ve somehow left something with the other, that they can continue on into the fall as planned.

“It matters,” Shawn restates weakly, kicking the ball to her.

Val stops it and makes a break for his goal line back the other way, scurrying quickly, hearing her pulse in her ears until she realizes he’s not following her. With the ball underfoot, she stops and turns to see him in the same spot with his hands on his hips.

“I think a part of me thought if I didn’t tell you about Oxford, neither of us would have to care what it meant.”

Shawn’s head lifts. He wanders toward the center of their little makeshift pitch. She follows his lead, leaving the ball behind.

“You’re going back to school,” Shawn states.

Val chews on her lower lip before answering, “I got into a very competitive art conservation program. I’ll be there for four years for my doctorate.”

Shawn blinks and in the fraction of a second his eyes are closed, he sees her bundled in a scarf, wisps of her hair (he imagines she’d wear it curly over there) floating in the misty weather as she walks along the river in a pair of sturdy boots. He’s not sure how exactly, because he’s only ever seen her in skinny jeans or tiny shorts and her vast collection of Vans, but this image feels completely… right. It’s almost painfully obvious.

“Yeah,” he breathes, overwhelmed by it for a moment, “That seems right.”

Val’s eyebrows lift. She’s not sure what he means but decides not to question it.

Shawn looks back down at her feet as they anxiously scuff the fraying grass.

“So that’s why you left Streets the first time. You want to be a conservator?”

Val bobs her head. “I wasn’t set on that path yet but I knew I wanted to go to school. I was always a little more academically inclined than Raf was. And I knew this wasn’t for me, this… the touring, the crowds, this life. It feels like… like maybe all this belongs to an older version of me. I wanted to come out this summer to be sure. I probably shouldn’t have -- I think maybe I gave Raf some false hope.”

“He didn’t want you to leave,” Shawn infers.

“I mean, I’m sure that’s not a secret. I just don’t know if people realize how much that changed everything. I think I really broke his heart,” she whispers, her voice cracking subtly.

Shawn heaves a sigh, planting his hands on his hips, staring up at a cloudless, starless sky. Val follows his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, “Because I should’ve known better than to start something I can’t finish.”

Shawn looks back down. Her nose twitches. The gentle breeze has her ponytail wrapping around her arm. She waits for him to react somehow.

With a single nod of his head, he turns away and heads back in the direction of the van. When he glances back, he watches the ponytail flick back and forth as Val dribbles the ball, practicing her footwork in silence.

+

There’s nothing like a hometown show.

Streets of Gold fans are out in droves. Raf wears a Colombian flag around all day like cape and speaks almost exclusively in Spanish, leaving Val in his wake to translate. On stage, he has the vim and vigor of a frontman on his first day of Warped Tour instead of one nearly a month deep in cold showers, dank, sweaty t-shirts and dirt. So, so much dirt.

When Raf is distracted like this, he’s easier to deal with. He doesn’t get on Val’s case, he doesn’t cling to Bea quite as heavily (and Val can tell because when he doesn’t, Bea bounces along after Val instead). Despite the events of the last 24 hours, things seem… normal.

Shawn studies from afar. Even he can’t resist the temptation of catching a Streets hometown show. Instead of watching the set with a hand in Val’s back pocket, singing what are often her own words back into her ear, he keeps a safe distance and plants himself by the Blessthefall merch booth, avoiding the prying gaze of Alex Gaskarth from a booth or two away.

Shawn thinks it’s probably good that Val and Raf are spending the evening with their family in Coconut Grove. If they were at the barbecue, Shawn might not be able to stop himself from doing something particularly stupid like walking up behind her, shrugging her into his arms and whispering that he’s heard from his mum that Oxford is beautiful and maybe she’d like a roommate?

Because the number of times he’s imagined that since he first heard the word “Oxford” tumble out of Rafael’s godforsaken mouth is… startling.

He’s doing the moody lead singer thing, perching on the bumper of the van with his acoustic and a notebook, staring at the sunset. The boys have largely left him alone today, sensing a disturbance in the force, and they’ve been distracted by their own success at having a record number of people crowd around the Smartpunk stage for them today.

They’re celebrating the way Shawn should be, getting wasted on the beach.

All except one.

Seth props himself up next to Shawn, lifting the notebook into his lap to keep from sitting on it, but he knows better than to flip through it or he’ll have a swallow-emblazoned fist aimed at his nuts. Shawn ignores him for as long as he possibly can but Seth will not be ignored, especially when he’s staring straight at him, unblinking.

“Yes?” Shawn sighs wearily, looking up from his bruised and battered guitar.

Seth lifts his eyebrows. “Start talking, dude.”

Shawn’s jaw goes tense for a moment. And then it falls open.

