Noodle Fics

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You hadn't stepped foot into the comic shop since you were in middle school when Cory's dad invited you to the grand opening.

Business seemed to be a little slow today with the few customers roaming around and the unusually clean state of it all.

Hardly two seconds in, you already lost Rowley to the Unicorn Mania aisle in the games section of the store and Greg to God knows where, silently wishing you had tied balloons to these kids.

With Manny in a stroller, you push him over to the counter where Cory was seated with a video game magazine in hand, dressed in the shop's uniform.

The same uniform he voiced his hatred for for years. He wasn't allowed any accessories either. The only personal touch he could add was the red sleeved shirt he wore under the pale blue button up and pale yellow vest.

"So when you guys said I totally got this..." You start.

Cory looks up and rolls his eyes, taking off his headphones and tossing them onto the counter haphazardly. "Look, it's a pain in the ass to get anywhere without Ozzy's car. So I'm doing my part now too"

A girl comes out from the back and scoffs while working the cashier. It's Cory's twin sister, Cecelia, dressed similarly but with purple sleeves instead of red.

There was a box of records in her hands, organising them on the shelf behind Cory.

"That is a bold ass lie. Our dad's making him work 'cus he broke the stereo playing air guitar." She speaks, her voice much more monotone and more of a vocal fry than Cory's.

Cory looked displeased, grumbling a quick, "Fuck off, Cece."

"Haven't seen you here much." Cece brings a Madonna vinyl to the cashier, ringing up a customer, but it was clear she was talking to you.

"I usually just play video games at your guys' house. Don't really need to buy 'em. Much more convenient, no?" You shrug.

"Oh, yeah. It's so much more convenient to have you in our house all the time, playing our games and eating our food instead of supporting our business, Y/N," Cece deadpans and shoves the register shut, moving back to organise the records behind Cory.

“She hates me,” You feign hurt.

"She loves you." Cory glances at her then to you with an eyeroll.

"Flattering. So, where's Twisted Wizard?" You slap your hand against the countertop.

Cory almost glares at you with a raised eyebrow. "So your plan to get money is to... spend money... on a video game?"

You nod with a smile, “And ice cream.”

He sighed. "We have the game but we're only allowed to put it on shelves starting next Tuesday."

You nod and turn around in time to catch Greg looking through some comics. "Ahuh... Hey, Greg! How would you feel to be the first kid in Plainview to own the new Twisted Wizard sequel?"

"No way! Really? You're the best, Y/N!"

You turn back with a raised eyebrow as if to say, “Am I not the best?” to Cory who was already giving you a deadpan look.

"You wanna break that poor little boy's heart?” 

"I hate you.”

"Not as much as you hate Löded Diper. Go on, fetch."

Cory looked annoyed as shit, though was already shoving the magazine under the counter. "You're so lucky I'm into your petty shit,” He grumbled, pushing off the counter and slumping on over to the back door.

“Thank you!”

Manny seemed preoccupied with his little blanket, the only sound in the room along with the distant voices of the kids you were watching over and the soft pop song playing from Cory's headphones on the countertop.

Your eyes drifted to the neon green carton to the side of the cashier with GHASTLY GOO SOUR BLAST in disgusting green font printed on the front… But the ghoul-shaped sour pop rocks lollipops were tempting…

Maybe you'll come back someday and get those for a prank.

“I heard you got beef with Rodrick Heffley,” Cece, who had finished stacking the records, moves to the computer on the other end of the counter, punching in numbers.

“Oh, yeah… Wait, did Cory tell you that or-”

“You think people at school would care if Rodrick Heffley of all people had drama?” Cece deadpanned.

“I guess that's fair. I didn't even know him before he started this whole mess,” 

“Oh, he started it?” She raised an eyebrow. You nod, causing her to tilt her head, clearly trying to figure you out with her stare. “So why are you retaliating big time?” 

You shrugged. “It's funny.”

There's about a minute of silence between you as Cece stares you down before she shrugs herself and goes back to work. “Guess he deserves it for being a moron who can't even spell his own name.” 

You chuckle, surprised by how blunt that was. “Wow, you're evil.”

“Am I wrong?” 

You don't get a chance to respond when Cory pushes through the backdoor, holding the sealed purple cartridge case. "If my dad finds out about this, he's going to kill me,” he says, holding it out to you.

"Yeah, yeah." As you reach for the game, Cory grips it tighter, looking you dead in the eyes. "I mean it. This kid better not brag about this game to his friends."

You sigh, waving him off and yanking the game out of his grasp. "Relax, Cory, I'm not gonna let you get murdered by your own father."

"If he does, don't let Ozzy anywhere near my ATLs or I will haunt your ass,” Cory pats the counter, flipping through his notepad.

You nod, slipping the game into the pocket at the back of Manny's stroller "Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure Penny gets them even though I've repeatedly told you to just give them to her yourself.” 

Cory scoffs as if you had just said the most outrageous thing in the world. "Hell no. She'll think I'm some creep for knowing what her favourite band is."

“I think it's even creepier when a boy you barely know has your name in his will under ‘All Time Low Records.’” 

“For once, I agree with Y/N. You're pathetic,” Cece finally finishes up punching stuff into the computer and storms off into the back.

“Yeah? Well the men you like always turn out to be gay!” Cory called out.

“Not all of them!”

“She has it out for Frankie,” Cory turned to you to clarify as if you needed or even wanted context to that insult.

But that does genuinely surprise you. “I'm like 96% sure Frankie is also not into girls.”

“Oh. I am too, and it's so much funnier that she doesn't know that." Cory scoffed, flipping through a log book he grabbed from under the counter.

"You're both evil…"

"Right back at ya." He finally stops at a page and taps at a bit of scribble. "62.30"

You’re baffled. “62?!”

“30,” Cory nodded.

It takes you a second to process that, pulling out your wallet and pulling out the money. “Jesus Christ. This game better be worth the month's worth of lunches I'm about to skip.” 

As Cory does the change manually without the help of the register, you stuff your wallet back into your pocket, suddenly hyper aware that you were near broke.

You put your fingers to your lips and whistle toward the aisles. “Let's go!” 

Rowley and Greg come running over, holding the prop gun blasters from the Supreme Intergalactica display. “Did you get it?”

“Yep.”

“Awesome!” They put the guns down on top of a random stack of boxes nearby.

You grab the handles of the stroller and push Manny out the door with the boys in tow. “Bye, Cory.”

“Yeah cool- Wait, don't forget practice on Fridaaaayy-...”

But the door already shuts behind you.

 “I am so gonna kill her.”

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"Rodrick is so gonna kill you," Greg giggles as he stuffs his face with ice cream.

Rowley and Manny were in the back, checking out the stuff you had just bought for them.

"He's already trying to, what's one more reason?" You tease, nudging Greg with your elbow before indulging in your own cone of soft serve.

You were currently parked down the road, blasting whatever mixtape was in the stereo with the AC on high, enjoying highly drippy ice cream with a ticking time bomb in a diaper in the backseat.

Everything Rodrick would hate to have in his van.

The keys of which you yoinked from his nightstand while he was out cold thanks to Greg's tip that Rodrick wouldn't wake up for shit.

“So why do you hate Rodrick? I mean besides obvious reasons.” Greg asks.

“He fucked up my friend's car,” You answer instinctively, instantly cringing at that.

“Woah.” 

“Sorry.”

“No, that was badass.”

“Hey-” 

“You started it.”

“Five dollars to not tell your mom this conversation happened.” You point at his face with your cone in a lighthearted threat kind of way.

Greg let out a chuckle. “Deal.” 

“Deal.”

“So how did he do it?” He asked.

“Slashed the tires and spray painted the windshield. It was rough to scrub the paint off, but the real issue is how much it'll cost to get those wheels replaced.”

“You should make him pay.”

“Oh, we are. By putting me in this job so I'm around him almost all the time… And he hates that.” 

