The Outsiders Memes Novels & Stories

My voice was low, dangerous, because if I let it out, I might snap the tablet into two. Olivia’s finger jabbed across the screen, flipping through endless reposts. “It’s everywhere, Damien. T*****r, I*******m, TikTok…memes are already trending. Someone packaged this deliberately. This isn’t random. This was set up.” She bit her lip, then blurted: “What if it’s the Osmonds again?!” Her words knifed through me. But this is not something they would do. My eyes snapped up to meet hers as I remembered.

Kelechi couldn't even land a single punch or kick on her, just the slap from him to her that started the fight. It was a popular meme for students in my school on social media, that session. One of the memes had a picture of Tobi's hand exactly at Kelechi's jaw with the caption, "Kelechized" and below the picture was written, "Total Tobility". Another had the same picture with a different caption, "When you pre-order an iPhone in an Online

But as I opened the first app on my phone, the image I saw made me feel physically repulsed. It was a meme. Someone had taken a picture of me from the gala—a moment where I looked beautiful and happy—and plastered text over it. "THE FACE OF THE GREATEST SCAM ARTIST OF TODAY" The comments below it were even worse. People were laughing, tagging their friends, and sharing words of support for the "victim," Eric Kingston. I dropped my phone onto the table like it had burned me. I wanted to cry. I hated this so much. Who could do this to me? Who did I offend so deeply that they wanted to erase my humanity?

" I ignored him. Group chat. 'Same time next week.' I wanted to ignore that one, but I put a thumbs up emoji. I couldn't risk them releasing the video before my finals. My whole junior year would be a waste if that happened. Fu8ck them. I would give them no emotion. They would get nothing from me except what I decided to give them. If I had to have meaningless se8x to get through this, I would. But fu8ck them both. ----- ----- -----

The member list in the channel was painfully clear, showing only four avatars: my father, my mother, my brother, and Bella. My brother, Enzo, replied a moment later, "Just the four of us. Don't call Aurora." "If she comes, she'll just find another excuse to bully Bella." I stared at the words, frozen. It dawned on me then. In this family, I had been the outsider all along. ... As if on cue, my mother's call came through. "Aurora, there's a sudden sit-down with the capos. We won't be back at the manor tonight."

And then he went his separate ways. Turned out I didn’t flunk the test. Maybe by sleeping on the book, some of the knowledge seeped into my subconscious. I was in much better spirits when I went to the cafeteria to get lunch. But that soon soured when I saw how everyone was staring at me and giggling behind their hands. I hate social media. There was a meme of me slapping Neil that was trending on the internet. It was actually pretty funny. Not that I was laughing. Neil and his three buddies thought it was hilarious. Well, they were popular guys so I guess it didn’t matter to them.

"Well, well, Gustav's pulling out his PR shield." ‌ Vanya leaned closer to the screen, her eyes narrowing. "He's got his moves, that's for sure." ‌ Vasky, not one to back down, tapped away at his keyboard. "Let's respond with another meme. A witty comeback, right?" ‌ The digital battlefield was alive with tension, strategies, and words that cut sharper than any blade. The gang was fighting not just for a story, but for the truth—a truth that would bring justice and expose corruption. The virtual realm had become their stage, and each meme, each headline, was a line in the script of their battle.

It was been spread anonymously and no one knew who was behind all of it. “I’m not ready to rest until we hunt down the fool behind all these disgusting memes.” Donald fumed. “And we find him, his punishment would be nothing that has never come to him in his entire existence because he would beg for death itself.” I spat, jamming my fists together. After a few weeks, we were able to track down the guy. He was a fat nerd in his 20s. We found him in his dorms in front of his computer, laughing and munching of potato chips with several memes made from my photo.

Technically, we did. "It's fine," I say instead, pulling out my notebook with shaking hands. "I don't care." But I do care. I care very much. By third period, the whispers have evolved into full-blown conversations that halt abruptly when I walk by. Someone's made a meme of my slap, with the caption "FINISH HIM" in Mortal Kombat font. Another edited my poolside photo onto the cover of Sports Illustrated. I keep my chin up, my sunglasses on, ignoring the looks and the not-so-subtle pointing.

Racist Tantrum Over ‘Fake’ Handbag Leaves Internet Furious. The video was grainy, filmed from a door camera, but oh so damning. Norma, in full glam, hurled a gaudy knock-off Birkin at an unsuspecting delivery guy’s chest, screamed a slur, then slammed the door. His shocked face alone became a meme in under ten minutes. T*****r was dragging her like a sacrificial goat through flames. “Oh, you love to see it,” Tomas muttered gleefully from the kitchen island, snacking on his third cookie.