He tells Seth everything -- everything from Val and Bea and Raf, to Oxford, to the hotel night, to last night’s soccer date. It comes flying out of his mouth so easily in a way it wouldn’t when Shawn tried to sit and force it out in song. Seth listens to every word carefully, unflinchingly, taking it in.

Seth winces. “Yikes, dude. How long you been holding that in?”

Shawn nearly gasps for air at the end of his explanation. “Apparently too fucking long.”

Seth nods in agreement. “So… she’s leaving.”

A little piece of Shawn had hoped against hope that Seth would come out and say something inspiring like “love is love, it knows not of oceans or country borders, it can survive, follow your heart” or some bullshit. With his one weak statement, Shawn can see how it looks from the outside -- hopeless.

“She’s leaving,” Shawn breathes, annoyed with his visceral reaction, the tears in his eyes, for the girl he’s known for a month.

“This is so stupid,” Shawn chokes, pressing his palms against his eyes as he shakes his head, “It’s only been a few fucking weeks.”

“No it hasn’t,” Seth chuckles. That veil of wisdom that Seth lets cover his words sometimes is unfurled. Shawn looks over.

“It hasn’t only been weeks. C’mon. You’ve loved Valentina Moreno since you bought your first Streets album, flipped open the insert and saw her name as writing credit on every song. Man, you’ve been singing her words for years. You’ve loved her just as long.”

Shawn’s chest feels like it’s caving in. Seth has a way of saying things sometimes in just the right way, a way that really just gets him. Shawn suffers through another breath.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “I guess you’re right.”

Shawn chews on the inside of his pillowy lips and feels the heat of Seth’s gaze. He keeps his eyes down at his dusty Chucks, feeling the rhythm he was chasing down start to sing through his blood. He sniffs.

“I think what you have to decide now,” Seth begins, sighing like he’s weighed down by his own ever-present wisdom, “Is if you love her enough.”

+

Valentina stands outside St. Ezequiel Catholic Church in her mother’s pearls and an old pair of stilettos. She decided to walk the few blocks from her house to the church -- the suffering felt very Catholic.

She stalls. She glances down at her watch. Confession started 25 minutes ago, but she can’t get herself through the door. For one thing, Val hasn’t been inside a church since she was 12, the last time her grandparents visited from Bogota. She’s a little concerned she’ll burst into shameful flames the color of every one of the seven deadly sins.

But she needs to go in today. She’s been avoiding it. But today… there’s no more time.

You just have to go in. Just go inside, she reasons with herself, You can sit first and then when you’re ready, go into the confessional.

That’s enough motivation for now. She ascends the cement steps and walks inside. It’s dark and musty and the incense has her astral projecting back to the 90s which is just as unpleasant as it sounds. She dips her finger in the shell-shaped basin of holy water and makes the sign of the cross by memory, glancing around. For one thing, she’s over-fucking-dressed.

Woops. No swearing in church. Not even in your head, she scolds herself.

She gulps like a cartoon character and barely remembers to genuflect before she slides in to sit in a pew.

They haven’t changed the missals or the pamphlet designs. There’s something comforting in that. And also very Catholic.

Val chances a glance at the confessional. It looks empty on the parishioner side, but there’s a light behind the closed door where the priest sits.

Good, she thinks, he’s ready when I am.

Val eases down onto her knees and feels her pencil skirt protest. She wonders absently if the toes of her Jimmy Choos are scuffing on the brick floor. She winces and folds her hands, fighting to quiet her mind.

She looks up. Above the altar is an almost over-colorful mural of a Latino Christ overlooking the congregation, hovering above them with open arms, a quiet smile and pierced, bleeding hands. Val sighs.

“You poor bastard,” she breathes.

She closes her eyes. She recites the Hail Mary a couple times, then the Our Father, but she’s always liked the Hail Mary better. She had an affinity for Mary growing up.

She sucks on her top row of teeth and feels her eyes fill. Not anymore.

Five minutes pass. She calms herself down enough to wriggle to the confessional in her too-tight skirt. She closes the warped wooden door and sits.

“Hello, my child,” greets the priest in a thick Cuban accent.

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned,” Val chokes, “It’s been… many years since my last confession.”

The priest is silent. So is Val.

Apparently she’s silent for too long. He clears his throat to prompt her.

Val closes her eyes. She takes one long, slow, deep breath. She opens them.

She stands. She runs.

+

The Tour must roll on.

It’s their driver Hernan’s favorite thing to say when they hit a mid-tour rut, when the novelty is gone, when they feel sweaty no matter how many showers they take, when they’re all plotting to kill each other in their sleep.

And indeed it must go on. With radio silence from Shawn and an active avoidance of Bea and her brother, Val is left to focus on… her job.

She wakes up early every day and it’s easy because she doesn’t really sleep (not without him). She gets the booth set up by herself, unloads merch boxes with Greg and Naveen. She fields visits from the All Time Low boys, from Hayley and sometimes the NFG and Yellowcard guys. She checks out different sets, reminding herself why she’s here -- the kids.