Greg laughed. “I can totally help you. I'm kind of an expert in annoying my older brother.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You bite the cone, accidentally letting the ice cream drip onto the leather seat between your thighs. “Oops,” You say with zero remorse in your tone.

“Yeah!” He giggles. “Actually, there is something I could use your help with.”

“Hit me.”

“Well… He sort of made me…” He trailed off, voice growing quieter when he continued. “Pee… on him.” 

What…?

“No fucking way…” A smile starts to form on your face.

The lack of response from the boy makes you realise he’s not joking.

You choked, ice cream splattering on the steering wheel, coughing from the sudden laughter that escaped you.

“Y/N” He whined. “Please, don’t laugh!”

You shake your head, struggling to wipe off the clear humour on your face. “I’m not- I’m not laughing, I swear…” You manage to drop the smile for a moment before bursting into laughter. 

“I'm serious! He said he was gonna kill me then trapped me in my room until I couldn't hold it in anymore!”

“So you peed on him?!” You have never smiled so hard at anything before.

“No! Not on purpose!” 

“What did you even do?” 

“I- I was in his room-”

“But only to show me Rodrick's middle school year book!” Rowley cut in, peeking through from between our seats.

You try to hold off the giggles, the boy next to you reeling in his seat in embarrassment.

“Come on, Y/N…”

“Fine, okay, okay.” You say through giggles. “I'll do something about it.” 

Greg, still embarrassed, seemed somewhat relieved.

“Hey, Y/N?” Rowley chimes in again. “Was middle school ever hard for you?”

“Why? Was your first week really that bad?” You ask, voice softening from the previous teasing tone.

Greg snapped his head toward Rowley as if warning him. “It was great!”

Rowley only glanced at Greg then turned back to you. “We ate lunch behind the garbage cans all week.”

You wince. “Oh yeah, I remember back when me and my friend Frankie were in our first day of fifth grade and sat behind the vending machine in the corner.”

“No way!” Greg seemed pleased by that. You think he’s starting to see you as less of an evil babysitter and more of a cool one which was great for the plan.

“Yes way. We skipped lunch time altogether and snuck snacks into my locker to eat between periods for the next three weeks until we met our other two friends and got to sit at an actual table.”

“So what can we do to get off the floor?” Rowley asked.

“Oh… Well, I never really joined any, but you could always try clubs and after school activities. Stuff like that.” you shrug. “If you’re part of something like the school paper or marching band, it’s almost a guarantee to get a spot at their respective lunch tables… Y’know, if they think you’re cool like that.” “After school activities, huh…?” 

Something about the way Greg said that worried you.

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Parenting par•en•ting /ˈperən(t)iNG/ noun : the activity of bringing up a child as a parent.

"I take it, he's not going down without a fight?" Cory asked as you all regrouped in the hallway after class.

Oswin, shoving his textbook into his messenger bag, sighed. "I'm never getting that car fixed, am I?"

You roll your eyes, rummaging through the bag hanging from your shoulder as you walk out the front doors. "Don't worry, I got it all under control. Just give me a few days max."

"Under control? Susan told you off for pissing off the neighbours." Frankie scoffed out a laugh.

Aha. See, you've come to learn that your plan wasn't all that full proof when you realised Rodrick could fight back with his stupid loud ass drum set.

"Who would've thought Rodrick had a use for his brain, right?" Oswin snickered, nudging Frankie who only swatted his arm away.

The boys were huddled up around you, making sure no one saw while you changed under a tree in the parking lot. Cory and Oswin held up their jackets to cover you while Frankie held the clothes you borrowed from your super Catholic aunt.

"I highly doubt this will get him to pay up, especially with how it's going so far." Frankie tsk'd.

"Yeah, I don't see you working your ass off to pay for Oswin's repairs, Frankie." You take out the light blue cardigan and shoved it into his chest while you peeled off your eyelashes and undid your hair.

"Hey, you got it under control." Frankie shrugged, holding the cardigan up as you slid your arms through the sleeve holes.

"Whatever. Minor setback. Next priority is getting his brothers on my side. Which shouldn't be a problem. Susan says the middle schooler hardly gets along with Rodrick and the toddler barely knows he exists."

"I feel like we owe you like a whole ass pizza," Cory pointed out.

"I'd feel guilty that I'm the only one with natural motherly instincts." you rolled your eyes again.

"Hey, watch it! I've raised my children incredibly well for years now" Oswin argued, tying his jacket around his waist again.

"Plants don't count, Ozzy!" You snap back, fingers moving quickly to braid your messy hair.

"Of course they don't count to you, you can barely keep one alive for a week." He grumbled with his arms crossed.

"It just occurred to me. Why don't you just tell Rodrick's parents what he did? Won't they like... Just force him to pay up? Or at least work a job to pay it off?" Cory asks.

"Where's the fun in that?" Frankie answers, helping you wipe off the make-up on your face.

"Exactly. Where's the fun in that?"

"I'm pretty sure justice is a godly feeling, Y/N..." it was Cory's turn to roll his eyes.

"I want the apology to come straight from him. Not as a result of reprimanding from his mommy" You almost barf, cleaning up any remains of your punk getup until you barely resembled yourself.

Cory clicks his tongue. "Jesus, you look like Ozzy's sister."

"I take that as an insult."

Cory nods. "You should."

It took a minute for Ozzy to realise what was being said. "Hey, my sister is beautiful, fyi."

Frankie scoffs. "You think all girls are beautiful."

"Because they are, and frankly, I'm concerned you even think that's an insult."

"I'm an only child." Frankie deadpanned.

"Cory hates his own twin sister. What's your excuse?" Oswin mirrored Frankie's posture.

"Fuck, okay, shut up, he's there. I'll see you guys tomorrow." You take a deep breath and give Frankie a quick bump to the arm before running off to where Rodrick and his band were piling into his van.

The look Rodrick gave when you ran up the van while shoving his friend into the back almost made you giggle.

"What do you want?" He asks, clearly displeased by your presence.

"Your mom says I can catch a ride with you."

There's a look of disgust on his face when he turns around to look at you. "Like hell am I letting you sit in my van."

"I don't understand, Rodrick. It's almost like you don't want me at your house all the time, doing all your chores and taking the burden of watching your little brothers off your shoulders at all." You mock with feign innocence.

"We- Well- You- God, you're so annoying." Rodrick huffs, running a hand over his face. "You can stay at the back."

"Oh, I don't mind staying at the back. Y/N can take shotgun." The guy you knew as Ben Segal peeks over the top of the van with a grin, earning a glare from Rodrick.

"Just don't touch the fries in the gloves box." he rolls his eyes

"There’s fries in the glove box…" You raise an eyebrow.

"What did I say?" Rodrick scoffed, hopping into the driver's seat.

Jesus.

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The Lord knew what kind of torture it was to have to take care of two little boys and one big baby teenage boy. Especially when you only had experience with a younger sister who was already the sweetest little angel you've ever met.

Note to self: Boy toddlers do NOT like tea parties.

Unless there was iced tea instead of real tea, and chocolate chip cookies instead of biscuits.

Otherwise, they'd end up on your person. Specifically your hair... and your shirt... and pants... and the mary jane shoes your aunt said to be absolutely careful with.

"Pleeease, take your vitamins, Manny" You almost plead as he continues to dodge the little plastic spoon.

"yucky!" He swings his arms and knocks the spoon out of your hand, the liquid adding to the mess of food on your once clean white kahkis. You sigh, not even bothering to try and wipe it off the fabric.

You were being tested by the forces themselves... You were so sure of it.

You knew of the inevitable troubles that came with volunteering to watch over boys for the sake of pettiness.

But, pushing through was the only way forward especially if you wanted justice.

It just wasn't expected that you'd be having trouble this early on...

"Come on, Manny. It's flu season and your mom’s gonna kill me if she comes home to a sick baby."

"Uh, you're here again?"

You look up, practically folded like a compact mirror on the small ass child stool in an attempt to reach the squirming toddler in front of you.

