#sorry if it toke to long school is beating my ass

[askthegaleforces]

Well hello there! Galeforces of the world? Do you folks mind if you introduce yourselves so we could get to know you? :)

[their bios will be written soon btw]]

[brattywriters-anonymous]

A Rose In Harlem

OC x Erik Story

Based on Teyana Taylor's VII & KTSE.

Warnings: Sneaky Bitch in the cut! Drug use. Drunkenness. Jealous Erik! Jealous Syd! A whole bunch of jealousy! Which leads me to the title of

CHAPTER 4: ENVY.

Erik's face began to heat up with anger at the sight of Syeda and the maintenance man. He continued smoking as his eyes searched for Grant. He found him in the back of the kitchen beside the back door talking to some woman. He barged his way through the thick crowd of party goers and as he walked past the kitchen he gave Syd and her plus one a look of disdain. "Aye, Grant. Lemme get a eighth." He requested, handing Grant two twenties. He needed to calm down and the Henny was not a culprit for that mission. Grant dug around in his pocket for the weed and pulled out a pre-weighed pack and gave it to Erik. "Here man. Just give me a dub. You look like you need it right now. Wassup witchu?"He let out a full sigh before he answered, "Nothin. I'm good. Thanks. You got some more backwoods?" The mystery woman spoke up, "I do." Erik's face changed as soon as he looked up at her. She was no Syeda, but she was bad all the same. 

Brown skin that would give Coca a run for its money. She was about 5'7" with a curly top knot bun. "I'm Gina, just call me G." "Erik." They exchanged pleasantries and shook hands. Syeda is witnessing their exchange and she scoffed as she took the last sip of her straight liquor as if it was a shot. Yasin followed suit, thinking she was trying to out drink him. "Damn babe. You took that shot and didn't even blink." He laughed as he pulled her from behind, hugging her by her waist. She smiled in their direction with purpose. "Yeah. I guess I needed this." she then moved her head up to look at Yasin. He took that opportunity to kiss her forehead. Erik accepted G's pack of backwoods and clinched his jaw again after seeing Syd and Mr. Plumber's exchange. "Wanna go outside?" He motioned his head towards the back yard. "Yes, Erik. We can do that." She flashed a smile at him. She had a gap that Erik immediately took to. 'It's actually cute on her' he thought.

Syd sucked her teeth as the DJ switched the record up to "Bandz A Make Her Dance" she asked Yasin, "Hey boo, you wanna dance?" She didn't wait for his reply. She pulled his arm as he followed her into the living room.

--

Erik began choking on the blunt, "Wait, you did what?" G patted his back and chuckled at him. "I thought I could go to the top of the Empire state building and smoke a couple ls. so I did. Until security was called after I got done with the first one." He hadn't laughed so hard since his Navy days, back before he went off to college. "I had to run down 102 flights of steps with Security on my ass! I don't regret it though." She admitted, grabbing the blunt that Erik was offering. He liked the fact that she was daring. While they were rolling to match, she talked about how she took a leap of faith to pursue her modeling career moving from Houston to New York after her parents passed away in a drunk driving accident. Erik exchanged the similar experience of losing his father and mother when he was younger. They seemed to form a slight bond over their bold interests and their painful losses. They were both only children, they even complimented each other's rolling styles. "Yeah, this is hittin. You good at this. How long you been smoking?" G leaned back in awe of the query, "Shiiiiiiiiit I'm twenty-six, It is my birthday by the way." He interrupted, "Oh, well happy birthday beautiful." Her smile spread from ear to ear. "Oh, Thank you. Anyway- I'm twenty-six. I've been smoking since I was fifteen. So about eleven years." She took another drag as he lit the blunt he rolled. "So what about you?" He exhaled the smoke and did some calculating with his free hand. He'd only taken up smoking when he went back to MIT for his doctorate in Engineering. Even though a eighteen year old Navy enlisted Stevens would laugh if he saw his twenty-seven year old self toking like Wiz Khalifa, he used the flower to decompress. Especially before his dissertation. He smirked and rebutted, "Only four years." G gasped, "Really? I'm surprised. I mean, you being from Cali and all." He kept the same smirk at the way she pronounced Cali with that southern accent. He really liked that. "I wasn't a fan of weed in my younger days. I enlisted in the Navy as soon as I graduated High School. When I got out and went to college, my view became more lenient; and by the time I went to school to get my doctorate, I dove head first in the weed. That shit was stressful." Gina marveled at the small background story he gave her. "Wow. Doctorate. So you're a doctor?" he passed his blunt to her, and rejected what was left of hers. "I am. Kind of. Engineering Doctor." She busted out laughing. Her laughter instigated his as they were enjoying each other's company.

