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Realistic or Modern 𝒯𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 & 𝐻𝒾𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝒞𝓁𝓊𝑒𝓈



















Sorry, wasn't listening





“You like rich guys? But you date Mason?” Nickie blurted.


"Only until I go to New York, or LA, or Miami, or wherever," Adriane corrected. He was kind of a means to an ends -- kind of. "He's going to graduate with a scholarship, we're going to move away, I'm going to be a model and he's going to be... I don't know, whatever it is he wants to be. And we'll be rich and maybe still together."

Their relationship was already fairly toxic and Adriane could never remember if they were or weren't together anymore -- but something kept her coming back, and something kept Mason wanting to come back. She figured once they were off, though, they'd both meet much better people and end up moving on.

Or, at least, Mason finally would.

Adriane kind of saw herself being alone, floating through life on a single paycheck with no kids in a flat in the tallest building in New York City. For her, that was the dream.

"Also he's really good in bed," she added, because Adriane couldn't admit that maybe she was putting up with him because some part of her liked him.

"Dedicated? Please. The two of you will break up within the week when you catch him with some other girl."

What? Adriane was nothing if not blunt.

“You know that’s Ian Hansen. Like, Rory’s brother. You know Rory, right? Like, wasn’t she in something with you? Anyway, he runs like a freaking chicken with its head cut off—it’s hilarious. And he looks like he’s seven, even though he’s, like…twelve or something. I can’t believe they let him be the water boy.”

Rory rang a few bells, but so did Ian -- Mason complained about him a lot.

"Rory used to lend me cigarettes," she said simply. "I think we made out once, too, or something. I can't remember." Adriane added with a sigh.

(She'd definitely been with Mason at the time.)

"He looks like a loser," she said. "Why do you even know who he is? Don't you have anything better to do than memorize random people's names and gossip about them?"

Again, the irony tended to be lost on her.

























fast car








♡coded by uxie♡
 


















if i could, i would feel nothing.





“Bullshit,” Mike said dismissively
about West walking to school for fresh air. West didn’t give a shit about fresh air. Still, Mike wasn’t feeling much like pressing for any deeper answer.

“Is it…better?” West asked.

Mike raised an eyebrow. “What? Driving?”

“Being…graduated, ya know?”

Shit, why was that always brought up? You’re past your prime, you’ve already failed—you’re graduated and working at a fucking gas station. Mike sighed deeply. He pulled his toothpick out of his mouth and gestured to West with it, bouncing it a beat as he thought for a moment, his face full of a muted sort of anger. Finally, he sighed, heaving himself off of the crumbling red leather stool that he was leaning back on. “Listen, Piss,” he started, coming out from behind the counter, “I’ve got to go clean the bathrooms, so—“

“Do you ah…have you listened to blink-182’s album?” West asked.

Mike stalled. “What the hell even is that?”

“It’s not—I mean, it’s new, but it’s not like…new new. Came out over the summer, but umm…” West shrugged. “I dunno, I’ve been ahh…I’ve been listening to it—a lot, actually.”

Mike looked him once over, not filtering his scrupulous, judgmental facial expression. At the end of a long day, Mike was just…tired, and he didn’t really want to hear something about… “Is this some, like…new band?” Moving once again toward the cleaning supply closet and popping his toothpick back in his mouth, he said, “That’s a lame fuckin’ name. Let me guess—metal or something?”

Mentioning metal made Mike grin to himself. “You know, Karma’s Touch—“ Woods and his “band” that never was. “—was the best fucking metal band out there, and we didn’t have a single fucking song. So panty-dropping that we didn’t even need to pick up a guitar to be flooded with all kinds of the hottest chicks. My fucking saxophone skills…” Mike had never played saxophone, but the Karma’s Touch pickup line worked a surprising amount with, ya know, getting some in high school.

He grinned over his shoulder back at West. “You should learn to play an instrument, West.” He chuckled, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Might finally get ya some pussy.”

“Do…girls…like boys that play guitar?” West asked. “Do umm…like—I thought they were supposed to, but…”

Mike sighed, his smile falling. He’d forgotten that West was already sort of, well, trying to play an instrument. He shrugged. “Eh, they do if you’re hot. That might be what you’re missing there, West,” he said, the fleeting moment of fun gone as he picked up a bottle of cleaning solution and paper towels. He looked down at the gum in West’s hand. “You wanting to buy that?”

























double








♡coded by uxie♡

 


















i know you want me.