Greg and his little friend were standing in the doorway, looking like they were about to head outside with a football.

Standing up, you straighten your clothes and smile. "Yes, Greg. I'll be here until your mom doesn't need me anymore."

"Okay..."

"Hi, I'm Rowley! Nice to meet you." His friend waves.

You gave a sweet smile to the boy. "Hi, Rowley!"

Greg snaps his head to his friend. "Don't talk to her, Rowley. Let's go."

"H-hey, wait, where exactly?" You ask, putting your hands on your hips.

Greg already had his hand on the doorknob, scoffing out a laugh. "You don't need to know that."

Jesus, this kid needs serious parenting.

You cross your arms. "Um, I'm your babysitter, Greg. I should know where you're going and if you have your mom's permission."

Greg seemed to pause at that before quickly waving it off. "We're just going out to uh... collect leaves for a project..."

Rowley's face contorts into confusion. "We are?" Bless his soul.

"Yes!"

You eye the ball in his hand. "With a football?"

Greg passes the ball to Rowley and throws his hands up. "Okay, okay! Look. My mom hired you to look after my little brother. I'm waaay too old for a babysitter to be watching over my every move."

Rowley, cuts in again, "But we're the same age and my mom always gets me a babysitter."

"You're not helping, Rowley!"

"Okay… Upstairs, boys." You drop your arms with a sigh and point upwards.

They both groan and run back up the stairs.

Well, great heavens, the forces have once again spoken through the heavy guilt in the pit of your stomach. "Shit."

"shit!"

The squeak that came from Manny caused you to whip around in shock. "Fuck. I mean- Fuck- Sh- UGH! God Almighty!" You groan, rubbing your face harshly.

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Maybe babysitting wasn't as easy as you hoped it would be. Especially with boys.

You swore you sounded like some cultist with the way you murmured a practiced apology under your breath on the way up the stairs to Greg's room.

The last time you fidgeted with your hands this much was when you were Goldie in your elementary school's production of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.

You weren't even this nervous when you talked to Susan or when you started this job in the first place.

Were little boys always so scary?

Why am I sweating so much?

Why are my hands so wet?

Have my fingernails always been this narrow?

the itchy vintage khaki pants your aunt Rosa let you borrow were definitely not helping your little panic attack in any way, shape, or form.

Did I really look like Oswin's sister?

How was that a bad thing? Daphne is super pretty. Frankie probably just hates that the look works for her.

Why am I doing this again?

"AAGH!" Your own knuckles knock on your head to push all the panicky thoughts aside.

This little boy's opinion of you could genuinely get you one step closer to solving all your problems regarding his stupid older brother.

You take a deep breath, put on a smile and quietly knock on his door, pushing it open enough for you to peek in.

"Hey... How's the homework going?" You ask in the sweetest voice you could muster without any hint of mockery.

Greg, who was slumped over his desk, mopey and quiet while some pop song played from his stereo, barely glances over his shoulder and mutters out an annoyed little "Fine."

"Do you... wanna watch TV?"

"no."

"We could... Go get ice cream together?"

He simply turned back to his desk and continued his doodling.

Shit.

You slump yourself, silently cursing yourself. You almost miss the way your own sister was easier to bribe with things as simple as sweets and TV time.

You take yet another deep breath and walk over to his desk, hands on your knees as you look at what he was doing.

A doodle of what looked like a girl with devil horns telling off a little boy.

God, is that supposed to be me?

"You know, you've been at it for a while... Don't you wanna take a little break?" You ask, pretending not to realise he was basically demonising you.

The exhausted little scoff broke your heart and your ego. "I'm fine."

"Look, I'm sorry I'm such a stuck up bit- Uh- That- shit-..." The weird look he gave you after blurting out the worst version of the apology you were practicing just a second ago made you cringe.

You purse your lips, tapping your foot against the floor before getting rid of the cautious tone and putting on a more sisterly one. "Hey. I get it. You don't wanna spend time with some boring old babysitter." You roll your eyes with a smile which manages to get a glance from him.

"But... A little birdie told me that you like playing video games."

His drawing hand stops. "... yeah?"

"Yeah. If you join us downstairs, we could play for a bit while your parents are out and I can help you finish whatever homework you got before they get home." You playfully and very lightly punch his arm.

Greg's eyes practically lit up at the proposition, turning around in his seat to look at you with a wide smile. "Really?!"

You nodded. "mhm, really. Oh- and isn't that new game out? What was it? The wizard one? Why don't I take you guys to the store real quick and get it?"

"TWISTED WIZARD?! You would do that?!" Poor boy looked like no one had ever said those words to him ever in his life.

You wave it off casually. "Yeah, why not? I'll get Manny into a stroller and we can sneak out. Let's just hope that Rodrick is out cold." You rolled your eyes dramatically at the mention of his name.

Greg seemed to laugh at that "I thought you were friends with my brother"

You scoff and pretend to barf, earning more giggles from the boy. "Oh, please. Wanna know a secret?"

He nods.

You look around, pretending to make sure no one could hear before leaning in and whispering with a little wink, "I hate his guts."

Greg looks at you like you just revealed the most atrocious bit of information he's ever heard. "No way! Me too!"

You might've just gotten yourself a new best friend.

You stand straight and give him a high five. "Awesome. Come on, go tell Rowley we're heading out."

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Home Economics /hōm ˌekəˈnämiks,/ Noun: subject of cooking and other aspects of household management

There was something about seeing this chick standing in his house, doing chores like she owned the place.

Cleaning up like nobody's god-damn business.

Maybe it was the way she was a natural at it, or how she made the effort to dress like the presentable, perfect daughter his parents always wished they had.

Or maybe it was that petty side of him that didn't want his parents to see the opportunity to set him up with such a "nice girl."

It could've been some hot pop star or that smokin' teacher from his Socmed class, or literally any other person in the world tucking his baby brother into bed for his nap. Or going around and cleaning up the mess his family never had time to clean up.

But no.

It had to be the worst person he could ever think of in his hollow shell of a brain.

He really needed to think of a way to get rid of her. And quick.

How much do steamrollers cost to rent?

"Oh, Rodrick~! Would you be a dear and bring down your laundry?"

Speak of the fucking devil clad in goth...

Or, as of the moment, clad in "Devoted Christian teenager on a Sunday morning..." with the way she braided her hair in a neat and clean manner and dressed in a light blouse and khaki pants.

Almost reminiscent of a middle school girl from the 1980s. A complete switch-up of her usual dishevelled and grungey get-up.

The eye roll he produced was almost enough to pop the orbs out of their sockets. That, paired with the frustrated sigh that slipped through his lips, made him resemble a walking corpse.

He was tired of hearing her annoying voice. The slight rasp from singing so much and the little hint of a nasal tone, again, from singing so much...

It was annoying.

His hands clenched in on themselves, nails digging into the flesh of his palms.

Though they were used to it by now, the constant abuse from his poorly bitten fingernails ever since he first heard the name Y/N L/N within this week alone... His palm was practically littered with red crescent marks.

He tried to ignore it at first, doing his damnedest to stay focused on the screen of his Game Boy and the sounds of Gunstar Super Heroes. As if he'd even attempted to try to beat the game in any difficulty higher than easy.

"Rodrick!"

The sudden yell startled him, his console falling from his hands to the floor and a loud, "You died!" rings through his room.

Ugh...

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Rodrick shouldn't be allowed to plan anything.

In fact, it should be illegal for him to use his brain for anything that requires this amount of thinking...

And noise...

"You're an actual idiot, y'know?" Ben says as Rodrick fumbles around the garage, rushing to put the guitar strap over Ben's shoulder and shoving Chris off the lawn chair really hard... with his foot.

"Ow! Calm the fuck down, Rodrick!" Chris exclaims, falling face first into the ground. "Why are you even rushing? The gig isn't for another month!"

Rodrick doesn't answer at first. His head buried in the box of wires, tossing them behind him until he comes up with a thick jack.