--

"Front then he coming your way, let the semi dump-dump then he coming your way. Dump when the bad man come, my yute don't ramp wit me/Coupe full of bad hoes, they all wanna come with me./You got a coupe with a sad ho cause she wanna come with me. Shabba!"

Syd wined her body to the bass line of the beat as Yasin joined her movements behind her. The party was singing along with A$AP Ferg, you could've sworn he was in attendance. They'd been dancing for four songs now, and Syd started getting tired. She stopped and rose up from her bent position. "Wooo. I'm drained." Sin nodded. "I feel you. It is hot out here. You wanna go outside?" He pointed at the same back door she saw Erik and whatshername go out of. She agreed, out of curiosity. They make strides to the back of the party. As Sin opened the door for Syd to walk out, Erik and whatsherface were walking in. Laughing as if Eddie Murphy was outside doing a comedy show and smelling louder than Coachella. Syd rolled her eyes and tried to avoid making eye contact. Erik quickly shut that down. "Syd." He always said her name so effortlessly and it immediately stopped her in her tracks as she turned around. "Erik? Hey. What's up?" He took a quick glance at Yasin and looked back at her, "Chillin. Zig finally showing me a good time and shit." He glanced back over at Yasin, who was giving him a smug look. "You?" Syd flipped her hair so she could rub the back of her neck, "I needed to get out of the house. Work is getting hectic."

Ironically, Yasin and G both cleared their throats at the same time at their counterpart's rudeness. Syd looked over at Sin apologetically, "I'm sorry. Sin, this is Erik. My neighbor's cousin. Erik, this is Yasin." Neither one of them felt the need to shake hands they just gave each other a domineering stare. Erik broke it and looked at Gina and her impatient body language, "This is Gina. We just met but she's cool." Gina reached her hand out to Syd. Syd leaned back far enough for Erik and Sin to notice, but Gina didn't. She reluctantly took her hand and shook it, "Syeda." She quickly let her hand go and walked to the end of the deck. Erik's mouth hung open at the crude behavior that Syd was displaying. 'She acting like she didn't bring fix-a-toilet to the party.' he scoffed aloud at the inner thought.

Yasin shook her hand, trying to deescalate the awkward situation, "Hey, I'm Yasin. It was getting hot in there and she needs some fresh air." Erik side eyed Syd, "Yeah. I'm sure. Well you enjoy your night Syd." Syd shooed him off. "Yeah. You too." The door closed and Yasin let out a long breath as the tension levels decreased. "Wow. Uh. You okay? You seem upset." Syd still looking ahead toward the back yard, she shook her head. "I'm not upset. I'm good." She managed a fake smile and took his hand. "Are you okay?" Yasin scratched his forehead in confusion. "I was okay until all of that happened. That was awkward as hell, ma. You two hook up or somethin'?" Syd rolled her eyes at the suggestion, "Hell no. I practically don't know him. I'm just hot and irritated that's all." "Okay babygirl. lets get you cooled down." He found a lawn chair and scooted it up to her so she could sit down. 

