#getslushed

“THIS IS A NEW SWEATER VEST!” He spits the blue slushie caught in his mouth. Another day, another slushie. He should be accustomed to the daily attacks by now. The first ever blog post he made resulted in having an icy drink thrown into his face then given a one-way trip into the dumpster by the football team immediately after. He wanted to go anonymous, to hide out from the eyes of the public and get through high school without being a blimp on the radar. He considered it, sure, then he realized the reason those idiot jocks had reacted so violently was because people were actually starting to listen to the words he had to say.

Jacob had built himself up from day one — researched on how to be the best investigator and reporter there was in the small town of Ohio, forced himself not to cry every time he was physically retaliated against, and profited off of classmates who wanted information. He found things kept secret, things he never published because despite the public’s belief, he had his morals.

He’s been rightfully called perverted, and some have accused him of lying, but he’s done his best to back up all of his facts with evidence. He helped circulate rumors, though refused to be bribed or harassed into confirming false ones ( because what kind of reporter does that? ). This is the power that he has, and it went even deeper than he’d thought.

This is his life. If finding the truth and being acknowledged rewarded him with this, then so be it. “You’ll be washing my car one day!”

@getslushed​ asked: *throws slushie* don't worry we didn't forget about you luck of the irish.

“Course not,” he said with a rather defeated tone. He was now wet and cold, and that wasn’t a fun thing to be feeling. He sighed to himself, and asked no one in particular especially not them, “How come you don’t forget about me but everyone else does?”

Why him?

        INSTINCT PREVENTS BLUE DYE FROM HITTING HIS EYES,  and he just freezes in his spot in the hallway, hands clenching at his side as his lips pressed together into a thin line. a hand lifts up to wipe the slush from his face, hearing the remark and the laughs as adams shoves past him. 

Feeling the icy liquid on his face, Finn froze. “Wha--?” His breathing picked up, trying to combat the cold. He could feel it running down his face and into his shirt, a feeling that he could probably never get rid of. He brought a hand up to pull at his shirt, to keep it from sticking to him.

Licking his lips, he could tell it was a grape slushie, but that moment faded when he started to wipe at his face, wanting to see who had threw it at him. “Seriously, Puckhead?” Since he was within arms length, Finn shoved him, hard. He saw him hit the wall before feet started to carry him away from the situation.

Finn had made his way to the locker room, knowing he needed to clean himself off. Taking whatever book he had in his hand, he threw it at the wall, a sigh escaping him. “Finn,” he heard Coach Bieste in their office. “I know, I know. Sorry, Coach.” He held a hand up in a direction of the office before they made their way out, to help him. “Punkin’,” he heard, feeling almost defeated.

“I shoved him, just so you know.” He felt a towel rubbing at his face, wanting to keep his eyes closed. “If it’s cool, I’ll just clean up in here and head back to class.” He felt the movement cease from the towel, hearing Coach Bieste’s voice again. “Of course. I’ll write you a note as well.”

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.    the cold liquid covering his whole body as the liquid moved down from his face and into his shirt.    Perhaps, it was the small amount of self control the other had remaining,     or the need to just SIMPLY make it throughout the day without a fist fight.   as he wiped the liquid from his eyes,     he felt the liquid move down further,         AND --- GONE, it had G O N E.     FUCK THE FOOTBALL TEAM.      Tina might have her ways of handling their stupidity,   but he had HIS.  He grabbed the other boy who threw the offending drink and slammed him into a locker.    ❛    what is your fucking problem?  ❜            his hand with balled into a fist almost ready to aim the punch when he heard a voice he knew to be a teacher shout. 

❛   SHAFT,    FIGGINS OFFICE NOW!   ❜      he dropped the football player and watched as they smirked.     The fact that they knew they were safe was what made it even worse, the football player walking off.    the one who had STARTED the whole thing by throwing red dye number 40 at his face.    ❛   this is ridiculous!   ❜       the corridor was quiet for a MOMENT.   Matt wasn’t exactly the most talkative individual and picking Ms Sylvester as the one time you did indeed speak up? BRAVE.         and STUPID.         (very stupid).           

❛   You can actually talk? I’m amazed. truly I was sure Will had made you in a factory, otherwise how the hell do you dance to that man’s awful singing?   Now, Figgins office. ❜