"Rodrick..." Ben grips the neck of his guitar, watching as Rodrick nearly trips over Chris, running to the amplifier beside Ben's feet.

"Son of a bitch!" Chris pushes himself off the ground and dusts his face off.

"Rodrick, you've been acting really weird." Ben lets out a sigh, already pushing his guitar back over his head.

"Hey- hey!" Rodrick jolts up and stops his hands, keeping his grip on the neck tight. "We have to play."

"Why? You're being so... difficult." Ben says, trying his best not to raise his voice.

"Look, I just need you to play as loud as you can..." Rodrick shoves the bass into Chris' chest. "Then you can go home."

"Go ho- You really just called us here to play really loud... Without Good Burger Burgers after? Dude..." Chris catches the guitar with an 'oomf'.

"Just hurry!" Rodrick practically leaps over his drum set with a clang, scrambling onto the seat. With a quick twirl of his drumsticks, he starts a beat, striking the drums as hard as he can.

The two share a glance of uncertainty before reluctantly playing their instruments.

"No, no, no. Keep playing, keep playing!" Rodrick scrambles to the amps, turning ever knob to the max.

The sudden blast of music from the amps cause Ben to screech. "I said keep playing!" Rodrick yells, banging on his drums again.

"THIS OUGHTTA SHOW HER!" He yells out.

Chris and Ben look at each other. "Who-"

The loud music barely muffled the loud and raging footsteps and the door slamming open. "RODRICK!"

Rodrick grins, striking the drums louder. "Oh, hey, Y/N! We're just practicing for our next gig!" He yells over the noise.

"Oh, you're one evil motherfucker." Ben stops playing, followed by Chris when they put two and two together.

"Wh- Hey, hey!" Rodrick stops drumming. "Guys, we gotta keep practicing for-"

"No, man! It's clear what you're up to here!" Ben sighs before clearing his throat and turning to the girl standing by the door. "Ben Segal. Löded Diper, lead Guitarist. I'd like to apologise for my friend, he's an idiot," He reached for her hand to kiss only to have her step back and cross her arms.

"Please get out." She says coldly, her glare locked onto Rodrick.

Ben winces, the rejected hand smacking the side of his own head and walking out the door.

"Shit, babe. You're ice." Chris slides his guitar to his back and follows Ben to the door but not before stopping beside Y/N. "Y'know, maybe all you need is a little heat." He clicks his tongue.

"I'm going to kick your asses to the curb on the count of three."

Chris raises his hands in defense and moves past her, quickly turning to smile widely at Rodrick with a thumbs up and running off with Ben, clearly trying their best to be good wingmen despite Rodrick's denial of any romantic interest in this girl.

"What the hell?"

"Give it a second," Rodrick twirls his drumstick, leaning back with a smug grin on his face.

"Give what-"

DING DONG!! DING- DING- DING- DING- DING- DING- DING DONG!!

The look of horror on her face almost made Rodrick laugh. His prideful look caused her to scoff.

"I'm not done with you." She pointed a finger before running out of the garage toward the front door.

Rodrick stumbled over the drumset, already hearing the yelling from their dear neighbour as she screamed at the poor girl about the noise.

This was gonna be too easy.

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"Rodrick, this is an intervention."

"Shit."

"Shit is right." Chris snapped his finger, pointing at Rodrick who was in almost a literal hot seat in the middle of Chris' living room.

The couch he was situated on was gross. Sticky, squeaky, and somehow really warm...

The most Chris Geller Chris Geller could ever get.

There was also the faint scent of rotten grape juice staining the seat that made Rodrick avoid putting his hands on the old, cracked leather.

Though, that was the least of Rodrick's concerns when his only two friends were standing in front of him with exhaustion in their eyes.

"This has to end, Rodrick. Chris and I are seriously thinking about pulling out of the gig if you don't take this seriously." Ben sighed.

"W-Wha- I am so taking this seriously." Rodrick swallowed thickly, somewhat anxious about their next words.

"Are you really though? Because lately, all we hear from you is 'Y/N' this and 'Y/N' that. And jesus, what was yesterday even about?" Ben seemed to be the one doing all the talking while Chris stood next to him, nodding and shaking his head accordingly.

"She's-... she's babysitting my little shit brothers..." Rodrick said with a haphazard shrug, leaning back against the back of the couch with immediate regret when the moist and sticky leather makes contact with his shirt and arms.

"Why?" Ben asked.

"Cus she found out we shivved her friend's car. Which, in my defense, I thought was hers." Rodrick explained, convinced it was a good enough excuse.

"YOU SHIVVED THEIR CAR?!"

"What the fuck, Rodrick?!"

"YOU'RE GONNA GET SENT TO FUCKING TEENAGER JAIL!"

He shrinks in his seat at that.

It goes quiet.

The two turn to each other, whispering among themselves for a good minute.

Rodrick can feel the nerves when he watches them do a quick rock, paper, scissors match which ended with Chris losing with his scissors against Ben's rock.

He groaned. "Why is it always me..."

"Rodrick..." Ben starts, turning back to the boy in question. "We've decided... You're being suspended from the band until you can promise us that you'll take us seriously and stop obsessing over the other band."

"You can't do that! It's supposed to be a decision we all make as a group." Rodrick argued, arms moving in aggressive gestures.

"Rodrick, we didn't decide to do whatever the hell it is you've been doing to them these past few weeks. We didn't decide to stab their car wheels!" Ben argued with a sigh.

"But I'm the drummer! You can't be a band without the drummer! And that's me! I'm the drummer!" Rodrick is desperate and frantic at this point.

There's a long pause between the three.

"We're taking your drumsticks away."

"WHAT"

"Chris, get 'em."

Chris jumps over the coffee table and tackles Rodrick who was already scrambling over the back of the couch he previously was too disgusted to fully sit in, squirming around and clutching his drumsticks to his chest, screeching almost.

"noooooOOAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"Hey- OW!" Chris clings to Rodrick's legs, getting kicked in the face more than once, his glasses falling off in the process. "Ben, dammit!"

Ben rushes over and grabs onto the drumsticks, pulling as hard as he could. "Give me them!"

"No! No, No, NO!" Rodrick hisses, nearly falling onto the floor when Ben finally manages to pry the sticks away from his arms.

Rodrick, tired out, goes limp, dropping his head and Chris can finally let go, face red and hair messy from Rodrick's struggling.

"This is for your own good, Rod. It's your own fault." Ben huffs, dusting himself off and tucking the drumsticks away into his belt.

No. This was her fault.

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Intrusive Psychologyin·tru·sive/inˈtro͞osiv/adjectivecausing disruption or annoyance through being unwelcome or uninvited.

"Good morning, Mrs Heffley!" You greeted with a sickeningly sweet smile.

Susan looked pleasantly surprised by your presence. "Oh, good morning, Y/N! You're here early. Why don't you come on in and join us for breakfast?"

"Thank you, Mrs Heffley," you nodded, following her into the house.

"Oh, Susan's fine, dear."

"Alright, Mrs Heffley."

The master plan, as you referred to it, was simple.

You needed to show Rodrick that you were "earning" money to repair Oswin's car.

"Honey, Y/N is here," Susan announced, leading you into the dining room, where the entire family was having meatloaf and mashed potatoes for breakfast. Most likely leftovers from the night before.

"Hey there!" Frank greeted enthusiastically. "We weren't expecting you for another hour!"

"Good morning, Mr Heffley. I thought I'd come early and help out a bit before you guys leave."

"That's so sweet, dear. Go on and take a seat," Susan patted you on the shoulder.

It took a while to think of a way to get into his house to do so. Offering to wash his parents' car, mowing the lawn, selling treats...

"Rodrick, be a dear and grab another plate from the kitchen."

"Oh, no, it's alright. I already had breakfast." You politely declined.

"We insist, dear. It's also a good excuse to avoid leftovers." Mrs Heffley gestured to Rodrick again.

"Now, Rodrick," Susan said firmly as she sat down.