--

30 Minutes later

Yasin and Syd were becoming more acquainted. They exchanged stories about Ramadan failures. Syd loves food too much to not eat during the day. "Islam is about patience. Even in our shortcomings. I got up to thirteen days this year. I'll aim for thirty next year and see how far Allah takes me." "Wow. I never thought of it that way." She always beat herself up about not following her religion as diligently as her parents did, her life was too hectic to not eat during Ramadan, she was almost always working on Fridays so she couldn't go to the Mosque. She prayed about two to three times a day on average instead of five. Syd looked at the sky, hoping in that moment that she was making her parents somewhat proud. Yasin felt her mood change. The door opened, they both looked back to see Nina. She leaned against the deck and lit a blunt. "This party is gettin' a lil too lit." She said, exhaling smoke. Syd cosigned, "I feel you girl." Nina took another drag and motion the blunt to her left, at Syd. She accepted it. "I knew you smoked!" Yasin laughed at their dialogue. "I thought I smelled weed when I walked in your place." Syd took a long drag. "First of all, fuck both of you! Secondly, Yes. I smoke. Sue me!" They all laughed as Syd motioned the blunt to Sin. He reluctantly accepted. Nina calmed down, "Nah, but for real though, Syd. I got a friend that would be perfect for your shoots. She just moved here from Houston and she's looking for some modeling gigs." Syd hummed loudly, "YES! I need one more girl. That'll be perfect. Just bring her through to the shoot. Myles sent you the info right?" Syd knew the answer but she was confirming. "Yeah he did. That guy is on it. Sent it the day after the meeting." "Girl, Myles is a Godsend. I'd lose my mind if I didn't have him by my side." Yasin cleared his throat, unfamiliar with the male name being mention. "Babe, that's my assistant." he palmed his face, "My bad. I'm sorry. Damn I'm not tryna come off as the jealous type." She gave him a peck and reclined back in her chair. "It's okay."

🌹

[letsprayitwritesitself]

Sprace high school AU feat. smoking weed under the bleachers and falling in love (maybe frenemies to lovers if you can work it in?)

sorry this took so long love i hope you like it!! 

Week One

Twelve minutes into study hall on the first day at his new school, Spot found his place. It was under the bleachers on the football field, where the sun shone through in thin lines onto the grass, and it was actually almost silent. Both surprised and grateful that it was empty, he dropped his backpack on the ground and sat down, laying back slowly until he was flat, and taking a second to breathe out all the tension he’d managed to accumulate through the day.

He just needed to get through the rest of this year. That was it. It was only four months, because he’d managed to get kicked out of his own school the semester before graduation. Not like he was particularly attached to his old school, but at least it was what he knew. Now he was surrounded by strangers, teachers who kept trying to get him involved, a new timetable to get used to, corridors like mazes - he had been over this whole thing before he’d even walked through the doors. As far as he was concerned, he needed to get through the coming weeks as quietly as possible, and if that meant spending all his free time here, then that was just fine.

‘Oh.’

Spot sighed, keeping his eyes shut, pretending he was still alone. He should have known this place was too good to be private. He didn’t want to share, but then, he had only been here five seconds. This could be someone else’s turf.

‘Hello?’ The voice continued, a little louder. Spot opened his eyes to see a boy standing over him. He glared up.

‘What?’

‘”What?” I thought you were a dead body! Jeez!’ He took a few steps away, still eyeing Spot. Spot sat up, sheepish but defensive.

‘I thought I’d found a quiet place. Apparently I was wrong.’

‘It normally is quiet, brainbox.’ The kid sat down and started rummaging through his backpack. As much as Spot now wanted to leave, he wanted to stay. He felt unwelcome and he really wanted to be alone - but the fact that this kid had suggested he didn’t want him here made him want to be an asshole and keep him company. He dug his copy of Twelfth Night out of his bag and opened it, hoping that the hour would pass fast.

It was about three minutes before he was completely distracted. It wasn’t the intriguing click of the lighter or the long satisfied sigh that the other kid let out, but the smell of the weed that tore him away from Shakespeare. He glanced over. The boy was lying in the grass, propped up on his elbows, staring up at the sky through the bleachers.

‘Such a fucking cliche,’ Spot muttered, staring at him for the few seconds it took the kid to look back. Dark hair pushed off his face, big sweatshirt, self-satisfied smirk. When he looked at Spot he gave back as good as he got, staring him down, eyebrows raised. 

‘Guessing you don’t want any, then?’