The kids never disappoint her, not even when they’re brats waiting in line or throwing change at her so they can catch the next set or signing. She sees familiar faces, the kids that treat Warped Tour like summer camp, showing up every day in a new city to follow the high. She doesn’t really get that, but a version of her used to.

She loves them, though. She loves the way they scream lyrics instead of sing them, the way they wear all black in the dead of summer, the dreamy looks on their faces when they’re so caught up in a performance the mud beneath their feet, the hundreds of people squashing them don’t even matter. She envies that. She misses it.

The Tour rolls on to Cleveland on August 2nd. Less than a month remains and with each passing day, she becomes less and less convinced Shawn will talk to her again. He’s kept busy by the boys and by his ever growing fanbase. It seems every time she passes Smartpunk, there are more and more kids gathered, singing his words back to him, giving him everything he’s ever wanted. They’ve outgrown the stage threefold, but the tour is too tightly scheduled to move them, so their audience swallows up every merch tent and signing table in its radius.

It’s glorious.

So she doesn’t go anywhere near him.

+

There are whispers about bad weather rolling in, but as of set-up time in the morning, the sky is light and overcast, nonthreatening. Val preps the tent as usual and bounces on her toes behind the table as she hands out change and slings t-shirts. The air feels charged, filled with the kind of energy people look back on after a big day and realize it was a warning sign.

The storm hits, and it’s worse than expected.

Shawn is getting food when the wind and rain picks up. It comes on suddenly, the way these things often do. Before long, the services staff is ushering them inside and things start to feel a little more serious.

“There are so many kids out there,” Shawn mutters, shaking his head as he watches some run for cover and some hustle inside to hide out with the growing mass of people. Seth hops up on his tiptoes to look over Francis’s head. He swears in agreement.

There’s paper everywhere, flying around in little tornados, kicking up smashed plastic water bottles and fallen flip flops. Shawn winces when a tree branch comes down, narrowly missing a merch tent that’s fighting to stay pinned into the ground.

There’s a commotion behind them. Shawn, squashed between dozens of people now, is tall enough to look over some heads. He spots the Streets band and crew. All but one.

Raf somehow feels Shawn’s eyes and meets them frantically.

“Val was at the tent!” he cries over the chatter around them.

Seth watches Shawn take off like a shot, slicing through twenty or so people to get to the door, wrench it open, and sprint out. He flattens his lips into a firm smile and nods in understanding.

But Shawn is long gone. He crosses yards like feet, using the full length of his legs to charge toward where he spotted the Streets tent on the venue map this morning.

His mind is blank -- it ignores the messages his body screams. It doesn’t register the lashing of rain against his face or the sudden tearing and overuse of cold muscles in every inch of his body. It only barely registers the flipping merch table that he leaps over like Indiana fucking Jones because it would slow him down and he can’t slow down.

He rips up the hill past groups of teenagers huddled under trees and crouching behind sturdier merch tables. As he runs past the amphitheater housing the main stage, he hears a mixture of terrible screams and adrenaline-pumped cries of wonder as the backdrop for Alkaline Trio’s set tears away and slaps itself in the wind. He keeps going.

The problem is he can’t really see. As he nears what he thinks was the tent’s location, he slows to a jog, squinting into the sideways rain to try to make out lettering on what’s left of merch tables and tents. Just as he’s about to give up and make a run for her bus to see if she’s there, he spots her.

She’s kneeling beside her tent shoving the table skirt into an enormous plastic box. Her brow is furrowed, her hair is wild and swinging around her face. She looks entirely unbothered by the idea of her own safety, merely annoyed that the storm is interrupting her day.

Shawn’s heart squashes into his ribs like it’s trying to peek through them and see her for itself. He grunts and follows its direction, hurrying up to grab her arm.

She looks shocked to see him, which hurts a little but not enough to focus on right now. He tries to pull her to her feet but she stays put.

“What the fuck are you doing? We have to go!” he cries, barely audible over the howling wind.

Val opens her mouth and a crack of thunder covers her words, proving Shawn’s point. He pulls at her harder.

“This shit’s going to be ruined! I’m not afraid of rain, Shawn, I’m from Miami!” she yells back petulantly.

Shawn is half a heartbeat away from slinging her over his shoulder like a fireman and hauling her back to her bus himself but the weather beats him to the punch and gives them pebble sized hail to contend with.

“Dammit!” Val cries, finally relenting. She stands, hunched with her arms over her head and leads the way to her bus at a clip that could rival Shawn’s.

Shawn’s glad she knows where she’s going because he can’t see shit. He doesn’t see the bus until they’re almost on top of it and by that time, the hail has grown to the size of ping pong balls.

Val throws the door open and jumps inside, whirling around when Shawn slams it behind them. To his surprise, he has to catch her by the arms as she lurches toward it like she’s trying to leave again.