Meeting the shocked and confused stare of your target, you smiled at the boy sitting across from you. His only response was a huff and an aggressive shove of the table as he stood up.

With a stroke of luck, Cory found out Rodrick had two younger brothers and overworked parents in desperate need of a holiday.

So, in your most presentable outfit, you oh so casually bumped into Susan at the market and sneaked the topic into the conversation with the intent to volunteer as a babysitter.

"So, you're a friend of our son's?" Frank asked from across the table, while Rodrick came back with the plate, dropping it haphazardly in front of you. You simply smiled up at him with mockery and hoax gratitude as he sat back down.

"Oh, yes, sir. Ole Roderico and I are like this." You lifted your hand, crossing your middle and index fingers over with a grin. A sweet one in general, but a mocking one to Rodrick.

But your smile only grew more sly when your eyes met with the fiery pits of hell that were Rodrick's.

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"Why are you here?" You almost flinched at his sudden appearance behind you. Your fingers gripped the plates tighter while you moved around the room, picking up dishes from the now unoccupied table.

"I needed the money to help get my friend's car fixed." You so casually shrugged, your foot kicking one of the chairs back into place, still moving around Rodrick.

"That wasn't your car?" you heard him mumble.

His parents had already left after you insisted on taking over the dishes, leaving you alone with the Heffley kids.

But more importantly, alone with Rodrick.

"You should really be thankful Oswin didn't press charges for property damage; otherwise, I wouldn't be here, and you and your buddies would be in Juvie."

"Juvie?" Rodrick scrunched his nose.

"I dunno, jail but like for minors, right?" You pick up the remaining plates from the table.

"There's a prison for minors?"

"Yeah, but like not prison prison, it's more like overnight in- whatever! You're ruining my comeback."

He suddenly held his arm out in front of you, making you stop and move the plates in your hands away to avoid him knocking them out of your grip.

You look up at him, expectant. "You're doing this to piss me off, aren't you?" He asked with his cold glare and his low and not-so-threatening voice.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You gracefully and fluidly ducked under his arm with the stack of plates, carefully placing them into the sink.

"You are! This can't just be some coincidence, Y/N. I know what you're trying to do."

"Oh? And what, pray tell, am I trying to do, Rodrick?" You ask with a small eye roll while you begin to scrub at the plates.

"Piss me off!" He repeated, growing more irritated by the second.

It was difficult for you to keep from snickering.

"Haven't I already done that by forming a band that God forbid coexists with yours?"

Rodrick fell quiet for a moment.

Just this once, you let a small hum of pride slip from between your lips.

"You're being ridiculous, Rodrick. I just so happened to run into your mother, and she brought up the need for a babysitter... And coincidentally..." The pause in your statement gave you time to really emphasise the innocence in your gaze as you tilt your head to him standing next to you.

Elbow deep into the bubbly water, your sweet tone dropped into a low and serious one. Eyebrows sinking when your pout transitioned into a glower before you repeat your earlier statement in a much darker tone, "I needed the money."

"Do you want us to pay or something? Because students like us don't have that kind of money!" Rodrick argued as if he didn't just give you the perfect wall to kick off of and take his ass down.

"You're just proving my point, Heffley." You sigh with a prideful smile. "We all picked up jobs to help pay for Oswin's repairs, and this one's mine."

That was a big ole white lie.

The others were slacking off in Cory's garage, waiting for you to return victorious with LD's hypothetical white flag raised in the air.

The loud, frustrated groan made your hands pause under water for a moment, eyes shifting subtly in his direction before you continued your chore.

"Whatever. Your stupid plan isn't gonna work. You're doing me a favour anyway by watching those little shits." He snapped, the soles of his sneakers thumping against the kitchen tiles as he left you.

"You'd better be doing your homework up there!" You call out only to be met with a loud, "SHUT UP!" And the slam of his door.

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van·dal·ism/ˈvandlˌizəm/Learn to pronouncenounaction involving deliberate destruction of or damage to public or private property."an act of mindless vandalism"

"The Löded Diper."

"The what?" You scrunched your nose at the boy standing in front of you.

Frankie ambushed you by your locker with a scrap of paper in hand, with the other band's name scribbled on it.

"The Löded Diper. As in... A loaded-"

"Oh, yeah, I get it," you waved him off.

At least you got some information on the group. Apparently, they were another band. Which explained the whole "glaring daggers so hard it pierced your ego" part.

But did it really, though? Clear things up?

So what if they were another band?

What did that have to do with you guys?

Frankie might've had a hit with his theory. Did they think your music was bad? That meant a lot coming from a fellow musician, let alone a whole band.

"Why? What did he do to you?" Frankie asked.

"He passed me a note."

"He passed you a note?" Frankie raised his brows in disbelief, laughing at the ridiculous idea.

You slid the slip of paper out from between the pages of your textbook, the same one you dropped on the floor earlier before ultimately deciding to go back for it to show the others. Frankie's smile grew at the realisation that you weren't joking before snatching it. "He passed you a note!"

But the smile on his face dropped into a scowl the moment his eyes scanned the messy handwriting.

"Fake and unnatural?" He looked up at you as he rose to his feet. "Fake and unnatural?"

"How did you even read that?"

"He's fake and unnatural! Who wears that much eyeliner?"

You sighed. "Frankie, I really don't ca-"

"Oh no, I mean he might as well have called you a whore!"

"Frankie!" You slammed your hand against the steel of your locker door, getting him to shut up. "It's a stupid note! He barely spelled 'you' correctly."

He pursed his lips.

"I get it. It was uncalled for. But I'm sure it wasn't personal. They're probably just concerned about having a little competition," you reasoned.

"You're right... But my handiwork is not something they can shit on."

You scoffed, "Excuse me, you didn't do this. I asked you to help me while I dyed my hair," you argued.

"If it weren't for me, you'd have no hair! That amount of dye was enough to kill your entire scalp," Frankie pointed a finger at your face.

"We're getting off track! The point is, there is nothing to worry about, alright? They're intimidated, that's all. No need to pull out a restraining order," You shoved your books into your locker, unbothered by the clutter.

Frankie crossed his arms over his chest and nodded towards the other end of the hall. "Yet..."

You followed his gaze and scrunched your nose. "What the actual fuck..."

LD's drummer stood at his locker. Eyes, burning holes into your own.

"Do lawyers have student rates?" Frankie asked, closing your locker for you.

A loud bang echoed through the semi-crowded hallway as his locker had been slammed shut.

"Shit, he's coming over. I'll see you later," Frankie took the chance to run.

"Flaker," you mumbled with your eyes still trained on the approaching-... stomping footsteps.

They stopped right by your toes as the guy before you leaned down to meet your eyes.

His finger shot up, pointing straight at your face as he spoke in a low, breathy voice. "Listen here, Y/N. I don't know what you're getting at, but there's only room for one band in this school, and that's-"

"The loaded diaper?" You asked smugly.

"Shut up, you little... You- Girl! I'm not done talk-"

"Whoa, that's such a big word for you, 'Girl.' Must have a lot of gold stars on the fridge, huh?" You reached up to flick his nose.

Your hand had been shoved away a little too aggressively. Pain flashed over your face for a mere moment before you stood your ground. "Look, you don't own this school. We have every right to be here as you do. If you're gonna be a douche about it, don't expect me to let it slide," you spat before spinning on your heel and storming away.

"This isn't over!" He shouted.

"Yeah, I'll say when it's over," you grumbled.

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"God, I just want this to be over!" The sound of Cory's head going thunk against the garage wall had you pulling down the magazine from your face. "It's been months and they've shivved Oswin's wheels!!"

"How are we even sure they did it?" Oswin spoke up from his spot on the floor where he was tapping Frankie's drumsticks against the concrete.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, it's impossible to know it was them. I mean anyone- And I mean literally anyone could've written 'Loded Diper Rulez' on your windows, Ozzy," the sarcasm laced in your voice was toxic enough to elicit a whine from the boy.