‘… Didn’t say that.’ Spot discarded his book to the side. He didn’t realise he wanted weed until it was there in front of him. He leaned over, stretching his arm out for the joint. The kid started to pass it, then retracted his hand with a grin. 

‘Nah.’

Spot stilled with a glare. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Changed my mind.’

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Ask nicely.’

Spot deadpanned. He really, really wanted the weed now. ‘Asshole.’ He retreated, picking his book back up.

‘You got a name?’

His instinct was to ignore him. He stared at his page - there were definitely words on there, but he couldn’t pick them out.

‘C’mon.’ The kid persisted.

‘Yeah, I got a name.’

‘Alls I wanted to know. I’ll give ya a toke if you tell me.’

Spot glanced up at him. ‘Spot.’

‘Spot?’

‘That’s what they call me.’

‘Who’s they?’ 

‘Just they.’ He watched as the kid appraised the name before moving over to hand Spot the joint.

‘I’m Race,’ he said, like Spot was still listening.

Deep inhale. ‘Didn’t ask.’ Exhale.

‘You’re a charmer. This your first day here?’

‘Do I get another toke if I answer?’

‘Sure.’

‘Yeah. Just transferred.’

‘Little late, ain’t it?’

‘I know. But they didn’t want me there. So.’ He took another toke for answering that third question, before passing it back. Oh man. Even if it came with this chatterbox a joint of weed miraculously appearing before him had to be one of the best outcomes of the day.

‘What’d you do?’

‘I beat up a kid for asking too many questions.’

‘Ha ha. Forget it.’

Week Two

It turned out that Race only smoked weed under the bleachers on Fridays or really terrible Mondays, which is what the week before had been. So when Spot had gone down to the field the next day, expecting to see him there, he was - not disappointed, but…

At least it meant he got some reading done. And the same on Wednesday and Thursday, making him wonder if he’d made Race up in his head or something.

Then Friday came and Race had beat him there, which, as much as he was starting to think of this place as his and everyone else could fuck off, he didn’t completely hate. Race had actually readily handed over the joint when he sparked it. They didn’t talk or anything as major as that, but companionable silence was almost as good as actual alone time.

It was the Friday after, when Race threw his backpack on the ground and sat down with a theatrical huff that they next actually spoke. Spot peeked over the top of his textbook to see Race covering his face with his hands, taking a deep breath in and out.

‘What’s up your ass?’ He only asked because he wanted Race to hurry up with the weed, honest. 

‘Huh?’

‘What’s… Up… Your… Ass?’

‘Fuckin’… Assholes are up my ass.’

‘Oh. Shit.’

‘This TA saw me at Pride. Months ago.’ He uncovered his face and glared at Spot. ‘Tried to like, whatever, with me. I say no, next thing I know he’s in my Spanish class trying to make me look like a soplagaitas every day.’

Spot had blacked out after Race said Pride. Not physically, of course, but mentally. Emotionally. He’d been there too.

‘Sounds like an asshole.’

‘To put it politely.’

‘You got the power, though.’ Spot had been in that situation. Men being assholes because they didn’t get what they wanted. ‘He knows it.’

‘Sure don’t feel like it.’ He finally grabbed his backpack and rummaged through it. ‘Still. Only four months till we blow this joint.’ He pulled the weed out and held it up with a grin. ‘Get it? Joint?’ A smile appeared on Spot’s face before he could stop it. He closed his textbook and shifted a little closer to Race.

Week Three

He was late. Not that they had, like, a start time or anything - but. He’d gotten distracted flipping through an old periodical in the library and before he knew it twenty minutes of the period had passed and he was standing in the stacks like an asshole instead of meeting Race.

As he power-walked across the football field he started to dissect this urgency - why did it feel like he was standing Race up? Could you stand someone up to something like this? Why was he so keen to get  there? Don’t go there, Spot, do not go there -

Jesus. He liked hanging out with Race, okay? What was so wrong with that? Kid was funny when he wanted to be. And he had weed! And he was gay. And his smile made Spot smile.

But it was definitely mostly about the weed.

As he crossed the field he was surprised to see a figure heading away from the bleachers. It stopped as he neared. Race.

‘Don’t tell me you’re going to study hall?’