“Where’s my brother? Where’s my band?” she cries, ready to Wonder Woman herself to get to them. Shawn holds her fast.

“They’re all fine. They’re inside by the main gate. Your band and crew and mine. I saw them,” he pants, willing her to look from the door into his eyes. She does and softens.

“Jesus Christ,” Val breathes, sagging in his grasp, closing her eyes for a moment.

Shawn swallows and looks around. The bus is empty. He drops his hands from around her biceps and lifts his eyebrows.

“Not afraid of rain, Moreno?”

Her eyebrows pull in as she frowns at him and crosses her arms over her dripping t-shirt. “Well it was just fucking rain until you brought the hail with you.”

Shawn snorts. “Sure. I brought the hail. Like I’m fuckin’ Snow Miser.”

Val rolls her eyes and chuckles, dropping her arms. She plops onto the leather couch with a squelch and winces.

“Ew.”

Shawn grins and offers her a hand. “You’re gross.”

Val stands and waits for him to drop her hand. He doesn’t.

+

Val rifles through Raf’s stuff for passably clean sweats and a t-shirt for Shawn because the bus starts to feel really cold with the AC inside and the drop in temperature outside. They dry off and change, using the bathroom in turns, and regroup in the front lounge to watch the storm batter the bus.

“God, I hope no one gets hurt,” Val whispers, curling up against the arm of the sofa with her chin perched on the windowsill.

Shawn sits beside her, absently dropping a throw pillow over her bare feet because he knows they get cold.

“It looked like venue security had a pretty good handle on it. The amphitheater is mostly covered, too.”

Val nods, staring out the window. Shawn watches her long lashes lift and close, watches her fingers beat out a rhythm against the leather like every drummer he’s ever known. He watches as her hair starts to dry into curls against her back.

“I’ve missed you,” he hears himself say.

It gets her attention. Her warm, dry lips part. He licks his.

“Missed you too,” she replies.

Shawn reaches out with cold fingers and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Want to drive with me to Camden tonight?”

“Yes please.”

+

Shawn willfully ignores all the questioning looks he gets from his band and crew when Val arrives with a backpack and a kiss on his cheek for the overnight drive.

The storm stopped not too long after it started. A few people had minor injuries, but no one, tour members or tour-goers, was seriously hurt, and for that everyone was grateful. The rest of the afternoon was spent plucking tents out of trees and chasing down errant folding chairs. A lot of the kids stayed to help their favorite bands and crews clean up. It was kind of nice.

But the Tour must roll on.

They’re due in Camden, New Jersey tomorrow and it’s an eight hour drive. As it happens, it’s Shawn’s turn to make the overnight voyage. He sleeps through the barbecue in preparation so Val stashes some food for him and makes him a thermos full of coffee on her bus (the good Colombian Volcanica stuff).

As Val settles into the passenger seat passing out cold empanadas her mom sent her back to tour with after the Miami stop, Francis lingers by Shawn, watching him load the last merch box back into the trunk. Shawn ignores him as long as he can until Francis is basically stepping on his toes, he’s standing so close.

Shawn sighs and flicks his tongue at his lip ring. “What?”

“Nothing,” Francis insists.

“Fuck off,” Shawn grumbles.

“No, but really, she brought us snacks. What’s… going on?” Francis chuckles, his eyes going wide like he plans to absorb the gossip through them.

Shawn really hates that he doesn’t have an answer. He shrugs weakly, averting his eyes.

Francis shakes his head, claps Shawn on the shoulder. “Dude.”

He saunters away, settling into his van bench for the evening. Shawn sniffs, scuffs his shoe against the pavement and lifts a hand to straighten his backwards Leafs hat. He allows himself one deep sigh before tucking himself into the front seat beside her and starting the engine.

+

The I-76 is a long, quiet road this time of night. The boys have gone to sleep in the back in a chorus of snores and mid-sleep mumbles. Shawn keeps his eyes on the road and snacks on the empanadas she hid for him, groaning after every bite.

“These are so fucking good,” he mumbles, licking some spice off his lips before diving in for another. Val giggles.

“They’re the only reason I go home anymore,” she sighs.

Shawn glances over. “You’re not close with your parents?”

She shrugs. “Not particularly. I love them, they’ve given me everything I’ve ever needed and most of the things I’ve ever wanted, but when Raf and I started down this path, they couldn’t understand it. They’ve… never actually seen a Streets show.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift and his jaw stills mid-chew. “Really?”

“Nope. They wanted it to be a phase we grew out of.”

Shawn swallows and refocuses on the road as they pass signs for Pittsburgh. “Well, they must be happy about Oxford then.”

Val picks at her cuticles. “They’re pleased.”

Shawn jams another half an empanada in his mouth. Val watches with a flat smile.

“What about your parents?” Val hums, looking for a pivot.