“You smoke?” Nickie asked, instinctively crinkling up her nose in disgust.
She was the president of the smoking prevention club—Squash Smoking. Which was ironic, since her dad was a smoker, but in her opinion, her dad was old so, like, he was a lost cause anyway.

(If you couldn’t tell, Nickie didn’t really have much of a sense of what old actually was.)

“I think we made out once, too, or something,” Adriane continued. “I can’t remember.”

Nickie felt her cheeks tinged pink. “Oh, uhm…”

Making out in general was a very awkward conversation topic for Nickie right now. Kissing was one thing, but…like, it was a different vibe.

And Adriane had, like, made out with a girl?

(It was the early 00s.)

Nickie had only ever, like…made out with, like, Saint three times, maybe, and then, like…the boyfriend before him a few times. But she was fourteen, so even that was extreme behavior in her eyes.

Ninth grade was a wild time.

“He looks like a loser,” Adriane said, obviously indicating Ian, and Nickie looked back at the boy, who desperately tried to hand water to the football players who weren’t even sweating yet.

Nickie snickered. “He is such a loser, duh,” she said.

She didn’t know the kid.

“Why do you even know who he is?” Adriane asked, and Nickie looked over at her, her eyebrows knitting together. “Don’t you have anything better to do than memorize random people’s names and gossip about them?”

Nickie’s cheeks turned a bit pinker. Defensively, Nickie straightened up, insisting, “I’m not, like, gossiping or anything, like—I’m just saying. And, like, I know who he is because, like, in our, like, Squash Smoking club, we, like, had, like, mentor someone from the elementary school or whatever, so, like, I was assigned to him because, like…like, I guess alphabetically he was one of the first last names, and, like, mine is Abrams, and like…”

Nickie tended to ramble whenever she was in a state of heightened emotion.

She ran a hand over her hair again, making sure that no hair was out of place, and she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and mirroring Adriane. “But anyway, like…” Nickie’s eyes scanned the field, looking for someone else she could talk about to keep the air from being awkward again. She found the one quickly enough.

She snickered, gesturing with a pinky toward the field, where the boy wearing the jersey reading KILLOUGH pounded his chest, she guessed as a way to hype himself up. “Keegan Killough is such, like, a freaking idiot, isn’t he?”

























What Was I Made For?








♡coded by uxie♡

 


















Just getting by





No, Mason didn't step into line alongside everyone else.
Instead, he crossed his arms, remaining strictly beside CK as he bitched and moaned about Coach this and Coach that, and explained the basic ass fucking drill that everyone already knew, but snobby ass Freud had to go into too much detail about the whole ass--

Pick your partner, right--

Mason turns towards the team, but most of the team had already wandered off with their chosen partners -- even Killough, who Mason typically liked as a partner because well... he was fun to beat up on. Fuck, even Taylor, one of the newer members of the team, had managed to find a partner which left Mason and--

Fuck.

Annoyed, he glared in Freud's face before he yanked his helmet on to try and cover the glower in his eyes. "No one else, huh?" he asked, even if he already knew the answer, and he briefly wondered if they could just break up one of the other pairs. You know. Captain shit, except that'd probably be bad for team morale and shit.

Out of the front of his helmet, he saw the coach approaching, and Mason clapped his hand into Freud's shoulder roughly. "C'mon," he said, before backing away into position.

























superman








♡coded by uxie♡
 


















smile





Why was Nate still talking to him?
He supposed he didn't really know -- except that when he was smoking, Nate got very talkative. Or well, more talkative than the single word guy typically was on a day-to-day basis.

(And since he was high a majority of the time, Nate was a chatterbox a majority of the time.)

"Weed," he explained, his voice strained as he held the smoke in his lungs a moment longer, before he exhaled slowly. The smoke billowed towards the young boy, and Nate held the joint out to him. "Try it."

It reminded Nate of when he'd been a young boy -- around thirteen at the time -- and still at home in Kansas. He'd been hanging out after school one day, waiting for his older brother and sister to show up so they could go home, when some older guys had come by. At first, he'd turned down the joint, but damn, if public humiliation from peers wasn't a hell of a drug.

So, he'd accepted and the rest, as they say, was history.