‘Was starting to think you had somewhere better to be!’

‘You’re saying you wouldn’t have stayed here by yourself?’

‘I just.’ Race shuffled on the spot. Glanced down. Back up. ‘Got shit to do! Can’t stay here all day.’

Spot eyed him suspiciously. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’ A moment of heavy silence hung between them. 

‘Well, since you’re here.’ Race took a couple of steps backwards towards the bleachers and Spot followed. They walked the last few yards side by side. It felt different. Again, Spot started to take apart everything that had just happened in his head. Race, suggesting that he had other stuff to do, and yet staying here with Spot instead. Leaving when he thought Spot wasn’t coming. And himself, challenging Race to leave anyway, hypothesising that Race’s decision to hang out with him could be the result of… something.

That’s where the thought process got a little fuzzy.

He sat down next to Race and watched as he lit the joint, took a long toke, breathed it out into the air above them. He passed it to Spot, hand brushing his just enough to count, and Spot wondered what he had to lose by challenging Race again.

He took a puff, enjoyed it, and exhaled, trying to decide his next move. Remembering the first week, he made to pass the joint back to Race, and at the last second drew his hand back slowly. Race’s hand followed, his gaze moving to Spot’s face. They stared at each other steadily for the next few seconds, Spot moving the joint further away, Race still following with his hand, until he had to lean forward to try and take it. He was taking the bait.

There was only so far Spot could stretch his arm behind him so he rested it in the grass, joint fizzling out forgotten in the dew, and Race’s hand hovered uncertainly in the air as he paused, his face inches from Spot’s. Spot waited, angling his face upwards.

‘Take it.’

Race dove forwards, crashing his lips into Spot’s, and Spot moaned, ecstatic his game had played out exactly right. He wasted no time in letting his mouth fall open so Race could put his tongue to a good use that wasn’t talking shit, and fisted a hand in Race’s hair, holding his head in place. He leaned back, stretching out his legs so Race could climb on top of him and press him into the grass, kissing him like he’d been waiting all his life for it instead of max three weeks, and the joint lay abandoned, pushed down the agenda by a different kind of high.

Week 4

Monday wasn’t a terrible Monday but still Race showed up. Both had endured a weekend of torturously exciting flashbacks to their heavy session that Friday, the two days stretching on and on so they were both mad when they met up, unspoken as always but definitely on purpose.

Stubborn assholes they both were, they tried to urge the other into making the first move. Race arrived after Spot and sat down opposite him, kneeling directly before him and plucking his paperback from his hands, tossing it aside and leaning into Spot’s personal space.

‘I was reading that.’

‘I know. Now you’re not.’

‘Clearly.’

‘I don’t have any weed. You’ve been smoking me out of all my wages.’

‘I’ve had like five puffs, you jackass.’ Spot smirked up at him. 

‘Still five more than I wanted to share.’ He placed his hands on Spot’s knees. ‘I’ve been pretty generous.’ 

Spot started toying with the front of Race’s sweater. ‘I can always pay you back.’

‘Oh yeah? How’s that?’

‘I’ll figure something out.’ He used the sweater to pull Race to him.

Tuesday: See above.

Wednesday: See above.

On Thursday Race pulled away just enough to talk into Spot’s lips.

‘What you doing for lunch?’

Spot paused to gather his thoughts. Race was talking about lunch instead of kissing him, and that was wrong. ‘Library. Same s’always.’

‘Come sit with me. Me and my friends.’

Now Spot pulled away. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Not talking about anything. Just being friendly.’

He slipped his fingers into Race’s belt loops and tugged. ‘Friendly?’

Race gulped and nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘Sure. I’ll come.’

And then on Friday - not that they would tell anyone - they started to consider themselves maybe-sort-of-ish-but-not-really… official, but fuck you for asking and fuck you for thinking about it it’s none of your god damn business go away. Luckily their time alone was worth the teasing grins of Race’s (and Spots, he guessed) friends, and the space beneath the bleachers changed into a haven of exciting affection without pretence, words whispered despite notable absence of company, and just Spot and just Race, not wishing the days away anymore.