Prompt: You’re a new student a Hemlock Grove High School. One day you notice a group of freshmen bullying a girl, who happens to be Roman’s younger sister, Shelly. You stand up for her and become friends with Roman as a result.
The sound of the bell signals the end of the first period. I put my books in my backpack and hand in my homework before heading out. I head towards the library hoping to finish up my English assignment. As I walk down the hallway I notice a group of freshman harassing a student sitting on the floor against the wall. As I come closer, I recognize the victim. She’s the tall girl with bandages wrapped around her hands. She’s curled up in a ball and crying as the group taunts her about the death of Brooke Bluebell.
“It’s okay you can tell us, we’re your friends. Us freshmen got to stick together right?” a boy in a blue button-up shirt says as he gestures to the rest of the group.
“What did you eat first?” asks a boy with black hair next to him, “I mean I know what I’d eat first. See? It’s not so bad.”
“Who tasted better?”
I decide enough is enough and step in.
“Leave her alone.”
“Uh oh, guys, we’re in trouble,” the blue shirt boy says teasingly. The rest of the group laughs.
“What are you going to do? Tell on us?” asks the other boy.
“Why are you being rude to her?” I ask.
“Because she’s a freak, I mean look at her.”
The girl begins to cry harder and buries her head further into her knees.
“She may look different from the rest of you, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Do you know her or something?” asks the black haired boy.
“Then why are you defending her? She could be Brooke Bluebell’s killer for all you know.”
“You realize that until the killer is found it could be anyone, like one of you freshmen. So leave her alone and if I have to repeat myself, there will be consequences for each of you.”
The two boys glance behind me and their expressions shift to ones of nervousness as they curse under their breath. I turn to see what they’re looking at. A tall, thin, pale boy with brown hair, around my age, walks toward us, his gaze fixed on the two boys. Suddenly I recognize him. Roman Godfrey. He’s in my English class.
“Hey man, uh we just saw this girl accusing her of killing Brooke Bluebell and we came to stop her,” the blue shirt boy says, gesturing towards me then the girl sitting on the floor.
Roman says nothing and he kneels down and begins to comfort the girl stroking her hair, “hey, shhhh, it’s okay shhhhh,” he reassures her as he gently strokes her hair. He stands up and shifts his gaze to the freshman in the blue shirt.
“Kiss him,” he commands, “kiss his pretty little mouth.”
Everyone looks at each other, perhaps questioning if the two boys are going to actually kiss. The two boys look at each other. They kiss reluctantly. The rest of the group gasps in shock of what they’ve just seen. My eyes widen and shift between the two freshmen and Roman. They must be really afraid of him if they’re willing to do what he says even though it involves public humiliation.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Roman yells at the group and they all disperse.
I sit on a bench outside the school waiting for my mom to pick me up. I look around at the beautiful autumn leaves. There’s a slight breeze in the air causing the leaves to rustle and fall from the trees. The sound of footsteps approaches and I look to see the source. They belong to Roman Godfrey.
“Hey,” Roman says as he sits down beside me, “I want to thank you for standing up for my sister. We both really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
“Did you know my sister before today?” Roman asks.
“So why did you stand up for her?” Roman says as he lights a cigarette.
“Because no one else was willing to, besides you. Plus I’d feel terrible if I walked by knowing I could do something about it.”
Roman exhales a puff of smoke and looks at me.
“What’s your name?” Roman asks.
“(Y/F/N). (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N).”
“You’re in my English class, right?”
“Yep. Isn’t Wuthering Heights the greatest piece of literature you’ve read for school?” I say with sarcasm.
“Yes, it’s even better than Shakespeare’s classics.”
We both laugh at our sarcastic remarks. Roman takes another breath from his cigarette.
“Want some?” he asks, offering me a drag.
“Thanks,” I reply before looking around to make sure my mother isn’t here. Roman puts the cigarette to my lips and I inhale. As I exhale, I feel as if I’m exhaling a part of me. Maybe it’s the souls of the lungs cells that just died. If my mother saw me smoking, I’d never hear the end of it.
“So why’d you move here?” Roman asks.
“My parents do business with your family company.”
Roman turns and looks at me intently.
“Really? Mother never mentioned it. Then again she probably didn’t want to.”
Suddenly my Mom’s grey honda accord pulls up and I grab my stuff.
“Well, I got to go but I’ll see you in English class tomorrow,” I say as I put on my backpack.
“Okay. See you tomorrow,” replies Roman as he extinguishes his cigarette, “oh and if you ever want a ride home, just let me know.”
A/N: Based off the prompt by @elevenknope “Steve and Jonathan’s first, second, and last conversation between 1983 and 1984.” This ended up long, so it will be in three parts. This is part one.
JANUARY 7TH, 1984- Jonathan Byers Gets a Compliment
The first conversation between Steve Harrington and Jonathan Byers after November, 1983 happens on the first day back from Winter Break. Its before first period, Jonathan is forty minutes early: The middle school starts fifty minutes before them, and he’s been driving Will to school ever since November. Its chilly, and the ground is covered in snow and his thin jacket is hardly warm enough, but Jonathan is still crouched in the parkinglot, his new camera positioned in front of his face and pointed towards the field in front of him- completely untouched by human footprints. Its a perfect shot.
Jonathan glances around: This was how he liked Hawkins High School best, completely devoid of any human activity, just himself, his camera, and the wind. No one really gives any thought to moments like these, Jonathan thinks. Empty parkinglots, fresh snow, untouched by anything living. Moments of calmness, which Jonathan has had very little of recently. Jonathan takes his picture, and stands up again.