“They’re kinda psyched, actually,” he answers proudly, trying to tamp down a goofy smile at the thought of his family. He glances over for her reaction. If she’s disappointed to hear about the difference between her family and his, she doesn’t show it.

“They’ve been waiting for me to find this for a while,” he explains, “I bounced around between different bands, and it was never right. I felt like the only one taking it seriously. And then Seth and Francis found me through a friend. First day I sat down with them I think I knew it.”

Val smiles wistfully. “That’s a good feeling.”

“The best,” he agrees, “I wish everyone could feel that, whatever they’re doing. Everyone deserves that kind of… security, I guess. That they’re in the right place doing what they’re meant to do.”

Val sinks her teeth into her bottom lip thoughtfully, feeling like her heart is sliding sideways in her chest just to be closer to him. She settles her cheek against the headrest and turns to watch him.

He looks tired. His hair is frizzy and his eyes look a little cold and his muscles are tense. She wonders if he’s been getting as little sleep as she has.

“It’s a lot though,” she breathes.

Shawn’s lips twitch. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a few moments while Val collects her words.

“The first time we headlined a show larger than a basement was in Toronto, did you know that?”

Shawn looks surprised. Val grins at the memory.

“Raf threw up for about an hour straight before the start. It was the first stop of our tour after releasing Two Sides to Every Story. We were such a fucking wreck. I broke like three pairs of sticks I was playing so hard. We were all so, so desperate to keep these people in front of us, to make them love us. We needed them so bad. We didn’t actually figure out the secret for months, nearly at the end of the tour.”

Shawn blinks. “What secret?”

“That they’re not there to see you play harder than you’ve ever played, or sing better than you’ve ever sung. They already came to the gig for you, you already have them. They’re there to be with you, just for a night. They found you, they love you. You bring them hope every time you get up there and do what you do. You don’t need to do it any better. You’ve already helped.”

Shawn feels a well that’s been building since they released Joy Ride. It’s been filling and filling and he can’t find the bottom anymore. It’s a cloudy mixture of crippling fear, anxiety, adrenaline, pride, excitement and fucking exhaustion. Val shines a light straight through it.

He turns his head to find the warmth of her big brown eyes. Val remembers what the bottom looks like. She’s been there.

“What happens now?” he croaks.

“Now you stay on the ride. That’s all.”

Shawn lowers his eyes until he feels her fingers curl around his cheek. It warms under her hand before he turns his head to plant a kiss on her palm. He takes her hand in his and holds it in his lap for a few minutes until she speaks again.

“Made you something.”

He’s reluctant to let her hand go again because his blood pressure feels normal again when he’s touching her but he releases her to root around in the backpack at her feet.

She holds up a plastic CD case with a shy smile.

“Did you make me a mix?” he laughs with delight.

“Shush, this is what scene kids do when they feel things.”

Shawn giggles and goes pink all over, rubbing his free hand against his neck. When the first song begins, he looks over with a smile.

“Sugar We’re Goin’ Down. Subtle choice,” he jokes.

“Shhhh, it’s against my religion to talk while Patrick Stump sings.”

He looks over to see her eyes shut and lips spread in a grin. He laughs and bobs his head reverently.

Fifteen minutes in, Val’s asleep. He’s too curious to help it, so he checks the track listing she wrote out in her serial killer handwriting on the plastic on the back.

Sugar We’re Goin’ Down - Fall Out Boy

The Girl’s a Straight-Up Hustler - All Time Low

Only One - Yellowcard

Miami - Taking Back Sunday

On Top of the World - Boys Like Girls

The Future Freaks Me Out - Motion City Soundtrack

It’s Not Your Fault - New Found Glory

Punk Rock Princess - Something Corporate

Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off - Panic! At the Disco

Jump - Simple Plan

He sighs and puts the case in the center console, reaching over to leave his hand on her knee in case that helps her stay asleep longer. He mouths along with Ryan Key’s words, staring out the windshield.

There’s just no one that gets me like you do, you are my only, my only one.

+

Hayley stuffs her vibrant, telltale hair under her Streets beanie and snarls teasingly at Val’s laughter.

“You are so not getting away with this,” Val snorts, trailing beside her toward the Lucky 13 main stage to catch New Found Glory’s 4pm set, the highlight of the day.

“It’ll be fine,” Hayley insists, eyes shifting as the crowd around them thickens.

“You’ll be spotted in the next five minutes, I’d put money on it.”

Hayley scoffs. “Stop it. You said you wanted to come with me.”

“Yeah! Because you’re 5’2” and 100 pounds soaking wet. You need a fuckin’ bodyguard,” Val argues, slinging an arm around her petite friend.

“Chad… said I should come today,” Hayley mumbles.

Val’s eyes go wide. “Chad? Asked you to come watch the set?”

“Well… like… not exactly. He said I should come “check it out,” whatever the fuck that means.”