"I'm really into the idea of a revenge plan," Frankie tossed the nail file he was previously using into a bin across the room.

"We're not that petty, man. They'll give up eventually and actually treat us like normal people." Cory sluggishly peeled his face off the wall and stumbled to collapse onto the couch Frankie was sitting on.

"Okay, I agree. If we act on this negatively, it's only going to make things worse. Someone's gonna get hurt eventually," said Oswin while he lightly tapped the drumsticks against the steel table leg as if to give you some kind of background music.

"You're not even gonna make them pay for property damage?" You asked, tossing the magazine down onto the floor beside your armchair.

"Is that a thing?" Oswin asked.

"Oh my God, yes, Ozzy!" Frankie threw his freshly done nails into the air and walked over to Oswin. "There's paint on your windows, and you have four flat tires! Do you know how much that's gonna cost you to fix that? You're a student. We'll all be giving up months' worth of allowances for this!"

Oswin's hands came to a stop. "Then what do we do?"

"We make 'em pay..." Frankie spun around towards you and Cory while waving his hands all frantically. "Literally. I was serious about that whole allowance thing. I'm tryna save up for a CD player right now."

"Okay, fine. How are we going to get them to give up their money?" Cory asked.

You bit your lip, trying so hard to hide a cheeky smile. "I might have an idea."

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Denialismde·​ni·​al·​ism | \ di-ˈnī(-ə)l-ˌi-zəm , dē- \NounThe practice of denying the existence, truth, or validity of something despite proof or strong evidence that it is real, true, or valid.

Tiny scraps of paper littered the over-vandalised hardwood desk as fidgety hands frustratedly tore piece after piece from the corner of a second-hand English textbook.

There was no excuse for Rodrick's behaviour other than the irritation he felt from the occupied seat in front of him.

How was he supposed to pay attention when the opportunity to strangle their rival band's lead singer was right in front of him?

How was he supposed to learn anything?

It was all the same anyway, as he never actually listened in any of his previous classes. Only this time, he had the ability to blame it on her presence.

Imagine her sitting right there. Right in front of him. Close enough to generate the fantasy of him grabbing hold of her head and pulling so harshly on her black locks.

He shuddered at the thought, fingers twitching around the pencil he had coloured in with a permanent marker out of impulse some time ago.

The pressure he put on both ends was enough to snap it in half. His eye twitched at the sound. The two separate pieces created sharp weapons he oh so desired to slice her hair with.

He never thought he'd see the day a girl would drive him nuts. He did, although he never expected it to go like this.

He imagined the look on his mother's face if she ever found out that her eldest son was so passionate about a girl.

He wasn't too far off.

He was passionate about wanting to drag her down by the roots of her black-dyed hair.

He could do it right then and there. All he had to do was reach out and pull as hard as he could.

It would've been so easy.

But he didn't.

He couldn't bring himself to do it, allowing himself to calm down and drop the two halves of his broken pencil.

He wasn't a sadist. He couldn't do that. Especially to a girl.

Still, he had to do something to her.

He opted for something simple for the time being. A gesture middle schoolers took as a strike to the chest, and sophomores like him found pathetic and immature.

He passed her a note...

A note. With hurtful words about how stupid her hair looked from the back.

Puncturing a girl's ego was probably the only offensive thing Rodrick knew how to do when it came to putting them down.

But if passing a note was stupid, then telling a girl in her sophomore year that her hair looks unnatural was moronic.

The look on her face when her eyes scanned over the messy handwriting read only one thing.

"What the hell?" She mouthed to herself. Instead of pain, her face showed confusion.

Rodrick was caught off guard when she turned around, wide-eyed for a moment before regaining composure and bouncing his eyebrows up and down at her smugly.

She shook her head at him before turning back to the front of the class.

Rodrick smirked, feeling a sense of victory as the note was carelessly dropped onto the floor, convinced that his nemesis was greatly affected, if not highly inconvenienced, by his stunt.

He accomplished the first step in taking her band down without hindrance or snag.

You could even say... He nailed it.

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"You passed her a note?"

"You bet your ass I did." The smug smile on Rodrick's face made Ben scoff.

Chris chimed in with a humoured smile, "Good job, Rod! Soon they'll be so scared of us, we'll be haunting-... No, they'll be-..."

"What do people do at a séance?" Rodrick asked.

Chris shrugged. "Connect your soul to some board thing?"

"Really?"

Chris nodded, "What else?"

Ben spoke up before their dumb conversation could carry on. "They summon Ghos- Look, that's not important right now. What's important is our gig this Friday. We need to practice if we want to regain our status and one-up T'KOAS."

"Oh, they're T'KOAS now?" Chris spared an eye roll.

"We don't need to one-up Y/N's band. We're better than she could ever be. We just need more shows," Rodrick growled.

"That's gonna be a toughie. They've got the next two weekends booked. I heard it from the girls in my class this morning," Ben twirled the fork in his hand.

They were talking about-

"They were talking about them?!" Rodrick chucked his juice box into his mashed potatoes, splattering the food all over the table.

Chris was lucky to lift his empty tray in time to avoid the splash zone.

Ben, on the other hand, looked down at his ruined jacket. He huffed at the sight of apple juice and potatoes trickling down his leather jacket and staining the denim of his pants.

"Yes, Rodrick. They were disappointed by the lack of any openings," Ben answered as he wiped the dirt off his clothes with a single napkin.

"How could they even-"

"Okay, we get it, Rodrick. You hate her, but you're overreacting now," Chris cut in.

"I'm not overreacting. If that... poser... Ends up becoming more popular than me, I won't hesitate to-".

"Hold on, I'm sorry. More popular than you?" Ben asked, tossing the used napkin into the empty seat across the table. "Rodrick, I think you should stop before this gets too personal."

Chris let out a scoff. "Knowing him, it's probably way past personal."

Ben laughed. "No, it isn't. Rodrick wouldn't let someone like her get under his skin so easily... Right, Rod?"

Rodrick was unresponsive, glaring down at his tray, unable to defend himself.

"Right, Rodrick?" Ben pushed on through gritted teeth.

Rodrick pursed his lips.

Both Chris and Ben groaned. "Oh, for fuck sake!"

"God, Rodrick, it's been less than a day! You can't make rivals out of every other band you meet!" A hand ran down Ben's face.

Rodrick turned his head away from the table and spoke softly. "You don't understand. She's-"

"No, I do understand, Rodrick. It's not even about the band anymore, is it? Otherwise, you wouldn't be referring to just her..." Ben paused. After a moment he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. A small smile formed on his lips when the realisation hit him. "You wanna know what I think?"

"Chris?" His eyes moved towards their bassist.

The guy only hummed, puzzled by the sudden call, hoping Ben had it under control and would carry the conversation on from there.

Chris processed Ben's last statement. "What... Why- uh-... Well, she's... She's..."

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and a wide, toothy smile grew on his face. The palms of his hands slapped the edge of the table in a quick, short beat before pointing a finger at their drummer.

"You like her!" He exclaimed sharply through dopey giggles. Ben joined in, both of them teasing their friend through laughs and wheezes.

Rodrick was taken aback. Their conclusion took him by surprise, shocked that they'd even consider the idea of him being low enough to have feelings for someone by the likes of her. He was so... Offended.

"Stop it! I don't like her! I would never ever feel any form of romantic feelings for that wannabe!" He hissed at the frantic duo.

"We never said anything about your feelings for her being romantic, Rod!" Ben teased.

"I don't like her!" Rodrick growled. "Stop it!"

"Okay. Then explain why you're being such a baby about it!" Ben held in his giggles to ask only to let out a bark of laughter afterwards, influencing the other to laugh even harder.

They were met with silence from the drummer once again.

"He- CAN'T!" Chris managed to wheeze out.

Rodrick rolled his eyes. Gaze, coming to a stop as they landed on two figures leaving the cafeteria...