Just as he does so, another car pulls into the driveway- its a nice car, a blue Mercedes. Jonathan knows who it belongs to before the owner steps out- Jonathan only knows one person who would be able to afford anything like that, though he’s never seen the car before, it looks brand new. A Christmas present, Jonathan thinks. Steve Harrington would be the kind of person to get a blue Mercedes as a Christmas present. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was being unfair- it wasnt Steve’s fault he was rich and Jonathan was poor, that was just how the world worked.
Steve steps out of the car, wearing a dark winter jacket, and red gloves that matched with his hat, backpack slung over his shoulder. Jonathan grips his camera a little tighter, remembering his last confrontation with Steve in this parkinglot. Again, deep down he knew he was being unfair- Jonathan shouldnt have taken those photos of Nancy, and Steve had been totally in the right to defend her- but still, he hadnt needed to smash his camera. Not really. Besides, this camera had been a present from Nancy herself, she had forgivin him. Had Steve?
Jonathan thinks he doesnt want to find out. He hasnt spoken to Steve Harrington since the monster attacked- not directly, not alone, and Jonathan hopes that Steve wont notice him and head into the school without so much as a wave.
It was easier that way.
But, of course, Jonathan doesnt have that kind of luck, and Steve sees him, seems to hesitate for a moment, and then waves. Largely against his will, Jonathan waves back, which Steve seems to think is an invite to come over and and heads his direction.
Jonathan doesnt hate Steve Harrington anymore. It was hard to hate someone who helped get Will back- Jonathan thought he could probably never hate him again because of it- but the words Jonathan Byers and Steve Harrington and Friends were not five words that belonged in the same sentence. They were too different. Steve Harrington was the kind of guy who went out and partied every Friday night and came home wasted and with one thousand excuses up his sleeve. Jonathan Byers preferred his hangovers in the form of work. He did not have time for parties, and what free time he did have he spent it with Will. There was no room for socialization on Jonathan’s time table.
And yet Steve approaches him with a friendly smile and a good-natured wave, as if they had been friends for years, as nothing between them had ever happened. “Hey Byers,” Steve says, his cheeks pink with cold and something hidden behind his eyes. Uncertainty? “Have a good Christmas?”
Jonathan grips his camera even tighter. Steve’s eyes linger on it. Maybe he remembers what had happened to his old camera, because he looks up at him again. “I see you got a new camera,” there’s something vague about his voice.
Jonathan says, quickly, “Yeah. Uh, Nancy- she- she got it for me. For Christmas. To replace my old one.”
For some reason, Steve doesnt seem surprised by this news, but when he mentions his old camera he does look guilty, which is something that intriuges Jonathan. Steve opens his mouth to say something, but apparently changes his mind and closes it again. Eventually he asks, “Taken any good ones with it?”
Jonathan blinks at him. “Yeah. I mean, I have some of Will and my mom and- well, they’ve really been my only subjects lately. I mean, sometimes Will and his friends want me to take pictures of them, and I’ve gotten a few good ones out of that, but other than that its mostly landscapes and stuff…” Jonathan trails off. Talking about photography is just about the only thing he feels comfortable talking about, but around Steve it felt bland and uninteresting, even if Steve was smiling at him.
“I’m sure anything you take will be top notch, eh? Even landscapes,” Steve says.
Thrown off guard by the compliment, Jonathan stares at Steve a moment before shrugging. Steve shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and starts to bounce his feet up and down to keep warm. Jonathan wishes he can get a picture of this; Steve Harrington, in the cold, trying to make casual conversation. Who knew what he was really thinking.
When Jonathan doesnt say anything, Steve looks at him, face apologetic. “Look, Jonathan, I’m sorry I broke your old camera. I shouldnt have done that.”
The apology comes as a surprise. Jonathan avoids his gaze and shrugs again. “I shouldnt have taken those photos. It was wrong of me.”
“Yes,” Steve agrees. “But I still shouldnt have- I mean, I take things too far sometimes. I dont think, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jonathan says, “Sometimes I dont think, either.”
Steve gives a small smile, a humble look completely different to the usual Steve Harrington Grin. He hesitates, then holds out his hand. “Truce?” He asks.
Jonathan stares at him. A truce. A truce with Steve Harrington. Four months ago, he would have laughed at the very idea. Jonathan grabs his hand and shakes it. “Truce,” he agrees, and Steve grins again.
your art isn't shit don't worry!!!!! it's THE shit
Aww thank you 😌 I should explain what happened though :/
So this morning I was waiting for first period to start and I was talking with my friends and this girl I knew who was friends with one of my friend came over, being the usual attention whore she is. Today she was complaining about a guy who kicked her and didn’t say anything, but I asked her “Is there anything I can do help? And she just said “fuck off I’m sad” so I just sat there and well ‘fuk you’ Then she acting like “I’m sad give me all attention” and it got to the point where she was being an asshole to my friends then she said. “I’m sad and no one cares about me.” And I just hummed and said “I wonder why” then she got angry then I just said “Ok you know what I’m dealing with this and I’m leaving.” Then she got pissed/angry and said “Everyone leaves me!” Then I just looked at her and told her to shut the fuck up then I left. Then my friend told me she said a few shitty things about me like “I’m a Steven Universe loving freak, my art style is shit and I can’t draw good, and the real reason she said all this is because she had a shitty day.
You asked me to leave behind everything that truly mattered to me! And yet it’s fine for you to go on about the things that you’ve missed in the good old days. Never talk about the past. That was the bargain. And I’ve kept that bargain to the letter.