"It'll chill you out," he explained, which was evident by the lazy look in Nate's own eyes. "Be careful, though -- don't want you choking too much."

























superman








♡coded by uxie♡
 


















Fuck off





She should've fought harder against having him as a partner.
Because yeah, Ava had laid into the teacher, begging for her to give her a different partner or just allow her to do the entire project on her own (which, obviously, she was going to be doing on her own either way). Mrs. Henderson had adamantly refused because Ava needed to "learn to work in a group."

Dumb, right?

But not as dumb as the boy before her.

She did her best to ignore how much he made her blood boil, though, so that she wouldn't make the situation worse than it already was. But it was difficult to bite her tongue, when all that ever came out were spiteful words.

"If you're so smart," she started, her voice dripping with annoyance. Ava leaned back in her seat, her arms crossing over her chest. "Then I guess you could just... do your entire half, right?" she asked and then, once again, she tapped the paper in front of him. "Why don't you start by writing your name, Einstein."

At this point, it was a demand, not a suggestion.

























fast car








♡coded by uxie♡
 


















Is there anyone?





Although Mike's statement hurt, Jace knew he was right.
He didn't exactly stand out, instead fading into the background of everything.

His dad had tried to get him interested in sports, claiming that it would fill him out. But Jace was terrible at it, and he simply didn't like it -- so he'd stopped with sports when he'd grown old enough to say no.

"No," he responded, going to drop the gum back onto the rack -- except he didn't want Mike to leave just yet. "Actually uh... yes." He said, instead tossing the gum onto the counter.

"Why didn't you move away?" Jace asked, as he casually took his time pulling out cash from his wallet.

























tik tok








♡coded by uxie♡
 


















Nothing less than perfection...





What the feck?


“It’s…weed?!” Trevor asked incredulously, his eyes wide and moving to study the strange rolled…cigarette (or whatever the weed equivalent was—he didn’t know). Hearing what it was sent him into another (overly dramatic) fit of loud hacking, and the hand covering his nose moved to covering his whole lower half of his face. Finally, he stopped “coughing” and lowered his hand, glaring at the man with a confused expression on his face. “Where did you get that? Isn’t it, like, really feckin’ illegal?”

The man held the cigarette out to him. “Try it,” the man offered.

Try it?!” Trevor repeated, his voice cracking in his utter shock.

“It’ll chill you out,” the man said. “Be careful, though—don’t want you choking too much.”

“You want me to try it?” Trevor repeated, still reeling from that fact. He shook his head vigorously, stepping back, his lips curling up in disgust. “We just feckin’ met, and you’re a grown man who’s sitting in a playground, and you’re offerin’ me—you’re offerin’ me drugs?!”

This whole situation rang alarm bells in Trevor’s head—though, to be fair, most other situations when he was in public rang alarm bells.

He looked at the cigarette, and then back at the man’s face. The man’s eyelids sagged; he looked relaxed, tired almost. Trevor’s disgusted look faded slightly as he looked from cigarette to dude, cigarette to dude, cigarette to dude.

He came out here to destress, after all. And Trevor’s whole fecking life—his whole fecking existence—all it was was misery and feckin’ idiots, and he never got any rest, and his head always hurt, and he hated it, he hated it, he hated it.

And this would help? Really?

No way that it would.

But would it? Could it?

No.

Maybe?

Maybe.

Maybe?

Heaving a deep sigh and jutting out his hand to take the cigarette, Trevor averted his eyes and said, “Eh, fuck it.”

But when he held the cigarette in his hand, he coughed again, and he stared at the used end of it. Used—how many feckin’ germs did there have to be on that thing? His lip curled up in disgust, and for a moment, he held it out from his body and back toward the man—but, determined to at least give it a try, he squeezed his eyes shut, put it between his lips, and did what he thought you were supposed to do with a cigarette: breathe in as deep as possible, then blow it all out at once.

This did not go well.

His reaction was slightly delayed and only set in once he had taken his very fast, very deep drag.

And his reaction was to go into a coughing frenzy.

His fingers clasped the joint for dear life as he pounded his chest. His eyes watered.

IMGONNADIEIMGONNADIE

























pick your poison








♡coded by uxie♡

 


















if i could, i would feel nothing.





“Didn’t think so,” Mike said as West placed his gum back on the rack,
and he tucked the cleaning supplies under his elbow and closed the cleaning supply closet door and brushed past West on the way to the bathrooms, gnawing on his toothpick.

“Actually uh…yes,” West said abruptly, and Mike heaved a sigh and turned back toward him.