The familiar black getup one of them wore had Rodrick pushing against the table aggressively. The legs of his chair scraped against the polished tiles in an irritating screech.

The soles of his worn-down Converse stomped against the cracks and litter as he made his way towards the double doors.

He didn't like her. Why would he? Why should he? There was no valid reason as to why he should not hate her.

What was there to like?

Nothing. In his own words, Y/N was a nobody. No one knew who she was.

Why should that change?

Why did it?

It was unfair. They started out the same. He formed his band way before she did. So unfair.

Rodrick's hands clenched into fists as he stormed through the doors, leaving the other two to laugh their asses off.

He needed to let her know she wasn't above him in any way. That she couldn't just rise to the top without expecting any consequences.

The consequence being him.

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Polemologypo·​le·​mol·​ogy | \ (ˌ)pōləˈmäləjē \plural -esNoun: the study of war

"Sorry, Heffley. We already got another band to play tonight."

Rodrick was at a loss for words. Eyes, filled with utter confusion as the party host gave him a shrug.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Ever since the Löded Diper got together, the struggle to get a gig had the boys doing whatever they could to get within at least two feet of the spotlight.

From handing out flyers outside a middle school to selling t-shirts to the folks at the retirement home a town over.

It took them nearly three years to get to where they were with the party performances and occasional money prize contests given.

In terms of popularity, they were somewhere around average, knowing people and people knowing of them.

Anyone who knew their struggles would say that their biggest concern would be the competition. If there was a group out there that was even slightly better than they were, the Löded Diper would be tossed aside.

So when Rodrick found out that another band was playing at the party that night, he was furious.

"The Kings of a fucking Séance." The band's flyer crumpled in Rodrick's hand after having slammed it into the coffee table in his living room.

The other two members of LD, who sat behind the said table, both looked from the aftermath of their drummer's frustration to the sharp features of his angered expression.

His dark, messy hair was, like in the name, messy. Clinging to the sides of his face and sticking out in any and every direction.

His hand was clenched around the flyer against the glass while his teeth clenched around air, threatening to crack under the pressure.

It would've been an exaggeration to say that steam was literally coming out of his ears or his brown eyes were literally burning with fire.

Chris gave Ben a nudge with his elbow. The guitarist gave him a look before turning to their upset friend to speak.

"Chill out, Rod. It's really no big deal. We've been hired a bunch of times this summer and-"

He was cut off when Rodrick huffed. "Chill out?"

As if it wasn't bad already, another hand came down onto the table with the same amount of force as the last one, the glass' durability surprising the duo. In a beat, the flyer had then been shoved into the lead guitarist's face.

"Do you not see this? That party was our one chance to gain status before the school year even started. We had a guaranteed spot! There was no other band for them to choose! Then they show up? Where did they even come from?" The beat-up piece of paper landed on Ben's lap as Rodrick paced around the room, rambling on and on about their newfound rivals.

The boys shared a look. Each darting their eyes in Rodrick's direction. Hands, firmly pointing to one another as they mouthed an entire argument, telling the other to say something.

The silent conflict was settled when Chris raised his hands in defeat and settled back into the couch's cushions.

Why did it have to be him?

As Rodrick picked up the cheap plastic bottle off the table and clenched it hard with each heavy chug of water, the bassist gulped, imagining what he could do if his friend decided to strangle him to death for any slip-up in his next statement if he wasn't careful.

"Rodrick, we get it. We're pretty pissed at Y/N's group, too. It's just a little competition; it's not the end of the world."

Rodrick's whining and pacing came to a sudden halt. His mind wandered for a moment before something clicked in him.

"Y/N?" He asked in under a whisper. But they managed to read his lips.

Chris gave a nod, convinced he was in the clear of the boy's supposed wrath. "Yeah. She got them a spot at the amphitheatre last month."

"Y/N L/N?" Rodrick shifted in his spot, turning to face his body back towards his friends. There was barely any volume in his voice as he stated her name like it was a foreign pair of words.

Ben looked uncertain. Glaring at their bassist for an answer that wouldn't set off the ticking time bomb that was Rodrick Heffley.

Chris, now regretting his chill demeanour a mere moment ago, was hesitant then but nodded anyway. "Lead singer."

"She's a nobody!" He practically yelled.

"A nobody?" Ben raised an eyebrow.

"A nobody!" The water bottle in Rodrick's hand flew over their heads and crashed into the bookshelf at the back of the room, earning a flinch from the boys and a small squeak from Chris.

"How could she be lead singer of this stupid band?"

Chris plucked the flyer from Ben and crumpled it into a ball before tossing it at Rodrick's chest. "She's not a nobody, Rod. She was just kinda there."

"Exactly! She was there and now..." Rodrick picked up the discarded flyer off the floor and straightened it out. "Now, she's here." He hissed, slapping the paper with his other hand where the party's address was written in small, slightly pixelated text below the main font.

Ben pursed his lips and stood to his feet. "Rodrick... Browski... amigo, pal, buddy... Listen..." He stood beside Rodrick, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You gotta relax."

The drummer grew annoyed and shoved his hand off with a snarl to go collapse on the couch.

"Come on, Rod. It's the first day of school tomorrow anyway. Why don't you stay home tonight and cool off some steam?"

Rodrick let out a groan, laying his head back.

The room was suddenly silent.

After a moment, the back of Rodrick's hand flew up against Chris' chest. "You said they played at the amphitheatre? Did you go? Were they any good?" He asked without lifting his head.

Chris pushed his hand away. "Dude... They sucked ass."

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They did not suck ass.

Later that night, the boys found themselves leaning against a white picket fence surrounded by drunk, wasted teens in their year while The Kings of a Séance performed on the other side of the yard.

They weren't just not bad. They were good. Really good. And Rodrick refused to admit it. If anything, it was all the more reason to hate them.

People were loving them... And the Löded Diper despised them.

Well... He despised them.

The other two were trying to distract themselves with other things, like booze and their female classmates.

Rodrick, on the other hand, had his leering eyes set on the girl standing behind the microphone, singing their original song with light movements.

"Even their clothes are stupid," he spat.

That was a big fat lie.

In reality, he thought they were cool. He was jealous, even.

They should've had better costumes than hers.

Why didn't they have better costumes?

They should be more popular than her.

Why weren't they more popular?

With every loud and flawless strike, strum, and lyric coming from the band, Rodrick grew more and more livid.

And when he made eye contact with the lead singer through the crowd of rowdy teens, Rodrick knew it meant one thing and one thing only.

War...

༶•┈┈ ⛧ ┈ ♛ ┈ ⛧ ┈┈•༶

pes·si·mism/ˈpesəˌmizəm/nouna tendency to see the worst aspect of things or believe that the worst will happen; a lack of hope or confidence in the future.

Whoever thought it was a good idea to throw a "start of the year" party right before the first day of class was a moron.

When you walked through the halls that morning, instead of seeing hyperactive boys and squealing girls like you expected, you were greeted by the pale and worn-out faces of the same people who were downing bottle after bottle of cheap beer the night before.

And after seeing your friends every day since the start of the summer, none of you were all that excited either when you reunited in front of your old lockers.

It was sad to think you'd be getting new ones this year. Which meant none of you would be next to each other. And after comparing schedules, none of you were in any classes together either.

"It this karma? For spending so much time together?" Frankie wondered as he solemnly hit the lockers with his fist. His forehead followed suit, landing against the steel with a light thud.

"They're trying to balance us out. We spent two months together, and now we have to spend 10 apart," Oswin grumbled, aggressively attempting to get his old locker open to no avail.

"I hate the universe even more than I hate the preset 4-digit codes they gave us," Said Cory with his arms crossed over his red sweater.

"God, we're gonna see each other after school," you rolled your eyes at the confounded whining that's been going on for a minute now. You had their schedules in hand, trying to find at least one period together to keep your sanity levels as normal as they could be.