Val coos. “That is so sweet. I’m so glad I get to witness this. Can we go sidestage after so you can blush down at your feet and tell him he plays guitar real good?”

“Ok, we’re done talking about this now!” Hayley squeaks earnestly. Val pins her lips shut and mimes zipping them, sniggering through flared nostrils.

They filter in toward the back of the crowd that’s been planted at main stage all day. New Found Glory is one of the sets to catch on Warped -- full of relentless energy from a band that’s been around the block and knows how to put on a stunning show.

Val’s only caught them a few times over the course of Warped, and only from sidestage with Bea. Being in the crowd with the kids, screaming the words and passing sweaty crowdsurfing teenagers over her head is the real way to experience a pop punk show. So when Hayley invited her along, she leapt at the chance.

By some miracle, Hayley stays under the radar. She and Val bop along, dancing and singing and flinging their hands in the air and Val connects with a version of herself she hasn’t seen in a while, a girl that can name every Green Day song ever produced, a girl that lived every day just to get home and hit her drums, a girl for whom music changed everything.

She’s letting the final chords of Better Off Dead carry her off, tilting her head back, eyes closed and smiling at the sky when it starts.

“Hey!” Hayley calls from behind her, smashed up into her shoulder, “Val, I think--”

They didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late. The yahoos surrounding them have drawn the crowd out, dragging people to face each other to leave space between them. Val recognizes a wall of death when she sees one. She grabs Hayley’s hand and yanks her, trying to drag them out from the line of fire, but they’re shoved back into place.

“Let us out!” she cries, feeling it build, feeling the energy of the morons pinning them in start to fizzle dangerously.

“Hayley!” Val shrieks, reaching out for her elbow for a sturdier grasp. She can’t get there, and the tension snaps. Teenagers sprint into each other at full speed, shoving and pushing and knocking into each other.

Val squints under some guy’s arm to see Hayley’s beanie get knocked off. The cocktail of red and orange dye is the last thing she sees before everything goes dark.

Help save the scene and buy me a ko-fi!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn​ @alone-in-madness​ @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual @embracehappy @itrocksmysocks @yslsaint @peacedolantwins2 @kitykatnumber

[dothewrite]

hello, in-need-of-personal-advice anon here. idk if this will be long or short but I just honestly don't know what to do. I have exams coming up very very very soon, and did absolutely shit all on the three week holiday they gave us. I feel like i'm running at something completely unachievable and that everyone is ahead of me. I have a lot of anxiety issues, and have lately been feeling really just... down? Kinda like i'm sinking and stagnant but at the same time running endlessly

(cont) that’s really the only way i can think of explaining it and at these times, I honestly don’t know what to do. I regret a lot of my decisions, and I just… like how can i forgive myself for terribly wrong things i’ve done, and how can i learn to love myself? It’s seriously driving my insane because my I want to love and care for others like i used to, but now i’m over obsessing over myself instead and i can’t focus on anyone BUT myself. this was kinda all over the place i’m so sorry.. 

it wasn’t all over the place, i got you. it sounds like you’ve got a large, underlying problem that’s splitting up and squeezing itself into the nooks and crannies of what you’re used to having control over, so if you don’t mind me being a little long-winded, i’ll talk you through some stuff. i’m not guaranteeing that anything i’m gonna say isn’t bullshit, but i’ll do my best. it’s gonna be a large response, so i’ll keep things under the cut here. click if you’ve got time to sift through the bulk.

okay. so before you do anything, i want you to know that you’re okay. you’re normal, and you’re definitely not alone. this isn’t fluff i’m typing to make you feel better, it’s the truth. you’re allowed to feel like you’re sinking, stagnant, and drowning. you’ve got to, slowly, forgive yourself for that. it’s ridiculously easy to just hate yourself and let it all end there, and if it’s just self-loathing- that’s okay too. nobody says that you have to like yourself all the time, especially now. just don’t let it lie there.

let’s talk about how you want to care for others like you used to. it used to be easy to hold your temper, right? to stay relatively cheerful about things that would otherwise upset you, to breathe a little lighter and shake your head when people ask if you’re bothered by something? it used to be easier to ask other people questions about their day and mean it, wasn’t it?

don’t care about all that right now. none of it. right now you feel like shit, you need time to get yourself together, to find a path. you’re not obligated in any way to bother about others, as long as you’re not cruel. let your friends know you’re in a rough patch. because, although all i can say is from personal experience, the more you try when you can’t, it’s going to end up worse. you’re not going to get caring for other people right, and you’re not going to get caring for yourself right. it’s not going to last forever, this self-absorption, and you get a pass to fall into it when you need it most.

okay, i guess i’m over the bulk of it. the one big piece of advice i’ve got for you (you can take it however seriously you want, it’s simply a suggestion), is to make decisions. don’t let yourself fall into that pit of trying to make the minutes pass by quicker so you don’t notice them, but try and find pockets of clarity throughout the day to try and make choices. it’ll put some purpose into your days.