He worked his jaw for a moment, sighing deeply. West—for fucking real? Headphones around his neck, ill-fitted clothes, fucking rich kid—and West had failed as a protégée, that was for fucking sure—there was no way any girl would ever want to touch him. What could he possibly have to say that was worthwhile at this point in his life? Mike was on the clock, couldn’t the kid understand that?

(Mike was antisocial unless he was talking to someone hot.)

“You just want my attention, don’t you?” Mike said gruffly, plopping the cleaning supplies down on the counter and running a gloved hand through his curly hair. He crossed his arms, sighing and leaning back against the counter. He chewed his toothpick, looking up toward the ceiling, then sighing deeply. “Well…spit it out, kid,” he said tiredly. “You got something important to say?”

“Why didn’t you move away?” West asked.

Mike’s muscles tensed, his eyes widening just slightly. For a moment, his fight or flight instinct told him to fuckin’ punch the dude in the face.

What kind of fucking question was that? Why didn’t Mike move away?

Because no fucking matter where he moved, he wouldn’t ever be anything more than who everyone always said he would be. His mom was born here, and so was he, and he would die here because here, as much ass as it sucked, was the only place that would have him. Here didn’t want him, but here took him him, let him hang around its sleazy bars and breathe in its stale breath, slapped him on the face and grinned, knowing that he couldn’t do anything, because here was the only place he could stay.

But Mike just rolled his eyes, chuckling. “I’ve got too many bitches here, Pisskid. If I left, who would keep them satisfied?”

He reached for West’s wallet. “Now pay up. And tip me.”

























double








♡coded by uxie♡

 


















Man is the only creature who refuses to be what he is.





Donna didn’t know who this girl thought she was,
and he also didn’t know who this girl was in the first place.

“My name’s not fucking Einstein…was that your attempt at insulting me…?” There was a flash of anger across his face. “Don’t fucking try to insult me—I don’t have that kind of patience. And if you insult me…come up with something better.” He looked down at the paper, and then bit down aggressively on the pencil that he’d been keeping too close to his mouth. “And don’t compare me to fucking Einstein. He was a fucking metaphysical idiot...but I doubt that you know what I’m even talking about. You don’t strike me as very…smart.”

Donna was unendingly blunt.

He took the pencil from his mouth and threw it on the table in the direction of Ava; it started to roll toward her. “I don’t know how you managed to get me here to work with you,” Donna said dully, “but you’re not doing a good job at making me want to stay. Have you ever fucking spoken to another person…? Especially someone like me?” It was difficult to tell if he was being sarcastic or facetious or if he was being entirely genuine. “Give me one good reason why I should do this project…and maybe I’ll think about doing something, but not because you asked me to.”

























hell is where i dreamt of u and woke up alone








♡coded by uxie♡

 


















day by day...





CK Freud watched the other players fall into line,
pairing up with this person and that person. Taylor with Fitzgerald, Killough with Bentley, Langford with Lincoln…the team had already gotten so much tighter, so much smoother, and if things continued—

“No one else, huh?” came the grating fucking voice that always interrupted CK’s meditative moments with its unwanted and frankly fucking irritating presence.

CK turned his head toward the source of the voice and found Rivera, fucking helmeted up already, clearly expecting CK to want to be his fucking partner like this was kindergarten. CK stared at him with a glower.

Rivera clapped his hand on CK’s shoulder. “C’mon,” Rivera said, his eyes focused on a spot behind CK.

Chelsea turned his head and glanced with the side of his eye and found the coach to be the spot in question. Well, fuck. With a deep sigh, CK pulled on his helmet.

It was time to fucking get this on with.

• • •​

“You can’t just fucking go for my head,” Chelsea growled under his breath as he rolled his neck, “not in fucking practice—are you a fucking idiot? You’re going to get both of us hurt.”

He was sweating, panting. This was the sixth or seventh time that he’d said this so far, and it never seemed to get fucking through that trying to fucking paralyze him during practice wasn’t doing shit for practice or modeling for the team how things were supposed to fucking be done.

CK was going to fucking kill him after practice—but this was practice, and practice wasn’t about just them.

“Get fucking over yourself, asshole,” CK commanded. “We’re practicing fucking tackles that won’t get us fowled, okay? Tackles, got that?” Picking up the football again, CK walked back over into position. Reluctantly—and trying to conceal the fact that he was absolutely fucking pissed—CK said, “Let’s run that shit again.”

























this fffire








♡coded by uxie♡

 

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