Who remembers me!
honestly this is to impetuous 2am decisions with my girlfriend starting a guilty pll serial-watch, with me remembering 6 episodes in that i used to write fic for this show in middle school! What the fuck !
took me a lot of growing to rediscover my love for writing but im planning to be back ?! I wanna rewrite this also bc i hate it oh i hate it (like don't read back. Don't. just run.) but heres a few excerpts for the time being(?):
He found her half-interesting, obnoxiously so. Foolhardy in a painter-way. She was a painter? She had painter eyes.
"Can you make a toastie?"
She didn't meet his gaze. Hands glued to her sides. And she was small, so small.
"If you don't have pot-hands," She quipped on. Jason hadn't moved, felt like it was wrong to deconstruct a fifteen-year-old's disposition, but hadn't moved, doing it all anyway. "Ethically, I would really rather not get high this soon into my family falling apart."
Jason tilted his head. Funny little pink thing, you . "I can make a toastie."
"This is fun."
"It's death," Aria said sardonically, arms crossed, lips taut, really thinking I hate brunette males with adventure complexes. "It's death in a bottle."
"Fucking hell," said Wes. "You're a travesty."
Aria blinked, white knuckles on the railing. "I'm five foot two."
"This is cutely glaikit Han," said Aria. "like, no. No ."
Hanna frowned.
"He doesn't wanna see me," Aria shrugged. "he made that pretty clear."
Hanna then sighed, loudly. "You're so cool about this. You let me wet your Lululemon leggings with my snot for hours, let me return the favour. Please."
Aria shrugged again. "I'm getting over it I think. I went on a rollercoaster with a cute boy. I feel like... I can fuck a teacher! I can write poetry in really ugly format and call it art!"