now, i’ve flunked classes, i’ve skipped finals, and i’ve turned off the alarm for discussions because i simply didn’t care. if you want to, at the end of the day, still pass your classes, you should start studying now. right now. make a plan, and stick to it. if you don’t give a shit about passing your classes, that’s fine too. don’t even look at your notes, fuck all and enjoy the rest of your holiday. but make sure that you’ve got the rest of your academic year planned out. don’t just give up without any backup plan, because you know you’ll regret it. if you want to take a break from all this damn fighting against academia, heck, go for it. just make sure you know when you’re going to retake the classes you need. it can be next semester, over the summer, in two years’ time- doesn’t matter. i don’t know if you’re enthusiastic about learning, but not everyone’s suited for academia. and that’s fine, because we’re us, and not a hive mind. you feel like you’re being pushed along the flow with everyone that’s struggling to be the top of the class, but if you don’t want to, you don’t need to be. step back, if that’s what you want to do. just keep a clear mind, and don’t let yourself make decisions you know, for sure, you’ll regret in the future. don’t drop out of school if your dream is to be a professor.

also, we’re all stuck with what-ifs. i too, regret how much i didn’t care, which has made my life so much difficult now. it’s hard, but the only advice i can offer you, is to let it go. you’re never going to forget it, and it’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life, but don’t drown in it. you know what- it’s happened already! all that shit you could’ve done, you should’ve done, it’s all passed. didn’t touch a textbook for an entire month? the month’s gone. now, what are you going to do right now? what are you going to do tomorrow? i don’t think you should start with trying to love yourself yet. i think you should start with learning how to let go of that knife, a few hours at a time, and let yourself heal a bit. you just don’t have to hate yourself. that’s the first step. think about how you still have time to be the person you want to be.

final thing: this is the hardest of all, but practice not giving a shit about what anyone else thinks of your progress. we’re all brought up to be so terrified of falling behind, of being mediocre, but when you put it into perspective- you’re aware of what you’re good at, and maybe it’s not getting into harvard. maybe you’re good at pointing out the different colours of leaves, noticing when people’s smiles turn forced, or remembering odd quotes. don’t forget those things. fuck the tide, fuck everyone else. you’ve the rest of your long ass life to live- and one or two years giving yourself time to feel like a worthwhile human being again won’t even make a blip in your timeline. your cousin is the next math genius and gets a yale scholarship at 12? who the fuck cares? you’re going where you want, when you want, and meanwhile, you can enjoy your time trying to paint leaves.

but if getting to college, or high school, or your job asap is your goal, then it’s time to buck up. although i wouldn’t recommend trying to shoot for the stars when you’re feeling so low, focus on where you’ve got to go, and still, let everyone fade past you. don’t compare. your life is your own, and nobody else has to live with the burden of your own brand of anxiety each day.

right, i’m sorry this got really, really long, and hopefully not too preachy. honestly, i usually don’t have this much to say, but your ask really hit me because it’s something i’ve experienced for myself. it was the worst year of my entire life.

i can’t tell you that it’s going to be okay, because it might not be, but the chances are if you make it out the other side, you’re going to be completely different. suffering is the harshest teacher, but at the other end of the tunnel, you’re going to be so much stronger than you were before. don’t forget that.

good luck, and i promise you i’ll be rooting for you over on my side.

[hellstate--rp-blog]

↪ b a s i c s ;

N A M E: Arlo James Quill A G E: 14 P L A C E   O F   O R I G I N: New Orleans, Louisiana G R O U P: None F C: Finn Wolfhard

❝ All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. ❞

↪ p e r s o n a l i t y ;

P O S I T I V E   T R A I T S: erudite ; adroit N E G A T I V E   T R A I T S: irascible ; sedentary

↪ b i o g r a p h y ;

L I F E   B E F O R E   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. AGES 0-5 | The birth of Arlo James Quill was not an easy one ( his mother reminded him of this during every heated argument they encountered ) but nevertheless he survived unlike his twin sister who managed to see the light but never breathed the air. As he grew he considered himself to be an only child simply because he was never told the tale of his sister’s unlucky fate. Though, at times he felt that maybe a piece of him was missing he suppressed these emotions and replaced them with the love he received from his mother. His mother, Dahlia Quill was a beautiful woman. Beautiful but sad. From the moment he could comprehend complex thought he knew this and he promised himself that he would change it.

AGES 5-8 | He started to ask about his father now, why didn’t he have one and where did he go? He was always provided with a simple shrug and “when you’re older, you’ll understand.” And while he respected his mother’s wishes to keep his father’s identity concealed, Arlo called bullshit — and yearned to learn more. This sudden curiosity had established Arlo’s need for adventure and interest in mystery at a very young age. A young Sherlock Holmes his mother would call him and he dubbed the alter-ego proudly. However as smart as this young detective was he never learned the whereabouts of his father, let alone his identity. He felt defeated but suggested it was disinterest. He entered school and quickly realized the love he received from his mother wasn’t universal. And though he had friends that he would soon cherish more than ever, Arlo was greeted with the harsh realities of bullies. The social ladder had already placed him at the lowest but Arlo never took it into account.