Cory's nose scrunched up, and he sent you a look of pure disgust as if you'd just blurted out the most offensive, mind-boggling slur ever in your life. "That's where it starts, N/N. We'll only see each other after school and on weekends. Then it's reduced to just weekends, then a brief lunch on Sundays, then short nods in the hallways, then-... Then-..."

A loud bang of Oswin punching the steel came next after giving up on his previous action of breaking into his old locker as he cut in, "Then we all go to different colleges. In twelve years, I'll be thirty, living in a one-bedroom apartment and working a dead-end job from 9 to 6, coming home to a microwave dinner. Then I'll see Y/N as a model for a shampoo commercial on TV. And upon seeing her, I decide to take a walk and find Cory living off scraps in an alleyway and begin to think... 'What if?'"

The rest of you fell silent at the sight of your keyboardist on the verge of tears, unsure how to respond or even process that irrational nonsense of a fear.

Cory was the first to speak up and break the silence. "The fact that that was oddly detailed is a bit concerning."

"Where was I in this hypothetical scenario?" Asked Frankie.

Were you seriously having this conversation right now?

"You probably couldn't get into college and died from severe depression," Cory snickered.

"Guys, seriously. You're being overdramatic," you cut in, smacking the schedules into Cory's chest. "We're paired up during lunch. Frankie is with me."

"Woo!" Frankie pumped his fists into the air, gloomy demeanour dropping instantly. "You hear that, Oswin? I'm getting into college!"

The smile on your face disappeared as soon as it formed when the bell rang above your heads.

A round of students groaning and cussing at the loud bell made you glad you didn't have a single drop of alcohol the previous night and had to suffer the curse of a hangover like they are now.

"I didn't miss that," Oswin commented.

You sighed. You weren't quite ready to let go of the last three years in school as a group, but you said it yourself...

"I'll see you guys after school."

Maybe smoking does kill.

That's what everyone says at least.

If by kill, they mean lead to your untimely death in the tree house of a dead little girl whose older brother was someone you knew a few weeks ago as the stoner guy who liked to stare at Bridget Davis’ ass at school... then they're right.

Nobody told you how much blood would be involved… Especially not your own dripping down your philtrum and chin as you prop yourself up on the tree house floorboards, staring up at Peter Graham with his stupid self-inflicted nose injury and a crown on his head… Almost exactly the same as the one on yours, placed by the sick, naked cult members now bowing down to you both.

“A Queen,” They called you as they stabbed a dagger straight into your chest. His Queen.

Peter's? No.

Whatever the fuck that thing was standing over you, merely resembling Peter Graham.

You suppose this is also what they meant by the consequences of premarital sex...

You thought it was stupid, of course as most kids your age did.

So stupid… But who's laughing now? 

If your brother were alive, he'd laugh.

Laugh at the car accident, the house party, at how you got so high, you hooked up with a boy you barely knew or even liked, how you got attached to said boy which led to you getting involved in a fucking cult ritual.

He'd be on the floor, wheezing… Barely breathing…

That's how his stupid ass died.

And that's how you're going to die now.

You don't know if you've accepted the fact that all you can do is sit in the back of your own head and watch these people praise this son of a bitch as he takes you for himself… Or if you wish you hadn't even talked to Peter that night in the first place…

Are you fucking serious?

Of course you regret it. 

You regret all of it.

You regret throwing that damn party… Getting higher than you usually did, bumping into Peter and borrowing his jacket to cover up the beer stain on your shirt… Taking him up on the offer to smoke together on his roof, meeting again at Aaron's party when you intercepted his path towards Bridget, opening up to him about your brother's death, attending his sister's funeral, letting him into your room when he was running away from a fight with his mom, driving him to the hospital when he bashed his own face into his desk, taking the yelling from his mom, and now… 

Fuck, if Daniel were alive, he never would've let you date this boy.

You would've probably yelled back and caused his death again if you didn't the first time…

‘Fucking hate you, Daniel.’

Hated how much it hurt. How much the guilt eats up at you every time you pass his room, or sit across his empty chair at dinner, or drive your mom's car because his pick-up got totalled when you…

You blame yourself just as much as your parents would have blamed you if you had actually confessed the crash was your fault.

You blame yourself for getting yourself to this point in time all because you killed your brother and got high every chance you got to forget for just a moment.

Wait. No.

Fuck no. You blame Peter for spilling his beer on you, kissing you on the roof-

No.

You blame whatever stupid cult decided that a teenage boy was a good vessel for a fucking demon. For seeing him with you one time and ultimately deciding you were good enough to offer up with him. 

You didn't even know him… God… You didn't. You just grew so attached after people stopped spreading rumours about you when they found out you got yourself a boyfriend.

Honestly, now, you would choose to get called a stuck-up, high-as-fuck bitch who would never give a boy the time of day over this.

You see the same emptiness in “Peter's” eyes as he looks down at you, not even apologetic for dragging you into this, just regretful of the choices he made to get here himself.

Same stupid eyes that prevented you from just dumping him after he started acting weird the first time.

All of it was sick...

The chanting, the cult members, the same Mrs Graham who yelled at you to stay the fuck away from her son, now bowing down to the ritual, because, fuck... she knew, didn't she? She knew this is what it would lead to...

'Should've bitched her out for slapping me...'

You couldn't even look at Peter without seeing poor Charlie's disgusting head on the altar behind him.

'Poor Charlie...'

'Should've looked for an EpiPen that night...'

'Should've noticed the nuts in the cake when Peter left her so we could make out.'

'Should have just gone to my room and changed clothes instead of insisting on borrowing a cute boy's jacket...'

'Should have stayed home today instead of worry about Peter not picking up his phone...'

Finally, you let yourself collapse, your head thumping against the wooden floorboards as the chanting fades and the warm candlelight eases you into unconsciousness. A sick twist of fate as the last thing you saw was the same thing that started all this; Peter Graham's face so close to yours as he hovers over you just like that night. Except his eyes weren't his anymore as yours fluttered into darkness.

---------------• Characters •---------------

Y/N outfit design: (Performance outfit)

Frankie :

Cory:

Ozzy:

Cece: (coming soon)

Glenn: (coming soon)

Other Y/N outfits

Y/N's babysitting outfit: (coming soon)

Y/N's Waitress outfit: (coming soon)

Y/N's Waitress outfit (Heather Hills' Sweet Sixteen): (coming soon)

---------------• Extras •---------------

I also found REALLY OLD art of the members of The Kings of a Seance and I will be redesigning them because I really hate this art with a burning passion. (around 2021) ( + Y/N's very first design. Originally had the stage name, Raven.)

---------------------- yummy Rodrick Sketch I did in July 2025 😋

---------------------- Older 2021 art I made of Y/N and Rodrick

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

2022 Art of Y/N(right) and my friend's OC, Nora(left), from their Rodrick Fanfiction (Find "Rebel Girl" in my reading List) (This also features Y/N older design.)

-------------Notes-------------

(I'll most likely be naming a few of these chapters after Community episodes because it fits the theme also because I need an excuse to include Community in this somehow.)

I might not have a consistent updating schedule as I have uni.

Most of these chapters will be unedited when released and will be fixed when the book is complete. Just because I'm excited and impatient.

This fic will be in 2nd person pov.

I am following the movies because I'm still in the process of replacing all the DOAWK books I had as a kid and can hardly remember much of what happened in them. But when I do complete the collection again and read them all, I might come back and fix/add some details.

Rodrick's band members are confusing as hell. The only confirmed names I've seen are Bill, Ben Segal, and Chris. So Chris and Ben will be the official members of LD. I also gave Chris a full name (Christopher Geller).

Any details I might've gotten wrong, don't hesitate to comment or message me so I can fix them, unless I deliberately changed some things.

-------------Content Warnings-------------

- Swearing - Slight mature themes but no actual detailed smut. Maybe hints. I dunno. - Smoking - Alcohol - Verbal/physical abuse (Rodrick being an idiot. No actual depictions of abuse) - Violent themes (again, Rodrick is an idiot. No actual intentional descriptive violence)