AGES 8-10 | What he lacked socially he made up academically. He quickly proved his worth in his schoolwork and gave teacher’s enough of a reason to doubt their own intelligence. But his wit was lost in his ability to keep up with it. He was a slave to procrastination and his schoolwork proved it. It was a terrible habit to pick up at a young age but he always managed to shine during standardized testing — the only thing that helped him survive each school year. But during summer when the books and teachers couldn’t save him, Arlo was inside with his mother reading whatever books he could get his hands on. Or other times he traded it in for X-Men or Batman: The Caped Crusader. And when his mother urged him to go outside and play like the other kids did, he found his friends and biked across the block to their favorite comic shop – spending crumbled five dollar bills their parents gave them for doing their chores. And even though those moments seemed to be the best he always found himself crossing paths with the bullies once more.

“The bullies mom, how can I stop them?” And his mother pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek and said “Just be brave Arlo. Just be brave.”

L I F E   D U R I N G   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

AGES 10-12 | 5th grade stinks. This was his only concern and while he heard the news in the background it was just static. Children don’t watch the news. They sit, play games, and be kids —- but Arlo had the pleasure of not being like the other kids. And even though he was a smart kid he looked at the news reports with a clueless expression but one thing was evident — fear. He pretended not to be afraid much like everyone around him. He overheard gossips that the viral scare was nothing more than a scare — how many of them had we encountered and have them suddenly disappear. It was just one of those things. It should’ve been just one of those things. As the coverage of the virus became more frequent Arlo’s fear only manifested into something real, something he could no longer repress and he saw the reflection of the same fear around the people he cared about most. His friends, his family, his mother.

“Mom, what are we gonna do?” And his mother pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek and said “Just be brave Arlo. Just be brave.”

CHEYENNE, WYOMING. AGE 13 | He didn’t plan on spending his birthday in a car packed with all their belongings and his paranoid mother. She did a good job not expressing her paranoia or her fear, Arlo just knew it was there — because frankly, it would have been weird if it wasn’t. As frantic as they were to escape to some oasis Arlo was surprised by his mother’s dedication to make his birthday something worth while. He was robbed of his favorite flavor birthday cake but was given something even better —- a clue to a case that had gone cold ages ago. It was a braided golden chain with a small cross dangling from it. The last person it belonged to was his father and even though he wished that the necklace came complete with a photograph or at least he name he was ecstatic that the mystery still lived. But then he was greeted with the harsh reality that the mystery would be forced to return to the shadows — the life ahead of them would suggest what the left in New Orleans, Louisiana was far gone.  

L I F E   A F T E R   T H E   O U T B R E A K:

AGE 13-14 | It had been only a few months since they established their residency in Cheyenne, Wyoming. It wasn’t all that bad. Himself and his mother adjusted quite nicely in a abandoned home smack down in the middle of nowhere — well not really, it was about five miles out from the nearest town with stores, gas, cars and every time the two would drive up to the town they would always gather enough equipment to get by. But the art of getting by was foreign to Arlo who had grown accustomed to instant gratification. He didn’t resent his mother, he resented his mother’s actions. He felt a sense of betrayal that her sense of survival had been marginalized. He wanted something bigger, badder, stronger. —- Ask and you shall receive.

RAIDER TERRITORY. AGE 14 | When Arlo met the raiders he was outside while his mother was inside preparing whatever scraps she could for dinner that night. The naive boy was quick to trust the living and invited them inside for dinner. While there an accord was placed  — join us and we’ll help you live. These men had seemed to be well-fed, well-dressed, and clean all pros in Arlo’s book and while he was ready to surrender his hand for a shake his mother had stopped it. He failed to see why his mother would do such a thing but his own young, fourteen year old pride had blinded him. He freed himself from his mother’s grasp and ran with the men who changed Arlo’s life but the question remains, was it better or was it for worse? In the beginnings of it all it did seem to be for the better, expect for the lonesome nights where he missed his mother deeply but the abundance of food, the sturdy shelter, and the undeniable feeling of protection — he tried to compensate for that missing piece. But as time progressed and the role of the raiders seemed to become more sinister than Arlo could’ve ever imagined he felt his knees grow weak when he learned that the bullies he ran from as a kid were now the ones he associated himself with today. It wasn’t cowardliness that stopped him it was morality. Now, he’s aching for an escape —-

“Mom — Mom! What should I do? Where do I go?” But the kiss isn’t warm on his cheek and the voice telling him to be brave has faded away.